One dream in particular really had me unhinged for about....oh the entire vacation. I gave K the short story while I ruminated on it's meaning. *90's wavey screen entering dream sequence*
Your favorite blogger, M, is boarding a large cruise ship. I have a big suitcase stuffed with clothes (literally coming out the sides) all cartoony and I'm stick thin (I guess I was feeling like a champ off of Clois de Bois), in a black bikini and one of those ridiculous big floppy straw hats ala Lauren from The OC (or whatever that stupid show is with the kids that I hate/secretly want to be because they're paid 10k an episode to go "Um....like...I hate you." I can do that and you can pay me in prosecco and SweetGreen.)
Oh and sparkly heels. Don't forget the stripper sparkle heels. I was ROCKIN that shit.
So I drop my comic suitcase into a room and next few moments are kinda a funky mix of exploring the ship by going up and down utility ladders (in sparkle stripper heels), and flirting with various men.
At one point, I walk onto a stage and it just so happens that I'm the star of the HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL OMFG1!!11! that they're putting on. You guessed it folks, I basically am one of those bitches from faux-ality tv in my stupid hat and I don't know any of my choreography. Cue a space alien version of Christopher Walken all up in my grill (these are phrases I use in my dream. no joke.) making all these ridiculous hand movements and telling me to "work it work it." I flop my hands in the air and leave even though the big show is that night but because I am fabulous and have a big hat, I don't care. Suddenly, I'm on the deck with all my girlz and even though we secretly hate each other, we're all like BFFs and talking about getting a tan while we're on this school boat business. This is the thought that literally crosses my mind in my dream: My brother goes to school in the mountains (which is true) and he has a tan (not really true), therefore, because I am on a boat school, I will also be tan. This made perfect sense and all my BFFs literally mind-read my thoughts and were all like omg so true you and your bro can be tan-buddies. I cannot make this shit up. Clearly an MTV writer jumped into my brain and crapped out this dream because this is even less cohesive than The Hills or whatever.
Now, I'm walking into a classical Beauty and the Beast-esq library which is dark and cold and while I'm looking over some books in a corner, a certain someone from my past bum rushes me and is tickling me and trying to be all playful. Note. Of all the guys I've dated while CW and I were on a break, this guy was literally the hottest piece of ass I have ever laid hands on. That story is for another day and another blog post when I feel like trumping up my ego. But trust me when I say....while it turned out that his dick face personality was proportionately related to how hot he was....I was still extremely sad to let it go because it was just.that.bad/good. It was really my first experience of being used and using in equal amounts--a perfect storm of hot, steamy, fucked up college life. Nom.
This is all delicious in my dream, until, in a flash, I realize CW is on the school boat with me and this would be a big no-no. So what does the MTV writer crapping my dreams do? Sharts. Becase CW walks into the library. Except he doesn't. Right as fucked up college hook up (FUCHU) kisses me, he literally pops his head around the corner like my cat does when she's on the sofa and trying to look into our bedroom. Goddamnit. AND THEN DISAPPEARS before I can explain that FUCHU is to blame and while I'm loudly protesting, FUCHU picks me up in the way he always did after I yelled at him for blowing me off, and carries me into this secret bedroom in the back of the library with a portal view of the ocean. HOLY CHEESEWHIZ thank you MTV writer in my brain!
....then I woke up. Something hates me and from where that dream was going, it wasn't my mini MTV writer tucked away in my brain under the "hot and steamy" section.
Of course, I did what ever person does in that situation does, and tried to go back to sleep. I did and I did dream, but I'll just say there were sea monsters involved and something about 2012 and leave it at that.
So then, of course, all morning (or afternoon since I got up at 11:30 regularly), I walked around feeling like I had cheated. I tried to blame my mini MTV writer (Let's call him Eric.), but I still felt ridiculous guilt. Did I still have serious feelings for FUCHU? No. Did I still see sparkles when CW walks into the room? Yes. Most definately. Then what?
Oh god. Here it comes. I had what I want to trademark as The Wave.
K knows exactly what I'm talking about, or at least she pretended to while I spilled. K and I used to be roommates in a ridiculous apartment off campus without male supervision (read: boyfriends). We lived the single life, which often involved getting drunk on a random night on cheap wine and walking to CVS across campus. We flirted with boys, we had ridiculous drama and allowed ourselves to be embroiled in it, and we were desperate to go to what we have now: steady jobs, good pay check, cute/serious boyfriends, and no serious drama.
The Wave basically happens when all of a sudden from head to toe you get a kind of wave feeling and long, with every ounce in your body, for a stupid drunk night with your old roommate and a bottle of 3 Buck Chuck and all the irresponsibility that came with it. It's not repeatable. We can't recreate it because when we've sobered up and finished the pizza and laughed/cried, we still go home to our very good lives. I can't describe it, but it's just not the same. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you've never been nostalgic over something you loved dearly. It's a mix of feeling the loss of that time when we could be irresponsible and the hope we had for the future we're currently living.
They say that hindsight is 20-20, which is total bullshit because I think once you get just a little past a great time in your life (whether you noticed it or not), all of a sudden, that time was the shit and wtf where did it go? We forget the extreme heartache (I didn't see CW for 7 months), the anxiety (job search, PhD applications...actually that's still happening), and the indigestion (wine, pizza, whatever K eats) that came with those great memories that were hard won. In all reality, we were really fucking miserable a good deal of the time.
But we have hatched a plan to try to recreate it all. We'll go out and go dancing and have pizza and be ridiculous. And then, I told CW about it. Normally, he couldn't care less. But this time.
M: So, K and I are going to go out one weekend and go dancing and all that. Just a heads up. We'll go on a Friday night when you're not home.
CW: Ah. Going on the prowl?
M: What? NO!
CW: I know you, you're going to come home with like 10 phone numbers.
M: I am not!!! We'll go to DC9 where people don't hit on you.
CW: Mmmmmhmmmm.
M: (sorry K) NO! I'm going to chaperone K!
CW: aaahaha and I'm sure she's telling her boyfriend the same thing.
M: Oh please "Mr. Soccer moms have been hitting on me all week" (this is true, he was at a soccer tournament this weekend for his half sister0
CW: It's different.
M: Is not. If you and I went out and some girl started hitting on you, you'd totally come back and be like "yeah, sorry about that, the bar is totally packed" then tell me about how the girls swarmed you.
The above conversation was all said in jest and lovingly. Mostly because we know each other well enough for him to know what I really want--freedom from my life. Not from him, per say, but from this life of responsibility. And he knows that I'll probably go out, K and I will drink just enough to feel tired and want to go home and I'll come home and whine about it and then fall asleep, drooling on his chest, mumbling how much I love him while he plays video games.
Maybe Eric can write a new dream for me that quenches my wave.
So I drop my comic suitcase into a room and next few moments are kinda a funky mix of exploring the ship by going up and down utility ladders (in sparkle stripper heels), and flirting with various men.
At one point, I walk onto a stage and it just so happens that I'm the star of the HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL OMFG1!!11! that they're putting on. You guessed it folks, I basically am one of those bitches from faux-ality tv in my stupid hat and I don't know any of my choreography. Cue a space alien version of Christopher Walken all up in my grill (these are phrases I use in my dream. no joke.) making all these ridiculous hand movements and telling me to "work it work it." I flop my hands in the air and leave even though the big show is that night but because I am fabulous and have a big hat, I don't care. Suddenly, I'm on the deck with all my girlz and even though we secretly hate each other, we're all like BFFs and talking about getting a tan while we're on this school boat business. This is the thought that literally crosses my mind in my dream: My brother goes to school in the mountains (which is true) and he has a tan (not really true), therefore, because I am on a boat school, I will also be tan. This made perfect sense and all my BFFs literally mind-read my thoughts and were all like omg so true you and your bro can be tan-buddies. I cannot make this shit up. Clearly an MTV writer jumped into my brain and crapped out this dream because this is even less cohesive than The Hills or whatever.
Now, I'm walking into a classical Beauty and the Beast-esq library which is dark and cold and while I'm looking over some books in a corner, a certain someone from my past bum rushes me and is tickling me and trying to be all playful. Note. Of all the guys I've dated while CW and I were on a break, this guy was literally the hottest piece of ass I have ever laid hands on. That story is for another day and another blog post when I feel like trumping up my ego. But trust me when I say....while it turned out that his dick face personality was proportionately related to how hot he was....I was still extremely sad to let it go because it was just.that.bad/good. It was really my first experience of being used and using in equal amounts--a perfect storm of hot, steamy, fucked up college life. Nom.
This is all delicious in my dream, until, in a flash, I realize CW is on the school boat with me and this would be a big no-no. So what does the MTV writer crapping my dreams do? Sharts. Becase CW walks into the library. Except he doesn't. Right as fucked up college hook up (FUCHU) kisses me, he literally pops his head around the corner like my cat does when she's on the sofa and trying to look into our bedroom. Goddamnit. AND THEN DISAPPEARS before I can explain that FUCHU is to blame and while I'm loudly protesting, FUCHU picks me up in the way he always did after I yelled at him for blowing me off, and carries me into this secret bedroom in the back of the library with a portal view of the ocean. HOLY CHEESEWHIZ thank you MTV writer in my brain!
....then I woke up. Something hates me and from where that dream was going, it wasn't my mini MTV writer tucked away in my brain under the "hot and steamy" section.
Of course, I did what ever person does in that situation does, and tried to go back to sleep. I did and I did dream, but I'll just say there were sea monsters involved and something about 2012 and leave it at that.
So then, of course, all morning (or afternoon since I got up at 11:30 regularly), I walked around feeling like I had cheated. I tried to blame my mini MTV writer (Let's call him Eric.), but I still felt ridiculous guilt. Did I still have serious feelings for FUCHU? No. Did I still see sparkles when CW walks into the room? Yes. Most definately. Then what?
Oh god. Here it comes. I had what I want to trademark as The Wave.
K knows exactly what I'm talking about, or at least she pretended to while I spilled. K and I used to be roommates in a ridiculous apartment off campus without male supervision (read: boyfriends). We lived the single life, which often involved getting drunk on a random night on cheap wine and walking to CVS across campus. We flirted with boys, we had ridiculous drama and allowed ourselves to be embroiled in it, and we were desperate to go to what we have now: steady jobs, good pay check, cute/serious boyfriends, and no serious drama.
The Wave basically happens when all of a sudden from head to toe you get a kind of wave feeling and long, with every ounce in your body, for a stupid drunk night with your old roommate and a bottle of 3 Buck Chuck and all the irresponsibility that came with it. It's not repeatable. We can't recreate it because when we've sobered up and finished the pizza and laughed/cried, we still go home to our very good lives. I can't describe it, but it's just not the same. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you've never been nostalgic over something you loved dearly. It's a mix of feeling the loss of that time when we could be irresponsible and the hope we had for the future we're currently living.
They say that hindsight is 20-20, which is total bullshit because I think once you get just a little past a great time in your life (whether you noticed it or not), all of a sudden, that time was the shit and wtf where did it go? We forget the extreme heartache (I didn't see CW for 7 months), the anxiety (job search, PhD applications...actually that's still happening), and the indigestion (wine, pizza, whatever K eats) that came with those great memories that were hard won. In all reality, we were really fucking miserable a good deal of the time.
But we have hatched a plan to try to recreate it all. We'll go out and go dancing and have pizza and be ridiculous. And then, I told CW about it. Normally, he couldn't care less. But this time.
M: So, K and I are going to go out one weekend and go dancing and all that. Just a heads up. We'll go on a Friday night when you're not home.
CW: Ah. Going on the prowl?
M: What? NO!
CW: I know you, you're going to come home with like 10 phone numbers.
M: I am not!!! We'll go to DC9 where people don't hit on you.
CW: Mmmmmhmmmm.
M: (sorry K) NO! I'm going to chaperone K!
CW: aaahaha and I'm sure she's telling her boyfriend the same thing.
M: Oh please "Mr. Soccer moms have been hitting on me all week" (this is true, he was at a soccer tournament this weekend for his half sister0
CW: It's different.
M: Is not. If you and I went out and some girl started hitting on you, you'd totally come back and be like "yeah, sorry about that, the bar is totally packed" then tell me about how the girls swarmed you.
The above conversation was all said in jest and lovingly. Mostly because we know each other well enough for him to know what I really want--freedom from my life. Not from him, per say, but from this life of responsibility. And he knows that I'll probably go out, K and I will drink just enough to feel tired and want to go home and I'll come home and whine about it and then fall asleep, drooling on his chest, mumbling how much I love him while he plays video games.
Maybe Eric can write a new dream for me that quenches my wave.
No comments:
Post a Comment