Yuk Bon

apartment bldg, behind brysons and over one, but not really – it feels like the apts in little havana, – overcast but not rainy, i am walking through the hallway and i am walking to get a tricycle (the huge adult ones like old people use like abuela gypsy used to have before she got frail before she died) so that i can get shit done because there’s a timetable and i need to go home and get stuff and then elsewhere and do stuff and do not want to be here because b is here and there she is in front of me back turned and smoking or trying to light a smoke fucking dammit like when you don’t want something to happen and there is happens and all of a sudden it’s fucking forgiveness dream wherein she is too proud and bitter and pissed and i am indifferent and this is getting her even more upset and i have fucking shit to do lady i need to go and you are making me sad — not sorrow, not grief, not even upset, just…hey, bummer man, — and there’s tony, indifferent or didn’t notice me or whatever but steadfastly Not My Concern and I am leaving and i suddenly have the fucking tricycle except now it’s a bike? and it’s that hot stillness before a storm and as i bike down the street the rain starts and i wake

title courtesy of The Bird and The Bee’s “fucking boyfriend”, which song was what was playing on the CD that I gave Little Trouble Girl after her romantic misadventure with her puppy-love/co-worker person thing when she was driving to work and ran into (figuratively) said puppy-love/coworker. Like some shit out of a John Hughes movie or something.

speaking to squirt yesterday she drops “you know the reason i never liked you romantically 12 years ago when we met was because when i asked what you looked like you were so negative that it killed it”. i cock-blocked myself. I bummed about this on several levels.

got mail from skeeter’s man that her kid (#2) had been born, with attendant pictures. They both look glowingly happy, her in particular but that might be a mix between relief and happy and tiredness. The amusing thing is on friday I wanted to call her and in fact got as far as dialing but she’s still mad at me (justafiably, i’m a sellout although i take issue with her iron-gripped resentimiento, i’m guilty of the same thing so i can’t really complain about that too hard.) and probably would not have answered but I never got to follow up and call again. Too much of that is annoying, especially when someone is pointedly not answering. But WWu mails occasionally, and I hear things on the grapevine de rato en rato so I guess it’s ok.

It’s hardly news that I am horrible about checking my messages. So yesterday I finally check my voicemail at work — I haven’t checked it since December, easily. There’s a familiar number but I can’t place it. Victor, telling me to fix the fucking LDAP lookups about two weeks before he died.

trapaising house to house, 2nd story apt., bathroom flooding, bucket the water out, argue w/ her about the why, see Anonymous (with Guy Fawkes masks!) through kitchen/bathroom window and i place my hand against the window and say sorry i can’t go guys but never forget, landlord/lady comes to fix the now drained bathroom and i think they’re just going through my shit i dunno and i wake because the storm is scaring my dog.

If you see below, you’ll see the last two days I have had bizarre and unusual dreams. (Bizarre: STD? wtfbbqaolnet. unusual: a sadness dream). and so the last two days I have had cheese about an hour before sleep; brie and some french thing on the 17th and feta on the 18th.

So it turns out that different cheeses give you different dreams.

85% of females who ate Stilton had some of the most unusual dreams of the whole study. 65% of people eating Cheddar dreamt about celebrities, over 65% of participants eating Red Leicester revisited their schooldays, all female participants who ate British Brie had nice relaxing dreams whereas male participants had cryptic dreams, two thirds of all those who ate Lancashire had a dream about work and over half of Cheshire eaters had a dreamless sleep.

I think I’m going to try the brie and manchego tonight.

Speaking of food, I have fixed my tzatziki recipe for non-suckyness.

To wit, you will need:
1 container of greek yogurt*
1 container of sour cream
1 cucumber, large, seeded and chopped (or grated) however you like it. peeling optional.
4 cloves of garlic, minced (or chopped)
6 leaves of mint, rolled into a tube and chopped into tiny shreds
a sprig of dill, chopped into nothingness as well
1/2 teaspoon of lemon juice
pepper to taste

*regular plain yogurt strained in a cloth will work if you can’t get the greek stuff. strain for at least an hour, you want the consistency of the sour cream, so a fair amount of liquid needs to leave the yogurt.

mix all the non-cream stuff, mix the yogurt and cream, then mix the two mixes together. store and chill while you toast some flatbread (or pita) in the oven (or on the grill).

works well with falafel (quick and dirty: 1 can garbanzos, an onion and spices you like — grind together in a blender with a slice of white bread (or flour if you’ve got) until it’s a paste. add a bit of olive oil if you need to moisten it a bit. form into balls with two spoons and then fry. et viola.)

walking in a hallway dark not scary but dim and then with b, into a cafeteria-looking room and we have been looking for something but not finding it, and she is in trouble for killing a man and we’re not friends but not enemies either and things are tense and awkward and i want it to be unfuckedup and friends because she needs help and i could do something and i hate feeling like this, compromised into being unable to be friends, but can’t forgive without some sign of friendship, or caring, and there’s just words and platitudes and i do not want to be here but am forced to (the way that you don’t know why you have to do something in a dream but you just know it) so i do it and the tension is worse but i’m not angry just sad, overwhelmingly sad, and it’s dim like we’re where even sadness is something to see and the look on her face is best described as vexed or “i know something needs to be done but i don’t know what” and i wake.

party, loud, obnoxious, siba is there and i am flirting, things get romantic and i wind up at the Dr’s who is telling me I have an STD while he holds a syringe.

vacation: sucked, I worked on the house and w/ the fam (jesus they are tireless)

work: I am a hero and an unsung rockstar of unprecedented caliber. we had a server — the one and only web server, the one that has hard drives that grriiiiiiiinnnnnddddd when they spin up and has therefore not been turned off for 5 years and then because of a power failure, and not been updated for about 10 years — have it’s PSU blow up and catch fire. despite this, I was able to get us working (hobbled, but hey) for the few days it took to get the machine repaired.

i bought a jawesome! map in a magnelephant frame at my dad’s neighbors’ moving out garage sale. my ex-landlord is in foreclosure and I picked up 3 GTA games for 30 bux.

this morning i dreamt that had gone to sleep late (i had) and got woken up by my cell and it was she calling to say there were things unsaid. i never got to hear them because the alarm went off.

sex, space travel, running across a cliff next to a forest, then singing “holiday in cambodia”. i wake singing dead kennedys.

Well the long and the short of it is I shut down for a few weeks cos I had bad company visiting daily. Which she had been for a while, at least a year? I only noticed in like Jan? or Feb? I don’t remember.¹ But I was ok with her visits, really. I mean, it’s touching — bad company can’t show guilt and is too proud, but still wants to know…something, I guess. Or I suppose could be genuinely worried and wants to make sure I’m not a nut? Or uses it as a way of keeping tabs on the girls? This is more likely — especially Tai-tai (not so much mei-mei though…²), but I dunno. Anyway. I also got a phone call from her dude³. Which makes me unhappy. So I shut the blog down to keep the drama down.

^1. (Which makes comments said about me funny, in retrospect: I’m not the one trying to keep tabs by long-distance, you know? But I’m the one who got talked about as if I were a stalker or something. It’s very hard to not be angry about this.)
^2. I have this theory that My Personal Little Slice of Hurt In The World is in love with Tai-tai; hence the sabotaging Tai-tai’s relationships etc. Not that some didn’t deserve sabotage, but still.
^3. They’re married or maybe not? Also she’s changed her name. I guess that makes sense.

i almost called today. how’s that for breaking news, eh?

moving on, people. man, whenever i say that i miss mr jones. but no man’s dead while his name is still spoken.