last night before class, Kelly and i got to chatting about singlehood and men and dating in general. she wrote recently about her not so great luck with personal ads. we talked about how hard it was to find someone. she said if someone would have told her how hard it was post-college, she would have tried a lot harder in college. i just smiled, because SHE IS SO RIGHT.
but that’s not what this is about.
this isn’t about how when were at grumpy’s and talking about germs we got onto the subject of flying and how both Marcy and Kelly totally freak out about the whole recycled air thing.
no, this is about despite my bizarre dream history, i often forget that some people subscribe to the belief that dreams are nothing more than your brain taking out the trash, just getting rid of all the thoughts of the day. last night, i think i had that dream.
see, last night i dreamt that Kelly and I were jetting off to Puerto Rico to go to shopping. yeah. so we get on the plane, after a little bit of confusion about my identification or ticket or something. only this plane is more like an auditorium. our seats are in the front row, and i was kind of happy about it because that means more legroom. we sit down and get settled in. once the auditorium/plane is flying, kelly starts chatting up the hot guy next to me. after a bit of conversation they decide to induct each other into the mile-high club and head to the bathroom to have sex.
and as they close the door behind them, i remember thinking to myself, ‘well that can’t be too sanitary.’
then i woke up.
That’s FABULOUS!! At least I’m getting laid in someone’s dreams.
But dude, the airplane bathroom….I’d need to wrap it in plastic first.
i think that’s what makes the dream so funny. you having sex in the bathroom! a public bathroom filled with recycled air!
I take a breath and pull the air in ’til there’s nothing left
I’m feeling green like teenage lovers between the sheets
Ba ba ba ba …
Knuckles clenched to white as the landing gear retract for flight
My head’s a balloon inflating with the altitude
Ba ba ba ba…
I watch the patchwork farms’ slow fade into the ocean’s arms
And from here they can’t see me stare
The stale taste of recycled air
I watch the patchwork farms’ slow fade into the ocean’s arms
Calm down, release your cares
The stale taste of recycled air
hi ben, you should know that i kinda dig you.
that is all.
bop ba…bop ba…
you’ve made me blush.
bop ba…bop ba…