July 31st, 2006

static (transparent)

(and I figured I probably shouldn't fight it)

So a brief moment hit me that I felt I should write something for the masses...

This morning, I slept in fairly late. I don't usually dream very much (yes, yes, I know, technically speaking I don't remember my dreams so much, whatever) but this morning... whew. What a doozy. I found myself on an oddly comfortable sort of... quasi-date... with the biggest cocktease of my teenage years. It was going... well, it was going well - I leaned over to lightly rub her back, and she moaned like a cat in heat - except in the dream, she was just as much (even more, probably) of a cocktease as she was when we were teenagers. So really, I don't know how it was going. Although it was certainly more comfortable feeling than when I was a teenager. Although there was some pressure, in a time related sort of way, because I had a flight to make in a few all-too-short hours.

Which is how it got weird.

Because then (after leaving Myrtle Beach, where we didn't quite have sex under some high-school-gymnasium bleachers which were mysteriously on the beach itself well beneath the tide mark) we wound up in my apartment, where the girl from my past who (in real life) randomly showed up on my doorstep a few months ago while my girlfriend was there repeated the performance in my dream. This time, however, she showed up at my patio door instead of my front door. And since I just had the cocktease from my teenage years in the apt, rather than a girl I actually cared about, instead of blowing her off at the door I stepped outside onto the patio and slid the sliding glass door shut behind me - to find out what the hell it was she wanted before blowing her off.

Weirdly, it turned out she had a whole posse there on the patio with her. Several children, ranging from around 3 to around 10, and some sad little mustachioed dude who wasn't fat at all, but was soft as the Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man despite said un-fat-ness. A Milquetoast of the Milque-iest caliber.

So I demanded that she tell me what the hell she wanted, and she said that we had a problem. I informed her that we did not have any problems, because there was no "we", meanwhile looking at the collection of moppets from 3 to 10, and thinking "surely she isn't going to try to convince me one of these is mine?" But surely enough, she waved a hand at the collection of offspring and said "oh, yes we do", to which I replied "well, since none of these is a newborn, I don't have any problems here."

Milquetoast kept trying to slide open the sliding glass door, on the other side of which was the cocktease of my high school years, who I was hoping to get more of than I did in high school (and truth be told, already had. I didn't really get far at all in high school). I kept grabbing the door and slamming it shut again, and telling him to cut it out or I'd call the cops. After Marie (the girl from a few months ago as previously linked, who for some reason in the dream was named "Elise" (but it was the same girl)) made her accusation of me mysteriously fathering a 3-year old (or maybe the 10-year old?) on her a year or so ago, he got bold, and said he'd call the cops himself. I slammed the door shut on his fingers again, grabbed his cell phone, and saw that it said "Seattle Hackers Group" on its screen after he pushed the "dial" button. I ostentatiously pressed "9 1 1" on my own phone, grabbed the back of his head, and forced him to read it as I pressed "connect" on my own.

At this point, the dream fades out, with me feeling annoyance over the idiocies of Marie/Elise and Milquetoast and Co., and anxiety over possibly missing my flight / missing my chance at the cocktease / screwing one up with the other.

But that was this morning, and this is now - which is 2:03 in the morning, with a significant buzz, and me walking away from 15:06 deep in a downloaded copy of Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind because it was just too fucking real to deal with this early in the morning, this fuzzy in the cerebrum, this moment of my life. And now I might go back to the flick: or I might go to bed. I dunno which one is higher Art, much less which one I'll pick: but either way, this entry is done. G'night.
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post script

PS: does anybody else remember the old Infocom title, A Mind Forever Voyaging? Because for whatever reason, that title has always conflated itself with Eternal Sunshine Of A Spotless Mind in my head, ever since the latter came out. I'm not entirely sure why. Although I know the movie is supposed to be very poignant, though I've never seen it (other than the now 20 minutes or so of it I've seen tonight), and though I remember very little of the details of the aforementioned game, I have strongly remembered finding it poignant in the extreme, 19(!) years ago when I played it.

It probably speaks volumes that I found a primitive text adventure game about a computer slowly discovering that its real world wasn't (real, that is) was poignant enough to stick with me, even when the details themselves didn't, nearly 20 years later. (But the less said about those volumes, the better they read, n'est'ce pas? Or should I say so desu ne?)

and you thought *your* day sucked

The following things all broke, *today*, at my new soon-to-be employers' office:

# the routing table on the main server got corrupted, rendering it utterly useless until I could fix it
# one of the graphics cards on the lead designer's brand new workstation went poof
# we discovered that some utilities said lead designer absolutely must have won't work under XP x64 - meaning we have to skunk it completely
# the network card fried on one of the owners' workstation
# the phone system got fried
# both the temperature control circuit *and* the HVAC unit itself died
# a gigantic leak in the roof was discovered that is literally pouring gallons of water into the walls every time it rains
# the sewer main ruptured right at the corner of the lab, causing a tremendous upwelling of raw sewage

Wow. Just, wow. I have never seen so much shit all break at one time in one place. The majority of it can be blamed on a lightning strike from a thunderstorm Sunday night, but the fucking sewer rupturing, too?

We are all gonna be glad to get into the new building next year. Leave working in quaint little downtown remodeled-house-offices to the freaking lawyers, 'cause it might be "homey" and "comforting" if you drag clients in there on a regular basis, but man oh man does it suck for actually having to maintain and get any kind of work done in.

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