The dream featured two exes whom were both visiting at my parent’s house but unaware of the other’s presence. I was torn between two but determined to give them equal share, all without letting one know about the other. Elaborate escape plans and lies ensued. Sometimes the fit was right, other times the grass was greener. Even as a dream, it was conflicting.

In real life, they never met. One was superficial and fun; he’d pants me when I would pour water over his head and drag me on rollercoaster rides to hear my sailor curses. He lacked depth. The other used to listen to me, and listen so well that to this day, he knows me better than ninety-percent of my friends. He lacked common goals. Both relationships were one-faceted which is why they ended.

When I woke up, I retained the conflicting feelings of delight at their appearance and anxiety from the secrets and hidden agendas. But something else, too. Maybe embarrassment that my thoughts had drifted toward them, that maybe they would know that my subconscious requested a cameo.

It’s been months since I thought about either during daylight hours. But there they were, in my head, when I was asleep and vulnerable. My dreams are usually forgotten or nonexistent; I wonder why I chose to remember this one.


Tried salsa dancing last night. Was not too successful. The rhythm was relatively easy to conquer compared to my lifelong struggle to decipher my right from my left. I had no clue as to which foot went where when. I’ve always been that way; always needing that extra half second to figure out which way is which. When I had troubles at yoga, my worse-case scenario was facing the opposite way as the rest of the class. With salsa dancing, toes were potentially broken. Those poor bastards, maybe next time I won’t wear heels.

At least the guys weren’t overly interested in learning the steps. The extra tequila might have had something to do with that. The tequila also could have something to do with why Spin the Bottle Truth or Dare seemed like a fun bar game and why I came home wearing a different shirt than the one I left wearing. But then, I don’t drink tequila* so I am going to blame disorientation from right-left overload.

*Yes, sometimes, I do drink tequila, there’s nothing like margaritas in the summer. But I can’t do shots of it … or I guess I choose to refrain from shots of it. It’s kind of the devil.

If I am looking to buy a house and recently just halved my income, now would be the perfect time to purchase airfare to Greece, no?

I wasn’t going to discuss Lent; somewhat detracts from the sacrificial aspect if one wants attention and sympathy points. But what the hell, I am Catholic. I will feel guilty about this post and all will be forgiven.

My sacrifice for the forty days originally started as a relinquishment of desserts –even though I am not a huge dessert person, save for my occasional ice cream –because a little weight loss is a nice side-benefit when being noble. But a sacrifice with ulterior motives is probably more for me than for Jesus.

And then I thought, hey, maybe I should find something a little, you know, difficult. (Profound, no?) Something of which I don’t have the best control. Like my occasional drunken/social cigarette. But again, saving myself from lung cancer, probably more for me than Jesus.

Over AIM, my favorite college roommate and I were discussing this dilemma and she challenged me to give up shopping (which I am supposed to be doing with my New Year’s Resolutions anyway). And even though the shopping by her apartment in Chicago is MUCH superior to that in Minneapolis, she thought I would have a much harder time with it. (Probably true.) And Jesus, I am pretty sure, doesn’t necessarily support my excessive consumption habits. Dilemma: solved.

With my Lent goals selected, I was content until The Kid’s roommate Sweets conveyed that he had no faith that I could refrain from wine for forty days. Wine is very tasty. But I do like proving people wrong and although I am not so sure Jesus would necessarily approve – him with that whole turning water bit – so I gave the stipulation that I would give up wine if he gave up pot. When one of us cheats, the other is off the hook. I told him he’d last a week. He said that estimate was generous. On this one, I refuse to cave. Besides, my impending alcoholism always has beer and booze to fall back on.

I usually start very strong with my Lent affirmations but bargain and barter near the end. Although there’s not much wiggle room with these, I always tend to justify a loophole. I’ll let you know when I find one.

Before our Christmas shopping, The Sister and I will brunch –yes, as a verb, watch out, next I will be using summer to describe action –because daytime drinking is acceptable at brunch (yes, that time as a noun). And we need daytime drinking before dealing with the weekend crowds at the mall just a few weekends before Christmas.

My love of Bloody Marys is somewhat fair-weathered (oo, improper metaphor = negative three points.  Gimme a break, it’s the last day of NaBloPoMo.), depending on my mood. But when I am craving one, I need one. At that instant. Preferably spicy and equipped with a veritable mix of nourishment pierced to a toothpick.

Olives, pickles, cubes of cheese (I did go to school in ‘Sconnie), shrimp (whoo) –these tasty little treats are so diverse! A drink and a snack all in one. Although the selection differs, one thing remains constant.

The most important part of a Bloody Mary is … the beer chaser.

Which apparently is a Midwestern thing?

Does the rest of the country not understand the wonder that is 3oz of beer to accompany a Bloody Mary?

I usually abandon the Bloody after half a glass to fully concentrate on the beer. And yes, 3oz refills are available. Especially if one were prone to winking at the bartender.  (Which is not me –totally not something I would do.  Nope, definitely not me.  But other people — I have seen other people do it.  Because I would not find it to be a game and amusing in the least.  No siree.)

But then I worry that preferring a breakfast of beer as opposed to healthful tomato juice makes me an alcoholic.  It’s considered bad form – like ordering a mimosa without the orange juice. Which, dahling, just isn’t done. At least not to those of us who use brunch as a verb.

Oh ha hah aha. Oh, that was funny.

Wait. What was funny.

I don’t remember.

Was something funny? Why is no one laughing anymore? Was I the only one laughing? Something was probably funny. Because I was laughing. Was I laughing? Was I laughing out loud or in my head? Probably out loud, that’s how a person laughs … right?

Where is the laughing? Weren’t we all having a good time before? Why is no one talking to me. Maybe I will whisper to my friend and ask what is going on, he wouldn’t lie to me … but he is having a conversation. I do not want to interrupt. I wonder what they are talking about. They seem interested. Maybe I should seem interested. Nodding indicates interested, right? Maybe I will nod. How long have I been nodding? I bet I look like an idiot who nods for like, twelve minutes at a time. Have I been doing that? Should I ask?

No. I should keep dumb questions to a minimum. Definitely no asking about the length of my nodding. Besides, maybe I was bopping my head to the beat of the music, they don’t know I was nodding. Sure. I am totally into this music. What music is this, I wonder? Pink Floyd maybe? Totally head-bopping music.

I wish I knew what the conversation that is happening two feet away from me is about. I could ask, but I don’t want to interrupt. Would that be a dumb question? Yes. Because that would be rude because they would think I was not paying attention. I will pretend to be paying attention, and hopefully, no one will realize that I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IS GOING ON.

No one is making eye contact with me.

Why would no one be looking at me?

They probably all hate me.

Ok, that’s ridiculous, why would they be mad at me. We are friends.

Probably because I said something dumb. Or mean. I was probably mean to someone and now they don’t know how to tell me that they don’t like me because I am mean. So they are just avoiding me.

Ok, I am too high to think mean thoughts, stoners are not mean people, and really, what’s the worst thing I could have said.

[Insert some random mean thought about one of present people.]

Ha! See, I had to think of a mean thought, which means I obviously did not say it out loud. And I totally don’t even believe that mean thought. Unless I did say it out loud, on accident, I have no idea.

Dude, why would I remember it if I didn’t say it? Plus, no one is looking at me. Still. They are so mad at me.

Maybe I will whisper an apology just in case. But just a whisper, I don’t want to interrupt their conversation, it seems important. But a whispered apology? One no one hears? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?

Ok, this is probably all in my head. Quick review. What has happened? I only remember saying something mean and laughing. And nodding. Wow, I am a horrible person. Who says mean things and then laughs? And nods to confirm it?

Shit, I don’t remember a minute ago. I wonder if anything happened a minute ago. Probably. Stuff happens in minutes … right? Isn’t that like, what minutes are for?  They are probably talking about me right now; I wish I could pay attention to their conversation. Didn’t I already ask what they were talking about? They might get annoyed if I ask again. Especially if they are still talking about the same thing. I should have remembered to pay attention to their answer when I asked before. Did I ask before? Of course I did. But that had to be what, like, fourteen minutes ago, at least, right? They are probably on another topic. But wasn’t this song still playing? All this music sounds the same.

Did the music just get louder?

They probably turned it up so I would not hear how mad they are at me.

*Alternatively titled: Why I Stopped Smoking Pot

In an effort to cease my [He Who Shall Not Be Named]* ramblings, this week I will be writing about other boys.  Cute Boys.  Some of them that have meant something to me, some that I only met for an evening.  Internet, are you excited yet? 

Yeah, I don’t know if I would be either — the stories won’t be too interesting, my life has not been too exciting.  But hell, it’s maybe therapeutic?  For me.  Not you.  You don’t get a vote on this one.

And why boys?  Why not some other distraction?  Maybe a sudden revealing about my love of … cooking? knitting? 

Because I’m really just a one-trick pony.  I don’t do … hobbies.  I’m not what one would call … multifaceted.

But I really like boys.  Especially when they smell good and are tall.

*Ooooo, pop-culture reference.  three points.  don’t expect those too often.

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