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Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing

Thursday, August 24, 2006

I Have a Dream

I did last night anyway. In it, Chris had somehow created a high-speed tunnel between New York and Rome, instead of using it to whisk us away on fabulous vacations, he was only really interested in the tunnel itself and I got jealous...like ragingly jealous. I know that there's not one, but several pretty disgusting plays on the word 'tunnel' that could be made here, but I'm going to take the high road here, mainly because every one I think of leaves me feeling oily and questioning how I got to be so damn vulgar.

To deal with my jealous tunnel rage, I somehow stomped off to what looked like some sort of trashy prom for adults set on board a cruise ship. Mos Def was my date. He, as always, was panty-removingly hot. There were many kids from my high school there, including this kid named Matt who I always used to think of as the Martin Van Buren of our high school since he was very nice, but never stood out for anything. In fact, I remember talking to that kid once (in real life) and thinking to myself, "I am not going to remember you or this conversation 10 minutes from now, much less after I graduate." Surprisingly I did remember that kid because a decade later he resurfaced in this bizarro dream I'm telling you now.

Mos Def and I are hanging out at adult cruise ship prom, Van Buren is somewhere across the room, and my illegal-levels-of-hot date whispers, "hey, do you wanna start a'kissin?" Being distracted by my scorching case of raging tunnel jealousy (RTJ), I:

A) didn't notice that my date was talking like a Beverly Hillbilly
and B) didn't seem to care since making out commenced.

My mom, who was wearing a highlighter pink colored dress that looked like it would be something you would wear to a 1983 wedding of two people you secretly hate (that'll show em), saw me, came over, and asked who my friend was. I looked at her and said, "Oh, Mom, this is Mos Def, he's a rapper." She gave me a look of disapproval, so I said, "He's also an actor. He's been in things like..." and at that point, my mind went blank. I could only name things that starred other black actors, not even black actors that even mildly resemble Mos Def. "He's been in Different Strokes, Hotel Rwanda, Pulp Fiction, The Jeffersons, Shawshank Redemption..." and I just kept going on and on until my date interrupted me and said, "You know, there is more than one black man in the world."

I tried to say that I do know the difference between Morgan Freeman and Gary Coleman, but I kept stuttering and couldn't get the words out. Finally my mom looked at my date and said, "She's always been a racist." Mos Def said, "I see that now," and just as I went to try to catch him to explain myself, I noticed that the whole crowd had stopped dancing and instead had mounted big fucking angry unicorns, that Van Buren kid sitting on one with talon-like feet. The dream ended with me being trampled to death.

I woke up crying.

4 Comments:

At 5:36 PM, Blogger ducklet said...

thank you for this, couch. thank you for the courage to tell the world that you have a dream. you are free at last.

 
At 3:06 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

if this is real, we just got a lot closer. just don't ever talk about anything involving removing and your panties again.

--the non-pain-in-the-ass nephew--

 
At 9:53 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

"tunnel of love" is, i believe, the phrase for which you were searching. and by 'searching' i mean 'avoiding' but aren't they the same thing, really?

what a horrid dream. i'm going to dream about making glue out of those unicorns just to get back at them for you!

anon is right - panties ought to have no part in your stories.

 
At 9:54 AM, Anonymous frank said...

you gotta leave that cough syrup alone man....

 

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