Sunday Night Mental Chex Mix

I've been working like a kabillion extra hours the past few weeks, just trying to get ahead.  Or catch up.  Or something else entirely–I'm too frazzled and frappeed to know.  Anyway, herewith a few updates:

  • Weird Dream #1 (prologue): As you know, my former partner in crime Ann Marie moved far, far away, specifically to South Park, as I call her new tiny California mountain town.  She sent me a picture of her new California driver's license, sort of a "Can you believe I actually live here now?" joke.  She's very happy, despite the hairy-legged hippie women who lead the Saturday library reading circle, reading to children books about commune life.  Okay, this is all reality.  The dream:
  • Weird Dream #1 (really): Ann Marie and I were standing by our desks at Job #1, and she said something about how her husband was only "this tall" (her hand up to her breasts).  I said something suave like, "But you were made this tall for a reason" and kissed her.  Her face was just a little bit below mine. 
  • It was a weird kiss, though, not at all romantic.  First off, we've never kissed, nor been tempted to do so.  A good partner-in-crime relationship transcends nookie.  Plus, she's happily married, and I respect that.  Secondly, she's just not that tall.  She must have been five-ten in this dream, then even taller with the high-heeled boots she was wearing.
  • No, that's not some sort of ideation on my part: she did used to wear some high-heeled boots.  She probably only wears hemp Birkenstocks now, but back in the day… ;-) 
  • Weird Dream #2: I was driving Carrie home from the airport, and we stopped at a little convenience store.  They had the new Minnie Mouse Florida Lottery scratch-off ticket, and I wanted to buy her one. (C is a big Minnie Mouse fan)  The girl behind the counter refused to sell me one unless I gave her my Social Security number.  Even though I saw this girl all the time–apparently, I'm a regular at this particular convenience store–I got very angry.  I asked why she needed my SSN, and she said it's because I might win up to a million bucks, so they'd need it for tax purposes.  I told her it was far more likely I wouldn't win shit, and that she didn't need my SSN for that.  She refused.  I wanted that damn ticket, but not enough to give out my SSN.  I huffed out and left, stealing a Diet Mountain Dew from the cooler en route.
  • Things change.  This convenience store was at the corner of Swift and Wilkinson Roads in Sarasota, my hometown.  There is a small mechanic's shop there–or there used to be, at least–but I've never stopped there.  Swift and Wilkinson used to be tiny, quiet two-laned country roads.  Now Swift is a bustling traffic artery, and Wilkinson has been widened to four lanes. 
  • My grandparents lived on Wilkinson.  Their house, which my grandfather built, sat on five acres of land.  The house and yard were two acres, I think, then there was a fenced-in pasture behind.  Now, it's a subdivision.  Their house is still there, but there are little cookie-cutter cinderblock starter homes all through their yard–where the orange grove and garden used to be–and the back pasture, where people used to board horses. 
  • Things change. 
  • I had some errands to run down Fourth Street here in Gomorrah today, and things had changed here.  Not the road itself–it was six lanes when I moved here 20 years ago, and it'll be six lanes when I die (or leave of my own volition)–but some of the businesses had changed. 
  • Fourth Street had the bars I used to frequent–Bennigan's, Gamble's/Brophy's Dugout, Wannabee's–and the liquor stores I visited between bar stops.  There were places I always associate with my street, and they have changed.
  • There are some places that are just perfect if you're drinking.  One of these was on Fourth: a combination Long John Silver's/KFC.  No combined fast-food joint I can imagine could provide more soothing, nutrient-negative grease  than this place.  One drive-thru, one endless choice of hangover-relief fried crap.  It's gone.  Now it's a freakin' Starbucks.
  • Time was, this would have bothered me, but today, I'm more apt to visit a Starbucks than a KFC or a Long John Silver's anyway.
  • Hap's Military Surplus? Not really a place I'd visit either drunk or sober, but I always liked that it was there.  One never knows when the need will arise for a set of jungle camouflage and a bayonet. Now, it's "Colors Coffehouse and Cafe."  Wha??? Could you make a bigger 180 than that?
  • Hap, whoever he was, must be spinning in his military surplus grave somewhere.
  • Then there's the Cow Store.  Okay, it's called The Farm Store, if you want to get technical.  It's a double drive-thru convenience store where you pay exorbitant prices not to have to get out of your car.  They have the basics–beer, cigarettes, milk, munchies, cat and dog fuel, bread, condoms, lottery tickets (no Minnie Mouse scratch-offs, though), and overpriced packets of medicines.  Need a bottle of NyQuil at 10:30 at night, but you feel too horrible to get out of your car? The Cow Store is your place.
  • Anyway, I stopped there for a Diet Mountain Dew today.  Most things change; the Cow Store doesn't.
  • However, adjacent to the Cow Store is a strange gypsy fortune-teller/crystal shop kind of store.  When I'd be returning from a long evening down Fourth at Wannabee's, this place freaked me out a bit.  In the window was a giant, red neon hand with an eye in the palm.  (shivers)  The gypsies, or whoever they were, have moved on. 
  • The palm-reading/crystal store place is now gone.  Coming soon: a smoke shop. 
  • I can only imagine the bong-peddlers insisted on retaining the neon eye-hand sign when they bought the joint.
  • One last change.  Several years ago, Florida passed an amendment banning smoking in restaurants and some bars.  One last bastion of being able to smoke was the Family Billiard Center on Fourth, just north of the Cow Store.  They were proud of their status, even posting on their lighted sign, "Smokers still welcome here!" I never visited it when it was open.  It's been bought and remodeled.  What became of this unapologetic smoker's sanctuary?
  • A damned health club.
  • Things change.
  • Also, weekends end.  I hope yours was a good one, and that you have a pleasant week.  Now let me hop in my Prius and go out for tofu.
  • Just kidding.  You see, some things on Fourth Street will never change. 

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3 Responses to “Sunday Night Mental Chex Mix”

  1. just about every damn thing changes. sometimes, it's a complete shame.damn, your dreams sure are vivid! mine are vivid, but… really weird shit happens. like, vampire hamsters attack me and a zombie keeps popping out behind my stove (oh, also, i'm living in a tiny apartment in hong kong) so i'm basically playing whack-a-mole with a greasy frying pan and the zombie's head. there's other weird shit in that dream, but i don't want to get into it. heh. just stuff that has to do with water and ports and docks and yeah. water scares the crap out of me. *shudder*

  2. Grrrace, I swear. If I have a zombie dream set in HK, I'm going to be really pissed at you! ;-)LOL @ the Whack-a-Mole image w/the frying pan. You just rock, hon.

  3. Payback for all of those bug pics!!! 😛

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