A Dream Come True.

3 Feb

Today’s weather forecast: Sunny, high of 84, winds 0 mph.

My attire in preparation? Zip-up sweatshirt, snow pants, boots, and long-sleeved t-shirt. Current status: Smoldering.

Kidding.

I’m naked.

Since I had already consumed 72 fluid ounces of Mountain Dew by 5 p.m. today, I decided to purchase a water when I arrived here at the IMU versus another gallon of pure caffeine. After browsing the fridge, my eyes fell upon the flavored waters, boasting of their refreshing flavors and “vitamin enhanced” contents. I figured I’d give it a try. After choosing Dasani Plus in Kiwi Strawberry, I returned to my nook in the computer lab and cracked it open. My taste buds weren’t very enthused. Instead of a delicious, refreshing elixir, I felt an instinctive gag reflex as the flavor whizzed me back to booze cruising in high school, choking down gross fruity liquors mixed with Gatorade. I should have gone with Evian. “Water” flavor.

Barf.

Again I bought Bubblicious. Three packs. I know, my teeth. Not a concern. Cavities are for kids.

Some people think they have the most interesting dreams imaginable, and feel as though they should tell everyone around them about them as if they are fragments of important information that could be used to, say, cure cancer or solve world hunger. You are then forced to listen to a six minute monologue about how the person was first “in their house but it wasn’t really THEIR house” as they talk to a dog that for some reason could talk back; not in English but “they could understand it for some weird reason,” and then how they are suddenly in a different country and “I can’t remember if it was Hilary Clinton or Condoleeza Rice, but they were driving my car and I was pissed because of insurance,” and so on and so forth; a collage of shit that amounts to no sensible conclusion, and as the listener, you’re forced to pretend that you give a rat’s ass. You know, this is why Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated. He wouldn’t shut up about his fucking dreams.

I’m going to hell.

In the meantime, I tell people about my dreams anyway. P.S. I am always in the water and there is usually a large sea mammal, like Free Willy, a dolphin, or Kehly. Literally every dream. I know you care greatly. Me too. Meeee, too.

Everyone enjoys entering a public restroom and discovering that there is no one else in there. There is nothing a person can appreciate more than privacy while they’re taking care of business. Once you get settled on the can, you’re doin your thing, and you hear the main door open; someone else has entered the domain. Your domain. Everyone does the same thing. You make some sort of noise to let the intruder know that they are not alone: noisily rip toilet paper that you don’t need from the dispenser so it bangs against the wall, force a fake cough. As if the other person was going to “accidentally” force entry into the one specific stall that you are occupying, these noisy signals protect you from that sort of invasion.

People.

Again, I do these things.

“When the fuck did we get ice cream?”

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