Fish Stories

(January 05, 2003)

Oh my sweet lord, do NOT eat tuna at 2am. Unless you want a twisted dream experience of cinematic proportions. I'm talkin' strange. SO strange that strange itself is callin' it weird. Open the window, let some of the strange out! Tuna dreams? I'm thinking so, but it's just so random. I mean, Chinese food dreams are insanity on a stick, but tuna... I've eaten tuna late at night before. It's a lighter-side protein hit food, in my opinion, and I don't remember such tuna-dreaming, yo. Damn, I'm trying to stop saying yo but alas, I cannot. There are so many YO moments. I know, it's way lame, yo. Plus I've picked up "DAAAAAAMN, bitch!" which has completely replaced the simple but harmless "Wow."

But I digress. Maybe it wasn't the tuna but the cumulative effect of an avocado & turkey wrap and Merlot (with the Queens at the Otherside) plus the shot of Raspberry Stoli at TT's later. Shari is the best bartender with her great ideas. "Can I chill it for you?" YEAH baby! Chilled Raspberry Stoli. It rocks hard and easy, like liquid candy. So does Freezepop, by the way, whom I was specifically there to see, cuz I keep missing their shows due to lack of a cloning device. Freezepop got a smoke machine and some new tunes, very cool. Anyone who knows me knows of my Duran Duran fixation, and that means that I am automatically a hopeless fan of Sean T. Drinkwater (the Other and the Original) and his crazy synth-pop sensibilities. But he doesn't know who I am. Which doesn't matter, I'm just sayin'. If, by the way, you like Freezepop, then also check out Lifestyle.

But I digress. After the avocado and turkey and Merlot and Stoli came the tuna, much much later. Okay, I also ate a donut. Hub came over and magically there were donuts. Why are there always donuts when Hub is around? "You seriously want me fat," I accused. He just snickered. I'm not playing with him anymore. The other night he came over and there was bacon, bread, cheese, and butter. I'm serious.

I digressed again. And you will live with it! Because "I have a microphone and you don't, so you will listen to every damn word I have to say!"

One of the fleeting dream sequences was just barely based on a recent reality, only, in true warp-of-the-subconscious fashion, escalated in fervor and intensity. The reality of what happened was simply this: the other night I went to hang out with Don Juanski for a little while. Mistake number 11.5 this week was driving to his crappy ass neighborhood in Allston. Well that's not exactly fair, it's a perfectly fine neighborhood -- COOL, even -- except if you have to park a car in it, then it's Dante's seventh circle of hell. And it was raining. I should have taken the train or a cab. Anyway, after walking from the only parking space in the world, in the rain, I got to his place and took off my shoes, and some dye had run and made a round little dark spot on my left big toe. I know, that's not even interesting, let alone important. The spot washed off my toe with no problem. In my dream I was like, obsessing over the toe spot. The dream was all, "Where did it come from? What could it mean? How come it won't go away?" It was like that Dr. Seuss book with the red spot. What's it called? Where the kids just couldn't get rid of the spot no matter what? Might just be The Cat in the Hat. If anyone knows, please tell me. Anyway, that was one dream thing.

Another was, me and my old college roommate Jen, who I have not seen in ten years, were somehow in this front yard of this house and she was saying, "Now don't get mad...Tony's here and I AM going to see him!" I said, "Fine, you're a grown woman." And in fact, I looked up at the window of the house and there was Tony. He made a face at me and I gave him the finger. Yep, that's about right. Okay, a little background: in college, Jen and me and a bunch of our friends hung out at a couple of different clubs. One was Louie's Caffe. Some of the girls had found it because A)they didn't card and B)they had Ladies' Night on Tuesdays. Tuesdays at Louie's became such a THING that some of us (ahem) actually avoided registering for any Wednesday morning classes. Louie also happened to be Portuguese, and his staff was a mixure of Portuguese or Brazilian boys, and so the place also happened to be the fave hang of much of the New Rochelle Portuguese and Brazilian population. So, oddly, in a college town where my group of friends could have been all that and a bag of chips at the frat houses with Biff and Sparky and Boner and Deek, we instead made great friends with Tony, Alberto, Carlos, Rui, Paulo, Paulo, Paulo, Paulo, and Paulo. Friends, I said. No sex, though Jen and I were pretty sure that all the guys were telling each other that they'd scored with at least some of us. THEY knew the truth, and WE knew the truth, but you know how it is. We were adorable and nineteen, they were hot blooded Lotharios, of COURSE they had to lie.

And then came Tony. Anton.

This guy swept into Jen's life like a tornado of mind games and passion. He had at least one "serious" girlfriend, and would disappear for days sometimes. He had a lot of issues. Jen, a brilliant and beautiful Political Science major with a heart of gold and incredible sense of humor, was hopeless in Tony's presence. She could do nothing but follow her heart after this guy, even knowing full well that madness that way lie. I was like, "What. What is it." He wasn't even all that good-looking, and his personality could use some serious adjustment. He was yanking Jen's chain, and I knew he was, and he knew I knew, and I knew he knew I knew. He'd come around and I'd look at him. "Dun't geev me attitood," he'd say. "This isn't attitude. You wanna see attitude?" I'd say. Then Jen or Alberto (my special little friend, who was also kind of like Tony's Boo Boo) would get between us. But hey, you know, Tony ended up breaking Jen's heart about fifty million times before she said, "Enough," and I guess it was just a process she had to go through.

Okay, so the dream: I looked up at the window of the house and there was Tony. We went inside and she hugged him-- there were a LOT of people around, it was a party of some kind. I looked at Tony. He said "Dun't geev me attitood." I just shook my head and turned away, and walked straight into Alberto. "Beto," I said. That's pronounced bay-toe and is what his mom called him. In the dream he was older and had, inexplicably, really long dreadlocks. He kissed me, and kissed me some more, and if you're a fan of really emotionally intense kissing, you know that there is a point of no return. I DID used to kiss Beto and he was a very satisfying, sensitive kisser. In the dream, his kisses were communicating everything, and I said, "Okay okay okay---definitely waited long enough," and we found an empty room. NOW there was sex. I guess I'm less uber-selective in my dreams than I've always been in real life, because Beto was sweet and nice and cute, but he never got nuthin'...in the dream, he got everything. And so did I, whew...now that's a good dream.

I can't believe I dreamt about Tony and Jen and Beto. Why're THEY back.

Daaaaamn, bitch!