June 18, 2012

This is Why We Should Eat Sushi Every Night

So, last night sweet boyfriend Ben and I went to Kula Revolving Sushi Bar, where there is always at least a 30 minute wait, even on a Thursday, because this is how good this shit is. We each ate about $30.00 worth of raw fish and rice and came home full and happy and went to bed.

Maybe it’s just the fish, or maybe it’s the mercury leaching into my brain, but I had the craziest dream, and now I’m going to tell you about it.

So, in my dream, Big Ben was a female to male transsexual. I actually had dream memories of him as a girl in high school. I also had dream memories that he’d come out as transgender after moving to New York and started transition there. The setting of the dream was a massive rager-style party he was throwing as a sort of coming out party, even though everybody already knew because of facebook.

The house that was supposed to be his parent’s house here in LA was actually the childhood home of one of my middle school best friends, Heather Brown, except the dream house was bigger and fancier. And there was weed everywhere. There were gallon zip-locks of shitty stress in every conceivable hiding place. In middle school best friend Heather’s real life childhood home, there was this little house in the back yard that was actually a sort of fort situation, but in the dream house it was a man-cave of sorts with hard wood floors, massive sound system, comfy chairs and gold records on the walls. Why gold records, I do not know. At one point, we were walking from one house to the other, and Big Ben stopped at a lawnmower, took the clipping bag off the mower, reached in the bag and pulled out, like, the third gallon zip of weed of the evening.

In the dream party, I eventually left the little house and went into the main house to use the restroom. In the bathroom, I saw B. Ben’s best friend Charles’ roommate De’Shean, Charles’ boyfriend Darren, and our friend from way back DJ, all buck-ass naked and dancing in the shower. Not just dancing, but synchronized dancing. Then I looked over and saw my co-worker Brandon shaving in the mirror as if nothing was weird.

Then I woke up.

Oh, and dream Big Ben had one of those fashion beards, where every hair is only about a millimeter long and there’s no raggedy edges and it’s kind of doll-like. But the ladies at the party must have loved that shit because they were on him like sun on Sahara.

In the morning, this text exchange happened:

Me: Last night I had a dream that you were a female to male transsexual. Also, DJ was taking showers with De’Shean and Darren.

B. Ben: Did you know I was a transsexual all along, or did I whip out my vag and surprise you?

My friends rule.

June 7, 2012

The One Where I Told My Father About This Blog

Oops.

So, I was just talking to my dad on the phone, and I mentioned my awesome new gig with GearedforGamers.com and he asked “How do I read these videogame reviews?” So I told him the URL, and then I was like “Every article I write links back to my blog,” which is when I realized that this is basically where I go to confess terrible things and cry about my mom. Also, dispense illicit sex advice to friendly Internet ladies.

To throw him off the scent, I rambled about the blog and how it’s very “open” for about 10 minutes longer than I needed to be talking. So, if you’re reading this, hi Dad. Sorry I talk so much shit about Mom. Honestly, I think you’d like most of the posts I write. It’s not like I’m not like this in real life anyway.

I really am incapable of keeping anything inside.

The other night I had a nightmare that I was pregnant and I haven’t stopped telling people about it since it happened. My interpretation is that my brain is trying to help me find some compassion for my mother. In the dream, I was totally excited to be pregnant and was eating my usual fruits and vegetables with a new and shining sense of purpose, because my baby was going to be the most vitamin supplemented infant on the planet, and I was so excited to take care of it, and teach it, and be there for it, and every puke-inducing sentiment that daytime me can never imagine having towards a zygote of my own in real life. Of course I woke up completely grossed out. This is up there with the dream where I married and consummated my marriage with Dame Judi Dench for awake-time horror face.

But thinking about the dream (the pregnancy dream, not the Judi Dench dream) has me thinking about my own mother. I’m pretty sure when she found out she was pregnant with me, she didn’t look down and think “I’m about to fuck this up.” She probably had all the same impulses as dream-me had when I was dream-pregnant. She probably thought the same things about being a great mom, and doing awesome mom-daughter stuff, and having a loving, safe home. Or at least I’m pretty sure that at no point she thought “I’m going to do drugs through this pregnancy and then I’m going to abandon this baby with a man who hits children and a woman who doesn’t stop him.”

Then again, good intentions mean fuck all in the real world. If I set my desk on fire right now, I have a feeling that the fire department wouldn’t offer me a hug of consolation when I’m standing in front of my burned-out apartment crying and yelling “I didn’t think it would get this bad!”

So what does that mean? Who the fuck knows at this point. Aren’t you tired of me? I’m so tired of me right now. ‘Boo, my mom sucks.’ Jesus, get over yourself.

I just Google image searched “jesus get over yourself” and this was there.

I know, right?