Raccoon Cat

So I had a really strange dream a few weeks ago. Judging by the first sentence you may have already stopped reading but I promise this will entertain you. If you read it and find you've wasted your time, you don't appreciate eccentric or out of the ordinary things, which probably just means your a boring and critical asshole. Here's how it goes

Lauren, Jill and I woke up well-rested, slightly hungover, and really, really excited. We were at Lauren's house running full speed down the winding staircases. As we busted outside of the house in our summer sleepwear, no shoes of course, warm rain started pouring from the sky and stopped within that same minute. Franklin St. became a slow, steady river about 3 feet deep. Lauren and I looked over at Jill who was hugging a fire hydrant and letting her legs float on the water. We all laughed and despite the entirely bazaar weather, everything seemed normal and happy.

We heard a faint hollering and then a big gust of wind brought a family sized water raft soaring and twisting over our heads. There was a small motor rigged to it that had caught fire but the people in the raft didn't care at all. We soon realized that the hollering was a good kind of hollering. They were partying, wearing bathing suits and sunglasses and drinking beer. We laughed even harder as their dilapidated float drifted by us.

We noticed people setting up tents and tables in the direction that would have been upstream. Nicky Phelan came out of Lauren's house just as full of joy as us girls. He urged us to head upstairs and to start getting ready for "America Day!" Before I could ask him what that hell he meant, he turned around said "Let me know when someone offers us $3,000 for the van!" He ran back inside and as I spun myself around to face the lively street, a man stood immediately in front of me, $3,000 dollars cash fanned out in his hands. He smiled real big, looking real strung out and all. I took the money and helped the little fella (littler than me) push the bunged up Volkswagen Van off the Fitz's front lawn.

Nicky came back outside but this time he was dressed completely in American flag gear. He had blacked out some of his teeth and was carrying a fishing pole. He sure as ever was ready for "America Day," what ever the hell that meant. There was a man setting up a tent on the lawn. "That's O.K." Lauren said "he's paying Ted for the spot!" He had all sorts of Native American crafts like dreamcatchers and wooden plaques displaying wolves and eagles. Walking over to get a better look, I noticed a little, brown and very animated animal laying atop the table on it's back. It looked like a stuffed toy. It's eyes were closed but I could see it breathing. Curious and genuinely freaked out, I asked "What the fuck is that thing!?" In the middle of his response "Well! That there's a Raccoon-Cat!" the things golf ball-sized eyes popped open resembling those of a Precious Moments figurine. It stood up and it's limbs got slimmer and more realistic, turning into exactally what a raccoon-cat would look like. I was back to laughing as the animal moved itself under my hand and against my stomach looking for affection.

A 50's pick-up truck with navy and baby blue detail pulled up real slow. The people inside were GREASERS! They got closer. They were DEAD GREASERS! The woman driving wore a black leather jacket with tassles. She had a shrunken head with a long, bleach blonde ponytail and her mouth was sewn shut. A man sat in the passenger seat, craters on every square centimeter of his terrible face, but his hair was perfect. They didn't acknowledge me and as they drove away two more people in the bed of the truck became visible. It was a young and in love version of the two corpses in the cab.

By this time I had figured it out. Franklin St. had gotten busier and all around me people wore American flags, drank Budwiser, ate fast food and talked in ugly accents. It was a day where Americans made fun of themselves. We celebrated our terribly diluted and amusing culture. We embraced our bad habits and of course, had good, filthy and abusive fun. I sold the van without asking that little strung out fella if he was even slightly aware of what he was doing. I saw a "real life" cartoon and my heart melted. It got me thinking of ways I could get a cat to have sex with a raccoon. And lastly, I saw the unrest of two people in love, not with one another , but with the way they looked together.

Waiting, waiting, waiting for my man.

It's official. I'm done waiting for things to unfold. Sitting back and watching time works it's magic has done nothing but hang an image of that 6 month old Mc. Dick's cheeseburger I read about in the tabloids over my worried head. It looked the same, just a little smaller and less (for lack of a better word) vibrant. Which is exactly what I'm scared of, being unchanged. I made the "waiting mistake" today when I sat down in Cigarette Central located outside the Lazy Lurker's Lounge at Bunker Hill. It was the last place this hypocritical "I only smoke when I'm drunk" goober wanted to be. Of course cigarette smoke annoys me ten times worse now that I'm guilty of having been in love with them and even still, understanding why. It's kind of like breaking up with a really good looking asshole. So I hung out, talked with some "smokers" and took way too long saying goodbye. I watched a train go by in the distance, headed in the direction I needed to go. It was the train I would've caught if I hadn't waited so goddamn long and left the very first time I had said goodbye. Figuring that was my que, I finally left.

"Attention all passengers. Due to a disabled train at Chinatown Station, we are experiencing delays in service to Oak Grove. Sorry for any inconvenience."

I finally left and the littlest, fastest, redest hand on the big clock of my life.. finally punched me in the face, along the pungent aroma of what was probably "good mids." I wanted off that train station platform faster than you could say "just jump in front of the next one." I had to wait, and I did. Stepping out of Malden station and into the crisp air, I realized that I didn't have anywhere to be.

I was so goddamn anxious for no blatant or immediately obvious goddamn reason. So it was right then I was determined to find out what was itching my skin. And if by scratching my itch, I could find out what makes my clock tick, I would sure as hell figure it out. I've had the layout for this blog done for a couple of weeks but I'm not waiting any longer to start it. Still putting off that shower though..