So a few months back I had a dream that my friend, Trish, killed us in a car crash. I woke up incensed and texted her this.

“JEEBUS CHRIST. I just awoke from a dream that you were driving us on an 8-lane freeway bridge and got distracted by something and hit the guard rail and we went into this major spin and ended up on the other side of the highway. For a brief second it looked like maybe this was a survivable situation, but then the guard rail on the side we were now on gave way and we started to fall the 200 feet to the water below. You said “we’re out” followed by (so you) “Love you!” and I unlocked the door and put my hand on my seatbelt in case living was an option, but then it all went white and I knew we were dead.
Seriously, JEEBUS CHRIST.
And fuck you! Haha”

I still remember this dream as vividly as though it really happened.

My one condolence – well, minus the fact that my super lovable and most excellent friend both didn’t die/kilis us and is still around for me/the world to enjoy – is, if I did die this way, I think I’d be pretty calm seeing as I’ve been through dream versions of if dozens of times now. :/

For years and years the dream was that I drove off a cliff.

In the last six months it’s that I’m the passenger and someone I know, love and trust accidentally (or incidentally out of some otherwise charming nuance of their personality) kills us with a motor vehicle.

***DISCUSS***

Although I would never try to argue that I’m the best person in the world, I’m hardly the worst.
I’ve made more than my share of mistakes and even done some damage here and there in my life, but at least I have the decency to feel bad about it.

Anywho, I’m supposed to be motivating over to this Spago VIP party as part of the Maui Film Festival tonight, but instead I’m lying on my couch in a Spiderman sweatshirt thinking about a convo I had with a friend today.

While talking about whether most people (male or female) wanted to be in a relationship, it came up that in the last few months I’ve had three or four offers (requests?) to get in a relationship (or even marry) male friends that I have never been romantically involved.

Friend: “I wish I had that kind of mojo where women were like ‘Hey. You. You’re the one.”

Me: “Yeah. It’s pretty weird. I don’t really know what to tell you.”

Friend: “Well, I guess you really are the complete package.”

Me: “Thank you.”

**moment spent in silent contemplation of my life, as it were. Or at least as it stands at the moment.**

Me: “Lot of good it’s done me!”

So whatever the heck i am bringing this up for (probably the fact that I am stalling on attending my fifth event alone in as many nights) I’ll conclude with what I told him.

My teacher recently told me that the only reason to get into a relationship is because you cannot NOT be without the other person.
And that’s my pledge from here on out: Mr. Complete Package or get used to showing up alone to a VIP party and in a Spiderman sweatshirt and jeans.
Like a boss.

The Scene: me and the guy in line ahead of me at the Redbox in Long’s as I wait to rid myself of this unfathomable piece of theater.

Him: “What are you returning?”

Me: Cloud Atlas.

Him: “Was it good?”

Me: Possibly.

Him: What’s it about?

Me: I can honestly say I have no idea.

Him: So you didn’t watch it?

Me: No I watched it. Two and a half times, actually.

**gives me a look of what I perceive as annoyance and perhaps minor confusion**

Me: I don’t know. It’s about the past. And the future. Korean women who are robots that bleed. I think they’re robots. I’m not sure.
Halle Berry is in it. She’s aging well. Hugh Grant is in it too. He is not.

*crickets*

Me: And every time I blinked my eyes Tom Hanks was on the screen looking like a totally different person. In fact, he may be the only actor in the thing. Him and one really outstanding makeup artist.

Him: Oh.

Me: It’s a rabbit hole, baby. And it just keeps going.

**retrieves whatever he’s decided to rent instead and beats a hasty retreat.**

Some men claimed that the shirt I was wearing said “Everybody let’s get naked” in Japanese. I promptly had one of them take a picture of it (and largely a picture of me apparently) and texted this photo to my brother as his girlfriend is Japanese, and I don’t want to be the jerk wandering around in a shirt that will cause Japanese people to snicker and then look at me with pity. Turns out my shirt says “Exile on Main Street” and has some stuff commemorating the Stones’ first album on CBS. Ridic.

My friend used to work in a psychiatrists’ office as a receptionist.

Apparently when things got slow she’d read people’s files.

This is a small town on a small island, so invariably some of those people are out and about in the real world.

A few months ago this guy was talking to us in a bar. He was strange, and I wasn’t interested. He may have bought me a beer.

Anywho, we walked away and my friend whispered to me his name and diagnosis, which I believe was schizophrenia or something pretty serious. It’s absolutely terrible that I know this and isn’t even relevant to the story, but there you go.

Moving on, I saw him again last night at a somewhat swanky event I was attending alone because I had a press pass and by and large no one I know here could afford to go to this thing (me included).

He didn’t remember meeting me before and proceeded to hit on me.

Our actual conversation.

Me: “I think we’ve met before.”

Him: “I don’t think so.”

Me: “Yes, in fact, that’s why I haven’t been back to <<name of place we met>>”

Him: I think you’re older than me.

Me: Probably.

Him: When’s your birthday?

Me: Why?

Him: What’s your sign?

Me: Closed

Him: What’s your element?

Me: What?

Him: I’m air, so I need someone that’s fire.

Me: (suddenly remembering that my sign is also air) Well, I’m also air so I guess that’s just one more reason this isn’t going to work out.

Him: I need to you become fire.

Me: That’s not going to happen.

Him: We’re going to get along great!

WTH?

Seriously, what in the actual hell?

This picture is old, but it’s all I could find in a pinch. This is after I bought him that fancy dog bed because a pet psychic told me to. Long story. Maybe I told it here. ?

You know it’s been too long – waaaaaaaaay to long – since you’ve last posted when you struggle to remember your password.
I can’t tell you how many posts I’ve started and then abandoned or never finished and then realized they were now too old to count as updates, but all that is behind us as just now in my head I came up with a Plan B.
Get a load of this: how’s about I share a little snippet or anecdote or thing I want other people on earth to read that’s too long for Twitter (yes. I post on stupid Twitter. Don’t be hating.) as much as I can, hopefully daily but probably not but I’ll do what I can and we all know where these kinds of promises have led in the past?

Deal?
Coolio.

—-
Once in a while I forget my dog exists.
Sensing this, he creeps into the bathroom and sticks his head into the shower while I am in there happily shampooing my hair and thinking about tacos, very nearly terrifyingly me to death.
Well played, my not so little friend. Well played.