11.04.05

A dream the other night:

Me.
Alone (as if that's any surprise).
Fighting off hordes of zombies. Blood. Guts. Body parts flying everywhere--but it's funny because it's snapping latex, Tom Savini-esque, really fake-o, movie violence. Some great explosions; the big orange-red fireball kind that roll into themselves as they blossom into the night.

Here's the weird bit (and it's a measure of my dreams that the zombies aren't the weird bit); my teeth were disintegrating right out of my gums. Just powdering away like there's no tomorrow.

Oy.

Omigawd--one of my new bosses read out loud something that he wrote about a childhood experience. He's a victim of thesauriosity. OmiGAWD. Keep it simple, dude. You may know all the words in Josefa Heifitz' Dictionary of Weird and Unusual Words but that doesn't mean you should use 'em all the time. I wanted to yell, "Eschew obfuscation!" at him.

Then again, this is the same guy that looked at me when I was really bummed out this week about my (lack) of ability to have a bedmate and self-annoyance that it takes me so long to work through the sadness and disappointment of yet another train wreck, and said, "You should wait until he commits before having sex." In Portland? (for one) and (two) who the fuck says I want a commitment? All I want is for someone to tell me the truth, something along the lines of "I wanna have sex with you, but I don't want a relationship." Great!

I'm so fucking sick and tired of boys pretending to be in it for longer term things, then flaking and freaking out. That bloody well hurts. Don't fucking raise my expectations. Tell me the truth, and respect my right to make an informed decision.

Oy.

*grin*

Go. Be fabulous.

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