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I swear. True story.Happy Birthday, Mom
Posted on November 21, 2011I called my mother to wish her a happy birthday. I’m pretty sure she didn’t know who I was. She did sound happy and she did say repeatedly that she loved me, but I still don’t think she knew who I was.
It doesn’t matter. I called. She had a slightly less miserable moment in her life that has been mostly not great. Now she doesn’t remember. It’d be nice to be able to control whether someone remembered happy things or horrifying things. If I could, I’d give that gift to my mother, who unfortunately wouldn’t remember that she had the power. I would have given her that power years ago, before she got really bad, when she could still take care of herself. Surely, she would have chosen to not remember quite a lot. I would.
But I can’t control anything. I can call my mother and make myself feel better than I had if I didn’t call her. That’s it. There is absolutely nothing I can do. Happy birthday, Mom.
I swear. True story.
February 16, 1992: A Diary Entry
Posted on November 16, 20118:59P.M.
We had a nice time. I cooked stuffed shells and we also had French bread and salad. I made a cheesecake but forgot to give any to Henry. I just had some, however, and it was quite good. I wasn’t uncomfortable at all, it felt really nice. He finally brought me my t-shirt – I’m a true fan now. After we ate, we had sex, and then we cuddled. It was nice and romantic. His-uh-well, it wasn’t my imagination, it does go the wrong way. But who cares, it doesn’t matter to me. It still works. And the rest of him has its merits too. I asked him what purpose I serve for him. He said, “You keep me sane.” Oh god, where have I heard that before? That’s just what I need. Or actually not what I need ’cause I probably don’t need it but I want it. So I asked what he likes about me. He likes the way I think – that I’m so open minded. And he likes it when I touch him. I wanted to hear about my looks so I asked if he thought I was a dog. He told me not to be stupid but sill didn’t give me any compliments though I did like the other ones. Oh, and he told me that Blanca told him that Bill was scared at first too. He’s afraid of missing out on his friends. But I don’t think I ever let on that I wanted to monopolize his time and I said as much. I told him I’d like to go out more and it doesn’t necessarily have to cost money. why is it that I always to tell the person I’m having sex with that I love them? Oh well he called to say good night and I asked what he meant about the sane thing. I make him feel comfortable; he can be himself around me. That’s so wonderful. He does need me. I forgot to ask him to call me his little girl. I love his voice and his face. He looks so cute when he smiles.
Dream Journal: 7/18/11
Posted on November 15, 2011Camping with my mother. Things keep going wrong. She wants to do stuff that she/we can’t. I fall and my sunglasses break. I’m mad and frustrated because she won’t/can’t understand/listen.
Trying to do laundry at the campground but all the dryers are taken. I call the women who’ve jumped ahead in the laundry line cunts. They freak out over a word. I grab my stuff and leave. By that time my other family has shown – Dad, [Step-Mother], [Step-Sister], her kids, etc. Everyone being friendly. I get to my car/truck at the campsite and there are children in/on it. A woman who’s not watching her kids because she’s busy chatting is close by but doesn’t stop her kids from getting on my car and going through my stuff. She says that’s their site now. I say I’m going to move my car. I see that the brats have gotten into my stuff and eaten my candy. I see the kids with wads of my candy in their mouths. The mom still does nothing. I yell at the kids to stay the fuck away from me. One with a mouthful of candy stares at me slack jawed when I tell her to fuck off. The mom still does nothing, thinking it’s no big deal.
Dream Journal: 6/1/11
Posted on October 19, 2011I’m mad at my mother for moving me to Chicago where I have no friends or job prospects. She’s smug. Peggy is there and offers me a job on one of the Weenie Wagons. It’s raining but warm. All doors are open. Lawn sprinklers on timer so they’re going even though lawn is soaked. Sprinkler’s broken. I keep thinking how sorry I am for having had sex with my mother. I call her a horrible person which finally angers her. She turns into a rabbit which I easily trap under a laundry basket. The whole time I have a horrible feeling that my life sucks. I reach under the laundry basket. My mother’s fingers come out but she’s still a bunny. The bunny bites me and I slam it into the wall. Outside the back door are a bunch of bugs. I see my mom with Ruth which means the bunny wasn’t her. Ruth is proud to show off that my mother now has scales and her back end is a biting reptile. I keep thinking how truly horrible my life is and then it dawns on me that it might be a bad dream. I tell myself to wake up. I do.
My Fucking Fault
Posted on September 09, 2011I chose to get married on September 9, 1999 – 9/9/99. It was an easy date to remember. I even went so far as to get the date engraved in the inside of our wedding bands along with some stupid Latin phrase that meant something at the time but which I have no interest in recalling.
We had been broken up for a while when he told me he had thrown his wedding ring over the side of the Golden Gate Bridge. Just like a dramatic bitch. It wasn’t until later, when he and his girlfriend were living with me, that something fell out of the pocket of his dirty pants and I found that ring that had supposedly been committed to suicide like so many others off the Bridge. What a dramatic bitch.
September 9, 1999 happened to be a Thursday. I had informed my family I was getting married that day via wedding invitation; I’d not bothered to send them “save the date cards.” His mother didn’t show up; my mother pissed me off.
It wasn’t until later that my step-mother told me that my choice to get married on a weekday had been a hardship for her and her husband, my father. My wedding, which took place at absolutely no cost to anyone but us was a hardship to her?! They didn’t have to go, except that my step-mother cared very much for how things were supposed to be. Yeah, my step-mother’s a cunt.
It’s my fucking fault that the date’s so fucking easy to remember since I’m the one who chose it.
I think I still have my wedding ring; it has diamonds in it. I don’t know or care if he still has his ring, if he finally threw it off a bridge, or if he shoved it up his ass.
I’m so glad I’m not married. Marriage ruined that relationship and has, I’m sure, ruined countless others.
I swear. True story.
It Seemed Promising (Part 4)
Posted on August 16, 2011[Continued from "It Seemed Promising (Part 3)."]
He was not only manhandling me, someone who had consented to it, but he was being mean to his dogs. He argued that taking them out every 12 hours was sufficient. I’ve seen a dog after an 8-hour day of being inside really, really need to go to the bathroom; 12 hours was ridiculous unless they were dehydrated. I told him that unless he took his dogs out I was leaving.
He was incredulous. I wasn’t kidding. Even if a guy is slapping me around I have to know he’s a nice guy. I think he thought I’d change my mind. I did not. I’m stubborn.
Then, as if it was his idea, he told me to get the fuck out. He told me he’d give me $50 for a cab. Stupidly, I refused his money and asked that he just point me in a direction where I’d be able to catch a cab easily. I was used to San Francisco, where it can be very difficult to catch a cab in most parts of town; Chicago has plenty of cabs.
I might have been crying at that point. The plight of his dogs – especially the old one – had gotten to me. There’s a reason I don’t have fun outings to animal shelters, or any outings at all to animal shelters.
I was able to get a cab right in front of his building. No, he didn’t bother making sure. I told the cab driver my address and began to sob. The cab driver kept wanting to know if I was ok. In that horrible, high-pitched crying voice that all women have, I tried to assure him that I was find.
I texted the Viking that I was on my way home and not in the best shape. By the time the cab pulled up in front of our building the Viking was outside with Isis waiting for me.
The cab driver told me I didn’t have to pay. I said I wanted to pay but that I only had $4. I gave him the $4 but had forgotten about my emergency $20. My emergency $20 is in secret spot and with me at all times. The Viking made me begin carrying it when I started meeting people in Chicago if I got into situations just like the one I was in – having to take a cab to get home and away from an asshole.
Ladies, if you want to get out of paying your cab driver, might I suggest crying like a little girl. That was not a serious suggestion. Actually, I wish I had gotten the cabbie’s name so I could pay him properly and tip him accordingly.
The Viking took me inside and listened to my version of the story through my sobs. He’s comforted me a few times when I’ve been a crying mess, and he’s always been perfect with a hand gently rubbing my back and a soothing voice.
I felt especially bad that my date had gone so poorly because his date went well. At the time that was all I could hear, that his date went well. I was happy for him, but at the moment I was really busy feeling sorry for myself.
The next day I felt like an idiot. But also glad that I had left when I did because who knows what could have happened with a guy who had so much trouble turning off his “dom.”
I checked my OkCupid messages and had not one, but two from him. The first:
Look. I won’t have someone tell me I abuse my animals. You might have a different opinion how I treat them, but I won’t have someone tell me I abuse my animals. I take care if take care of my pets. Fuck you and anyone else if they think I dhttp://www.okcupid.com/messages?readmsg=true&threadid=12555606849807570162&folder=1#sendon’t take care of my own. I do my own.
That URL in the middle there was to our OkCupid message exchange; I have no idea why it’s there other than that he was definitely drunk when he sent it, about 20 minutes after I left his place. Clearly I had hit a nerve. If anyone accused me of abusing my pets, I would laugh because I know I don’t, whereas this guy got defensive, kicked what was sure to be a great lay out of his house, and then sent this message. Sadly, I fear his dogs got the worst end of the deal since in his mind he probably felt like they cock-blocked him.
The second message, sent a full hour later, “Congrats on you being a lawyer. It means very little to me.” I don’t know why he thought of that after stewing in his juices for an hour. By that time I wasn’t thinking about him, I was sleeping.
The only reason I thought about him at all was so I could write this. And now I’m done. Good riddance.
The woman I was supposed to meet ended up having to babysit her over-drunk friend. We both had kind of shitty nights. We’re supposed to meet eventually.
I swear. True story.
Dream Journal: 4/15/11
Posted on June 15, 2011Horror movie starring John Hamm as a former (?) torturer. Flashbacks show him forcing a bound man to eat human entrails. When the guy refuses, he uses hand lotion to lube it up to force the “food” down the guy’s throat. All this we learn as he calmly tells the attractive female cop who’s investigating similar crimes. JH smiles charmingly and says he’s not so barbaric any longer and doesn’t make anyone eat things like that.
“What do you make people eat?”
“Shit from my ass mostly,” he says with a smile.
He’s in police station with his friend (Olivia D’Abo but she’d be too old for the part) who has come in as a witness. She’s being questioned by someone else. She needed JH to go with her for moral support.
Cop – and the viewers – don’t know why they’re friends but she thinks he’s just a nice guy.
The shit eaters are his clients – they pay to have him force them to eat his shit.
__________
[At least second time I've had this power in dream and second time this "bad guy" in it.]
A supernatural guy who looks kind of bikerish shows up and kills people in brutal ways.
I can “see” it happen and go to the scene and get away by flying/levitating. He can’t catch me.
I float and fly over buildings, under electric wires. I go up and down the streets of San Francisco being proud that I know how to get around and where I am even if I don’t know the names of the streets.
The bad guy has a whole gang of baddies and they’re having fun giving some guy a beating. This may be what is later being investigated by the cop talking to JH.
__________
I’m falling asleep on a couch when someone begins going down on me. It feels so good but I don’t know who it is. I think it might be my step-sister and I let the person go on. But when I think it may be my father I wake up and make the person stop.
Cozy multi-level apartment with small but well-appointed kitchen. Talking to someone as I put bread away into reusable bread bag. I can travel through space and time to show up to watch the bad guy.
