In the midst of feeling super-shitty about life and pissed at the world in general, it’s nice to happen upon things that bring a smile. Recently I’ve found a lot of them on Instagram.
This Baby Max Easter photo:
It’s been awhile since I’ve gnawed on those cheeks. Great-Auntie Jen is going through withdrawals. Must fix.
Margaret posted a pic of her beautiful, obedient pups:
How cute? So cute!
Kim F’n’s goofy dog loves the sunroof:
OK, this is just THE BEST: Ed has been taking/sending his nephew’s Flat Stanley around the world (Portland, lately):
Now, what I love most about this is not just that he’s taking pics of Flat Stanley all over the world (which is pretty great), but that he’s gone an extra step and made accessories for him. He turned him into a hipster for recent Portland pics, and gave him a helmet for a bike trip. And what I love about that is the picture in my head of Ed buying a box of crayons (24? 64 with a built-in sharpener? I must know!) to make Stanley his new clothes/gear, designing them so they look right AND fit perfectly, and laminating them. It just makes me so, so happy.
It almost makes me feel bad about the time I accused Ed of hating all the nice things in life.
This made me chuckle and shake my head:
My dreams are always insane, but last night’s was particularly vivid. This will sound like I embellished to make it extra-weird, but I assure you that every part of the following account was actually in my dream.
I was having post-cancer treatment tests, and results were all good, so I moved in with my dad (???). I got my hands on some marijuana but I didn’t want him to smell me smoking it, so I ate it. I ate it right out of the unrolled paper, because yuuum, I guess. While touring the campus of the nearest public high school—in hopes of being enrolled—I ran into a friend from college who was working there as a recruiter… because public high schools recruit students like me, 45-year-olds who have zero athletic skills and eat weed like sunflower seeds. Oh, and he was wearing a cape. Totes normal. My dad was embarrassed that I was talking to this caped guy, and I was all WHATEVER MAYBE YOU’RE THE WEIRD ONE, but that can’t be because Dad was cape-less. While arguing, I got a phone call from Ed, who said I had to leave immediately for the hospital to see someone about one of my tests. I guess I was too high to question the fact that Ed, who is technically not a physician, was giving me this info. While in the waiting room—which was also an airport terminal, duh—Boyz II Men walked by. They were white, and because I was friends with them since way-back, they stopped to chat. Yup. Peeps were soooo jealous. I finally got called in for my meeting, and was surprised to see B.J. Novak behind the desk. He started by asking me what happens when a computer screen is inactive for a while. I said, “Ummmm… the computer goes to sleep?” and he said, “Yes, and that’s what you’re going to do.” Ooooookay… We went back and forth with him being super-mysterioso, and finally he said the reason I was called there was so he could tell me I was at my insurance max and they had to let me die. It seemed strange, since I was fine right then, but he said a rule was a rule and WHAT. A. JERK. right???
Who needs to actually smoke (eat) pot when my dreams are already like this??? Here’s a possible explanation for why dreams like this happen as often as they do. The fact that marijuana was one of the stars on 4/20 wouldn’t be such a puzzler if I actually partook… EVER.
Something similar to the above kind of crazy is a short story I read last night, Jackie Old: a tale of the future told in the past, by Armistead Maupin. It was written in 1980 but is set in 1999 in San Francisco, which has been leveled by a 1906-like earthquake. Mick Jagger’s daughter is the mayor and married to JFK, Jr. Across the country, Jim Bakker is U.S. president (yikes), and his newly-formed Praise the Lord political party is determined to rid San Francisco of evil once and for all. Jackie Kennedy, who has become a bit of an eccentric recluse like her cousin featured in the train wreck that is Grey Gardens, discovers a new way to get back in the public eye when she decides to save San Francisco from the PTL-ers.
Particularly amusing were the futuristic assumptions Maupin made, such as hologram news broadcasts and Truman Capote being a PTL-er—while JFK, Jr. has to use a payphone to call his wife at City Hall. Ha! My favorite part of all, though, was Jackie’s first encounter with the drag queens. So clever, that Armistead Maupin.
I hope your week doesn’t suck.