Pralines and Cream

I have, in the past ten years, had about three lucid dreams.

I can’t make them happen on purpose, and I usually can’t keep them lucid, either.  It’s just a quick realization, a little bit of flying, and then the dream changes into something else.

This past week, I’ve experienced two lucid dreams and I think the second one was brought on by the first.  My mind seems to be learning to recognize the symptoms of a lucid dream.  If something seems highly unrealistic, it’s probably a dream, which I realize is an obvious conclusion, but getting your mind to recognize this is the hard part.

Last night’s lucidity came about while I was wandering through my parents’ home.  However it wasn’t their home, it was my babysitter’s home where I used to stay before and after school as a child.

I went into my babysitter’s bedroom, which was light blue and mostly empty, save for a picture on the wall, and then I realized where I was and that I was dreaming.

So I levitated, watching my reflection in the picture frame.  I think I was wearing an Alice in Wonderland dress, which isn’t as weird as it sounds; I had to make a tear-away Alice dress for a performance I did in Montreal a few weeks ago.  The walls in the dream bedroom matched the dress perfectly.

And then the dream changed, and I was eating ice cream served to me by my stepfather.  I remember thinking he’d give me a good deal on the ice cream considering he worked there.

Tell Me Less

Without going into too much detail, I was recently referred to as the “cold” one in the relationship.

Not any current relationship, and the comment wasn’t accusatory.  Just matter of fact, like saying that I’m the “female” of the hetero relationship, or the “good looking” one.  Which I wasn’t, as far as that union went.  I have since vowed to never again date another person more attractive than I; I got tired of other women flirting openly with my boyfriend, and even more tired of hearing them scream “My eyes!  You blinded me, you bitch!!” when I got tired of their disregard to my relationship.

But it’s true, I don’t emote very much when I’m romantically involved.  I tell my boyfriends that they’re nice, and I appreciate all the nice little things they do, but I rarely discuss my feelings on the subject.  None of that love crap.  None of that “where are we headed?” or “what are you thinking about?”.  Honestly, I don’t really care what they’re thinking.

And it’s likely that they aren’t thinking about a whole hell of a lot, anyway.

That’s just how I like my men.  Dumb and cute.

Just not cuter than I.

Those Delicious Cheese Buns, Too

Alright, so I don’t hate Campbell Scott’s chin.

In fact, I found his chin to be one of the most interesting aspects of Dying Young.  Not that I found his chin to be particularly interesting, mind you.  That movie was really boring.  I didn’t finish it, but I think it ends with him dying.  Dying young, as it were.

In other news, I’m really excited about my upcoming trip to Red Lobster.  I haven’t been there in years, and I’m looking forward to helping rid the ocean of those pesky shellfish.

Aw yeah, fisherman’s platter.  I’m gonna go look at their website right now.

And Where’s My Pizza?

List of Grievances for today:

1) Bathtub badly clogged.  Will not respond to drano, plunger, boiling water, coat hangers, baking soda mixed with vinegar, or prayers to God/Satan/Santa/Dog.

2) The people behind me in the Price Chopper line up.  Personal space, why do you hate it so?  Feeling your hot breath on my neck wasn’t nearly as sexy as it could have been, but then again, you were ugly.  Both of you.

3) Sleeping With the Enemy.

No wait, that was awesome.  Sure, it was full of stupid things, like the next door neighbour’s curly mullet, the husband taking forever to die after getting shot three times in the chest, the gun only having three bullets, Julia’s mother being way too old to have a child Julia’s age (seriously, the mom was in her seventies, easily), but it was an entertaining two hours nonetheless.

And the awesomest thing is, Sleeping With the Enemy was part of a two piece Julia Roberts crappy movie combo.  I still have Dying Young to watch tonight.  If I remember correctly, that movie was awful.  I think I hate Campbell Scott’s chin.

It’s Not Even My Birthday!

Remember my complaint a few months ago about the state of interpersonal affairs in this grand city?

Like how flirting with strangers seemed to have gone the way of the dinosaur?  The dinosaurs that went extinct, not the birds and tortoises or whatever the hell is still around, I don’t know, I’m not a species investigator whatchamacallum.

Anyway, my aching desire finally came true, in the form of some dumb but cute guy who was hanging out in the corner store.

Interrupted his conversation to call me beautiful, and then proceeded to bug me about whether or not I was old enough to be buying cigarettes.  Nothing crude, nothing threatening, no trying to actually get anywhere, just shooting the shit with the chick who came in to buy herself some cigs.

One small step . . .