Echo

I dreamed last night that some kids were being murdered in a high school and they suspected it was another kid. I was me and I accompanied the two men who were brought in to investigate (I think I had gone to that high school back in the day and these guys were friends of mine so I tagged along), but at one point, I realized that I was alone by the locker rooms after school and became terrified. I fast forwarded to a point where they had suspects, and this one kid was suspected. We went to his house to interview him and I remember thinking, I don’t think it’s him. He’s too innocent. At that point in the timeline, two more students had been killed for a total of four. We were outside when I jumped perspectives and followed someone else who was in the backyard, 3rd person. Nobody in the house knew he was there. He was some independent investigator who was foreign (I knew he had a foreign accent), and he was using the distraction of the interrogation inside to search the backyard, and he found a buried human skull. I remember thinking, in my 3rd person state, that here I was, watching proof being found that the kid was guilty, but my true self was inside the house with a killer whom I thought was innocent. I became terrified so I woke up. I can remember with good detail the way the school looked and certain physical and psychological elements of the characters encountered in that dream.

Tonight I dreamed that I was interning at KCRW and they agreed to let me put together a compilation CD in their name. I was psyched and I was putting toghether random songs, which I could hear at the time, but which I think my mind made up. They were all kind of electronic dance-ish, ala Timo Maas. I was in Fremont for some reason and I knocked on this door and my friend Rebecca Marko answered. I was PSYCHED because she’s a cool chick. I was happy to see her but then I noticed my ex-boyfriend standing behind her. I was cordial but wouldn’t look him in the eye, because in my mind, I thought, he doesn’t deserve to see into my eyes and have me speak to him from my soul (I believe that people can communicate a lot psychically through eye contact because the eyes are the window to the soul). The house had wood paneling and kind of looked like a trailer home, but it was big and I was impressed that he was living in a big house. I also think, so it’s true…he moved. So I was talking to her and he was sitting there next to her being the attentive boyfriend, but I managed to black him out so that when I glanced over there, his head had a black mist over it so I didn’t have to look at him. He offered me a mini Snickers bar which I declined, and then he left the room. Rebecca was talking to me about my KCRW gig but I couldn’t hold it in so I asked her what she was doing with him. She said, “You won’t believe what happened. She went crazy on him.” I immediately knew two things–that she was talking about the girl he dated after me, and that he when he hooked up with my friend, he had told her that his last girlfriend went crazy to get sympathy for him, poor him, victimized by a girl who made him suffer. I got angry that he was playing the victim to a friend whose kindness was genuine so I cut in and told her, “Rebecca, he always says things like that. He either goes for girls who are crazy to martyr himself, or when a girl proves to normal and healthy, he’ll be sadistic to her to the point she either acts crazy in frustration or leaves, at which point he gets to play the victim again. He’s manipulative.” I asked her how they met and she said, through friends. She gushed that this was the first night she had spent the whole night because they were taking things slow. I asked how long they’d been dating and she said, a couple of weeks. So I said, oh, you’re still in the honeymoon period. I got really scared because she was so innocent about it and so enamored, and this is this creep’s MO. So I grabbed her hands, looked her in the eye and said, listen, Rebecca, you know I care about you and I wouldn’t say these things unless I was looking out for you and concerned with your wellbeing. You have to keep your eye on this guy. He’s bad news and he’s toxic and he hurts people. He can play the role of amazing boyfriend until the times when he remembers that he hates himself, and then he’ll break everything around him that has any value or beauty, in particular, innocence and kindness. I don’t want you there when he goes on his rampages, and I don’t want him taking advantage of your kindness and understanding when he decides that the person he wants to most destroy is the person who’s nicest to him. She says, oh, I know, but he’s been great so far…and I said, he always starts out that way, then turns into a monster. He’s incredibly abusive. It’s like she doesn’t want to hear me. She says to me, you’re a very, very lucky woman. And I know she’s talking about the fact that I was with him and that she was implying that he still cared. The alarm bells in my head were going nuts because this guy was going to hurt her. So I said, no I’m not. I’m lucky that I got out. He came back into the room and said he had to go to work. He comes over and tenderly kisses me on the top of my head (I had jerked my head away from him out of instinctual revulsion) and whispers, “I’ve missed you.” And then he doesn’t even kiss her, but does say, “Bye,” looking at her like he’s completely lovestruck and it makes me sick because this guy is going to hurt her with his insane game. After he leaves, I get up to go, too and just say, “Please keep your eye open and don’t let him push you around.” I hug her and leave. I drive around but I’m worried. And I realize that I don’t know what’s worse…that he’s going to fuck with my good friend, or that maybe he has changed and become a better person. But I think, I doubt it. The whole time he was there, he was doing his thing…playing two girls off of each other. I go home and try to think about music for the CD, but by 2 am, I’m really bugged. I leave a message for Linda to see if I can drop by in the morning instead of the evening as planned for the next day. Then I call Sarita, misdialing once, leave a message asking her if she’d talked to Reb
ecca lately. She calls back and I tell her what happened and she’s surprised, since she didn’t know Rebecca was dating anyone even though she had talked to her very recently. I was again worried because this guy likes to keep his relationships a secret because he likes to date in the same pool (getting one thing guaranteed before he ends another) so he doesn’t want his game cramped, and I think, deep down, he doesn’t want the girls to talk. He also likes to breed animosity and competition between the girls he dates for this reason. A really bad character. So the fact that she hasn’t even told her friends about it worries me. In my dream, Sarita and I talk and analyze it the way we talk about things, and I feel better talking to her. While I drive home to my parents house, I notice that they’ve installed streetlights around the last curve of the hill. My car’s engine is roaring as it tries to go from 0 to whatever on such a steep incline and the noise and effort of the engine really is incredibly abrasive in my dream, so I decide to wake up.

This will be the last drink I have before my birthday party on Saturday, as having spent a week and a half in a country where everything is either fried or cooked in lard or fried in lard has made my body resent me like an albino love child that I keep locked up in my attic. Er…a hypothetical albino love child that I keep locked up in the attic. I mean.

I plan to detox all week with green tea and fresh fruits and veggies so I stop getting winded just by looking at stairs.

I’ve noticed something today, as the sun travels through Gemini and the lot of us celebrate birthdays. I’ve noticed that a lot of geminis have a lot of friends of the opposite sex. My cousin B has a freakin’ harem of girls but they are all truly and literally, just friends. And he treats them chivalrously. My roomie Brian has a hoard of girls and you could argue that, well, you would expect that he would be surrounded by a hoard of girls. But I tend to have a lot of male friends that are just that, with neither history nor intention of moving into anything more, and it seems that I could give many examples of other geminis I know who also have an unusually large number of strictly platonic friends of the opposite sex.

So in examining this phenomenon, I theorize that the reason for this is that Gemini, being the androgynous sign that encompasses both male and female, will strive for the company of the opposite sex not as a sexualized member of the opposite sex, but as an ungendered peer. Thus, Gemini men can fit in with a group of woman in a non-sexually threatening way by understanding and embodying certain female principles, and vice versa.

Speaking of Gemini birthdays…happy birthday to Brian who is off to Boston! He’ll be back on Saturday in time for my party, which rocks. I guess people who have hotmail aren’t getting the evites because they just go into junk mail folders. That sucks.

Rattle rattle, drunken rattle. The problem with rarely drinking is that it takes very little to get you drunk.

Oh, my mom, who is very modest in expression, gets fiery when she’s stressed. So as we were in a hurry to get all of our baggage downstairs where a cab had already been waiting for half an hour, she suddenly screams (in Chinese…I’ll translate), “WHICH SON OF A BITCH TOOK MY CAMERA?!?” That was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard her say. If you knew her, you would understand why this statement is shocking.

Did God create us before we created him? Or did we create him before he “created” us? Discuss amongst yourselves.

Goodness.

From Jorge R (subject–re:Booty Call Agreement Post):

Look, I am not looking to be a pussy, whipped bastard, especially one of many. How about this? You won’t even need alcohol. I will fuck you, and i know you will like it, so much that you will hate me for it. I’ve had ex’s, that i broke up with calling me in the middle of the night, pist as hell because they just fucked tha new guy, but i remain the best. I will never ask “was it good”, because you will not be able to say anything with your face stuck on extra, important smile. I know i won’t be the biggest, but i will at the very least be in the top three best lays, if not first. So what do you say? Wanna see a picture, i sent one with this. So go ahead, let me know.

Dear Jorge,
How delighted I am that you were able to look past the satirical tone of my tongue-in-cheek contract to see the truth–that I am a passion-depraved sex kitten just looking to be eviscerated by your sugar-crusted (with a hint of cinnamon), burning hotrod of man-churro. I am glad that you don’t want to be another one of my pussy-whipped bastards, as the last one could not even make me a proper blanquette de veau with rice pilaf while simultaneously giving me a Thai foot massage while reciting his praise of me in iambic pentameter. Blanquette de veau with rice pilaf!! I don’t even know what that is! That’s the last time I agree to host an impressionable, wide-eyed university exchange student from Europe and keep him chained up in my home. But I digress. I would love to have my face stuck on “extra, important smile,” as I am currently looking for ways to get my face unstuck from “eyes profoundly crossed from masturbating nonstop in public places.” And don’t worry about not being the biggest. My penis is massive enough for the both of us.

Landed in Taiwan two days ago and getting off the plane, I was immediately hit by that thick, humid tropical air. The air immediately covers you with that post-sex stickiness (which is probably my least favorite part of sex) that makes you feel dirty instantly. I guess in both the physical and mental sense.

The first thing we did was eat. The people of this tiny island seem to have three loves: 1. Eating 2. Working 3. Shopping. With maybe getting foot massages running a distant fourth. The streets are crowded with street vendors selling all kinds of things which I can’t begin to identify (I saw something that looked like a flaccid uncircumsized penis!), let alone order. Food here is cheap. For example, my mom, brother and I settled in around 8am and went out for breakfast. We ordered the following (I’ll post pictures from the trip and of the food on my website when I get back. I’ll do the best to describe what we ordered):

2 bowls of noodle soup
1 bowl of beef noodles
2 orders of tofu with cilantro and plum sauce
1 bowl of fried fish pieces in a thick mushroom stew
1 fried Chinese croissant
1 order of steamed dumplings
2 orders of grilled beet cake
2 orders of egg tortillas
2 cups of cold soy milk

All this set us back the equivalent of $9 US. For three people to eat like pigs. Granted, these places aren’t passing any food inspection exams anytime soon. Or…ever. But this stuff was pretty damn good.

The thing that I forgot but was reminded of right away, is the fact that this country is redefining the term “waif.” Taiwan is a little island with no cows. Therefore, people don’t drink milk and tend to eat limited quantities of meat. The result of this is that the average waist size of men and women combined is -2. Consequently, I’m considered a cow here. At least in India, I would be considered sacred. But the flipside is that while clothing stores don’t carry sizes above 5 (five for FAT, or Large), the top bra size at lingerie store is 31B. I walked in and the saleswoman said right away, I don’t think we’re going to have anything that will fit you. That’s right. Go milk!

I happened to catch the Lakers/Twolves game today. Well, KG’s the man. And now I have to deal with another year of cocky LA fans. Fuck yall.