Goodbye morning lung pain and so much wheezing.
The first day I used one I came home early and fell asleep on the couch.
I immediately drifted into a vivid dream.
CLP and I met up in New York. We were both very dressed up, I was wearing the torturous shoes from my NYSE day, yet they didn't hurt me. Which convinced me I was dreaming. We met up in a hotel and hung around the lobby, which looked suspiciously like the Riu Caribe lobby, but more upscale and no palm trees.
We drank several margaritas and then ventured out into the city for some food. I was craving a sundae, one which was also very suspicious, it looked just absolutely exactly like this: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dooce/295333358/ (pardon me, but I'm in Safari and so cannot hyperlink. Damn Safari!)
Along our walk, CLP gradually changed out of her dress up clothes, I would look over and she was dressed up fully, then look away and when I looked back, the blouse was gone, replaced with a hoodie (which I don't think she ever wears) and then looked again and she is in cargo shorts (again, not sure she has ever worn these in my presence) and then finally I looked back and she was in Birkenstocks and right then I was sure again that this was a dream, because I believe she'd rather I drive my thumbs into her eyelids than wear Birks, but maybe the years have changed her. Maybe I always, all along wanted CLP to be a hippy. Regardless, I remember being pissed in the dream, because I hadn't brought any other outfit, and now we didn't match.
We stopped at the place that had the sundaes as pictured above and it was 7 minutes until 10pm. They told us they could seat us, but that they were out of mostly everything, except Thanksgiving dinner. We said, ummmm, really? And the waitress stomped off in a huff. We sat there debating whether or not to just go, and I pleaded with her to let me get my sundae and then we could leave. The waitress returned with a plate of charred hamburgers. "And these are for you," she chirped gaily.
CLP and I looked at each other and in unison got angry. We demanded just our sundae and we would leave. They brought out a dish full of melting ice-cream and Cool-Whip. We took one look and walked away.
Out on the street, we started worrying whether it was too late to eat anywhere. We stopped and talked to the ticketseller in a movie theatre, behind the glass fishbowl, you know? And he assured us it was NYC and we could eat until whenever we damn well pleased. We kept walking and came upon a huge, brightly lit casino, which also advertised mortgage rates. I remember pondering this heavily as I stood and stared at the busy, open air (because of course!) casino. I remember thinking that getting your mortgage at a casino was probably a bad idea, but I was curious how good (or bad) the rates would be. We kept walking and came upon several small shoe stores, all open air, and all with circular displays of shoes.
We split up in the shoe store and I heard CLP exclaiming about all the cute shoes she was trying on. Even in my dream I scoffed, because I will never forget being stoned out of my mind in Amsterdam many years ago while CLP mourned her Fred Flintstone feet in all the cute Dutch shoe stores. And that was after she got pissed because they won't serve mustard with a ham sandwich and the idea of mayonnaise on ham grossed us both out tremendously. I put on a heavily strapped leather shoe which had a lower heel and then limped around with two different shoes trying to see if it would hurt my feet. I picked up one bootie type shoe and the leather flapped around, broken in places. I looked less closely and realized it was a skinned pig head and revoltedly put it back.
(I have explained before that I have a wickedly perverse subconscious, and now you belive me).
At this point the dream ended. We never got food, and we never went anywhere in particular. And I thought about this dream the whole next day, trying to eke some sense out of it. And for a while I thought that it meant something about my friendship with CLP, and how absolutely everything we do is the most fun I've had, even when we do nothing. Even when we sat in her apartment in Cincinnati and played gin rummy and smoked, and used her cool ashtray that had a button that dropped all the ashes into the bottom of the container. Even when we drove around Toledo as teenagers, listening to A Daisy Chain 4 Satan and Skinny Puppy. Even when we ordered delivery food from the one place that delivered in Toledo after 3:00am. Even when we watched the Oscars from a pubic haired bed in an unclean hostel in Amsterdam. Even all those times, I've always had the best time of my life with this girl.
I know what the dream meant.
It means I miss you, Potterchick.
It means I miss you really a lot.
2 comments:
to set the record straight, I do own hoodies (that's plural). I also own Birks - suede clogs bought in Germany. They are awesome and super compfy. I can however confirm that I have never owned cargo anything. What the heck do I need all those pockets for?
And me shoe shopping and being happy that all the shoes fit is a clear sign you were dreaming as that has never and will never happen.
I miss you too!!! And it was totally cool to hear all of your stories - some of which I'd forgotten. Although I'm glad I forgot about the pubic hair in the bed in Amsterdam.
CLP never needs all those pockets because she carries small, compact, GAP purses where she fits everything that I couldn't fit into a small car. All neatly organized and easily accessible. She's a banker. You can so totally tell.
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