Dreambomb, or 50-word Dreams, or Love and Sex-related Unconscious Journeys

These 50-word dream segments—in which I write dreams I’ve had using exactly fifty words each—always end up having themes. First it was “It’s my time to shine.” Then it was Celebrities and Morality. This time, Love and Sex.

Don’t worry, conservative people (or Mom), they aren’t sex dreams…those are for a different blog…they just seem to be sex-related. As you will see, in the first one, sex would not be possible; in the second, sex would be waaaaay unprofessional; and the third dream, well, I’m just not interested for two reasons: (1) I have this little thing called heterosexuality that gets in the way, and (2) SWEET FANCY MOSES THAT WOULD BE SO DANGEROUS.

...silence...

 

...blink blink...

I bet you just can’t wait to read them now. 

 [I'm winking because I know that I have your attention wrapped around my little finger.]

[You ready? This is going to be good.]

 

[This gesture would be encouraging if it hadn't just come out of a minute of silence.]

I think I've held the suspense long enough. Here they are.

Dream #1

This creepy house is haunted by its former owner: a grumpy old maid—the kind who gives out books and dental floss for Halloween. As a distinguished ghost hunter, I had to take a visit. Oh look! Here it comes! …Natalie Portman? This is turning out better than I expected.

 

Dream #2

“Welcome to the ‘Fat Girls Deserve Love Too’ club!” I said proudly, sitting almost unnoticeably in a circle of rather large, beautiful, but also lonely women. This was a different kind of project for me, but I felt confident and excited for at least something to put on my resume.

Dream #3

Countless onlookers and news reporters gather to see Ryan Seacrest at Valley Fair. He’s decided to stand up naked on a roller coaster! Everyone seems excited, but all I can think of is that he is probably going to fall to his death and how his tan is extraordinarily even.

The end.

(10 points to anyone who can name which post each reference belongs to in my resume picture.)

Another New Texting Phenomenon

You’ve experienced and loved SongBomb©™, and now I have created a new texting phenomenon that is tearing up the charts of telecommunication!

It’s called…

Poem Invasion®©™

The rules are simple:

1.  You must first receive a text. (This adds to the “sneak attack” nature of Poem Invasion®©™, because the sender actually brings it upon themselves.)

2. You must respond to their text with a reply that rhymes with what they wrote. This will result in a stanza of poetry. (Extra points are awarded if you can also make the two texts rhythmically work together.)

3. Even though rhyming is difficult, it is immensely important to try to keep the conversation on topic. This way you can keep it going as long as possible.*

4. If the person you're Poem Invasion®©™ing gets uncomfortable and asks something about your conversation rhyming, quickly make one last line and say goodbye. (It’s kind of like the movie Inception; once the people become aware that you’re messing with their world, they’ll turn on you. In a Poem Invasion®©™, a sure sign of this is other party ending her or his texts with words like orange, month, or purple. Get out as soon as you can; they’re on to you!)

*In the event that the person you’re Poem Invasion®©™ing replies with “What?”, you are allowed to text them back with a simple, “Whaaat!” However, this transforms Poem Invasion®©™ into:

Rap Attack!!®©™

The rules of Rap Attack!!®©™ are almost identical to Poem Invasion®©™, you just have to add the words yo, krunk, and the suffix -izzle as much as you can. 

 

An Example of Rap Attack!!®©™

Friend: Kissing my boyfriend is such a drag. I wish he were taller.

You: Well if he ever needs a boost, just give a little holler!

Friend: What?

You: Whaaat!

Friend: What are you doing?

You: I’m krunk, yo! I’m on a boat, yo! Look at me, you mizzle fizzle, check out what I’m brewing!

(Any reference to I’m on a Boat automatically gives you extra points.)

Friend: You’re being weird.

You: Whoa! An insult from my bro! I guess I should watch out where I’m shavin’ my beard!

Friend: What?

You: Whaaat!

Friend: Orange orange orange  

You: Okay, see you at dinner. Bye.

It is encouraged to publish the work on facebook or submit it to a literary magazine as unintentional poetry. It's highly, highly conceptual.

From before the 19th to after the 19th.

These past couple weeks, I’ve been scrambling around like a rabbit on Red Bull. I’ve gone from packing in order to leave for a four-month trip to Guatemala knowing that I would graduate when I returned with a Reconciliation Studies Major and an Art Minor, to unpacking in order to stay here at school so I could passionately pursue an Art Major; and from that to having it brought to my attention after I was told my new plan was totally possible (and having expensively withdrawn from the study abroad program) that my new plan totally isn’t possible, unless I’m willing to stab myself in one eye with a paintbrush and black the other one out with a stick of charcoal, carefully but artfully cut off both my legs with an Exacto knife, staple about 290 syllabi (that’s about 400,000 credits worth) all over my body, drink about nine gallons of lead-based oil paint, and stuff my nostrils full of modeling clay for about the same amount of time it takes for a minke whale to go through its gestation period.

Then I could have the Art Major.

(I considered drawing that, but it all ended up looking too St. Sebastian-like.)

[An effective look for a martyr, not so much for an exaggerator.]

OR, I could go back to having a Reconciliation Major and an Art Minor, and be happily taking my favorite art classes for one more semester.

I chose the latter. Last Friday. And now I have to switch all my classes around to fit my new plan, rendering the first week of this semester (which was last week) pointless.

Shoot me in the balls, whydontcha.

While all that stuff (that I was talking about in the first half of that big paragraph up there) was happening, I was also directing, rehearsing, publicizing, and preparing for the encore of the musical I wrote, Forwards & Backwards: A Musical Bromance. (There’s a link to the show’s new website on my sidebar now, and hey look, the title I just wrote is blue because you can click it and it will take you to the same place!) I was busy.

I also had J-term finals at that time.

As Bilbo Baggins said, “I feel like butter that has been scraped over too much bread.”  Slide an anxiety disorder in all that mess and Bilbo’s words are still relevant; just freeze the butter.

And in all the hustle and bustle (that makes it sound way too jolly), I did something I’ll regret for another 350 days or so...



...I missed National Popcorn Day.

Reader Reactions at this Exact Moment:

 

 

There was a countdown on my sidebar, for crying out loud. I had been dreaming up different ways to celebrate, how the celebratory blog post would probably be my best ever because of the amazing and unexpected way I celebrated it, but the day came and passed and I didn’t even know. My dad texted me about it when it was far too late. Popcorn Day had been overlooked.

I did celebrate unknowingly, however, at lunch that day. No, I didn’t have popcorn, but that would have made it better, now that I think about it. We were working on getting the word out about the musical (Click the blue letters! Click the blue letters!), and I decided to have the cast do a flashmob performance of one of the songs at lunch that day.  So on Popcorn Day, January 19^th, at 12:25, we did it. Something went wrong with the sound in the beginning, but you’ll see that it turned out well. I'm the guy in the blue, on top of the table.

So Popcorn Day was celebrated. It was just like it was in my first post, except we were the people in the street, and the onlookers were the dreamers. Fistfuls of popcorn may have been the only thing that could have made it better. (That and no sound malfunctions.) And the musical went wonderfully, by the way. 408 people in attendance. Hot damn.

Anyway. My scrambling is slowing now, luckily, and my school problems are beginning to be solved. Like I said earlier, life definitely doesn't suck. Mark your calendars for the next January 19th, though, because MAN that's going to be one hell of a doozy.