The boyfriend went to see Angel Corpse last night (surprisingly, I decided to hang out with my dad instead of seeing a satanic death metal band), but came over to my house afterwards. I remember hearing his keys in the door and saying Hello, but nothing else. Evidently we had the following conversation:
M: Did you have a good time at the show?
T: Yes I did. Brandi says hi.
M: Did you punch people?
T: … What?
From an email I recently wrote:
My finger is very far from the pulse of culture. Like, maybe I’m poking culture’s side. Sorry, culture, I didn’t know you were ticklish there.
So I feel it necessary to share this dream I had last night. I was about to preform at a church that had been converted into a theater. The audience was full of drag queens and children. My fellow flamencas were getting ready in the back. We were all wearing different costumes, but we were all in red. I was applying and wiping off lipstick with strange regularity. We were about to go on, when I realized I had forgotten both my cane* and my shoes. Both of which are a bit important. I told my teacher that I didn’t live far, and that I’d run home and get them. When I got back (the dream seemed to skip over that part), they had started without me, which was a little disappointing.
Who knew drag queens were so into Flamenco?
* Our latest choreography involves canes and if we pull it off it will be AWESOME. Details soon.
(while laughing) So we’re going to pretend to clean it up? Like, half ass it?
That’s one fucked up little man.
What little man?
The one from the little man video.
I evidently also let him select my picture for my profile on current. I do not recall this. Evidently I was very worried about it being 150×150, though. I am a geek, even in my sleep.
You are currently browsing the archives for the Dream a little Dream category.
|
