Nightmares

Sometimes I amaze myself, but in the bad way.  I'm sitting here on my TempurPedic bed (because I care about my comfort), trying to digest what just happened to me. The best way I know how is to share with strangers.  Lucky you.

At 3am I woke up screaming, in response to a dream I was having, where I was on a dock, kneeling down either getting something or placing something.  I turned to my left to engage someone who was standing there when a gun entered, touched my head, and fired.

Dreams are weird in that so much goes through your mind during them it is hard to get a sense of time when re-capping what went on.  But at the time the gun fired, I remember thinking, "Yeah this seems right", like it was all part of a plan or some appropriate ending to my larger dream (of which I can't remember).  Then I realized that I had been shot and that old wives tale came into my mind that if you die in your dream you die in real life.  I remember trying to move somehow, to reassure myself that this was a dream, but I couldn't make my body respond.   Rather,I was loosing control of it.  I had a few other thought flash through, but I can't remember them now, all compressed into a split second.  Lost to my diseased mind or something.  Anyway, I woke up screaming, flailing my arms around.  Cat goes one way, empty bottles the other.  

Being terrified for your life for a split second is not something I recommend.  I have enough death anxiety when I'm a wake that I really don't need to be afraid to die in my sleep.  The whole experience was very earth shattering to me, and even as I sit here, a good 40 min after this shit, I'm nervous and jumpy.  Any sound I hear is cause for alarm.  Any thought I have is of that moment I woke up screaming, scared I was really dying.  I am kind of glad my girlfriend wasn't here with me, because she would have gotten a fist to the face inadvertently.  I say "kind of glad" because anything she got she would have deserved on some level.

And my poor cat, Wesley.  He got all scared, ran to the door to escape my craziness, but instead ran into the door, closing it.  Which was funny and sad at the same time, because he really needed to get out of that room but he just couldn't figure the door out.  What a looser, eh?

My Dumb Thoughts on Charlie Sheen

By now, some of you are tired off hearing about Charlie Sheen.  I know, I was one of them. You post online about how it's truly sad that we are paying this much attention to a "drug addict" and not enough to this or that domestic issue.  And perhaps on some level you are right to think these thoughts, but here's what you don't understand:

Charlie Sheen is an addict.  Self-admitted, diagnosed addict.  If it's not drugs, it's fame.  If not fame, attention.  If not that, money.  Power - doesn't matter what, the man has a problem with control.  What is painfully obvious is that the American public sees this, and still bashes him.  Still calls him names, condemns him, judges him, when in fact we are all addicted to something.  We just don't have an outlet to express our insane thoughts like Charlie does.  If it wasn't a famous person self-destructing, you would all feel lots of compassion, wondering how to help.  The love would pour in.

I have a few addictions, and I am ok enough with them to share them:  I love craft beer.  Video games get me every time.  I'm an attention whore (which is why I'm on the radio for free, why I'm on Facebook, Twitter, soon-to-be-TV, and maybe a movie).  Free internet porn is something I would die without.  Do you say I'm a bad person when I say these things online?  Nope, because I don't matter.  We as people love to judge those with more than us, and we do it very well.  So Charlie Sheen has some issues - who doesn't?  If you don't like it, don't talk about it, don't listen.  That is the best way to stay out of the line of fire.

What I really do enjoy about Sheen are his rants; they are raw and unchecked - something I wish I could do more often than I actually do.  Sheen has "Fuck You Money", meaning he has the financial ability to say "Fuck YOU" to any job, any person he likes and he won't really suffer for it.  This shit shield allows him to be whomever he wants to be right now.  Who wouldn't want the means to tell their boss to go fuck themselves and not suffer for it?  Tell them just how uncreative they really are?  I think that takes big balls to do, no matter how booze swollen they are. This man is saying things that many in Hollywood would never say, never dream to do.  Yet here is this ... insane creature, sitting in his house ripping new assholes for everyone to shit out of.  Punk. Rock.  They actually do make sense, if you listen carefully.  Watch some of his videos, the guy knows how to throw an interesting sentence together.

My point is this: lay off the Sheen, kids.  He's a man who has problems and has found a creative, albeit crazy-sounding way of working through them.  Nobody is forcing you to pay attention or to judge.  The man is funny, just enjoy his sense of humor and get over it.  I have.

Another Million-Dollar Idea From Me to You

I want to make a porno called "The Sisterhood of the Droppable Pants".  In it, these friends - or probably sorority sisters, cause that hotter - would be all conservative and prudish.  One day, one of them finds these Hot Pants at a thrift store and buys them.  She wears them out one night to some shitty party and turns into mega whore - blowing dudes, scissoring, what-have-you.

Then she goes home and doesn't tell her sisters about it.  One night while she is out, one of the other girls goes in her closet and finds the pants, and she gets the same experience.

This happens like 5 times, each girl not telling anyone it happened.  Then in the end scene, they talk about it and laugh like true sisters would.  Then they all make out.

Im sure it needs some work, but for the most part, that's a shootable story.  Just give me 10% if you make it.

JP

I'm 33, as of last November.  Not old, by most measures, but not exactly hitting puberty, either.  The weird thing about getting older is watching your tastes change right in front of you.  Like music, for example.  As a young little shit, I never really liked Nirvana, but lately I have been digging on them.  Beck is another one.  Recently he has been showing up on my Pandora station and I haven't been "disliking" it as I normally would.  It is kind of neat to have new music to listen to, but it bothers me to think that my really cool and hip music tastes are becoming like yours.

Clothing is another.  I've pretty much been wearing black Dickies pants for about three years now, along with beer shirts, band shirts, and beer-related hoodies.  Yesterday I stepped up and bought a jacket.  Like, a real one.  Then I realized that I loved it and everything else in the Ben Sherman shop I was in.  Yes, I have begun to like ... designer clothes!  I'm a bit afraid of what's next for me - going to bed early?  Buying art?  Having dinner parties?

Growing up is weird.  

Hair Bands and Their Impact On Society

Laying here, watching a Poison video, and realizing that the metro sexual thing that happened a few years ago was just a reincarnation of the 1980s hair band thing. I mean, you have the make up, the meticulously styled hair, and the awful clothes. All you need is a smoke machine and spandex and we have the greatest music decade all over again.

That's all.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

Ramen Tests - #1 - Unif-100 Artificial Tart Beef

You have to admit - the Chinese have a serious set of balls.  I mean, to just flat out say "artificial" right there in the name of your product and still expect people to buy is pretty punk rock.  We aren't fooling oursleves - we know that most shit is artificial, from concentrate, or at least dragged through the muck before reaching our faces, but we hide behind that by reading the front of the packet and going "well this seems fine to me".

As per the "Cooking Instruction", I loaded the bowl with the noodles, then opened the three flavoring packets into the bowl and added my water.  After it was covered for the required 3 minutes, I removed the cover and checked out my lunch.  The water/broth is a nice red/amber color, with lots of previously dehydrated bits and bobs floating around.  Looks good, smells good.

Tasting it, I realize just how much normal ramen sucks.  This stuff is packed full of flavor and spice, and I swear I'm right there in the chem lab, creating the beef flavor along with the scientists.  I don't pick up on much of the tart flavor they were touting in the name.  Perhaps it's just cutting sort some of the spice. I dunno.   It is pretty oily, though, with a slickness hanging around in my mouth that is not all together welcome.  The salt really comes out as well.  I feel like if I spit in a cup and dried it, I could harvest some salt for dinner.

All in all a good meal.  Not sure if I can finish it, as the oil is starting to rumble my gut, but the flavors were great and I'd get it again.  As should you.

Ramen Tests - An Introduction to pain

Being broke, out of a job, and a bit of a masochist, I've recently turned back to eating ramen noodles.  Reliving memories of downing two Cup o Noodles in a sitting during my high school days, I figure this will be a nice tasty journey for me.

Then I remembered 99 Ranch Market had opened up in my town.  Being the keepers of all things Asian and tasty, I headed there for my ramen revival.  The wall of dried noodles with small packets of chemical flavorings and oils made me weep openly, for I have completed my quest.

At any rate, here I am, with a cupboard full of various flavors of ramens and a whole lot of free time.  So with each one I eat, I'll post my thoughts and feelings about it, along with a photo, so that you can join me along my path to some other sort of physical aliment.  

Aren't I nice?
High blood pressure, let's be friends ...