Dreaming in Metaphors

11 May 2010

I have discussed my insomnia in this space on more than one occasion. For me, insomnia manifests in waves.  Over the last twenty years, I’ve faced calm sleeping seas and consecutive years of high swells. Through numerous conversations with my doctors, I have steadfastly resisted their entreaties to allow them to medicate the problem (and me) into submission.  Until recently, that is…

Three nights of little green pills have produced nothing more than fitful sleep and the strangest of dreams.  What follows is an adaptation of one of those WTF!#?? dreams in which the characters and situations have no discernible root to my life.

I thought Jade and I had exorcised all of our relationship demons before getting engaged.  We’d seen each other in crisis, had traveled together, found agreement on all of life’s big ticket items, and I was as mad for her as I was for her four year old son.  For almost two years, we dated and never saw a problem we couldn’t solve with honest communication… and maybe some champagne too.

About a month before our wedding day – small ceremony in the chapel of her undergraduate alma mater – we went to a Mother’s Day lawn party hosted by her classmate and would-be Matron of Honor. The women all seemed to be wearing sundresses and the men all seemed to find a shade of pastel as harbinger of late spring.  After my first hamburger but before my second beer, Jade ended a phone call and headed my way bearing the electric smile that helped me fall for her that first night we met.

“Why are you so happy?” I asked.

She laced her arm around mine and uttered the sentence I never thought I’d hear her from her lips, the sentence that would end our relationship.

“You’re looking at the new chair of the Palin 2012 campaign.”

There aren’t many things that could render me incapable of verbal communication, but this was near the top of a very short list.  The room was spinning like I had the hangover from hell when Jade finally stopped the rotation with “Well, say something.”

“You’re a democrat, a democrat who’s pro-choice, pro-gun-control, pro-green, and you went to Smith for fucksakes!”

And that was it.  Our relationship, our life together shattered in as much time as it takes for three “you betcha’s” and a couple of winks.

I grabbed another beer and went to find Max, the little boy who wasn’t going to understand any of this.

“Max, I need to talk to you” I said just after he stuck his dismount from the Moonbounce.

“Max, your Mom is going to have a longer conversation with you later but the short version is ‘I’m not going to be around for a while.’”

His little head, with surprisingly large ears, nodded up and down – Jade conceived through a sperm-bank and I always kinda suspected that Will Smith was the donor.  I continued “There are some things I may not be around to tell you, but that you need to know in this life:

  • You’re going to get in trouble, you’re going to do something wrong and get caught;   when that happens, never lie about it, that only makes it worse.
  • Steer into a skid… and that doesn’t just go for driving
  • Black and White photographs are always cooler than color
  • The correct number of eggs for an omelet is two not three
  • There is no such thing as ‘out of your league’
  • If  your cab driver is listening to NPR, tip them a bit extra
  • Always make friends with the bartender
  • Never draw to an inside straight
  • A night of bad theater is better than a good night in front of the TV
  • Never do business with someone you wouldn’t drink with
  • Never wear loafers with a suit
  • There is no good sartorial application for polyester
  • People who only have self-taken pictures in their dating profile have no friends
  • Never pass on the opportunity to pay an honest compliment
  • Always wait for the second generation of a new technology before you invest
  • When you’re at a party, only tell one joke; always leave em’ wanting more
  • Quartz watches are for suckas
  • There is no car that looks good in yellow
  • Miller Lite is not beer… but that doesn’t make it evil on a really hot day
  • Learning how to dance early will yield exponential dividends later
  • Do go on that semester abroad
  • Do not gamble with pool players who have multiple word names like Philly Mike, or Six Fingered Tony
  • Chewing gum in public isn’t inherently bad, but everyone else knowing you’re chewing gum because your mouth resembles a bovine with a hunk of cud is bad
  • Daydreaming is a virtuous activity, practice it often… but not in class
  • Do not trust people who begin conversations with ‘Can I be honest with you’
  • Also not worthy of your trust are Yankee fans not from New York… or Yankee fans in general, might as well ad Red Sox fans to the list too
  • Do not see any Kevin Costner movie that doesn’t involve baseball… except maybe The Untouchables
  • Learn the word ‘feckless’ and use it whenever appropriate
  • It is always better to be the irresistible force than the immoveable object
  • Free advice is usually worth exactly what you pay for it, and ‘your mileage may vary’ applies to this list and just about everything you will ever learn as there are very few absolute truths…
  • Among the world’s absolute truths is that you will be judged for your ringtone – choose wisely.

And then I got in my yellow sports car, adjusted the tie on my polyester shirt and steered into my nocturnal skid.

7 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, dreams, dumb things I have done, it's complicated - not the movie, One that might have been something | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

I’ve Got This Dream by the Tail

2 November 2009

It’s rare that I can recall my dreams, even more rare that I understand the seemingly wackier ones.  But this morning I woke with a clear image of a tiger in my life – an actual tiger had become my pet.

He was a sweet boy – I named him Gus – and he would fetch things (sticks and rubber balls, not small animals,) and was very affectionate.  I was, of course, terrified of Gus because he was a fully grown tiger, no matter how good it felt when he would nuzzle my face, I knew the power of the teeth behind the fur.

Later in my dream I am speaking on the phone with a woman.  I was lamenting how I cannot recall who gave me the tiger, but I have to get rid of dear, sweet, Gus.  The woman on the line said that she gave me the tiger.  Of course she gave me the tiger, I thought, it’s just like her: rare, beautiful, powerful, loving, and capable of ripping my heart out with her bare hands.

____________________

By the by, I didn’t go to the costume party; I didn’t dress as Top Chef, but I did have the most interesting Halloween since third grade when I – the only black guy in a school filled with shiny white people* – went as a Klansman.  Recall how awkward I thought it was to have bickering clients at a Valentine’s Dinner?  Yeah my Saturday night clients made the V-Day couple look like Ward and June Cleaver.  That story will be told later this week.

* Phrase shamelessly lifted from my favorite Mommy Blogger, Lemon Gloria, who probably would bristle at the notion of being called a mommy blogger

7 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, Crush with a big C, dating, dreams, something else I have started that I may or may not finish | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Kryptonite Is Only Dangerous If You Want It

12 August 2009

“Fancy running into you here” I said to Kryptonite (formerly known as AB) as I alighted from the car I borrowed from an old friend.

“Good to see you” she replied with a hug hello.  “When did you get this Jeep?”

“I didn’t; it belongs to an old friend.  I am doing an after work dinner/bbq thing at his place for the people in his office, so I have been tooling around all day getting supplies.”

“Well you look great – I mean it’s nice to see you not in a suit for once” she noted with a bit of sarcasm.  “So what’s on the menu?”

“The crowd is a mix of people who need to be impressed and a bunch of junior staffers who need to be fed and given copious amounts of cheep beer, so the menu reflects that.”

“You know, this whole ‘Casual Refugee’ look with the khakis and flip flops and the top down Jeep thing really suits you.”

Actually, it suits Kryptonite and maybe her idea of who she’d like me to be but these are runaround clothes for me (not the Jeep, I’d rock that anytime and in any attire.)

“So come on, tell me what you’re making” she persisted unmoved by the thought bubble over my head.

“Slow Roasted Pulled Pork Sandwiches with a Memphis BBQ Sauce, Capresé Skewers, House Made Guacamole some with bacon some without, Five different types of sausages and brats, Tomato and Gorgonzola Orzo Salad, Asparagus wrapped in Prosciutto, Asian Style Skirt Steak, Jerk Chicken Satay, Lemon and Dill Roasted Sockeye Salmon Smoked on Cedar Planks, and Grilled Pineapple for dessert”

“Wow, that’s some kinda BBQ.”

We exchanged a few more pleasantries.  I asked about her folks, she inquired about my writing.

In what I can only presume was an exhaustion related fatigue, I said “If you’d like, you’re welcome to stop by tomorrow; some of the heavy hitters there would be good people for you to meet.”

“Really, you know how I love your food!  Just send me a text with the place and time.  I’d love to come.”

“Send me one now, please, so I have your number.”

“You don’t have my number?” she said with a pout that I cannot believe I once found charming, and am mystified that I could find it that way again.

“I had to delete it… text messages and emails too.  I didn’t trust myself not to call you.” Kryptonite feigned shock with a tinge of hurt but I knew that it just masked the smile she was suppressing.

A couple of text were exchanged, a couple of promises too.  She promised to show, and I promised myself that it didn’t matter if she did.  I promised myself that I could see her for what she was for me and what I never wanted her to be.

Less than a day later, the cooking was largely done, the masses were fed and watered, the uppercase names impressed, and Kryptonite didn’t post.  The best thing about my new Crackberry is that it makes it really easy to delete the entire history of someone from the device.

I don’t need to delete Krpytonite’s history from my memory… it reflects it very accurately these days.

12 Comments | dating, dreams, dumb things I have done, entertaining, Only Slightly Sleazy Lobbyist, smoke in your eyes | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

My Type

8 May 2009

“I don’t think she’s your type, Refugee” were the words that slipped from the lips of one of my favorite women and in reference to MISTY.  OMFW and I were at the tail end of an evening that would have been among the best dates I’ve had in a very long time had it been a date.

“Why is she here; is she stalking you” was her next query.

“It’s kinda my fault she’s here.  I introduced her to this place and I never should have.  I never should have brought her down here because this is my bat-cave and she ain’t Vikki Vale…  But back to your prior question, why do you think she’s not my type?  I mean what do you think my type is?”

“I can say more about what I think it isn’t than what it is.”

OMFW and I continued our conversation for a bit.  She excluded a few women in the room, never acknowledged that the best example of my type looks her in the mirror, but never quite described it.  Thus, I feel the need to provide more clarity to the question of my type.  For the record, my type is:

Blisteringly bright

A brilliant conversationalist

A toe curling kisser

Appreciative of the movies Thomas Crown Affair, Gross Point Blank, Imagine Me & You, and the Lion King

Eats for pure joy rather than sustenance

Bends her elbow, if not on the regular, at least she doesn’t oppose its bending

A lover of some genre of art

Appreciative of all genres as a generalization

An explorer of the world even if the stamps in her passport don’t testify to this fact

Likes holding my hand

Thinks that slow is better than fast, and words hotter than pictures

Takes care with words

Knows how to fight fairly, because the fights will surely come

Tells me why she’s angry or at least admits her anger and tells me that she isn’t ready to discuss it at the moment

Kisses me goodnight even when she’s mad

Takes great care with the people she chooses to be in her life

Has empathy for all people who cross her path

Reads more than the Style section of the newspaper

Is engaged with our world

Dances like no one is watching and loves like she’s never been hurt

At the very least, tolerates my cigar smoking without sanctimony

Makes metaphors and men turn their heads in equal measure

Likes Sundays in bed with Neruda, Coltrane and the Sunday papers

May not understand my particular brand of troubles (which are not particular to me) but understands when they make me tilt at windmills

Did not think that Sarah Palin was remotely qualified to be a heartbeat away from the presidency

Cleans up well

Is not my ex-wife

A library card is a nice bonus

So is an appreciation for the genius of John Coltrane

Breathes a throaty “Oh my” when she reads this or the things in which I believe just like Annie Savoy

And if all or most of the aforementioned comes wrapped in a package that is easy on the eyes then that is the sundae’s cherry and the needlestack needle.

13 Comments | bars aka where we get the booze, booze & boozing, Crush with a big C, dating, dreams, women | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Looking for Harper

26 March 2009

I envy Harper and her easy sleep as insomnia mocks me and I vacillate between nocturne and semi-consciousness.  When I stir I try not to wake her, but she rustles the sheets anyway.  I hear a soft purr before she repositions herself and finds comfort again.  The clock reads 2:31 and I am struck with a sudden disdain for digital clocks.  Somehow the impersonality of an LED reading to reflect time seems impersonal and vulgar at this moment.

The only determent of time’s passage was the advance of the sterile digital clock telling me that it was now 3:09.  Since I do not recall the intervening thirty-eight minutes I presume it passed for sleep.  I feel Harper adjusting next to me and twist my body towards hers, as she angles her back, hips and head into the crevices of space between us.  Aware but not alert, Harper uses her left leg to draw my right between hers.   We are more entwined than two people should be.

Harper’s digits rest atop my left hand which sits languidly on her torso.  Slowly she moves my hand from just north of her belly button to the valley between her breasts.  My pinky finger on her right mound and my thumb on her left, she cranes her neck forward to kiss my middle fingers.  I pull her closer towards me in a gentle but lustful motion that closes any remaining distance between our bodies.  She can feel my alertness next to her and she is clearly more alert.

In seemingly one motion, I steer my lips to the left side of her neck and she digs her head into the pillow on the right which exposes a vast expanse of skin for my lips to explore.  Kissing her neck, caressing her breasts – we are both fully awake now.  I can fell her heat so close to mine. 

My hand traverses the length of her and confirms her warmth with a caress to the top of her spot.  Harper moves with the rhythm of my touch and reaches back for me.  Impatiently she finds me and guides me inside of her.  Slow, slow, slow, fast we move.  I pull her towards me with each thrust and she greets them with indistinct sounds. 

“Slow… just like that” are the first words spoken since we kissed good night hours ago.  Harper is slow like me, hotter than me, and wetter than I have ever known.  “You feel so good” is all I can muster in reply – I wish that I were more sexually emotive.  I am so happy inside of her but lack the words to tell her so.

I slide from her and guide her shoulders flat against the mattress. I find my way atop Harper and move inside of her while kissing her neck.  It is still slow, slow, slow, fast.  She protests as I pull back, pull out, but I kiss my way down her neck across her breasts – pausing for a beat and a bite at her right nipple – down her stomach, and stop just before I reach her.  I spend some time between her belly button and her hips before moving along.  I breathe heavily between her legs exhaling deeply to let her feel my breath on her. 

Harper pulses the moment my tongue touches her.  I crook my arm under her thigh and move her closer for a deeper pull.  I love the feeling of her leg against my shoulder, her calf angled against my back.  Harper is crumpling sheets in her right hand and cradling the back of my head with her left.  She tastes of sweet, salty and satisfying.  I her excitement feeds mine, until her legs quiver against me. 

The clock reads 4:09 when I wake to find myself alone in bed, awakened from a dream and still looking for Harper.

4 Comments | dreams, sex, skin hungry - to borrow a phrase, women | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

The Blog of My Dreams

24 December 2008

my-blog-on-bacon

 

Thanks to Julie from Makeup Text, I now have a picture of how this blog looks in my dreams.

Wanna add a slice of bacon to your place or any other website? Click me.

 

Random Update:

I received the following email from the folks at Urban Dictionary:

Thanks for your definition of Multi-Jacking!

Editors reviewed your entry and have decided to publish it on urbandictionary.com.

It should appear on this page in the next few days:
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Multi-Jacking

Urban Dictionary

Multi-Jacking: Noun, The act of pleasuring oneself while doing something else.

 

Katertot, thanks for suggesting I submit it; even though it was something I overheard at a bar rather than created myself; I am still happy to take credit.

 

To all those who will not be reading tomorrow, I wish you an abundance of good cheer, good times with families (be they chosen or inherited,) good food, and better booze.

6 Comments | blogging life, dreams, new word, random stuff | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

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