What a weird effing dream

I just woke up from a dream where I was working in a record store that was on a school's campus with Tara, who is an online friend. We were getting a visit from some people who were some kind of accreditation types. One looked like Pierce Brosnan and the other like Tina Fey. The Tina Fey look a like was a bitch, quizzing students about classes left and right in the music shop. While she looked around, some other of my co-workers would pass by, including a dude who looked like Jax from Mortal Kombat II, but no cybernetic arms. 

Tina Fey chick started asking me about Against Me! lyrics, and I was utterly confused. 

I asked her what the hell she was talking about, and she said she wanted to hear them. I was stoked, so I ran over to one of the registers and got open a copy of As The Eternal Cowboy. Tara and I started rocking it as students would come and go, including two Asian dudes dressed as Romans (I had assumed it was Greek Week) and two Hispanic chicks who looked lost and scared. 

And here is where it gets weird: my dream cuts to a side shot of some reptilian-humanoid shouting shit like "Earth! We have come and we will win. (Whatever he called his people)! Do not worry about your landings (I got a vision of a ship landing) or your mannings (an image of a transformation from lion-esque to humanoid)! Tear all the creatures apart! (Back to the side shot of the leader) From the bears (a black and white, very stylized image of a creature taking a chunk out of a bear's shoulder) to the humans (The Jax-looking dude getting backhanded). Do not let anyone live, for we shall conquer!"

Now, he was reptilian, but it looked as if most of his muscles on his face were exposed, having a few patches of scales on his cheeks that would slide back so he could open his mouth wider. Looked similar to the scaly dude from The Last Starfighter, but a bit darker and the entire exposed muscles thing.  

Having pulled a shotgun from underneath the counter, I was ready to kill the creature that attacked pseudo-Jax, but the dude grabbed the creature's head and smashed it into the counter. He said something like "If destroying the brain works for zombies, it'll work for these fucks." Pierce Brosnan dude, who just kind of smiled at how much of a bitch Tina Fey was the entire time took off his coat to show that he had several guns on him. He and Fey informed us that they had an idea that these schmucks would be landing around the school, and that it was saturated with special agents. 

Then I woke up to my phone, and my immediate need to pee. Bust. 

There's no need to pretend

Hector gave me the following to write a story in ten minutes:

Three names: Lucy, Jane, Steve. Location: Golden Gate Bridge. Sitch: Taxi gets held up.

I came up with this: 

"Taxi!”

Steve pulls up to the curb. “Chicks are hot” he thought. “Where to?”

“Oakland.” Steves knows which one is the butch.

“You sure you don’t want to wait? The bridge is going to be pure shit right now.”

“Is this because we’re queer?!” Her voice was piercing.

“No, ma’am, you can put your clit against as many clits as you want. This is because the bridge is going to be pure shit.”

“It’s OK, Jane and I will find a way to pass the time.” The femme’s voice is far more tolerable. They clamor into the cab and Steve pulls away. He’s been driving long enough to know when to make small talk, and when to warn about the fees associated with bodily fluids. This was the latter.

“Any clean-ups cost extra!”
“Then I better not get Lucy too worked up, she’s a squirter.”
“Well, good for Lucy, but bad for my upholstery.”

Ten minutes went by of sloppy lips and the stale scent of fruity wine coolers from the back seat and Steve barely noticed. He had the Da Vinci Code on.

At the last light before the bridge, he notices a scraper pull up. If you aren’t familiar with a scraper, it’s what happens when you put 23” tires in a wheel well made for 17” tires. Usually on a land yacht and usually blaring some kind of rap about weed. Next, Steve notices the gun tapping on his back window. “Heh.”

The girls scream, Steve tries not to be too ecstatic that the girls are getting held up and not him. Jane, the butch, gives him a purse. The kid in a black hoodie jumps back in the scraper and they take off towards the bridge.

“I will give you $200 bucks if you catch up with him.”
“With what wallet?”
Jane pulls a wallet out of her back pocket. She’s totally the butch.

Steve drives towards the bridge in no big rush.
“Hurry the fuck up, why are you going so slow?!”
“The bridge is going to be pure shit.”

And with that, Steve pulls up next to the scraper, which was now sitting in a quarter mile of stopped cars. He sees Jane pop out of the back seat, run up to the scraper, which, of course has the windows down, blaring weed-rap, and unleashes with her entire bottle of pepper spray.

She sits back in the car, with Lucy’s purse and an extra gun.

“You’re right, the bridge is pure shit.”

You motherfucks.

Tonight's big news in California is that our state legislature can not agree to a state budget. With the budget one Republican vote shy of the votes needed to pass. All because they don't want ANY tax increases on a state that makes more money than dozens of countries. As they can not pull their heads out of their collective asses, TENS OF THOUSANDS of people are going to get notices that they will more than likely be laid off. I will pay an extra cent on the dollar for sales and 12 cents on the gallon of gas for TENS OF THOUSANDS of my fellow Californians to keep their jobs. 

I make $16 an hour. That ain't shit. Even with me stressing paying to fix my car so it doesn't overheat and upcoming dental bills, I will do that, because it will cost us so much more money we don't have NOT to do it. Republicans currently have a persecution complex because the Republican Party has never even come close to the coolness factor that the Democrats have. Obama gets a painting that says "Hope." from the dude who does OBEY GIANT, and Bush gets "Not My President" from Fat Wreck Chords. 

They lost and they lost hard, and now, taking a cue from the Democrats party icon, are being as stubborn as a mule. Whether it's the Congressional Republicans in Washington or the state yuppies representing Irvine, Republicans today are fighting what they may or may not believe to be the good fight. Crips vs. Bloods, Republicans vs. Democrats, it's all gang fights over turf and street cred. Instead of a stray bullet taking out a five year old, however, when we ge caught in the cross fire. lives are RUINED. Ten thousand layoffs equals ten thousand foreclosed homes, ten thousand repossessed homes and ten thousand more people on our already bucking unemployment system. 

With the economy reeling all across the country, this is not the kind of shit simply can't be allowed. NO TAXES is not an acceptable stance in the world of compromise and doing what's best for as many people as possible. While I understand that wanton spending will do us as much harm as spending nothing, this weird level of stinginess needs to knock it off.  Republicans: knock it off. 

My words splinter upon contact

Ugh, after my last teen-angsty post, I need a more lively one, yea? Well, here goes. 

I have an inexplicable love of lemon scent. I mean, don't get me wrong, lemonade is delish, but lemon candles, lemon candy, even lemon soap all smell goddamn amazing. I even made the mistake of assuming the Burt's Bees lemon-scented cuticle cream would taste exactly as it smelled. This was not the case. While smelling like a citrus nirvana, it tasted like earwax and drywall. Not the sharpest move on my part, but then again, I have not been known for my smooth moves and grand decision making skills. 

I also really love the smell and taste of fake banana flavoring, but absolutely hate real bananas. There is a combination of texture and taste that don't seem natural nor harmonious. Instead, I feel like maybe that's what an albino's crap looks like. Ignorant, I know, but that is a theory I held until at least fourth grade. 

I think fourth grade is the one I remember least. Kindergarten I remember a few things: my introduction to nachos, paper mache planets, and the goddamned luau. Some song about a hookie-lau or some shit. First grade was Mrs. Lemoine's class. I remember for a show and tell, one of the girls brought a huge effing snake. Also, this is when a young puppy followed Jay and I to school, where I just told people he was my dog. My teacher told me to take him home, which now-a-days would just scream "KIDNAP ME!!" But, in Redlands in 1987, I was safe as could be. Took the dog to my mom, and somehow she named it Kima. Stupid name. Then again, Kima was a stupid dog. 

Second grade was when I first started getting into writing. Chocolate ice cream raining from the sky, a giant war-turtle with missiles in his shell and of course, the story with "the bastard rhinos." See, I once stayed home sick and watched Days of Our Lives with my mom. Marlena called Stefano a bastard, I asked my mom what that meant. She told me it meant "very bad man," so of course, I used it in a story in which I read out loud to my classmates. This did not go well.

Third grade I was in a class with both third and fourth graders. I remember making a model of the San Juan Capistrano mission out of sugarcubes. I also remember eating a bell tower, glue and all. Fourth grade was a ripoff. All I remember is that instead of being 3rd and 4th grade, it became 4th and 5th. I also remember Casey Curry ratting me out after I threw a stink bomb because he's a narc.

Fifth grade started me at Kingsbury Elementary instead of McKinley. Both had a bear as a mascot, but Kinsgbury was a year-round school. I thought one of the schedules, "D-track," had the best set of times off, but as I was a "gifted" student, I was put on B-track. Rip. However, we did have no shortage of cute girls in my class. There was the twins, Amy and Amanda Lopez. Amy was cute, her sister... not so much. Jen Dahlin was cute, too, but far more upscale than I ever would be. Sixth grade found me reading and being generally anti-social. I did, however, make a lucrative business out of the comic book market. If you bought the entire collection, you could sell it for more in pieces. Nice. I suppose sixth grade is where I learned all I needed to about economics.