I have two followers, and I had to give birth to only one of them. The other is not even a relative, which is sweet. Evidently my family will catch up on my life via my posts, but they're not going to go so far as to commit to being a fan by publicly declaring they read this shite. I have more Twitter fans and followers--nine! Whoo-hoo!--despite the fact I have an average lag in posting of 97 days. Ah, well. The fame will find me, I'm sure.
I've had WAY too much to do recently, and the stress of it all leads me wide-awake and buggy all night. I fall asleep, then jerk awake for no reason. Secondary insomnia, you are a bitch on little cat feet. In addition to the random jerking-awake-for-no-reason, I also deal with two moronic doggies who bark at the neighbors coming home, at spiders, or at me if any part of my body flops over the side of the bed. I also wake up when they sneeze, roll over, or walk across the bare floor, little toenails clicking like the devil's tiny castanets. One snores. The other has asthma. I don't get much sleep.
So last night, in between bouts of wakefulness, I clocked not one but two horrifying dreams. In the first, I was trying to get into a taxi in a crowded area with my friend The Rose. We live in China yet the dream took place in the US--go figure. We were separated on the street--I found a taxi and jumped in and asked it to circle the block to get back to The Rose and as it circled I tried to text him to say I was in the taxi ahead of him on the street. My cell phone, however, wasn't working--all these things I had never used before kept coming up and I was screaming with frustration, frantically trying to get out of that weird app and into a simple text or even a damn phone call--we circled the block and he was gone and I kept struggling with the phone, screaming, FUCK ME! with anger and frustration. Suddenly we were in the taxi driver's home--I was still struggling with the phone, and the driver, Chinese, came out of the back room quite naked with a huge erection and announced that he was going to ahem, take me, as I had been screaming, "FUCK ME!" in rage. I ran like hell, still trying to text. I woke up to find Princess Doggie staring at me thoughtfully. She licked me on the face then curled up delicately against my back in an effort to soothe me. After some time--a long, long time--I fell asleep again, only to have a dream about working in a school--again, set in the US--which sucked, and a staff member who is also on a favorite TV show jumped out the window. I saw her fall from the side--and the dream got weirder from there.
There are triggers for both dreams--I can't tell you how many cell phones I have burned through in the past four years, and The Rose and I had had a good laugh a few days ago about Puppet Sex (a story I'll get to) which relates to the "FUCK ME!" theme of the first dream. What really bothered me in both was the sense of menace. I am running a new, potentially very interesting project and I have quite a bit of trepidation about it. I shouldn't, but given my track record--scholarship checks that are never dispersed, paychecks that are withheld for some cockamamie reason, bosses that get arrested before they sign the pay roll, companies that disappear with finished product, and just a lot of general getting screwed like no one else before or since, I carry a lot of tension around. I get that. I will be social this week, it's Spring Festival, after all, and I have only two more projects to launch this week and then I can take it easy (if you call being a slave to two lap dogs easy) for the next eight days.
All right: Puppet Sex. I have the pleasure of knowing not one but TWO Elvis impersonators here in Beijing and only one is gay. The other makes a living in a variety of performance pieces including some brilliant work with puppets. So, The Rose is over there one day, just hanging around and watching TV with Elvis Impersonator Number One, when a Chinese girl comes over. They sit and chat for a moment, then Elvis One disappears into the bedroom. The Rose knows there's a bathroom back there and he figured oh, hell, he just nipped back there for a quick toke. But no: within a minute or two, Elvis One slips back into the living room, clad in clown pants, clown shoes, and a cowboy hat. One of his puppets, a Muppet-like creature that is mounted on Elvis One's fist with arms controlled by two thin rods manipulated by Elvis's free hand, beckons to the girl suggestively. The Rose is startled: reckless hedonist he may be, even he is appalled by the presence of a clown-clad puppeteer soundlessly beckoning a stranger for sex through the seductive come-hither gesture of a knock-off Muppet. The girl jumps up, strides to the bedroom, and within seconds the sound of hot monkey lovin' fill the air. The Rose wonders if he should leave--and is very very relieved they didn't ask him to join them--but fortunately, after ten or so minutes, the girl wanders back into the room, a fist full of 100-kuai notes in her hand. She nods goodbye and leaves, as silent as the Muppet which sprawls open-mouthed in post-coital abandon across the door sill. Elvis One reappears, freshly toked. "Ah, she's a nice girl," he remarks. "She's not a whore or anything, we just hook up when I have an extra thousand."
That brings me to the last thing I want to say: I have never, ever had a man I was involved with give me money (hell, not even rent!) or anything more expensive than a decent cut of meat, or once (birthday gift) a pair of shoes. However, reared as I was on bad Hollywood films, I realize that in the back of my mind I have always been wanted to be gifted with two things: they are not The Gift of His Name, or Sweet Sweet Love, but rather, a mink coat and a big-ass diamond. I want to be given a mink and diamonds for being very, very good at being very, very bad. My PC sister is screaming as I type this--she doesn't even have to read it for her to be in my head about it--and yes, I can buy my own mink and diamonds, but WON'T, because of animal rights and cruelty free diamonds (and frankly, my own incipient poverty) but dammit it, give me some portable status! Will settle for trip to Paris.
I've had WAY too much to do recently, and the stress of it all leads me wide-awake and buggy all night. I fall asleep, then jerk awake for no reason. Secondary insomnia, you are a bitch on little cat feet. In addition to the random jerking-awake-for-no-reason, I also deal with two moronic doggies who bark at the neighbors coming home, at spiders, or at me if any part of my body flops over the side of the bed. I also wake up when they sneeze, roll over, or walk across the bare floor, little toenails clicking like the devil's tiny castanets. One snores. The other has asthma. I don't get much sleep.
So last night, in between bouts of wakefulness, I clocked not one but two horrifying dreams. In the first, I was trying to get into a taxi in a crowded area with my friend The Rose. We live in China yet the dream took place in the US--go figure. We were separated on the street--I found a taxi and jumped in and asked it to circle the block to get back to The Rose and as it circled I tried to text him to say I was in the taxi ahead of him on the street. My cell phone, however, wasn't working--all these things I had never used before kept coming up and I was screaming with frustration, frantically trying to get out of that weird app and into a simple text or even a damn phone call--we circled the block and he was gone and I kept struggling with the phone, screaming, FUCK ME! with anger and frustration. Suddenly we were in the taxi driver's home--I was still struggling with the phone, and the driver, Chinese, came out of the back room quite naked with a huge erection and announced that he was going to ahem, take me, as I had been screaming, "FUCK ME!" in rage. I ran like hell, still trying to text. I woke up to find Princess Doggie staring at me thoughtfully. She licked me on the face then curled up delicately against my back in an effort to soothe me. After some time--a long, long time--I fell asleep again, only to have a dream about working in a school--again, set in the US--which sucked, and a staff member who is also on a favorite TV show jumped out the window. I saw her fall from the side--and the dream got weirder from there.
There are triggers for both dreams--I can't tell you how many cell phones I have burned through in the past four years, and The Rose and I had had a good laugh a few days ago about Puppet Sex (a story I'll get to) which relates to the "FUCK ME!" theme of the first dream. What really bothered me in both was the sense of menace. I am running a new, potentially very interesting project and I have quite a bit of trepidation about it. I shouldn't, but given my track record--scholarship checks that are never dispersed, paychecks that are withheld for some cockamamie reason, bosses that get arrested before they sign the pay roll, companies that disappear with finished product, and just a lot of general getting screwed like no one else before or since, I carry a lot of tension around. I get that. I will be social this week, it's Spring Festival, after all, and I have only two more projects to launch this week and then I can take it easy (if you call being a slave to two lap dogs easy) for the next eight days.
All right: Puppet Sex. I have the pleasure of knowing not one but TWO Elvis impersonators here in Beijing and only one is gay. The other makes a living in a variety of performance pieces including some brilliant work with puppets. So, The Rose is over there one day, just hanging around and watching TV with Elvis Impersonator Number One, when a Chinese girl comes over. They sit and chat for a moment, then Elvis One disappears into the bedroom. The Rose knows there's a bathroom back there and he figured oh, hell, he just nipped back there for a quick toke. But no: within a minute or two, Elvis One slips back into the living room, clad in clown pants, clown shoes, and a cowboy hat. One of his puppets, a Muppet-like creature that is mounted on Elvis One's fist with arms controlled by two thin rods manipulated by Elvis's free hand, beckons to the girl suggestively. The Rose is startled: reckless hedonist he may be, even he is appalled by the presence of a clown-clad puppeteer soundlessly beckoning a stranger for sex through the seductive come-hither gesture of a knock-off Muppet. The girl jumps up, strides to the bedroom, and within seconds the sound of hot monkey lovin' fill the air. The Rose wonders if he should leave--and is very very relieved they didn't ask him to join them--but fortunately, after ten or so minutes, the girl wanders back into the room, a fist full of 100-kuai notes in her hand. She nods goodbye and leaves, as silent as the Muppet which sprawls open-mouthed in post-coital abandon across the door sill. Elvis One reappears, freshly toked. "Ah, she's a nice girl," he remarks. "She's not a whore or anything, we just hook up when I have an extra thousand."
That brings me to the last thing I want to say: I have never, ever had a man I was involved with give me money (hell, not even rent!) or anything more expensive than a decent cut of meat, or once (birthday gift) a pair of shoes. However, reared as I was on bad Hollywood films, I realize that in the back of my mind I have always been wanted to be gifted with two things: they are not The Gift of His Name, or Sweet Sweet Love, but rather, a mink coat and a big-ass diamond. I want to be given a mink and diamonds for being very, very good at being very, very bad. My PC sister is screaming as I type this--she doesn't even have to read it for her to be in my head about it--and yes, I can buy my own mink and diamonds, but WON'T, because of animal rights and cruelty free diamonds (and frankly, my own incipient poverty) but dammit it, give me some portable status! Will settle for trip to Paris.
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