dream or nightmare?

Even though my house is forkin' cold because of the combination of pier and beam foundation and bare wood floors (you can actually put insulation under your floor if you have pier and beam, but it isn't cheap), I rather like it because I sleep better when it's cold. And when I sleep better, I don't remember my dreams.

However, I remembered quite a complex one from last night. D.D.* returned, accompanied by Robin Williams of all people. Like most lengthy dreams, you're really dreaming in bits and pieces, so it's like several chapters of a book that don't always relate to each other. At first, DD and his bud Robin were at an outdoor cafe ignoring me. But later, I was moving into a shabby little house - I don't know where, except it was a coastal city - and DD was moving into the spare room.

One particularly odd thing is that DD showed me a small bowl full of millipedes, and eventually insisted I take the bowl from him. I was initially nervous, since the bigger millipedes in Asia can sting the crap out of you, but these were small, benign and didn't hurt me.

Later on, DD disappeared and I dreamed I was visited by a Scottish ex-boyfriend. He was admitting that, after decades of working for the same distillers, he'd been fired. I asked him why; he shrugged and said "I guess I just wasn't paying enough attention".

I think the reason I dreamed of DD is that I finally broke down and wrote him a letter earlier this week, and of course I'm wondering if and when I will hear from him. I have heard absolutely nothing from him since the evening his ex-business partner fired him.

Perhaps it's time for me to return to my therapist.

* Dismissed Date (an ex boyfriend). See key to characters at right.

tripping

Having left the environs of the dwarf twins* for a week, I decided to cheer myself even more with a haircut. It turned out exceptionally well - I don't look like Beaker or a soccer mom. The only drawback is that I had to walk through Northpark (a mall near my home) to get to the Toni and Guy salon, and I forgot my iPod, so I had to listen to Christmas music. Blech.

I hope I can remember how to pack up a few things. Usually I forget eye makeup remover, but at least that isn't difficult to replace.

I wonder if my cousin still has his old Honda Shadow?

* See key to characters at right. Twins = managers.

Payback's a bitch

From today's Guardian.uk:

The Iraqi journalist who threw his shoes at George Bush got a taste of his own medicine when a man hurled a shoe at him during a press conference in France yesterday.

Muntazer al-Zaidi – who became a national hero in Iraq after hurling his footwear at the then US president last year – was speaking at a press conference to promote his campaign for victims of the Iraq war when a man threw a shoe at him.

Zaidi ducked and the shoe hit the wall behind him. Film footage showed that a scuffle then broke out in the audience. "He stole my technique," Zaidi said afterwards.

French reports said the attacker was an exiled Iraqi journalist who spoke in defence of US policy and accused Zaidi of siding with a dictatorship.

Just in case anyone missed it

Here is a link to Bart Simpson's 29 best chalkboard assignments.
Below, one of my favorites.



I also liked:

I will return the seeing-eye dog.
Five days to wait for a gun is not too long.
I will not torment the emotionally frail.

Why I miss Frank Zappa

This is from a 1992 interview with Frank:

Interviewer: Would you call yourself a misanthrope?

FRANK ZAPPA - I have been called a misanthrope, but I prefer curmudgeon; it's folksier and less threatening. Misanthrope sounds like you'd have to have gone to college to be one.

better than a multi-level car park

Recently my motorcyclist friend from south of here called. He was coming into town to do some shopping, and asked me if I could recommend somewhere for him to stay. He preferred downtown, under $100 a night if possible.

Considering it was Black Friday, and also that I enjoy cyber-comparison shopping, I decided to see what I could find for him.

I eventually came up with a newish place called Aloft. It was part of the Starwood hotel chain. He seemed pretty happy with the place when he arrived. Later he invited me over for a drink.

Aloft turned out to be a converted warehouse with cement floors, exposed ceilings, bare brick, and minimalist decor. We played some pool in the deserted bar (alas, it was not even remotely "always hopping" as the Web site had claimed). Later we had a drink in his room and talked motorcycles - this is known in bikers' circles as motobabble. I departed 30 minutes later as chaste as when I had arrived, although feeling guilty, as he'd picked up an armored motorcycle jacket for me earlier that day "just to say thanks". My only real temptation to sin had been to consider burgling the room's faux deco clock (see photo below).



Later in the evening, when I was back at Chez Melina, I realized that I'd stumbled upon (or stumbled into) the ideal venue for extramarital assignations within the greater DFW metroplex. The Aloft was hidden in a quiet area of downtown so none of your friends or work colleagues would spot you. It was inexpensive, so you could pay cash. The multi-level car park effectively hid your vehicle (and if you were feeling cheap, you could make out there...yes, this is an occasional fantasy of mine). And the room's decor was unlike the typical hotel chain hotel room, so one wouldn't feel like an adulterous cliche when sneaking in or out.

The only slight drawback was no bathtub, but it was an extra that would probably not be utilized. And the shower looked nice enough. Room for two.

the course of true lust never did run smooth

I think I may have figured out why O.O.D. has never finagled a personal interface with me - well, not since the first one. He's concerned about his weight.

I was thinking about our recent conversations, and twice he's mentioned his desire to lose weight. And he seems to want to lose quite a bit, or at least that's what he's saying (I think he quoted amounts of 40 pounds or thereabouts).

I can't decide whether to figure out a way to convince him that his extra weight doesn't matter (it really doesn't), or to call it a day. But it's hard to call it a day when you've spent the last two hours squirming. After months and months of celibacy, I am realizing that I am in dire need of a gratifying, intense, politically incorrect fuck.

black friday cometh

Quite a few of my otherwise sane colleagues plan to go to a Black Friday sale later this week. It's something I've never done, as there's zero appeal. Besides the initial pain and degradation of getting up early - who wants to shop at 4 am, for fork's sake? - you might be crushed by crowds who are hoping to pick up a crappy laptop for cheap. I could never make any sort of buying decision in a scrum.

Overall, it's kind of embarrassing - it makes we Americans look shallow and greedy - although I'm aware that other countries hold similar sales. Besides, I'm working that day.

Since tomorrow is the day before Thanksgiving, the departmental boss has already given us the go-ahead to leave at 2:00 pm. I'm tempted to let O.O.D. know - could he be tempted into a semi-dark underground car park before his own quitting time? Probably not. So I'm planning to attend the 5.00 kung fu class instead, as I'll be missing next Monday's.

Since the 4.00 and 5.00 classes are designated for children, aka Shaolin Tigers, I'm going to resemble a sweaty, aging tigress mixed in with all those eight year olds. Sigh.