I've been having a lot of strange dreams lately. Two nights ago, I dreamed I was working in a restaurant as a waitress and had no idea what I was doing. Somebody in the kitchen handed me a plate of hamburgers and told me to give them to table twenty-three. Of course, I had no idea where table twenty-three was, so I just have the hamburgers to the people who looked hungriest. And got yelled at.
Then last night, I dreamed a woman named Ann refused to let me see any of my friends. But she wasn't a woman; she was a skinny man with black hair, although for some reason, she was also a woman named Ann. Fucked up. Anyway, in the dream, a friend had come to visit me, and I asked if he could come to dinner. It was some sort of grand occasion, and I found myself with a pocket full of money, and asked my friend to go someplace special for dinner: Zazou's, or the Number Five, or some ridiculously expensive restaurant. But he said, "I'm sorry -- Ann won't let me see you tonight." I said, "Well, fuck Ann!" And he said, "She's waiting for me; I have to go -- I'll get in trouble if she finds out I'm talking to you." Then he got on a boat -- a boat? dreams are so stupid -- and was gone.
As Agent Dale B. Cooper would say, "Perhaps I should keep a closer eye on my after-dinner coffee consumption."
Chris came over to my apartment last night. I was a little ticked off at him; I'm really not sure why he came over, because he had nothing to say except that he was tired and he didn't think my relationship with Norman is working out. And how would he know? How would anybody know? *I* don't even know.
[All I know is that I'm unhappy and am once again entertaining the idea of forsaking all relationships now and forever, because I, Helena Thomas, will never have a normal one, ever, and really ought to just freaking give up the stupid pointless hoping. It's like hoping I'll wake up one morning and suddenly find that my eyes have turned blue and I'm five-foot-nine. Not gonna happen, so there's no point in wasting time trying to make it happen.]
[They say, "You're only twenty! My gahd, you've got your whole life ahead of you to meet somebody and fall in love and have LOTS of different relationships!" But I've really stopped believing that. Call me a cynic, but I don't think there's any relationship that could be right for me, and frankly, I'm sick of pretending there could be... I've said these things before, actually, just before meeting Norman; I swore I wasn't going to try having relationships anymore. I said I was sick of it all, and I met Norman, and I changed my mind, but now I'm pretty sure I made the wrong choice. I should have stuck with being alone. At least there are no weird expectations.]
Went to the mall today to get my hair cut. Words cannot express how much I detest the mall. But I'm on a pretty limited income, and where else can I get a cheap hair cut that doesn't make me look like I was attacked by a lawn mower -- or a beauty school student?
There was a fairly long wait at the hair-cut place, so I went to Bon-ton to worship the pair of shoes I've been eying for over a year now. They're Doc Marten saddle shoes: black and white with big clunky soles. I love them boundlessly. At times when I'm not dreaming of a cuntrag named Ann and a plate of hamburgers, I dream of those shoes. So I went to Bon-ton, which told me they're no longer going to carry Doc Martens. What?! No Docs? I LOVE Docs! Now, my research seems to conclude that NOPLACE in the mall, and only ONE store in town carried Doctor Martens. How can this be? How uninspiring! What's next? My favorite movie theater starts showing Spielberg and my favorite coffeehouses start serving Maxwell House? No DOCS?
With time left to kill, I went to Sears to inquire about futons. I haven't got the money to buy a futon yet, but I suppose if I bought, say, a futon COVER, it would give me some incentive to save more money so that I can, at some point, buy a futon. Sears didn't know what futons were. I had to explain.
I hate the mall.
The girl who cut my hair charged me an extra five dollars because she'd used conditioner in my hair. FIVE DOLLARS? For conditioner? Dude, I could buy an entire BOTTLE of conditioner for that! GOOD conditioner! Like, Pantene! TWO bottles! Four if I got cheap stuff!
The movie store didn't have a copy of "Run Lola Run" in stock and wouldn't order it because they're going out of business. Last time I checked, all they had was the dubbed version anyway. Ugh.
A kid in the CD-store was busily making out with a giant Jennifer Lopez display. Ew.
And of course, a woman with a squalling child was yelling at her baby about something. I couldn't really understand her. It was a truly depressing scene.
How could I have EVER thought I enjoyed working in a place like this?
Whatever.
Went out with my friend Joey tonight. We went to Subway, where I stupidly decided to order something I'd never had, which tasted like cardboard and smelled, as Joey put it, "like a stinky fart." Thanks, Joey. I think I have indigestion. Oh well. It was nice to spend some time with Joey. I wish Aaron was in town. I bet the three of us could have come up with some real trouble-making schemes. Joey and Aaron are, surprisingly, a lot alike, although I think if I told either one of them that, they'd freak.
I'm going to go take a bubble bath, admire my new hair, and poke some pins into voodoo dolls. Have a nice night.
~Helena*