Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Deli Dream
So at the end of my last entry I claimed that I might actually have something of substance to write about later...apparently I was wrong. Instead, I'm gonna write about a dream I had last night (Keep it in your pants not that kind of dream).
I dreamt that I was at a deli getting a sandwich. Little salami, some cheese, thin layer of mustard...when this beautiful woman taps me on the shoulder. I turn with the bag o' sandwich in my hand and she says to me, "You never called me." Now I have no idea who this girl is, but she's looking at me like she really fucking wanted me to call her so I play along and start calculating my chances. I first realize...this shit never happens to me. Secondly I realize, if this shit were to happen to me something completely obscure would surely happen that would ruin any chance I ever had with her, and thirdly I realize...I can't talk. Not stuttering and stammering, nervous bullshit, I mean I physically can't talk. All I can do is take big gulps of air so that it sounds like I'm having a damn asthma attack. She gives me a weird look and then looks back at her friend who looks just like her except she had brown hair where my mystery girl had blonde (mundane detail, I know, but if you think about it life is just a series of mundane details put together to mean...nothing, but I digress). Blondie asks me if I lost her number and I nod, "yes" like an asshole. She then asks me if I want her to write it down for me and, once again, I give the nod. She takes my sandwich bag and turns to pick up the pen that miraculously appears on the table behind her, only to find that the pen is connected to the table by one of those chains like at the banks...perfect. Now remember I can't talk, and I want to tell her to just put the sandwich bag on the table to write her number on it so that the pen will reach, but I can't. So this intellectual Aphrodite keeps pulling on the chain in an attempt to make it stretch to reach the sandwich bag in her hand. (Now in retrospect I suppose I could have taken the bag from her and showed her how to put it on the table but let's analyze the situation: I've suddenly been struck dumb, I've got this gorgeous girl attempting to give me her number, and she's jarring her torso left and right so that...things... are bouncing everywhere. No matter how much I would have wanted that number I was in a fucking trance...plus it's a dream so stop analyzing it so much you freudian fuck). Finally, after what seems ages of gyrations...she miraculously gets the pen to stretch and writes her number. Looking up she gives me a little smile, her eyes are an emerald shade of green, the skies open, the ground shakes, birds in the distance seem to be chirping Mozart. Then as she reaches to hand me back the bag with this holy grail of phone numbers on it...I wake up. I know, anticlimactic as hell. Upon awakening, though, I quickly discovered that I had regained my voice as I screamed "Fuuuuuuck!" into my pillow. I suppose that was a testament to my intellect...after being struck dumb I announce to the world that I have regained the gift of oration by screaming the most versatile word in the English language into my pillow. Through all the frustration, though, my degree in psychology stuck it's nasty little head out and I realized the sad, sad truth about what the meaning of my dream was. In the deli of life I can stand there an hold my salami, but I can't talk to girls (let alone get their number)...se la vie.
Much Love,
Bo
I dreamt that I was at a deli getting a sandwich. Little salami, some cheese, thin layer of mustard...when this beautiful woman taps me on the shoulder. I turn with the bag o' sandwich in my hand and she says to me, "You never called me." Now I have no idea who this girl is, but she's looking at me like she really fucking wanted me to call her so I play along and start calculating my chances. I first realize...this shit never happens to me. Secondly I realize, if this shit were to happen to me something completely obscure would surely happen that would ruin any chance I ever had with her, and thirdly I realize...I can't talk. Not stuttering and stammering, nervous bullshit, I mean I physically can't talk. All I can do is take big gulps of air so that it sounds like I'm having a damn asthma attack. She gives me a weird look and then looks back at her friend who looks just like her except she had brown hair where my mystery girl had blonde (mundane detail, I know, but if you think about it life is just a series of mundane details put together to mean...nothing, but I digress). Blondie asks me if I lost her number and I nod, "yes" like an asshole. She then asks me if I want her to write it down for me and, once again, I give the nod. She takes my sandwich bag and turns to pick up the pen that miraculously appears on the table behind her, only to find that the pen is connected to the table by one of those chains like at the banks...perfect. Now remember I can't talk, and I want to tell her to just put the sandwich bag on the table to write her number on it so that the pen will reach, but I can't. So this intellectual Aphrodite keeps pulling on the chain in an attempt to make it stretch to reach the sandwich bag in her hand. (Now in retrospect I suppose I could have taken the bag from her and showed her how to put it on the table but let's analyze the situation: I've suddenly been struck dumb, I've got this gorgeous girl attempting to give me her number, and she's jarring her torso left and right so that...things... are bouncing everywhere. No matter how much I would have wanted that number I was in a fucking trance...plus it's a dream so stop analyzing it so much you freudian fuck). Finally, after what seems ages of gyrations...she miraculously gets the pen to stretch and writes her number. Looking up she gives me a little smile, her eyes are an emerald shade of green, the skies open, the ground shakes, birds in the distance seem to be chirping Mozart. Then as she reaches to hand me back the bag with this holy grail of phone numbers on it...I wake up. I know, anticlimactic as hell. Upon awakening, though, I quickly discovered that I had regained my voice as I screamed "Fuuuuuuck!" into my pillow. I suppose that was a testament to my intellect...after being struck dumb I announce to the world that I have regained the gift of oration by screaming the most versatile word in the English language into my pillow. Through all the frustration, though, my degree in psychology stuck it's nasty little head out and I realized the sad, sad truth about what the meaning of my dream was. In the deli of life I can stand there an hold my salami, but I can't talk to girls (let alone get their number)...se la vie.
Much Love,
Bo
