Dream Ramblings

[Originally written on 1.19.06]

Memories are plaguing me tonight.  As I sit here watching the Sopranos, drinking whiskey after having smoked a bowl, someone sleeps nearby and the scene brings this mind to an apartment in E-town four years ago.  The familiarity of the situation does not cease to amuse me, as does the fact that I left that asshole for what I thought was a better one and still find myself right where I was before.

The chaotic sequences of my dreams the past few days have surely been influenced by my choice of stimulus during waking hours, as the subconscious tends to pick up on that sort of thing while also manifesting fears and desires.  Here are the things that I can remember.

Last Nite: Swing music filled the air as bodies twirled around a dance floor.  Decked out in vintage attire suitable for a Hollywood film, I was in Jon’s arms and he looked just as stunning, his face unchanged by year of drug and alcohol abuse.  We danced closer than anyone else despite the upbeat tempo that continued to swell, our passionate one-on-one conversation secluded from the rest of the world.  Removed from prying eyes, we were engaged in passionate kissing, and when there was a small break between them, he inquired what I would like to do.  Upon replying, I suggested it was something not subject for public display. Then I woke up.

The Nite Before:  The Garden State was under an alien attack, War of the Worlds style with people screaming in every direction.  The neighborhood is already in run and Jon comes strolling through the rubble like a postapocalyptic warrior, shouting orders into a crackling radio before hoisting me to my feet.  Walking along the desolate Parkway, the sound of incoming fire had us on edge though he encouraged me to keep going, insisting that we had to get out of Jersey and it needed to be soon.  Adrenaline and fear kept the heart racing at a fast pace as shelter was sought, and everyone has the collective thought of I’m going to die.  At some point we emerged from our safe hiding places, and all seemed calm until some sort of craft fell out of the sky and the screaming started all over again.  Kind of glad I woke up from that one before getting stuck in it.

The Nite Before That:  On carnival grounds, wearing high heels and dressed to kill, I am excited to be seeing the Family.  The entire Outlaw Cirkus crew was gathered and seated in rows of wooden folding chairs.  Smiling faces and warm hands greeted me, as it had been a while since we saw each other yet everyone was engaged in conversation as though no time had passed.  Austin and Aaron were up front, the two of them placing a kiss on both cheeks and complimenting my appearance.  We then sat down for a variety show, though there are suddenly other people around us who are making rude comments, so the three of us decide to leave.  Unfortunately that is where I lost the dream.

For some reason that least dream brings up memories of the time I spent hanging with Jerry.  Often I spent the evenings after work sitting in his bunk and just listening to his stories.  At his point it doesn’t even matter if they were true or not, due to the fact I appreciated that he made the effort to tell them at all.  While he talked to the other workers and whatnot, I like to feel that we a different kind of connection.  Right now I miss sitting in his room, smoking a joint and watching movies.

One night while at the spot in Frederick, Jerry hatched an idea.  The bunk house was set against a hill, and there was a pair of mattresses stored in the back.  Well he suggested we take them and  prop them up on the hill, thus creating a couch.  While someone tried to discredit his idea, the rest of us set to work pulling out the mattresses and placing them as suggested.  It actually turned out well even though trying to cram everyone onto this makeshift couch was a whole other feat.  Anyway, this had been done for optimum viewing pleasure of the selected film of the evening, as Jerry had a t.v. and DVD player that he was kind enough to share with everyone so long as someone provided a movie.

That night it happened to be Swing Kids, which I purchased earlier that week at Wal*Mart out of curiosity.  The bio had piqued my curiosity: based on a true story about the rebellious youth of Nazi-Germany that just wanted to enjoy swing music, the bonds of friendship between four young men are tested when one of them two of them are recruited into the Hitler youth.  This helpful article has much more information about the whole movement, which I have found quite interesting as far as historical gangs go.  Watched it again last night on account I was just in the mood to and perhaps wanted to fill my head with swing music in the hopes of having more dreams.

For some reason I have been looking forward to going up to Clifton, perhaps excited at the prospect of getting over the awkwardness of going out by myself.  Though I had invited Jon, there was some work he had to do on the Mercury, otherwise he would have been more than happy to accompany me.  He did send me some spending cash, which really wasn’t necessary but that’s just how he is, so I sent him a mushy thank-you note in return.

Drinking the last of this whiskey and then going to step out for another smoke so I can be off to bed and get an early start tomorrow.  In two more weeks I will be moving out of here and I can’t wait.  It’s time to replace old negative memories with new positive ones, and it will be much easier when a certain someone is out of sight and out of mind.  However, I need to take care of a few things first and will begin taking care of that business in the morning.

Post Carnival Withdraw

[Originally written on this date in 2005]

Since returning from the tree lot, I have been eating once a day and drinking myself stupid every night, making a sad attempt to fill up this void and kill the pain that is suddenly plaguing me.  My gut is rotten to the core and just thinking about food makes me ill, but I know I should try to put something in there other than alcohol.  For some reason, when I’m holding that bottle I feel as though I am becoming my best friend, but that might not be a bad thing.  When I’m swimming in whiskey I can clearly see why he has such as distaste for the holidays and why he always avoided them, thinking that maybe I should too.

Drinking always has an effect on my dreams.  Not last night but the previous one, I had a dream that I was still on the road.  After a long afternoon of putting up sidewall in the tent, I go into the bunk house to find Jerry, asking if he can help hold the ladder or something.  If there were any more details, I can’t recall them now, but just having that interaction again made me happy upon waking.  Jerry was an awesome guy, and out of all the people who traveled with us, I miss him the most.  He joined up in Syracuse and took on the role of Bozo, also helping with setup and tear down.  For those that don’t know, Bozo is a clown in a dunk tank that gets paid to insult people.  He often recycled the same handful of lame one-liners, yet still found a way to draw a crowd and keep the green rolling in.

We smoked together on a number of occasions, and he shared lurid details of his life with me for whatever reason.  He was in prison for fifteen years, for having been in a fight and accidentally killing the other guy.  Though it was unintentional, he had a weapon on him or something, but essentially he got charged with manslaughter and away he went.  There are tears tattooed on his face to signify this and one other for the time a fight in prison yielded the same result.  Jerry would joke that he had been a kung-fu master and he just acted on instinct when defending himself, which I’m not sure if I entirely believe.  There were an assortment of other tattoos he had acquired while in prison, and even more that he had done himself, a few which were actually pretty good.  The two pieces I remember was the face on his elbow he had done while looking in the mirror, and the demon on his chest that was supposed to be a Superman style shield.  It came out the way it did because he had been tripping on acid at the time he was tattooing it, which is an important lesson on why drugs and body mods don’t mix.

Jerry also spent his teenage years and early twenties as a skinhead, though I never did find out why he decided not to pursue that lifestyle anymore.  He used to have a website up and said the Feds had it shut down due to the content, then came looking for him.  Again, he wouldn’t go into exact detail about what it was beyond “some heavy shit”, so trusting the validity of the story is not a hundred percent.  However, a liar would be more boastful and have no problem spilling trivial facts, especially unprompted.  He didn’t have a habit of talking with many of the other sideshow crew beyond pleasantries, so why I had that honor is kind of a mystery but cool at the same time.

Whiskey is also a bad influence on spontaneous decisions and there is no such thing as a ‘bad idea’ until you are suffering the consequences of it while sober.  For whatever reason I decided to dye my hair SFX Blood Red last week, and in the beginning the color was brilliant, reminding me of when I had done my hair that shade in junior year of high school.  However, I forgot to wash it in cool water, so the red was  bleeding any time I got my hair wet or any kind of styling product was applied.  This is especially unfortunate since the bathroom and all of its towels are white and the last thing I want to do is touch any of it while crimson dye is running across my skin.

Short-lived success was followed by bleach which removed the majority of the red, though there are still a few orange spots I would like to touch up prior to applying toner.  According to the bottle it’s a white blonde, so hopefully I will achieve the effect I desire.  The front was left red to match the wefted extensions that have already been dyed, red that transitions to black at the tips.  Well, somewhere along the way I set to cutting my hair with clippers and wound up with a Chelsea, though I am pretty happy with the result.  This made the second bleaching come out more even than the first, and the toner took much better than expected.

Though this may seem really trivial to talk about, altering my appearance is something I tend to do to avoid other self-destructive tendencies, which I know I’m not helping with the alcohol.  Besides, my birthday is coming up in a week and I felt as though I needed a change in order to celebrate.  Oh, speaking of such, I tried to get tickets for the Leftover Crack show I wanted to attend, but Vintage Vinyl had none and neither did the venue’s website.  Could be possible that I waited too long, though I am going to try calling Starland directly just to double-check on the sold out status.  While it is not the worst thing in the world, this does make me feel as though the birthday curse is trying to make a return, as silly as that sounds.

Well, I have errands to run which should keep my mind off the fact I haven’t heard from Jon at all since I got back.  His postcards rarely leave my side, and at night when I’ve got the whiskey goggles on, I try to find some hidden message I may have missed before.  Desperation is an ugly beast when your heart feels empty and you find yourself willing to do anything to keep it quiet.

The “Bad” Boys

[Originally written on this date in 2005]

Last night I was doing some revision work on the book I have been writing for what feels like forever now when there is a knock at the door.

It’s Shane; he came to tell me that he would not be going to prison but that he was in fact on probation.  Was certainly happy to see him which must have been evident by the huge smile on my face, and he laughed before placing a kiss on my forehead, kind of surprised I was concerned about the situation.  Then he took my hand and we were walking though the woods, talking about how much fun we had at the Court.

While Shane rattled on about some of the tattoos he had been doing, my thoughts drifted to wonder what it is that draws me to people like him, or why I care so much.  It occurred to me many years ago that I have no control over what people choose to do with their lives; all I can do is offer my friendship, undying support and an unbiased ear.  No matter how hard I try not to become too emotionally invested, I already feel as though I am too involved with him.  This is my weakness and I tend to continually be hurt by it.

As we sat on a log smoking a joint, I entertained the thought of asking him to score for me.  There is no reason I wanted to get high or why it had to be with him, but I figured if I was going to be visiting familiar territory I might as well go to the extreme.  Perhaps it was the absence of Jon and the fact I stumbled around without him, trying to figure out what direction I should take while waiting for him to return.  This had left an emptiness I was trying to fill yet no matter how much I enjoyed myself, it just was not the same.

Shane was the storm that unexpectedly rolled in on a Summer afternoon when the skies are baby blue and there isn’t a cloud for miles; the classic car that rolls up beside you on the highway representing an iconic time in Americana and bringing a smile to your face to know it is in good hands; the giant wave that comes rushing on you as you stare out at the ocean and brace yourself as much as you can even though it knocks you off your feet and there is sand that winds up in the bottom of your bathing suit, your hair tangling in your face while salt water creeps up your nose.

His eyes sparkled when he looked at me, the slightest smile on his lips as he slowly exhaled smoke and kissed my hand.  Then he made an offer that caused me to chuckle, though there was no way he could have read my mind.  We sat doing lines all afternoon, watching birds and squirrels move through the trees, tiny fluttering wings dancing along tall grass and the sun warming our skin, beads of sweat forming along our tattoos.  When we weren’t consuming drugs we were exploring the boundaries of intimacy and finding ways to bring each other pleasure without actually having sex.

Shane walked me back to the house and said he would be out of town for a few days, as he had to travel up to Irvington for someone who wanted a tattoo.  As much as I wanted to ask when I would see him again, I played it as cool as I could and just wished him a safe journey.  He kissed me at the door and gave me one of his rings, stating that if he failed to return I would at least have something to remember him by.

All I can think about is how I would not be able to handle someone I care about dropping out of my life right now.  Though I said it before, it bears repeating that this whole situations reminds me of being with Jon.  Part of me knows better than to make a big deal out of hanging with someone I like to kiss, yet that does not stop me from having feelings for him.  That is not something I can shut off whenever I want to, but at the same time I could not suffer the pain of losing someone again.

My dreams have become a stream of strange, unusual, weird, bizarre and down right fucked up images about 90% of the time; it is that blissful 10% I don’t even remember I highly welcome yet rarely experience.  This morning was one of those dreams that falls into the larger percentile of generally unexplainable oddness.  Though the location is nondescript, I sure as hell knew who I was talking to.   Though for all intents and purposes the person looked very much like Jon, the tattoos and voice belonged to Shane.  Yea, that is pretty up there on the ranks of things that don’t make sense in my dreams.  For some reason I am standing on a box so I can look in his eyes as we talk, and that makes me laugh a little considering Jon is about a foot taller than I am, and Shane has several inches on me as well.   Through the threat of tears I tried my best to convince him not to go away, though I have no clue as to where he wanted to go or why.  My hands stroked his hair; it was soft and smelled like the ocean – I said that everything would be alright as long as he stayed with me.

That is pretty much where I lost the whole scene, and yet it has been sitting in my mind since I woke up.  Even though I keep telling myself it was just a dream, I question how much I really believe that.  How often do dreams reflect things that are going on in life?  For me, it seems to occur quite often.  What eats at me the most, is that my journal feels like the only outlet I have for whatever is going on inside my head, and I fill it with all these questions that no one – including myself – can answer.  The hardest part is having to deal with it on my own, since I don’t expect anyone to “get it” and I certainly am uncomfortable discussing it with anyone I know as they will probably ask questions I cannot answer.

Since I feel as though I have nowhere else to turn, I wind up internalizing too much and then either want to run from my feelings or find something to quiet them into submission.

There are errands I need to run tomorrow in order to get documents I need for work, the one thing that seems to be going well for me in terms of getting my life straight and building toward a future that includes moving on from my current situation.  It also serves as a distraction from daydreaming about Shane and his incredible kissing abilities.

Drawin’ the Wildcard in Atlantic City

[Originally written on this date in 2005]

For some reason I have found a soft spot in my psyche for zombies.  The other morning I watched Day of the Dead and Army of Darkness; Romero’s Land of the Dead will be coming to theaters next month and I was stoked when I saw the first trailer.

Where did this fascination of the living dead come from?  Maybe it was seeing the re-make of Dawn of the Dead last year, or the fact that I have happily ‘zombified’ myself on a number of occasions for Halloween and related festivities.

Anyway, after my mini movie marathon, I remembered this super awesome dream I had a couple of months back.  Trapped in a mall with a bunch of other people, we were trying to figure out what we should do while walking around. Out of nowhere this woman comes up to me and shoves me into my Taurus, insisting that I have to drive until daylight and not to stop for anything.  Pedal to the metal, I am speeding into the darkness hitting zombies left and right, not really sure of where I am headed but knowing that I have to keep going.

Eventually the sun rises and I roll the windows down as I head towards a beach; something tells me it’s where I want to be.  There are a bunch of other people gathered next to the water, dressed in combat boots and patched together clothes like some sort of neo-tribal diesel punk warriors ready to take on whatever is coming.  Parking the car I approach a group and relay my heroic battle through the zombies, but they are hesitant to accept me.  Someone with heavy face tattoos and a spiked baseball bat comes up and asks if I know the code; I utter this incomprehensible string of words without missing a beat, though I have no idea what I actually said or what language I was supposed to be speaking.  Though surprised, they  gladly welcome me into their group and together we make a plan for protecting ourselves against the zombies.

The dream skipped ahead [they usually do that]: somehow we uncover the knowledge that there really weren’t any zombies.  It was just a drill instituted by the military/government to test the citizen’s reactions or something like that.

Funny thing about the dream is that my car was a paperweight at the time, thus being a zombie itself in my dream and perhaps the reason I was able to kill any that tried to attack me by simply running them over.  Weird, but it was fun.

Anyway, due to certain circumstances I was unable to attend Atlantic City’s first ever tattoo convention last year.  When I saw the performance lineup I decided that the admission was worth being able to check out the artist action and sales booths as well.  The afternoon could not have been any more gorgeous as I headed down the highway, and then the rain started to pour down for a solid five minutes before suddenly stopping.  Oh how I love the strange weather in the South.  Since I have not really driven down to AC much I had no idea where I was going when I got off the highway, but I managed to find the location and a decent parking spot.

Had some fun with the security guards, and it was not the 30+ piercings that set off the metal detectors –  the spikes, studs, safety pins and all those other little metal bits that adorned my body were the culprits.

Wandered around collecting business cards from the various shops that had booths set up, and while I have not heard of most of the local ones it was nice to know that there is some quality work in the Garden State.  Stopped at Fat Kat to ask some questions as I am seriously considering cover-ups on my forearms.  The one artist does really awesome old school work, and that is the style of tattoo I am after, so I may have to take a trip down there at some point.

While waiting for the sideshow to begin, a photographer from Prick [a body modification magazine] asked if they could take some pictures of me for an article they were writing about the convention.  Though I felt there were people who had far more impressive modifications, I was happy to oblige and even had to sign a release form.  Handed him a  business card and politely requested if he could send me either the photos or the link to the article when it comes out.

Later on in the day, after an hour of postponement [due to not having any union workers to set up the microphones], I headed over to the auditorium to see the Cripsy Family Carnival’s performance.

The music was pretty nifty, but the acts were dry and that is disappointing since this was my first time seeing them.  Was not digging the fact they pulled out a collapsable sword before the one guy swallowed a real [and rather short] one.  Also, not to be rude, but a fat guy in an ill-fitting ‘straitjacket’ that does not even attempt to sell the escape is incredibly boring, especially since said ‘straitjacket’ looks like it was a rip-off of something Lip Service made.  The most enjoyable part was being able to touch a python due to the fact that snakes are awesome.

After the show I stopped to say hello to Stephanie, whom I haven’t seen since the Bindlestiff show in NY a few months back.  We  chatted for a while about random things including how she made the adorable costume she was wearing, which is always fun.  Next thing I know, she is introducing me to Franco, and the three of us step aside for a serious biz talk.  As nervous as I was, I explained as eloquently as possible how my interest in sideshow came about and went on to talk about what I had done with Jon and Outlaw Cirkus.  Well apparently it always helps to say the right thing, as he mentioned possibly having a spot for us at the Gathering [in September], and that we should e-mail him a reminder so he could see if there would be an open slot for us to do some performance.  Being referred to him by the Bindlestiffs also helped immensely and I desperately wished Jon had been there to be part of the moment.

Even later on that evening, I sat down for the second sideshow performance, courtesy of the Bindlestiffs.  They never cease to amaze, and rightly so.  They have been doing this for a long time now; it’s no wonder they are flawless and always entertaining.  Of course I really liked Stephanie’s glass routine and every time I watch them I find myself learning new things, ready to apply them to my own routines and whatnot.

The convention was pretty much over at that point, so I wandered down to the boardwalk and managed to rustle up a salad from one of the food joints.  Driving back was long, boring and dark.  Somewhere on Route 18 sleep must have been winning over on me or something.  While I had noticed the cop behind me, I figured he was just out looking for someone to bust for speeding.  As I am pulling onto Route 1, the lights go on and I have no idea what I did.

That light on the cop car couldn’t have been any brighter.  He asks for my info and I give it to him.  He asks if I had been drinking and I said no.  He checked the back seat, gave my car the once over and said I had “trouble maintaining my lane”, whatever that meant.  He again asked if I had been drinking and I firmly stated no, so he just said to be careful and that was that.

A strange way to end an otherwise fantastic day, and now all I can think about is how much I want to tell Jon about everything that happened.

Bigfish Barbershop

[Originally written on this date in 2004.]

There are quite a few things I need to cover before heading into work today, and I just hope I can gather all of my thoughts into a cohesive entry without trailing off on tangents.

First order of business is that lovely dinner I had with Jon the other nite.  My day at the Palace was spent feeling as tho I walked on air, my face stuck in a smile and happiness evident in my composure.  He sent me a few text messages to let me know when he was on his way and when he got into the city.  Knowing how much he hates driving in the Big Apple, I have to say I certainly felt special.

When that beautiful Chevy pulled up to the curb, my stomach swelled with butterflies.  It was not until I got in and we were several blocks away from the chaos of Times Square that I had a good look at him.  There was a joint gripped in his mouth as tattooed hands grasped the steering wheel and he concentrated on the task of driving.  As much as I want to say that I swooned, instead I felt a bit of sadness by his appearance, and the obvious signs of drug use is something that I am familiar with seeing.  It was best not to focus on that, mainly because it was really hard to ignore the fact I was grinning like a goofball.

Jon finally broke the silence by asking me how I was, what the job was like and assorted other bits of small talk which made the ride into Brooklyn a comfortable one.  We arrived at La Casa Bella and were immediately seated, ordering quickly because we were both hungry and already knew what we wanted.  Dinner conversation was pleasant and any feelings that had arisen in the Chevy earlier were easily replaced by pure joy.  Between laughing and smiling while eating, my face ached and I was loving every moment.

After dinner he drove us back to Jersey and surprised me by taking to the movie theater to see Big Fish.  Do I even have to say how much it rocked?  Especially since there were plenty of circus scenes, and it is a Tim Burton creation, which showed in the aesthetics and styling of the film.  You know how before the movie starts they have previews of other movies and sometimes even commercials?  Well, I had to make mention of the Altoids commercial, as it took place on a carnival midway.  You see all the banners for the live freaks, the bearded lady, and a crowd of people standing around a booth, where a salesman is showing off the Altoids.

It is something I am thinking about now, because last nite I had a series of dreams where I was at or in a carnival, surrounded by colorfully painted banner lines; I was in the acts, helping the acts, and at one point I was searching for the Gentelman Geek.  Yes, perhaps I really shouldn’t eat before I go to bed.  Oh, and as for the end of that lovely date, let’s just say that Jon held me for quite some time and was quite hesitant in allowing me to slip out of his arms.  Can’t blame him considering I had so much fun and did not want it to end.

Had a brainstorm today, so I will be working on my book tomorrow at work.

Why do all the weird people in the City feel the need to talk to me?  They are not weird in that good way either.  More like the creepy, drunk and not in the right state of mind way.

This guy walked into the Palace yesterday, drawn by the music [as many are], and complained that it sounded as tho it were a Caucasian woman singing.  Okay, and your point is what?  He then proceeded to fill me in about his life, as tho I really cared.  What do you do in a position like that?  Nod and smile, but then it gets to the point where you feel really uncomfortable, because you don’t have a clue as to what to say.

Thankfully he left, but he said that he would be back today.  As will that dude that came in last week and spent hours reading my palms and pulling all sorts of astrological bullshit out of his ass.

Suppose that I tend to look more approachable than I have in the past.  It’s funny – you look a certain way, and no one wants to talk to you.  Then you subtly change a few things, just to see what sort of reaction people have, and suddenly more and more of them think it is perfectly acceptable to not only approach you, but also to flirt with you.  There is a fine line between being friendly versus a creepy dude that thinks I am going to fall for bullshit.  Which is so hilarious even if I feel second-hand embarrassment from time to time, but men should know better than to fuck with a Carny.

It has come to my attention that compliments are on the rise since I styled my hair differently.  Pulled down my fringe last week and have been wearing it in a nice V-shape for a while.  Of  course I certainly enjoy the style, but I feel that only certain things gain a positive reaction.  Everything I do is for myself and no one else, so when one thing gets too much attention, it makes me feel fake, if that makes sense.  Jon mentioned that it looked nice but that he always enjoyed seeing the things I did with my hair.  As if I would ever doubt a compliment from him, but from other people and especially strangers, it’s as tho their words are meant for the superficial aspect and not actually me.

Must express my disappointment that more people didn’t come to the Great Show Show Show Caberet last nite.  It was my first time seeing it the show, which consisted of clowns and burlesque, and of course I thought it was fantastic.  Then again, after a long day of entertaining people, it is really nice to be able to watch a great performance while relaxing with a beer.  Sometimes I wonder if this is really a job or just a fantasy.

More odd dreams visited me this morning and I don’t remember most of them, except for the nasty spiders that literally woke me up out of a sound sleep.  Eventually I will learn that eating food late at nite before sleep creates strange dreams.

Have to finish assembling my face and get rolling.  Yesterday I got to Newark earlier than I have been and actually didn’t have to pay to park, as I found a spot on the street.  Since I saved money, I would like to try and do it again today.

Looking forward to another weekend filled with much writing and relaxation, as well as a much needed hair cut.  Jon assured me that there was a nice shop he wanted to take me to where I could trust the barber and would be satisfied with the work.  It’s always good to know I have someone to help me out with things like that and will be eager to get down to South Jersey after a long week.

Rockabilly Boogie

[Originally written on this date in 2004.]

Before I get into the details, I have to say that I know this sounds…well, however it sounds, but I noticed that if I eat late at nite, somehow it effects my dreams.

Either that or I have lost more of my mind than I realize.

Last nite I had an incredibly vivid dream, the type where you see so much detail it doesn’t seem like a dream at all, but rather a glimpse of a reality that makes you wonder if it exists.

There I am, running thru this beautiful park filled with trees, brightly colored flowers and soft green grass.  The sky above was an endless expanse of blue.  There were people sitting on blankets with picnic lunches, and some were just gathered in groups, talking to each other while enjoying the scenery.

Here is where it gets odd.  Every single person I saw was from the 50’s – I’m talking guys with pompadors that wore rolled up jeans, t-shirts or short-sleeved button-ups and girls with elaborate victory rolls, waves, pin curls and bangs accented by delicate scarves and wearing brilliantly hued dresses.

Then I found myself sitting on one of those blankets, and I was dressed the same way the other girls were.  There is someone next to me, and in my mind I understood him to be Elvis.  In fact, I am full of excitement as he signs a record.

That is pretty much all I can remember from the sequence.  Points of note, the guy really didn’t look like Elvis, and I can’t recall what he wrote on the record.

Where do things like this come from?  Perhaps it is due to my fascination with all things 50’s related, and the fact that I listen to mainly rockabilly, surf and swing at the house, while jazzy blues fills the atmosphere at work.

Guess it is just one of those unexplainable dreams that holds some sort of meaning, but I certainly have no interpretation of it.

Rioting Zoot Suits

[Originally written on this day in 2004.]

Friday was a good day at the museum.

On my walk from the PATH station, some random anonymous dude attempted to insult me.  He sarcastically commented that I had “nice lipstick” [which was ice blue lined with a brighter blue] and “nice eyebrows”, but couldn’t resist shouting at my back “My dog’s ass looks better than your face.”

Well, maybe you shouldn’t spend so much time staring at your dog’s ass.  Also, grow some balls and try saying those words to my face so I can laugh and let you know how flattering it was that you had to take a moment out of your day to hurl your petty insult at my back.

There was a fun mysterious plastic smell in the building that no one could figure out the source of.  Stayed after my shift at the museum to watch both performances.  It’s kind of nice to be able to walk back into the small theater and sit down for a moment after spending several hours on my feet.  Had a delicious dinner from Cafe O across the street.

Finished an entire week of work and still had to wake up early on Saturday to get laundry done, then did some vacuuming because I had the urge to keep busy.

Rolled into E-town some time after two.  First order of business was to smoke self into oblivion and just relax. Spent most of my time writing and putting good food in my stomach.

A few moments passed where thoughts collected and I realized that I had not heard from Jon since we went out for my birthday.  Everything had seemed so magical, and then I made the dedication to this volunteer work, which consumes five days of my week and leaves me with enough spare time to tackle other various projects.  Definitely sent him an e-mail gushing with thanks for his wonderful companionship on my birthday and have had no response thus far.  There are so many things that I want to share with him, but for the moment I have to be content and make nice with the Asshole.

Spending hours at the museum certainly occupies me away from the house and the Asshole.  When I am around, I check e-mail and do a few other things on-line before hitting bed and getting ready for the next day.

In fact, I even had to go in yesterday.  My week would have began by working two shows last nite; one at the door and one at the bar.  However, apparently I have a timing issue and left way too late, so I missed out on the first show.  It is my own fault, so I really can’t be that mad and just need to give myself a wider window to travel.  At least I still worked the bar and made some tips.

My schedule for this week is working the musuem today, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.  Today I am working two shows; one at the door and one at the bar, so I will be making some money.  Plus one of the other volunteers wants me to re-do his beard extensions.  They were installed Friday, but someone decided to be a jerk and tugged on them too hard, which pulled them out.  When Steph saw what I was doing, she remarked: “You have all sorts of secret talents, huh?

Had another odd dream last nite, that I went back to the bar tending school to get my certificate.  Yea, I definitely have to give them a call tomorrow and get that situation squared away once and for all.  For some reason I forgot I passed my test and was supposed to get it in the mail, but they never sent it to me.  Might as well at least try and make some use of it since I am getting good practice at the Palace.

Been listening to Brian Setzer and  the Stray Cats a bit too much lately, because now the songs are constantly stuck in my head.

Have to finish putting on my face and get on the road, as I need to pick up a pack of black synthetic hair for those extensions, and I have already taken up time by writing this entry.