Pet Dreams, Transexuals, and Marshal McLuhan
I have lots of dreams with pets in them, like dogs and cats. Usually I'm the owner, but I often have random dreams where I'm pet sitting for a friend. Hijinks ensue and something horribly goes wrong like the dog bites a baby and I have to call 911, but I'm drunk and the phone is missing the buttons. Sometimes I speak to the animals. Freaky right? Once I dropped acid and tried to talk to my friend's cat. Problem was she only spoke in Portuguese.
A friend of mine told me a crazy story about a party he went to this weekend. I wish he had a blog so he could write it up, it was so hilarious. He ended up getting home at 5:30am and hung out to party with transexuals for most of the evening. He said one of the girls (a real chick without a guy's junk) that he was chatting up was a hot Dominican chick from Astoria who gets paid to beat the shit out of guys. That's her day gig. Then she fucks them and sometimes shits on their chests. And they tip her extra for the weird stuff. I guess that gig is alot more meaningful than slinging Iced Caramel Macchiatos around to hipsters at 8:45am everyday for $7.10/hr plus pooled tips.
That reminds me that I've seriously lost my edge. I used to hang out with thieves, drug dealers, junkies, hookers, and other sexual deviants. These days, my list of friends include B-list celebrities, models-turned-actresses, and spoiled children of famous TV producers and Senators. Come to think about it... they're really the same two groups of people, just my current circle of cronies has cooler cell phones and the drugs are not as good. I think it's time to shake things up.
Seattle was an amazing city. When I lived there in the late 1990s, they had the best collection of drugs in America. Including coffee. For fucks sake, I miss British Columbia kind nugs (the kind that stick to your fingers) and those clear Seattle mornings in the summer when you could actually see Mt. Rainer.
A friend from north of the border read my second novel the other day... Sweet Nothing (aka The Baby and Winky Novel). She said it was her favorite out of three manuscripts from yours truly that she read. Man, I was so fucked up and in a bad space when I wrote Baby & Winky... I can't even recall writing dozens and dozens of pages of that jibberish. Yet, it's still a favorite among some of my close friends. They like that raw and twisted side. God bless them.
I saw a woman crying in the middle of Staples the other day. I didn't say anything and snubbed her. Briana told me she saw two girls crying at the gym today... both a different times in the locker room. She consoled one and blew off the other.
I watched a mother read a book to her kid on the subway this afternoon. She was pretty loud and screamed over the subway sounds. I was reading a lot of Marshall McLuhan. He knows his shit. I want to share more of his philosophy in a future post. But not now. When I got out of the subway, I walked seventeen blocks without realizing where I was going because I was lost in deep thought. I cannot even recall what I was brooding about. I do remember seeing a guy who looked a lot like Benson from Soap and Benson. He was screaming at a cabbie who nearly hit him as jaywalked across Lexington Avenue.
My internet crush for the month of April has not posted any nekkid pics of herself in a few weeks. What gives? I'm running out of spank material and it's almost May.
There is some poker content. I posted four winning days in a row playing on Party Poker and I blew the streak with a losing session. I was playing great and figured I'd be able to win myself a uselss material item or too before I left for Vegas. Some nights you just can't draw a good hand.
Life is so much easier when you don't have to think about shit... and you just be. I can't sleep at night these days because I have too much to write and I feel guilty about wasting my time sleeping when I know that I should be writing instead of dreaming about pet sitting someone's stupid Siamese cat.