From our friends?

Our parents?

I’m losing some faith in humanity here, lemme know!

M

Staggered Square Wedding Cake, originally uploaded by Cakes by Occasion.

I will eventually be writing this as a story, but I couldn’t wait to have more people laugh at my subconscious.

Before the dream, here is background information for the story:
I am lactose intolerant.
Cake has milk in it.
Jamie is a celiac.
Cake has gluten in it.
Jamie has never driven a car. Ever.
I have not done illegal things. Ever.

My dream goes this way:
I was packing something gently into a box. Jamie was complimenting me on my sticky fingers. In my dream, I thought this completely normal. We then began to sneak out of the fluorescently lit bakery/kitchen, dodging conspicuous red lazers. With the box in my hand, I ran to the car as Jamie tried to start the car. This car was an old sassy maroon, and the stick was covered in memory foam. I put the box in the back seat and opened it. Inside was a white square cake with flower designs. We were both so proud to have it in our presence, in our car. I shut the box, got into the passenger’s seat, and immediately the sound of sirens came from afar. It turns out that we were stealing this cake and now we had to be in a car chase. We were parked uphill, and Jamie was driving a manual car. She put it immediately into third gear and revved the engine. We jerked forward and flew over the hill. The car, conveniently enough, had hydraulics, making us look extra conspicuous as cake thieves. I don’t remember how the dream ended, but I woke up wondering why a celiac and a lactose intolerant would be doing stealing a cake…

In no particular order:

-Vespa exhaust
-Pipe smoke
-Cigarette smoke
-Chlorine
-Fumes of basement laundry ventilating out from high rise apartments

It’s a mix of oil and gas; not the usual smell of the gas of cars. Though the gas station has a pretty pleasant smell to many people, I prefer a good vespa. I can hear it from blocks and blocks away, and when it zooms by, the smell is indescribably good.

One day I came home from wherever, and I smelled a sweet and musty odor that made my heart lift for a second. Someone had been smoking a pipe full of a vanilla-like sweet tobacco on my front step. The person had gone, but the smell was still there… just a small anecdote for this beloved smell.

Everyone in Italy smokes. My grandpa used to smoke. My childhood memories are full of smoke, and my current visits are as well. For some, the smell of cherry chapstick or nilla wafers will bring back similar memories and emotions. Seconhand cigarette smoke does that for me. Everytime I pass by a smoker in the street, I linger for a bit to catch the little grey tobacco ghost in my nose.

I used to swim, and I play water polo now. When I pass by the outside of a pool building, I linger by the vents where the smell is most prominent. If I don’t smell or smell like chlorine 24/7, I am sad.

It reminds me of living in New York and having a basement laundry room.

Sto’ piangendo. E VAIIII GRANDISSIMI NERAZZURRIIIII!!!!!!!!!!

These are my top 4 fears in no particular order:

-Pigeons
-Birds larger than pigeons
-Dead birds
-The dark

I’ve been afraid of pigeons for longer than I can remember. It’s not a disgust. I quite literally fear pigeons. I’m not really sure what it is about them that scares the crap out of me (clearly I’ve been this afraid for a while). I tried to hide it for a few years, trying to appear normal. I failed, and every time I see a pigeon on the sidewalk, I’ll cross the street and risk being hit by a car or something than to walk anywhere near that bird (one of the least extreme situations).

Anything larger than a pigeon is more likely to be able to swallow me. Arial attacks are more harmful.

Dead birds are scary!

See a previous blog post entitled “Fears” to see the further extent of this phobia: http://martinatm.wordpress.com/2009/08/29/fears/

Note: I did not include pictures in this post (though I would have liked to) because the Google images were too graphic for my own viewing.

“UP” should have won best picture. I’ve seen that movie more times than I can say, sometimes viewed only a day apart. The creativity of the movie was ingenious; how could anyone ever think of the amazing characters and events that took place? Kevin, the incredibly exotic bird of paradise falls, helped touch the lives of not only Russell (the most perfect bundle of chubby Asian kid joy anyone has ever wanted) and an old curmudgeon, Carl Fredericson, as they set out to land a flying house (carried by baloons) at the edge of paradise falls (right where Ellie, Carl’s late wife, wanted since childhood). Throughout this adventure, they encounter talking dogs, Carl and Ellie’s childhood hero, and Carl’s realization of the importance of friendship. The story unfolds to reveal what is, in my opinion, Disney and Pixar’s best collaboration yet.

If not “UP”, since that had already won best animated feature film, “Inglourious Basterds” should have won the Oscar. I can’t begin to describe Tarantino’s genius in rewriting history for this incredibly macabre take on Nazi encounters in WWII. Even Brad Pitt, who, as much as I dislike him, excells in character roles, did the most phenomenal job of his career (along with the gym employee in “Burn After Reading”). Armed with a goofy crew including Donny “The Bear Jew” Donowitz and formerly imprisoned German killer Hugo Stiglitz, Aldo Raine (Pitt) seeks out nazis to kill, while the second story of a German soldier in France attempting pursuit of a secretly jewish theatre owner progresses. The stories unfold, creating a messy and hilarious encounter upon their crossing paths. Bittersweet poetic justice is served in some respects (I don’t want to spoil the ending), but the film could not have been more excellent written any other way.

And now the story turns to you, as far as I know (I hadn’t ever seen you before, so I can’t assume you were there to begin with… sorry if I wrongly did). I had passed by the store a few times, looking in occasionally to ridicule the internal jungle (and secretly marvel at the shiny vintage one-of-a-kind guitars inside), and had seen you at the front desk. I was surprised by two things mainly: first, the fact that the store actually had a desk; second, that your hair was so expansive that I could barely see the back wall behind you (let alone your face). For me, you were hair man. I would pass by sometimes and see the owner at that uncharacteristic desk, and sometimes I would see you (and laugh a little, I’ll admit).

One winter day (I remember because I was wearing my long black coat), I saw you outside the shop people-watching, I suppose. I was across the street and our eyes met for a second. I turned away, but I soon realized that I needed to cross the street to get home. I needed to cross and walk toward just about the point at which you were standing. Our eyes met again. Well, there your face was finally, and there your smile was, surprisingly. I kept walking, trying to avoid you. I didn’t know what to think of you, but I had to cross eventually. So I did. The street was clear of cars, and I began to walk in your direction. Your face was hopeful, trying to catch my eye. You seemed convinced that I was walking toward you, but right as I got to your curb, I turned left sharply to continue my intended path.

I saw you again after that,this time feeling brave enough to venture onto your side of the street. You were standing outside the shop, handing out those official business cards. You handed me one with a smile. That card then lived in my coat pocket for a week or so, forgotten.

I told my friend about you, wondering how I should approach the situation. Were you just a kind, curteous fellow, or were you in love at first sight? She dared me to call the store number and ask for you. It was immature how we giggled about it, but we were sincere about finding more about you (not in a creepy way).
Well, I called.
You didn’t pick up.
I blurted out something I can’t quite remember…

And then you were gone. I never saw the likes of you near that store again. I would pass by and see the owner, or an uncharacteristic blonde-jock guy at that uncharacteristic desk.

If you read this, hair man, sorry I got you fired. I know, I know it probably wasn’t my fault, but it was. I apologize. Quite honestly, though, I’d rather not see you again. You worried me and I generally felt violated by your overly-friendly smile. If you return to that story, I might even call in again to get you fired (or maybe something less extreme than that…). See you never!

Do I go for it? Do I combine them? Do I just forget about this?

Then there’s always the option of looking to the future, and thinking of all the good that is to come. But unfortunately there are all sorts of obstacles to face even just to get to February. Just deal with them.

Right?