Okay, do you wanna know the strangest dream I had? A while ago, I was doing this experimental Freudian thing where I would jot down a dream I'd just had using a scratch-pad beside my bed. Freud believed that dreams were best captured when they were the most vivid so the idea was to desribe the dream immediately after I'd awaken from it, before it dissipated into some subconscious part of the brain where all unmemorable dreams go and cannot be retrieved. Well, I had a dream a long time ago and scrawled it on three slips of white paper in the dark. I've just re-discovered it while I was cleaning my room and voila! The Strangest Dream. Here's what I wrote: "It's been mine since I was a lad," the Adventurer tells me, while opening a very small crawlspace in the desert. 'How'd you find that,' I think but a voiceover tells me that he's known this place all his life. The Adventurer grew up there. There's water and a plug to open. Suddenly, there's a studio audience and a dance floor and Tom Cruise with a turkey up his ass is there. There's a nice man whom I meet amid the crowd surrounding Cruise. Everyone seems to be chanting, "He's gay! He's gay!" at Cruise and I'm embarrassed for him. The nice man I met now begins to dance with me only the dance floor is more like a gymnasium now. We're dancing really well and just then, we're gonna go through a tunnel--" That's it. I really like the Tom Cruise turkey scenario. Very entertaining. But I have no idea what any of this means. Was the Freudian experiment successful or should I stop finding stupid slips of paper in my room? You decide.

Today's Topic is TRUST: (Also See "Abuse of") Ok, kiddies, it's time to open your books to page 101, because everyone could use a little insight these days when it comes to the "T" word. Is T**st a Curseword?: No. However, people and their manipulative ways can't seem to gather up the good these days. Usually the world-wide skepticism has a lot to do with being burned. Take it from the "Burn Queen" (hi! that's me!), it is a place that hits way too close to home. But the optimist in me just can't seem to get away from believing that there still is enough good out there to wipe out the grossness of this world and kill 'em all with kindness. But what do you do when you feel that you've been betrayed by say, a restaurant? I mean, it's not a person that you can zero in on and wish horrible things to. Nope, it's this intangible thing. This entity if you will. What to do then? I'm A Hypocrite: I'm the first to speak to people about standing up for themselves. But for some reason, when it comes to me, I get all loosey-goosey. I don't want to make waves or cause a fuss or draw any attention. So, I get screwed. This time it had to do with an establishment that I've been going to since the dawn of time. Any local yokel knows exactly the place I'm speaking of because of it's generally good-naturedness and overall Cheers-like attitude: remember, everybody knows your name? Well, this place has seen its share of woe and legal troubles but has always gotten the community vote thanks to some local politicians and well-to-do customers. I used to love going there because hey, it felt like family. Well, I should've known that no one can screw you over better than family. No one. So I went to have a simple sandwich. If you must know, it was a turkey club. Sometimes I get all nostagic for the old classics and it began as a hunger, then a hankering, then a "I-must-have-it-or die!" lunchtime obsession that I'm prone to every now and again. So I moseyed (sp?) on down there and lo and behold, the whole gang was there as before. Oh sure, the place is physically the same, but the faces are more painted than I remember and the hair's new and improved. Whatever, I just wanted my sandwich. I was greeted with a "Hello, Mema! Long time no see..." attitude which sometimes makes me feel like the celebrity I wish I was. Ah, Ms. Lohan, lemme show you to the best seat in the house... The one waitress even hands me a copy of the New York Post to read while I waited. Nice touch. Within a few short miraculous minutes, I was once again eating what I love. I relished in the taste that reminded me of lunches at college when all I could afford was the cheapest things in life. Yeah, cheap. But just as I finished the last remaining morsels, the waitress conveniently slipped the check underneath my plate. It was, as usual, a flawless performance -- so subtle a move as could be missed. But when I turned the slip of paper over, I couldn't help but notice the unbelievable price of what I'd just eaten: $8! Now, I know that somewhere this amount is not a staggering blow. Someplace where the turkey is home-grown and bred just to be the Thanksgiving feast or the prized upscale meal at a decadent eatery in Midtown. I could expect the price of such delectable meals. You get what you pay for, after all. But if you saw this meager portion of a sandwich which had all of the telltale signs of a fast-food meal, you'd understand my complete discontent. Then, I realized what I was really paying for. A few years back, I was a regular customer. I was probably a lot more self-absorbed and eager to spread my earnings, proud to be an American girl who could eat meals all by herself alone in a restaurant. I was single. I was young. Money was simpler and I was just happy to spend whatever I made on all sorts of frivolous things like nailpolish and various shades of lipstick. But a few years afterwards, I fell out of favor with the waitresses because they'd stop seeing me as frequently. Then there was an unfortunate incident involving my new boyfriend and his dissatisfaction with platter which *gasp* they were asked to take back and re-do. Now in all the years I'd gone there, I barely muttered any unpleasant words and never challenged them when they got my order wrong or came with a plate of food that was not so hot. I'd been taught not to behave "rudely" which meant keeping my mouth shut even when I was unhappy about service or displeased with attitudes. I accepted and even sprinkled a little sugar on it to make it sweet, even when it wasn't. Then. here comes Carlos in all his wonderful brutal honesty. He taught me that you don't have to always reach for what you're given. You can return it and complain and the customer is always right...even at the risk of having people spit in your food. So I believe with all my being that this one instance was the turning point, because since then, I don't like going to that restaurant. Not only have the prices changed, but the overall mood just isn't the way it used to be. Or, maybe it is still the way it used to be and I just never noticed it before. Trust Your Instincts: It is a tired cliche, but people do change and I've learned that my instincts could never steer me wrong. That's why I wrote this post. I think that if you listen to that little voice inside, you can't go wrong. Don't just eat it, serve it back...with relish.

Let It Go, Rearrange, and Never Burn Bridges: Well, it's that time of year when everyone is having their yard sales, throwing away old junk and basically cleaning house. So I figured...WHY NOT JOIN 'EM?! That's right. I'm having a yard sale on Saturday and it's gonna be great! Now if only I could just stop Carlos from bringing more stuff...

Last Friday, I awoke with a fright staring at clock that read 8:15am when really it was 7:15am. I had forgotten that the night before, the lights in my apartment went out--thanks to Carlos insisting that I run the air conditioner with full-on bronchitis. Ugh! Like a fool, I made it to the train station with more than enough time to spare as Carlos pointed to the car clock that told me I freaked out for nothing. So now I was pissed because I was on the train way too early and this would mean that I would have too much time before work. What's a gal to do? I thought about reading some more of the book I'm into at the moment, "A Bit On the Side" by William Trevor. That book just makes me all peevish afterwards and it would be hard to juggle it and the cup of large coffee that I had already bought because me without coffee in the morn turns me into, The Incredible Hulk: "Don't make me angry, you won't like me when I'm angry." Then I go into what Shakespeare would term an "aside" having an internal debate with myself. Well guess what happened today, my kiddies. That's right. The scenario became a full on reality this morning when half in dream, half awake, I made my way in and out. The alarm clock sounded so distant that I chose to ignore it. Then as I turned, listening to the sounds of summer and birds chirping, I looked up to the alarm clock--which has become my foe--and noticed that the time was 9:05am. Nine O' FIVE! Incredulously, I rubbed my eyes and looked at the other more reliable clock only to have my worry confirmed. It was indeed NINE OH MY GOODNESS! I'd better call my Boss. He took it in stride, though. He even chuckled and told me "don't go crazy" which of course, I was while Carlos scarcely moved mumbling, "Relax, you're just late..." Thanks, hon: Stater of the OBVIOUS. By the time I moseyed in it was already 10:30am. No sweat because I'd stayed up late last night doing a homework assignment my Boss had asked everyone to do and I managed it relatively quickly. Yippee for me! (Score one for the hard-working nerdy insomniacs) Yeah!

Munching on penicillin and antibiotics: So here it is, Sunday and I'm half-drowsy and feeling a tad (mind you, a tad) better. I will definitely go into work tomorrow, having missed a whole week last week. My mind is still fishing through the remnants of the day to re-discover the cast of characters and have them fully realized to occupy the space in my work, "Cutting Board". I'm planning a Yard Sale next weekend, and I'm steeped into a few side-projects just to refresh myself and push my poetry ever closer to a complete work. You see, I like most of my ilk, can never complete anything because I'm so full of ideas. I keep writing about pinning those down, man, but it is beyond hard to do. I picture visuals as well as the written word. I respect them both equally, so sometimes I get full of one and then the other and override my inspiration at every turn. Like today, I went to the park for a walk with Carlos and the dogs and I stopped because of this perfectly picturesque scene of Canadian geese on the water with their two babies. I was so overwhelmed in my own visual, that it seemed as though I were suddenly brought back to reality thanks to the fruit flies and mosquitoes. So you can imagine how frustrating to an artist true life sometimes is. Gotta capture a moment in a pin-cushion and try to keep it steady and spread out for a lifetime. Therein lies the problem. Maybe my own pessimism also darkens the view and maybe my inability to fully enjoy the elusive moment sort of affects my overall mood. I dunno. I just know that if I get frustrated enough with the direction something's going in, I try to adjust the lens and review it from another angle. That, or I give up. But I'm sincerely trying to gather these lovely little stretches of time, molding them into prolonged pleasant, useful creative events without seeming static. Well, I'd better go...don't wanna miss The Sopranos...haha!

hello, i miss you but i'll never back down. hello, i love you but i won't back down. i'm tired and i'm sure you're tired too. i see you're just as stubborn as i am. but you won't win this one because i know that it'll hurt more if we stayed friends. you seem to have forgotten me. you play pretend and look away. you blow up at everyone because they're there. and damn, you need to feel something come alive; anything. but they don't understand you. they'll smile and say all the stuff you've heard before, because they are not me. i know. believe me, i know. does it feel satisfying, having said your piece without listening? does it feel better to cut those you care about out of your mind to replace them with half-hearted admirers and lovers of misery...like you?! maybe it was all a lie and you were busy acting like someone i knew. maybe you couldn't bear the truth: that we'd never fit, not even with glue. so i wrote you this letter, but you'll never read it. i took a picture, but you'll never see it. i talked to a dial tone today because i know what you'll say and it won't be pretty. there's just some things i collected in my travels that i wanted to share. some choices i made, but you didn't care. there's some advice someone gave which i didn't heed. and neither did you. so i'm done with the deed. i know. it's hard. but, not as hard as losing. send me a postcard from "somewhere" someday. send it so i'll know you're alive. wish you were here and you guessed it: order it return receipt requested.

Being Sic Sux: In my bed since Memorial Day and sick as a dog. I spent life since Tuesday in the confines of my apartment sweating and drinking liquids feeling hot and cold then cold and hot. The wonder of my bed was my only comfort since from it I can talk myself into believing that I'm sailing away on a pleasure cruise, it's so soft. But now I'm going just about stir crazy and ready to launch myself outdoors even though it probably isn't such a good idea since my throat is still horrifically sore. But, bygones. What's Wrong With America? Maury Povich: Completely horrified but moronically glued to the television, I watch as girl after girl seeks her baby's Daddy. What the heck is going on with America?! After about the third story you just can't fathom why a young girl would be so promiscuous but then, she opens her mouth and you understand. The girls are less-than-stellar in the intelligence department and come from broken homes hoping to rectify their bad past experiences with newer (yet older) mistakes. Didn't these girls watch those PSA's I did in the 80s? Didn't they watch the "One to Grow On" commercials and afterschool specials? Where the heck are the parents? And if the parents are around working their butts off, then why are these girls making such poor choices? Who watches these kids when they're drinking and fornicating? Some just have no excuse like the 19 and 20 year olds who should know better but claim to be victims of circumstance. Really, they're just victims of stupidity or were overindulged kids who never learned anything when they were younger. Instant gratification. Modern-day Pacifiers. Oral fixations and poor judgement. Ugh! Still, it's addictive to watch the scenario: girl says she cheated on boyfriend or husband and wants to know if he is the biological father of her baby. Some of the children are as old as four or five! I mean, you wait FIVE YEARS to tell the person you claim to love that he isn't the Dad? Puh-lease. And then therein lies the mystery. Could he or couldn't he be the baby's Daddy? Finally, the paternity test is revealed and whether true or not, all hell breaks loose. I ponder my fascination with such shows. Why do I enjoy watching the women cower in a backstage corner when the man tested was not the father? Why do I watch each painful nuance of a young girl sometimes noticeably shaken and frightened tell her significant other about her doubts over paternity? Why do I hoot inside when I see the men brazenly deny their responsibility or sometimes belligerently reject the test after the results are announced? Maybe I'm just a morbid voyeur or maybe I secretly enjoy watching other people admit their large flaws. Sometimes, I wonder why a person would come clean to a man who has been supporting her children regardless of paternity. Why risk shaming your family on national television and ruining your current relationship in order to be noble? If the lie can ultimately affect everything you hold dear, why risk it? Is such brutal honesty worth it? I mean, what determines a good father: the one-night-stand who'll call you terrible names and deny your child or the guy who happens to believe that the child is his own? Just thinking aloud. If you're going to be honest and truthful, you should do it from the door. Not after inviting someone in making him comfortable, marrying him then hitting him with the mystery baby. C'mon, people! It's common sense! Guilty Pleasure # 2: The next type of show I watch when I'm bed-ridden is The Courtroom Drama! I love the Judge Mathis/Judy/Alex/Joe Brown and of course I love Divorce Court! Whooeeeeeeeeeeeee Doggie! I can't believe how wonderfully stupid some of the defenses are. It just cracks me up. It's a Divine Comedy I can watch and point and laugh and mock all the livelong day! Yippee!!!! *ahem* Well, I guess that's about it. Now it's your time to share. What do you like to watch when you can? Huh?! Huh?!