Over the last few weeks I have been having absolutely epic dreams. I always have had very vivid dreams. In fact some dreams go back to, well, since I can remember remembering.
Actually now that I think about it a bit more maybe these epic dreams I'm having now are no less full on than other ones I've had in the past. Like the one where I shot Hitler in his temple (as some kind of right hand man general type character) or the other where I was being chased through a forest by very scary but oh so cool and sexy vampires with a bunch of 'survivors'. (This was about a year before Interview with a Vampire which makes it, what, fifteen years before Twilight and that's what the vampires looked like in my dream, all dreadlocks and long coats but of course there was The Lost Boys about ten years before I had this dream so yeah, er herm, now where was I?)
So I guess what I'm saying these dreams are more full on than the ones I had, say, a month ago. You could say I'm going through one of my epic dream periods.
And the dream that prompted this post?
It was a good old armeggedon dream which started off very cinematically. Actually I wouldn't be surprised if my dream stole this 'scene' directly from a movie. I'm this middle aged business man with dark brown hair and a receding hairline on a plane. I finally get to chat with a steward who I've been admiring from afar over a number of flights (I must travel a lot) and just as I'm feeling quite pleased with myself (when I say cinematically, I mean it - I'm sitting down in the aisle seat while she is tending to someone and we share a shy flirtatious smile) the plane gets into some violent turbulence. The captain's voice is over the loud speaker as the plane dives down into a busy city street. I'm actually thinking something like "great just as I've finally broken the ice with this girl", then it goes black.
Now I'm on the outside viewing it like I am watching a movie. The plane crash is just one of many distastrous things happening. Buildings are crashing down etc etc...and yes, I have seen the trailer for 2012 so it's very much like that.
Anyway, somehow I have survived this crash with just a bit of a bloodshot eye to show for it! I'm in the city's streets (have no idea what city) and heading out from the centre of town where I reach a narrow street of shops and terrace houses. The grass median strips are mostly yellow (suggesting drought) but I look closely and dark liquid is bubbling up moistening the earth and staining the grass. I recoil in horror as I realise it's blood. As I come to this realisation I notice the dogs in the street. There are about ten or twelve in a pack which are/were obviously pets (there is even a pug) but they are whining and getting quite frenzied. They notice me so I go straight to a run down terrace house with a large windowed shop front and ask the people if I can come in. They let me in straight away and we're all like 'What the fuck is going on?' as we check laptops with news blaring on the TV. Meanwhile the dogs are scrabbling outside and I'm really worried that they are trying to get in to attack us. But then the dogs are kind of forgotten.
So now I think I'm me and not the business man anymore. The people who live in the house are kind of sexually perverted. Well, maybe that's a bit too strong as they seem genuine and harmless but they are into something strange. This is more a feeling than anything. Maybe it's because one of the guys is Phillip Seymour Hoffman. I was introduced to him via the film Happiness and sorry, Phillip, you will never shake that character in my eyes!
Anyway, Phillip is not the only character from the silver screen. One of the girls is Dawn from Buffy and she and this other girl are the guys girlfriends. And now I am remembering the kinky thing. Their boyfriends prefer the girls to dress up as guys (like Buck in United States of Tara).. Anyway the Dawn character moved me as at one point she had an expression that was so childlike, even baby like and I thought to myself 'that's the face her mother knows'...
Phew..still more!!!
So now I think I am that Dawn girl or at least I'm viewing her background. (Meanwhile there is still a sense of the world ending). I'm in a commission flat type place and this bogan but good mother comes home to her daughter who exclaims happily that their gas bill has been paid by the landlord. The mother practically bursts into tears and is like "No, nooo!" which confuses the girl (Dawn, who is about eleven) but I know what's going on and understand why the mother might be upset. The mother goes to the landlord (who is a hardfaced bitch with yellow bleached short hair and dangling ciggie) and starts yelling about being able to afford the bill (it was $8.00) and it wasn't even due so why did she pay it? The landlord is just looking down writing in her ledger as she tells her it was due today so that's close enough. The mother knows she can't do anything but accept it. 'It' being the 'administration' fee and interest the landlord wacks on to the total which takes the bill up to $38.00...
Then I'm the girl as a teenager and I finally get out of the greasy spoon I'm working at (to pay off my mum's bills or something) and move, literally, across the other side of the tracks to a funky cafe in the nice part of town. The owner is the landlord's son and I'm so happy that he is not a bogan, and more importantly, not evil anymore. I find out he was just another victim of his mother. Even though I don't remember him in the dream before this point, I think he was a bully and it's a revelation that he's actually nice...but is he?
While the girl (me?) has changed places she hasn't changed jobs and is still a chip fryer. She walks through the cafe that is tastefully decorated. The waiting staff are friendly and clean but as we go deeper into the kitchen the fryer is just the same as the one from the greasy spoon she 'escaped' and she still get's splattered with hot fat. Only more so this time as the vats are frosted over. The armeggedon part of the dream crops up again as the kitchen is tremoring as the girl is trying to fry her chips. As the ice falls in it makes the oil pop and splatter really loudly.
Oh my God. I'm so tired but I'm glad I got it down. There was another part to it but I've forgotten. Actually I don't think my brain has enough space for it and probably has had to let it go...
Far out..what does it all mean!!!
Probably something very boring like processing the almost cooking disaster with the pad thai last night.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
This is me building a bridge
Do you ever remember a petty little incident, start stewing over it and get all het up about it again? Like something that happened a week, month or even a year ago? Well for some reason I started thinking about the time we had to pay fifteen bucks for a half serve of very average spaghetti bolognese.
Oh, now I'm sounding like a tightarse as I remember recently going through old posts and noticing a pattern of whinging about money. But anyway...
This happened in Ballarat about two years ago maybe? We went to Sovereign Hill and while we waited for another family we had lunch at a little cafe. Pascal was being very indecisive as three year olds tend to be so I just go ahead and order the spag bolognese for him. I ask the waitress, who was young and friendly, whether they do half serves because you see, I know he probably won't eat it and I don't like wasting food or money and she says sure, of course we can do that. So we get the pasta and Pascal says 'Yuck'. I'm sitting there thinking you and me both as I eye the meat which looks suspiciously like the Campbell's canned shit my mum uses to bulk up her Spaghetti Sauce*. I make some half arsed attempt at eating it but it's mostly left there on the plate. I vow at this point I am not going to force food on Pascal again but, you know, at least it's only a half serve so that's half the $15.90 price right? No. Wrong.
I paid fifty bucks or whatever it was and as I'm walking out, I'm thinking "Hmm, that was a bit more than I expected to pay...and it was crap." I sit back at the table staring at the oily suspicious looking bolognese and on Asa's nudge, decide to go back and sort this out. This older waitress goes through my order and there it is, $14.90 for the pasta. I'm like 'What?! It was half a serve!" and she points to the very literal small print at the bottom of the last page that says something about taking one dollar off the price for half serves. And she has the nerve to be rude about it! The Harridan! She feeds me some line about having to still go to the trouble of cooking the meal as a justification. I just paid up as you do and gave her a little bit of a greaser. Which from me is probably more like a sad clown look.
I get out and that comeback you think of just after but too late comes to me ( 'Oh, you mean the trouble of turning the microwave on')
But today, two years later..another, even better thought comes to me. I should have refused to pay for the Spaghetti Bolognese at all! Here am I sitting in traffic two years later thinking this. It is/would have been brilliant! Even better, I could have given her two dollars for the pasta. I mean what could she have done? Nothing, that's what. Put that it in your thin puckered smokers lips and suck on it!
So now I'm over it and I will know what to do next time.
Almost can't wait. Game On potential future rude waitress moles!
*No doubt a handy hint from Woman's Weekly circa 1976
Oh, now I'm sounding like a tightarse as I remember recently going through old posts and noticing a pattern of whinging about money. But anyway...
This happened in Ballarat about two years ago maybe? We went to Sovereign Hill and while we waited for another family we had lunch at a little cafe. Pascal was being very indecisive as three year olds tend to be so I just go ahead and order the spag bolognese for him. I ask the waitress, who was young and friendly, whether they do half serves because you see, I know he probably won't eat it and I don't like wasting food or money and she says sure, of course we can do that. So we get the pasta and Pascal says 'Yuck'. I'm sitting there thinking you and me both as I eye the meat which looks suspiciously like the Campbell's canned shit my mum uses to bulk up her Spaghetti Sauce*. I make some half arsed attempt at eating it but it's mostly left there on the plate. I vow at this point I am not going to force food on Pascal again but, you know, at least it's only a half serve so that's half the $15.90 price right? No. Wrong.
I paid fifty bucks or whatever it was and as I'm walking out, I'm thinking "Hmm, that was a bit more than I expected to pay...and it was crap." I sit back at the table staring at the oily suspicious looking bolognese and on Asa's nudge, decide to go back and sort this out. This older waitress goes through my order and there it is, $14.90 for the pasta. I'm like 'What?! It was half a serve!" and she points to the very literal small print at the bottom of the last page that says something about taking one dollar off the price for half serves. And she has the nerve to be rude about it! The Harridan! She feeds me some line about having to still go to the trouble of cooking the meal as a justification. I just paid up as you do and gave her a little bit of a greaser. Which from me is probably more like a sad clown look.
I get out and that comeback you think of just after but too late comes to me ( 'Oh, you mean the trouble of turning the microwave on')
But today, two years later..another, even better thought comes to me. I should have refused to pay for the Spaghetti Bolognese at all! Here am I sitting in traffic two years later thinking this. It is/would have been brilliant! Even better, I could have given her two dollars for the pasta. I mean what could she have done? Nothing, that's what. Put that it in your thin puckered smokers lips and suck on it!
So now I'm over it and I will know what to do next time.
Almost can't wait. Game On potential future rude waitress moles!
*No doubt a handy hint from Woman's Weekly circa 1976
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Welcome banner idea for the idiot (who I'm sure as a little penis) on the Eastern Freeway this morning...
Congratulations! Due to you flooring it at 30 kilometres over the limit, changing lanes about fifty times in a demented fashion and basically risking the lives of men, women, children and tiny little babies, you have arrived at your destination 3 minutes earlier!
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Oh Bugger??
Hmm...maybe I need think long and hard before posting anything novelesque using Blogger?
Any intellectual property lawyers ambling past out there?
Tired mum brain cannot compute!
By submitting, posting or displaying Content on or through Google services which are intended to be available to the members of the public, you grant Google a worldwide, non-exclusive, royalty-free license to reproduce, publish and distribute such Content on Google services for the purpose of displaying and distributing Google services.
Any intellectual property lawyers ambling past out there?
Tired mum brain cannot compute!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Welcome Liam David!
Last night we went to visit Uncle Sammy and Aunty Glenda who gave birth to Pascal's and Sweeney's cousin Liam on Wednesday night. He is very scrumptious and so tiny compared to Sweeney. It's unbelievable what three and a half months growth looks like when you have a direct comparison.
We had dinner with new dad Sammy at a Thai restaurant near the beach in Hampton (near the hospital Glenda was in). It's amazing how many old people were out! The grey to other hair colour was about 75/25.
Looks like 'NanaLand'* is still living up to it's name thirty years on!
Anyway, we decided on this Thai restaurant as it had the least amount of grey haired ladies and gents. I don't have anything against our elders, just that I get a bit paranoid having young kids around them and Pascal can get a bit cheeky.**
As Asa took Pascal to the toilet one cozy couple caught my eye...
Me (motioning towards them): "Hey, I think they're on their first date."
Sammy: "Yep, they met online - Sprightly 90 year old into golf and S&M seeks no strings attached fun with woman into same. Great grandkids OK."
CONGRATULATIONS TO SAM AND GLENDA!
*My nana lived around this area and they were everywhere then!
**When Pascal was three he used to break into 'This old man, he played one' whenever he saw an elderly man...or woman. We didn't leave the restaurant completely cringefree. He spoke a bit of gibberish to the Thai waitress and when Asa said 'oh, stop being silly' Pascal said cheekily 'but I'm speaking Chinese!' Luckily she dug his cheeky style and gave him a lollypop.
We had dinner with new dad Sammy at a Thai restaurant near the beach in Hampton (near the hospital Glenda was in). It's amazing how many old people were out! The grey to other hair colour was about 75/25.
Looks like 'NanaLand'* is still living up to it's name thirty years on!
Anyway, we decided on this Thai restaurant as it had the least amount of grey haired ladies and gents. I don't have anything against our elders, just that I get a bit paranoid having young kids around them and Pascal can get a bit cheeky.**
As Asa took Pascal to the toilet one cozy couple caught my eye...
Me (motioning towards them): "Hey, I think they're on their first date."
Sammy: "Yep, they met online - Sprightly 90 year old into golf and S&M seeks no strings attached fun with woman into same. Great grandkids OK."
CONGRATULATIONS TO SAM AND GLENDA!
*My nana lived around this area and they were everywhere then!
**When Pascal was three he used to break into 'This old man, he played one' whenever he saw an elderly man...or woman. We didn't leave the restaurant completely cringefree. He spoke a bit of gibberish to the Thai waitress and when Asa said 'oh, stop being silly' Pascal said cheekily 'but I'm speaking Chinese!' Luckily she dug his cheeky style and gave him a lollypop.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Quandary
I've written my first paragraph. You know the book I am writing? Yeah, well it's done. The first paragraph. Phew. Hard work.
I am feeling very, very excited. It's all of ten lines but I really feel this is the one and I've had a great idea how to launch it....
I'm jumping ahead of myself and will start from the beginning. Yesterday I was doing my usual meandering and tidying around the house as Sweeney slept. I had my thoughts on a nice cup of tea and a Louis Theroux special I had recorded from the night before. As usual my thoughts also turned towards the laptop and getting this show on the road. Usually I would (very briefly and tokenly) try and muster the enthusiasm to at least open a word document but then go placate that thought and promise it I will do what it wants me to do TOMORROW.
Not this time. No, I sat down, opened that fresh word document, suffered through a minor tantrum at the stupditity and user UNfriendliness of Vista Microsoft Office and banged out a FANTASTIC first paragraph. I love it, Asa loves it* and it's going to make the first chapter very easy.
I am sooo pumped.
So today I was thinking about this wonderful character who is becoming more and more substantial in my head and realised that, really, something is happening here. This something is also heightened by a wonderful dream I had last night. Well, the second one. In the first dream I was being chased by an axe weilding maniac. Really. He was crazy and had an axe. I woke up just as I realised I couldn't lock the door behind me as he came running up the drive. Should I flee throught the house or try and hold the door closed? Or wake up!
So the fantastic second dream. There was still a macabre hangover from the last dream as I was in a house (which was actually a version of my mum's/childhood home) in a large upstairs ballroom. It was dark and there were all these corpse like characters in dull coloured costumes. I was there and doing something (and I honestly can't remember what it was) which got them all animated again. They were all dressed brightly and dancing around (or maybe rollerskating??). I think they were thanking me. I'm not sure but there was definitely a sense that I had done something extrordinary for them. There was also this guy on a horse who told me something important but I've forgotten what it was...Bloody Hell, now as I describe it, it's sounding like Night at the Museum!!!
Anyway, as the day went on I became more detached from the magic of the dream and realised what it was telling me. The House represents me or my Self, of course. The ballroom is 'upstairs' so I've taken it to mean my mind or imagination. The characters are, well, characters and I've woken them up...brought them to life. FAR OUT MAN!
So, now my quandary.
I've been thinking of POSTING - as in live on the internet - a chapter a week....
But I'm scared. Scared of being ripped off, basically. I know, I know...I could be delusional and no-one is going to want to steal my ideas but what if it happened. How pissed off would I feel? So, if anyone, ANYONE is out there reading this..what do you think?
*Maybe in the same sense this guy's girlfriend said his piercings are unobtrusive but hopefully not
I am feeling very, very excited. It's all of ten lines but I really feel this is the one and I've had a great idea how to launch it....
I'm jumping ahead of myself and will start from the beginning. Yesterday I was doing my usual meandering and tidying around the house as Sweeney slept. I had my thoughts on a nice cup of tea and a Louis Theroux special I had recorded from the night before. As usual my thoughts also turned towards the laptop and getting this show on the road. Usually I would (very briefly and tokenly) try and muster the enthusiasm to at least open a word document but then go placate that thought and promise it I will do what it wants me to do TOMORROW.
Not this time. No, I sat down, opened that fresh word document, suffered through a minor tantrum at the stupditity and user UNfriendliness of Vista Microsoft Office and banged out a FANTASTIC first paragraph. I love it, Asa loves it* and it's going to make the first chapter very easy.
I am sooo pumped.
So today I was thinking about this wonderful character who is becoming more and more substantial in my head and realised that, really, something is happening here. This something is also heightened by a wonderful dream I had last night. Well, the second one. In the first dream I was being chased by an axe weilding maniac. Really. He was crazy and had an axe. I woke up just as I realised I couldn't lock the door behind me as he came running up the drive. Should I flee throught the house or try and hold the door closed? Or wake up!
So the fantastic second dream. There was still a macabre hangover from the last dream as I was in a house (which was actually a version of my mum's/childhood home) in a large upstairs ballroom. It was dark and there were all these corpse like characters in dull coloured costumes. I was there and doing something (and I honestly can't remember what it was) which got them all animated again. They were all dressed brightly and dancing around (or maybe rollerskating??). I think they were thanking me. I'm not sure but there was definitely a sense that I had done something extrordinary for them. There was also this guy on a horse who told me something important but I've forgotten what it was...Bloody Hell, now as I describe it, it's sounding like Night at the Museum!!!
Anyway, as the day went on I became more detached from the magic of the dream and realised what it was telling me. The House represents me or my Self, of course. The ballroom is 'upstairs' so I've taken it to mean my mind or imagination. The characters are, well, characters and I've woken them up...brought them to life. FAR OUT MAN!
So, now my quandary.
I've been thinking of POSTING - as in live on the internet - a chapter a week....
But I'm scared. Scared of being ripped off, basically. I know, I know...I could be delusional and no-one is going to want to steal my ideas but what if it happened. How pissed off would I feel? So, if anyone, ANYONE is out there reading this..what do you think?
*Maybe in the same sense this guy's girlfriend said his piercings are unobtrusive but hopefully not
Friday, August 14, 2009
Oh, you mean those clothes?
Yes, I guess I should mention that the clothes were found.
By Asa.
MY VERY BEST MOST VALUABLE CLOTHES, the loss of which is capable of turning me into a screaming banshee (well, weeping pathetic banshee) are still bunched up in the green coles bag.
Underneath the bed where I left them
Oh shut up, I'm BREASTFEEDING!
Apologies to Asa. Still mates?
By Asa.
MY VERY BEST MOST VALUABLE CLOTHES, the loss of which is capable of turning me into a screaming banshee (well, weeping pathetic banshee) are still bunched up in the green coles bag.
Underneath the bed where I left them
Oh shut up, I'm BREASTFEEDING!
Apologies to Asa. Still mates?
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