Bitch and Pieces

This Bug is starting to realize that her existence must be for the sheer entertainment of one (or many) who sits on high, rolling the tape and pressing pause on my most jarring and hilarious moments (well..to them, anyway). That may seem ridiculous- but so does my life lately. The past few weeks have been nothing short of trying. I'll spare you the sordid details but the morsels are worth sharing.



From the Clunker Chronicles comes yet another tale of woe. Yes, I knew the car needed oil. That little genie-in-the-lamp light thingy on the dash told me so. Yes, I bought two quarts, poured them in and went about my business that day. When the car seemed to be smoking from under the hood hours later, I was puzzled. I bought some Antifreeze and popped the hood. Then I popped the trunk when I remembered that the hood doesn't stay open without being propped up by my trusty 'Peacemaker'. I think it was a broomstick in a former life. Just then, a stranger asked me if I knew what I was doing to which I haughtily replied that I did. Then I saw that I never screwed the oil cap back on from earlier that morning. The sad truth? That's not even the first time I've done that. I should just park up the jalopy and break out the mountain bike. No. I have no idea what I'm doing.




Up until this morning- I had no idea I subconsciously feared growing old. Then I woke up from a dream where I laid down, sans bra and my breast rolled and came to rest comfortably in my left armpit. I mean, even the nip was to the side instead of facing forward (upward?). I dunno. It was hella disturbing and I consider it a nightmare of epic proportions. Up there with when I was being stabbed in an alleyway while acid rain was melting my skin off. It's all pectoral flies and bench pressing from now. And lots and lots of moisturizing. Lots.



I'm so ashamed. Well, not quite. Suffice to say I dabble in the libations a bit. 3 Ciroc bottles. 2 Absoluts. 1 six pack of Heineken. 1 Guinness stout bottle. 6 empty cans of Dole pineapple juice that blend so perfectly with the coconut vodka. And oh, I almost forgot. One telling blue bottle of Reisling. And a partridge in a pear tree. You get the picture. The Hefty bag sounds like the circus is coming to town...or just left.


Um..New York City cops tend to disagree. Unless you have a hack license. That's next on the to-do list after I pay that blasted ticket.



Just so you know, This Bug imbibes more than grapes and grains. Thanks to Will Ferrell in The Other Guys I discovered how wonderfully refreshing a few slices of cucumber can be in ice cold water. Lemon water is so passé. Try it now. Thank me later. And Will, too.



Call it covetous. Call it unethical. Call it what you want. But there is only one pair left in my size at the side gig and I'm hiding them until the price inevitably gets marked down. Now, I know that in some way, shape or form this causes the company to lose money by preventing the common man from purchasing them full price. I get that. But I don't give a fat frog's ass. I've never owned anything so frivolous and over the top fashion-wise and perhaps never will again. Don't judge me...'til you see me sportin' them with some liquid leggings and a gorgeous blouse.


So last weekend my father goes into a popular Superstore that rhymes with Schmalmart. He picks up some coffee creamer and two sets of clothes hangers. Once the cashier rang him up- the total sounded unusually high. It turns out he picked the hangers up from an area they didn't belong in and was mislead about the price. So politely, he asks the cashier to remove the items based on the quality of the hangers in relation to price. Nothing more. She does this quickly and by herself as there was no need for a manager or the ever necessary 'key' at the register. Then she looks at my dad, scans the Coffeemate and says blankly, "You think you can handle that?" All I can say is that the Creator in His infinite wisdom saw to it that I was not there to witness this. She'd still be picking teeth along with whatever else she swallowed that day out of her shit right now.



Anyway, it's been a wild and sometimes taxing ride these past few weeks. I just wanted to share the bits and pieces...and maybe bitch a little. But even after all the frustration- something like this comes along and reminds me that there's always something to smile about:



"Well a very, very heavay ah, heavy dua, bertation tonight, we had a very derst, dereson, bite, lets go head terest tazon lusht to the vet to have the pet."

Fin

Sleep to Dream

All my life I've admired people who have dreamed about flying.  Mostly because up until last week, I truly couldn't relate.  It seemed that those people had a mental freedom that I lacked. They weren't afraid.  Perhaps before last week, I couldn't fathom soaring above it all.  But in the dream, that's just what I did.  Everything looked small.  Like those intricate little villages you see around Christmas time with miniature trains chugging through them.  I sailed through the sky with wind enveloping me and coasting me along.  I didn't fall.  I didn't falter.  I just flew through and above clouds without a worry in the world.  I know better than to think it may happen again. I don't even need it again.  If it does, great.  If it doesn't, at least a I touched that feeling of being completely free and unencumbered.  Light as the invisible feathers that carried me through an element that I'm totally unacquainted with.  It was beautiful. Maybe in waking life, I've risen above something I was incapable of before. Who knows? Sleep brought me a new treasure other than much needed rest. When I awoke I was looking into a  familiar face. Another dream began. I'm awake now though and like Fiona- I don't go to sleep to dream.  

I tell you how I feel, but you don't care
I say tell me the truth, but you don't dare
You say love is a hell you cannot bear
And I say gimme mine back and then go there - for all I care

I got my feet on the ground
And I don't go to sleep to dream
You got your head in the clouds
And you're not at all what you seem
This mind, this body
And this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways
So don't forget what I told you
Don't come around, I got my own hell to raise

I have never been so insulted in all my life
I could swallow the seas to wash down all this pride
First you run like a fool just to be at my side
And now you run like a fool
But you just run to hide, and I can't abide

I got my feet on the ground
And I don't go to sleep to dream
You got your head in the clouds
And you're not at all what you seem
This mind, this body
And this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways
So don't forget what I told you
Don't come around, I got my own hell to raise

Don't make it a big deal, don't be so sensitive
We're not playing a game anymore
You don't have to be so defensive
Don't you plead me your case, don't bother to explain
Don't even show me your face, ''cause it's a crying shame
Just go back to the rock from under which you came
Take the sorrow you gave and all the stakes you claim -
And don't forget the blame

I got my feet on the ground
And I don't go to sleep to dream
You got your head in the clouds
And you're not at all what you seem
This mind, this body
And this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways
So don't forget what I told you
Don't come around, I got my own hell to raise

Players only love you when they're playin'...

In the dream, it's sunny... and almost too bright a day. There is a garden party of some sort going on with live music being performed from a gazebo. Everything is set in white. The scene is reminiscent of the Catalina Wine Mixer...only there's no Will Ferrell there. Just rows and rows of heavy white folding chairs on lush grass and a sprinkling of wide round tables covered in white sheets. Odd, but in the dream I know they are sheets and not tablecloths for some reason. I take a seat near the front and watch the performance distractedly. I'm there alone although it feels like I was supposed to meet someone there. But who? Something makes me turn my head. I spot them sitting side by side at one of the tables. I turn just in time to see him deliver an affectionate peck to a bare, tanned shoulder. Her face is flawless and bears the look of someone blissfully unknowing. She looks familiar- like I've seen her before in a collection of photos. Women of every imaginable shape and hue that are supposed to be special to him in one way or another. To the untrained eye they all look friendly, but only they know for sure whether it was- or could ever be more than that. But in the dream, that quick kiss betrays all appearances. What follows is hot, unadulterated rage.

In a flash, I am on my feet and charging towards them, leaving overturned chairs tossed this way and that in my wake. They fly off my fingertips as if they shared the weight of feathers. People seated around me seem to scatter and virtually disappear. No one is left but the the three of us, it seems. They give chase. No matter how fast I run, they are just out of reach. And I am blinded by thoughts of what I will do if I get my hands on either one. Suddenly the scene switches to a casual backyard cookout. There is a woman, a different woman seated at another round table- howling in pain. I never see it happen- but a long metal stake or pole has fallen from some immeasurable height. Or perhaps just the clear blue sky. It impales her fleshy thigh through light colored jeans. Her femur is no doubt in two pieces. She needs medical attention. Fast. People surround her in panic. Someone yells to give her room. Another voice is screaming to call an ambulance. Pandemonium. All the while, I am consumed by a quavering calm that whispers fiercely into my ear, ' Who gives a fuck about her? Where did they go?'

They are gone. I never catch them. Never see them again.

***

When I research the main details, I learn that to chase something or someone in a dream highlights you drive and ambition to go after what you want. Or perhaps the dream suggests that you are falling behind and have to catch up with everyone else. Considering the distance or gap between the pursuer and the pursued indicates your closeness to the issue. To dream of impalement suggests a forceful , violent or passionate release of repressed emotions. It then says to consider which part of the body is being impaled, so I look up the thigh. To see your thigh in a dream symbolizes stamina and endurance. It refers to your ability to perform and do things. That it wasn't my thigh but some random woman's confuses me a bit. I no longer cared about a fellow human being or pain and suffering. I cared not that more pressing issues were going on around me. I was deadlocked on a target that was not within my grasp. It was time to give up and I simply wouldn't admit it to myself. My fury had to place to go. All of this absolves nothing and brings me no closer to peace.

I guess when the rain washes me clean, I'll know.

Bubbly Yes. Glass No.

Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you. ~Marsha Norman

So I've been napping a lot more lately and dreaming weird stuff again. Earlier today I dreamt that I was at a huge catering hall for some sort of reception. It was most likely a wedding. I can't say whose it was or why I was there- but there I was. The peculiar thing about the hall was that it shared a space with a funeral home. Oddly enough, guests that were attending either function were allowed to co-mingle with one another. While making my way to the bar for a glass of Champagne, I overhear two people discussing the weddings and funerals they were both respectively attending. As I walk by I'm thinking, "Maybe they should switch just to get an idea of what the other might be feeling..." Anyway, I find the bar in the far wing of the hall and strike up a conversation with the one of the four bartenders working. He looks a lot like the main dude from Party Down but I don't bother to tell him that. Instead I tell him that I used to pour drinks also. He cocks his head in disbelief for a fraction of a moment. Why, I have no idea. Then he pops open a bottle of champagne and I advise him of a pouring technique to minimize the fizz while maintaining the bubbles. He thanks me and then realizes he has no appropriate stemware for me to drink from. Why can't he just wash one for me?

This is where it gets strange. I go on the hunt for my own glass, but there doesn't seem to be a clean one anywhere. Not a single, solitary clean glass. I search high and low and still...nothing. Every glass is either soiled with lipstick or sitting half full and abandoned on tables or mantles when I find them. Not one decent flute for me to sip from. While still on my quest, I run into a friend that I have not spoken to in months. She never lets on whether she is there celebrating a happy couple or mourning a death. I never ask, either. When I tell her what I've been looking for she offers to help. Soon she finds a contraption which looks more like a globe that opens into two hemispheres. It's encased in wrought iron but it could hold liquid if need be. This is clearly not what I need but I'm ready to give in because I want my champagne. She says to me with a bit of sarcasm in her voice that my significant other would probably love it. To myself, I wonder if she knows there is no such thing in my life. Once she hands it to me- it becomes a wine glass, plump and spotless. I quickly thank her for her help and head back to the bar where Party Down guy is. He's gone now and so is the champagne he opened for me. An utter waste of my time. It's just me and the wine glass now. I debate whether I should drop on in the funeral across the way.

The buzzing of a text message pulls me from my dream. I rise and look up the main symbols:


A wedding in your dream symbolizes a new beginning or transition in your current life. They reflect your issues about commitment and independence.

To see the opening of a bottle of champagne, symbolizes a sexual act. Alternatively, it represents extravagance and overindulgence. It also indicates a celebration or a personal achievement that you are proud of.


To dream that you are searching for something, signifies the need to find something that is missing or needed in your life. You may be searching for love, spiritual enlightenment, peace or even a solution to a problem.

To see a friend in your dream, signifies aspects of your personality that you have rejected, but are ready to incorporate and acknowledge these rejected aspects of yourself.

To see a wine glass in your dream, represents happiness. It may also be symbolic of a pregnancy. If you break the wine glass, then it may denote a miscarriage.

If your are dreaming that you are at a funeral of an unknown person, then it suggests that something in your life is supposed to put to rest or put aside so that you can make room for something new. You need to investigate further what aspect or component of your life you need to let go.

I can't say I agree 100% with the interpretations of the symbols, but I'd be lying if I said that some of them didn't strike a chord. There is so much going on with me right now- that nothing I dreamed about sounds totally far-fetched. But if any of the above is true- I so need to get it together. None of this sounds positive but I guess it's all up to my own interpretation. It's not like I was searching for the Holy Grail or anything. If I could just dig a little deeper and find out what that glass in all of its variations really means to me, perhaps I'd be able to understand a lot more of what is happening to me while I'm awake.

I'd Rather Be Awake

I'm sitting here wrapped in a towel, Biore strip across my nose, completely perplexed by the dream I awoke from this morning.

I can't recall exactly where it started but I know I was walking around one of those interstate highways that have tons of local motels and greasy spoon restaurants lining it. I had my purse and luggage with me. There seemed to be no true destination in mind. All of a sudden I'm at an airport. Apparently I was waiting for flight when it occurs to me that I no longer have my luggage. Did I check it? Was it stolen as I sat right there not noticing? In the dream- I have no idea. I'm too embarrassed to ask the flight clerk at the counter if I checked my bag or not. I leave the airport with the intentions of finding a branch of my bank. Why, I have no idea. Perhaps most of my cash was in the luggage that I've now admitted to myself was stolen underneath my nose.

While walking over to the bank, I see a Dunkin Donuts and decide to go in. As I'm crossing the street a man in a red car is revving his engine while turning into my path- as though I'm walking too slowly for him. I stop. I look at him. He is lurching his vehicle forward in an attempt to quicken my pace or frighten me. Neither happens. "Asshole." I say it loud enough for him to hear. I make my way to Dunkin Donuts, half noticing that he has changed his mind and is now pulling into the parking lot. I'm on line ordering a Chocolate Croissant (do they even sell those?) but he is already sitting at a table like he was there before me to begin with. I sidle up to him and a woman that is now sitting with him. She's wearing a silver gray petticoat. I speak. "You're rushing to get me to cross but you have time to detour for some donuts? Asshole." They say nothing. I walk off.

I never get my food but find myself looking for a table with an outlet nearby. My cell phone is dying. The sequence gets a little hazy from here. Back on the interstate highway- I am not even sure whether I am in Orlando, FL or Atlanta, GA. I consider that I'm within walking distance to a friend I barely speak to now and the bank. But I don't find either. Suddenly I'm in a taxi under a train trestle. The cab driver is an older Black woman. She looks more like she should be baking Sweet Potato pies than hacking. She tells me it'll be $30. I'm wondering where we went to rack up such a hefty fare. I tell her I'll be right back. There is nothing in my pockets to give her. I never return. In a dim hotel room, my cell phone rings. It's about to power off from such a weak battery. I answer and it's my good friend, Sweetest Tea. She asks how my trip is going. I begin to crack up laughing but the hilarity is amiss. I relay that my luggage has been lost. I have no money and I'm not really sure where I am exactly. I leave out the part about the asshole in the red car. She's happy I can laugh about it- and then I come clean. "Girl, if I don't laugh about this, I'll break in two. Lemme run. I'm not gonna cry about this on the phone when I have no battery." She sounds worried. Tells me to call her when I get home. I make her a promise that I will. I close the phone with a flip of my hand, rest my weight on the edge of the bed. I don't know if I'll ever get home.

Fin

That's it in a nutshell. There were some other minor details but they really make no sense so I left them out. This dream was so vivid that I looked it up for interpretation. According to the website- roaming on a highway represents my sense of direction in life. Losing my luggage represents a loss of identity. To dream that you nearly escape the impact of a car denotes successfully overcoming some sort of rivalry. All of this on the heels of my sister telling me that presently she hardly recognizes me anymore and that my life doesn't look good on paper. True story. Maybe I have lost myself somewhere along the way. Maybe I prefer confrontation to actually getting important things done. Maybe I should go peel off this Biore strip.

Do I Feel Lucky?

Gun, with Occasional Music

A trickle of cold sweat runs from my armpit down the side of my body. My back is now ramrod straight. The phone is ringing incessantly. Downstairs, someone or some thing is banging on the door. I look and see that it is shaking with each blow. Whatever is on the other side means business. Do I answer the phone or the door? I can hear the dainty sounds of a music box; surreal and terrifying somewhere in the background. The maddening ringing never ceases. I pick it up. Calmly, I say to no one in particular that they are not to call here- that I am calling the police as soon as I hang up. As I press the first 1 in 911, the knocking stops. Phone in hand, I step closer to the now silent door. In the time that it takes to turn my head, I am no longer alone in my apartment. Inches from my eyes- a hand comes into focus. There is no face attached to this hand. The hand that is tautly gripping the largest, gunmetal gray firearm I have ever seen in my life. This is not a robbery. This is just pure evil- exacting revenge for my being aloof and not acknowledging its presence. I hear the chamber click loudly between my ears. My eyes pop open. Awake at last.

Note to self: No more Caramel Cheesecake right before bed.

Benny Blanco? What are you doing here?

I've been dreaming a lot lately. Apart from my irregular sleeping pattern (check out when most of my blog entries are posted) I've been getting undisturbed rest and have even been able to remember most of my dreams when I awaken. Some say dreams are the children of an idle brain. Others say they are very telling of what is to come. Either way, I'm baffled by last night's dream.

I can't recall every detail, but the meat and potatoes of it was the fact that John Leguizamo and I were very good friends. How random is that? I was out with family and my cell rang. I look at the Caller ID and it's John. In the dream- this was all very normal. We begin chatting and he tells me that he's in between scenes of a new movie he's shooting and just wanted to shout me out, see how I was doing. (Exact words by the way) I have NO idea where this came from. I feel absolutely no connection to this actor whatsoever. Well, that's not entirely true. There is a mild case of six degrees of separation at work where he is concerned. My former boss (an ex-NY Jets Running Back) grew up with him in Alphabet City before John moved to Queens. I guess that's more like one degree, but I haven't seen that guy in years and that still doesn't explain the dream.

This isn't my first time dreaming that I was well acquainted with a celebrity. I once had a dream that Al Pacino and I were very friendly. I was sitting in my car and he walked over, leaned in to kiss me on the cheek and asked how my Dad was doing. Then there's the one where boxer Roy Jones was sitting next to me with his big cock getting a manicure at the nail salon. He kept stressing that he did not want clear polish. I know. Weird. But dreams are not always meant to make sense, I suppose. While we're on the topic, I'll share what I believe about seeing random strangers in dreams. I don't believe they are random at all. I think they are people you have glanced upon, even for a split second- at a red light or on line at the hardware store and your brain has subconsciously stored their image, so they reappear in your dream. I could be wrong, but I just don't believe that we can create someone out of thin air. Even if it is an odd or somewhat scary character in your dream, I believe that person is some twisted amalgamation of several snapshots your brain has retained. Just my take on it.

Anyway, as I sit and ponder this new found friend-in-my-head, Mr. Leguizamo- I'll see what I can do to program my dreams for tonight. I would love to drum up some slumber induced interaction with any of the boys from my hot but not list. Sominex. Check. Warm jammies. Check. Hollywood, here I come.

***Editor's Update*** Shortly after posting this, I received a call about interviewing with a University in New York. The twist ? It happens to be the alma mater of my former boss...who grew up with Mr. Leguizamo.