do you want to be crazy like Van Gogh?
Aug. 14th, 2005 10:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kleenexwomanI had yet another weird-ass dream last night.
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drworm came to my house to sleep over, and she brought comic books with her. While I was looking through one of the books she brought, she wandered off to use the bathroom and disappeared into another dimension. I felt really bad, because I was supposed to be taking care of her for ghostgecko.
When I got up to look for her, Dad came home...except it wasn't actually my own dad. It was George McFly, the new "cool nerd" one from the end of the first movie. He was working for a magazine. He said that his editor wanted him to do a story on the Asian sex trade in San Francisco, and he was nervous about having to get a prostitute or mail-order bride. He wanted me to come along to help him out.
So we went to Chinatown, and he wandered around asking random street people, "Where can I find the Asian sex trade?" Someone finally told him where to go; it was a little hole-in-the-wall shop that sold plastic toys. The owner, a little Chinese guy, showed him "Chinese wives," which were really just big, gummy centipedes in plastic wrap. They were called "Chinese wives" because, the guy said, "They will get you food for ten dolla." George was really relieved, and he bought one.
When we got home, he took it out of the wrapping paper and put it on the kitchen table. It laid there for a minute, then skittered off out of sight. George said that it was working, and not to worry about it.
Then we had an argument. I wanted George to help me look fordrworm, who still hadn't shown up. George said that she was my friend, so he wouldn't help me (which sounds like something my real dad would say), and that she had probably gotten herself out of the other dimension and gone home already. I got mad at him, and then the centipede skittered out from under the couch. It had gotten a lot bigger. I freaked out because I thought it had eaten drworm, and George said that it hadn't, because the centipedes didn't eat people. I asked him how he knew, and he said he'd read the little instruction card that came with it, so he was an expert (which is the way my real dad tends to think).
Then we didn't see it for a while. Then my brother came home from school. I couldn't tell whether it was Marty or my real brother Brian. He looked and dressed like Marty, but he had a Chelsea haircut (it's where you shave almost your entire head, except for a couple of locks hanging down on the side of your face; it's popular among punk girls) and was telling me jokes about spontaneous human combustion, so I think it must have really been Brian. (I can't remember any of the jokes, but they were funny.) I told him about the centipede and asked him to help me look fordrworm. He said OK, but then George came in and asked him what he'd done to his hair. Marty-Brian started to explain about his haircut, but then the centipede came out of the walls.
It was huge. It was rippling out of the walls like a sea of solid centipede muscle. I freaked out and starting trying to hit it with a stick. Marty-Brian ran out of the house. George was just grinning as the centipede flowed around his feet like tar.
Anyway, Grandpa seems to be OK. He has some kind of infection in his blood, but they gave him a shot and an IV and he's feeling much better. He was joking about flirting with the nurses and making faces at the birds out the window. That's one source of anxiety dealt with for the moment.
This weekend has just been bad in general. I've been nervous and tired and depressed and feeling very dull and cowlike and slow and left out of things. Hopefully the week will be much better.
I was going to work on a story, but I feel far too dumb to do this particular story. I'm going to make anti-death bracelets instead, tonight.
I MISS TALKING TO PEOPLE.
Mom dragged me to Jo-Ann Fabrics after we went to see Grandpa. I passed the time by looking at costume catalogs. Those of you who haven't grown up with a fabric-obsessed mother probably are not familiar with the existence of companies such as Simplicity and Butterick, but my childhood is filled with hours poring over glossy pictures of pattern diagrams.
Simplicity is unique in that they have a whole costume catalog to themselves, unlike other companies, whose pattern books have a few witch outfits jammed in the back. This catalog carries the theme and catchphrase of "Who do you want to be?" Do you want to be just like someone on TV? Well, the movies, anyway. Every year, the catalog is filled with perfect rip-offs of whatever fantastic movie is popular, or has been for the last five years. This year, it's Lord of the Rings aka "Trilogy Troubadours," Star Wars aka "The Battle for the Future," the Matrix aka "Cyberpunk Believers," Charlie's Angels aka "Full Throttle Girls" (no Thin Man outfit, sadly), and Titanic aka "Victorian Elegance." Flying right under copyright radar, there.
Makes me want to take up sewing, almost. But instead I'll probably put a black shirt over my head and go as a ninja for Halloween this year, if I don't do the haunted house again. Why am I thinking about Halloween? It's just August. Oh right, craft stores.
drworm came to my house to sleep over, and she brought comic books with her. While I was looking through one of the books she brought, she wandered off to use the bathroom and disappeared into another dimension. I felt really bad, because I was supposed to be taking care of her for ghostgecko. When I got up to look for her, Dad came home...except it wasn't actually my own dad. It was George McFly, the new "cool nerd" one from the end of the first movie. He was working for a magazine. He said that his editor wanted him to do a story on the Asian sex trade in San Francisco, and he was nervous about having to get a prostitute or mail-order bride. He wanted me to come along to help him out.
So we went to Chinatown, and he wandered around asking random street people, "Where can I find the Asian sex trade?" Someone finally told him where to go; it was a little hole-in-the-wall shop that sold plastic toys. The owner, a little Chinese guy, showed him "Chinese wives," which were really just big, gummy centipedes in plastic wrap. They were called "Chinese wives" because, the guy said, "They will get you food for ten dolla." George was really relieved, and he bought one.
When we got home, he took it out of the wrapping paper and put it on the kitchen table. It laid there for a minute, then skittered off out of sight. George said that it was working, and not to worry about it.
Then we had an argument. I wanted George to help me look for
drworm, who still hadn't shown up. George said that she was my friend, so he wouldn't help me (which sounds like something my real dad would say), and that she had probably gotten herself out of the other dimension and gone home already. I got mad at him, and then the centipede skittered out from under the couch. It had gotten a lot bigger. I freaked out because I thought it had eaten drworm, and George said that it hadn't, because the centipedes didn't eat people. I asked him how he knew, and he said he'd read the little instruction card that came with it, so he was an expert (which is the way my real dad tends to think). Then we didn't see it for a while. Then my brother came home from school. I couldn't tell whether it was Marty or my real brother Brian. He looked and dressed like Marty, but he had a Chelsea haircut (it's where you shave almost your entire head, except for a couple of locks hanging down on the side of your face; it's popular among punk girls) and was telling me jokes about spontaneous human combustion, so I think it must have really been Brian. (I can't remember any of the jokes, but they were funny.) I told him about the centipede and asked him to help me look for
drworm. He said OK, but then George came in and asked him what he'd done to his hair. Marty-Brian started to explain about his haircut, but then the centipede came out of the walls. It was huge. It was rippling out of the walls like a sea of solid centipede muscle. I freaked out and starting trying to hit it with a stick. Marty-Brian ran out of the house. George was just grinning as the centipede flowed around his feet like tar.
Anyway, Grandpa seems to be OK. He has some kind of infection in his blood, but they gave him a shot and an IV and he's feeling much better. He was joking about flirting with the nurses and making faces at the birds out the window. That's one source of anxiety dealt with for the moment.
This weekend has just been bad in general. I've been nervous and tired and depressed and feeling very dull and cowlike and slow and left out of things. Hopefully the week will be much better.
I was going to work on a story, but I feel far too dumb to do this particular story. I'm going to make anti-death bracelets instead, tonight.
I MISS TALKING TO PEOPLE.
Mom dragged me to Jo-Ann Fabrics after we went to see Grandpa. I passed the time by looking at costume catalogs. Those of you who haven't grown up with a fabric-obsessed mother probably are not familiar with the existence of companies such as Simplicity and Butterick, but my childhood is filled with hours poring over glossy pictures of pattern diagrams.
Simplicity is unique in that they have a whole costume catalog to themselves, unlike other companies, whose pattern books have a few witch outfits jammed in the back. This catalog carries the theme and catchphrase of "Who do you want to be?" Do you want to be just like someone on TV? Well, the movies, anyway. Every year, the catalog is filled with perfect rip-offs of whatever fantastic movie is popular, or has been for the last five years. This year, it's Lord of the Rings aka "Trilogy Troubadours," Star Wars aka "The Battle for the Future," the Matrix aka "Cyberpunk Believers," Charlie's Angels aka "Full Throttle Girls" (no Thin Man outfit, sadly), and Titanic aka "Victorian Elegance." Flying right under copyright radar, there.
Makes me want to take up sewing, almost. But instead I'll probably put a black shirt over my head and go as a ninja for Halloween this year, if I don't do the haunted house again. Why am I thinking about Halloween? It's just August. Oh right, craft stores.
