Bad Dreams Of her…not Her but her.

I’ve been dreaming a lot lately, so of course while at David’s new apartment on early Friday night with nothing to do we decided to pick something out of the free selection of Amazon shows that David gets with his Amazon Prime membership, and while I did suggest a PBS Nova science documentary, it was completely his decision to choose the dream episode – not only was this choice apt because I had been dreaming a lot lately, but I was extremely tired from having been up since two that morning so what better to take my mind off sleeping than a documentary about sleeping.

In short the documentary alludes to the importance of dreaming being to help us work out life, which leads us to analyzing them, in my opinion, way too often, but even though I think many dreams are just weird without any real importance behind them, I still like to find the deeper meaning in them. So when I dream about giving my step dad a peck on the lips it’s not because I find him sexually attractive, but rather because I want to thank him for being an actual father to me, unlike my biological sperm donor who I haven’t seen since I was two but am somehow friends with on Facebook. And when I dream about going on a gay date with my gay male friend it’s not because I would like to be in relationship with him, but rather because I had spent the previous day with him and his boyfriend watching them be happy together and I so desperately want to be in a loving relationship…with a woman. (Wow, that’s a lot of gay dreams) It’s only two (Only two that you’ve told everyone about) And unless they get a peak in my diary they’ll only ever know about the two – this is actually pretty much my diary.

I started talking to Annabelle again. She’s the one that got me over Her (her being Dyana of course). Annabelle isn’t Her in the slightest, but they share some qualities, like the quality associated with pretty much every girl who I’ve ever liked or who has ever liked me even just vaguely, that quality being that she’s thousands of miles away from me. After Her I told myself that I would never wait for someone and do the long distance thing, and I think I’ll hold true to that, with the exception of Annabelle. There’s something incredibly amazing about Annabelle, but that’s not what this is about, and you’re lucky it’s not because if it was it would go on for pages and pages and pages and (they get the point) I don’t think they do, so let me just finish…and pages and pages and pages. There we go (well done wasting their time).

I’ve never dreamed about someone so much in such a short amount of time. Even with Her I almost never dreamed about Her, and I thought about Her constantly, probably more than I think about Annabelle, only because I was younger and it was my first love so I didn’t really know how to handle it, plus I had no idea what I was doing with my life so I had nothing to keep me focused, whereas now I have nothing going on with my life but at least I know what I would like to accomplish, so even though I think about Annabelle a lot, I also spend much of my time thinking about what I need to accomplish, and then of course get depressed because accomplishing it seems so difficult, and then masturbate the pain away, then feel guilty, then accomplish a small portion of what I wanted to get done in the day, then feel a little better and award myself with more masturbation, then feel shamed again, then lie in bed trying to sleep while I think about Annabelle, and then dream of Annabelle pretty God damn oftenly (oftenly?) why not?

The dreams aren’t good though. I’ve never had such a horrible time while dreaming about someone so beautiful. Well normally I don’t dream about beautiful women in general (or women at all, see second paragraph). I said dreams don’t always mean something because usually my dreams are completely random and so far away form anything going on in my life, but when I dream about Annabelle it’s always about Annabelle ignoring me.

Last night we were in some school type of thing which consisted of me trying to get Martin Mull to stop grabbing Annabelle’s ass, winning a huge box of candy for Annabelle then Annabelle saying thanks and running off to go I guess flirt with some guy named (it actually gets good here) Jackoff In The Box, who kind of looked like a younger more attractive version of Johnny Depp, who I mentioned in something I wrote yesterday, so that might have been why he looked that way (or once again the dream has a gay tilt to it?)

With Her I always had trust issues. Whether they were warranted is debatable. Whether on three occasions she stopped talking to me without even letting me know that she was going to, and two of which times she was interested in other guys, one of which time she started dating the guy less than a week after we had planned to see each other soon, is also debatable. But the people who debate for it not happening that way are factually incorrect. Not that I harbor any grudges of course (of course).

This definitely has a lingering effect. Annabelle is beautiful with an even more beautiful personality. She could have pretty much any guy she wants, and she gets a lot of offers, so I don’t know why she’d ever wait for me. Also like Her, Annabelle has been hurt in the past, so on multiple occasions they have both told me that it has nothing to do with me, it’s just they have trust issues. A while ago Annabelle told me this saying she wasn’t ready to be with anybody. I’m not sure how long after that, but about a month or two, I was feeling really down and called Annabelle, to my surprise she picked up, and within minutes we were somehow talking about this guy she really liked and how upset she was because he apparently did stuff with this girl she hates.

To that I told Annabelle, “You’re beautiful and amazing and if that guy doesn’t see it he’s clearly retarded in the most offensive way possible, and don’t worry about it because you’re going to find an amazing guy and be super happy.”

What I was really thinking, “What the fuck, I thought you weren’t ready to be with anybody and now you’re going after this guy, do you realize how this makes me feel? Why can’t you women be honest?” No offense women, guys aren’t honest either. “It’s not that you’re not ready to be in a relationship again, it’s that you don’t want to be in a relationship with me? If you just told me that I could handle it. That’s what Eva told me and the day after I felt fine, because she told me the truth, not some bullshit about not being ready. Just tell me the truth. I hate when people lie because eventually I find out the truth and then I want to kill myself. And don’t even get me started about how you just mentioned that he’s the sweetest guy you now,” which when she told me I was probably the closest to wanting to die that I’ve ever been, “you do realize that you used to say I was so special because of how sweet I was. I’m not fucking good looking, I don’t have money, or a good job or any other thing women find appealing. All I had was that I was sweet and now this guy took that away from me. This is the closest I have ever been to wanting to kill myself, and I’m fucking afraid of death, so that’s saying something. Despite how angry I am and how much I hate myself I do really hope you find the perfect guy and you’re happy. I love you, and I guess I’ll just have to keep trying to prove it to you.”

I don’t know what is going to happen with me and Annabelle. This is my last try, not just with things involving distance, but with relationships at all. I’m too young and inexperienced for this shit. I’m tired of going to sleep worrying if someone likes me, or if they’re going to randomly stop talking to me. And even though I tell myself that I’ll just be one of those guys who fools around with chicks never looking to settle down I know that’s not who I can be, and even if it was I wouldn’t be happy. I’m just doomed to chase down happiness. I almost called it false happiness because it’s so unlikely, but it’s not false happiness, it’s just hard to get to. I don’t believe things are meant to be or not meant to be. I believe Annabelle brings me happiness when I’m talking to her, and despite how unlikely it seems now I’m going to try and work for it. Maybe it’s not meant to be? Not only is she far away but she’s way out of my league. Well I’m going to make it meant to be. Just because things can’t happen now doesn’t mean they won’t ever happen. And I’m not going to just let time pass. I’m going to stay focused on what I want and I’m going to get it. And what I want is her. Not her as in Her, but her as in Annabelle (Told you that whole Her thing was confusing) I just don’t like saying Dyana (but you have no problems saying Annabelle?) It’s a name I’m going to be saying a lot.

I Knew My Subconscious Was Gay

The other day I had a vaguely homosexual dream (what a wonderful way to start off a blog). But it wasn’t just vaguely homosexual, it was vaguely homosexual and involving me. I’m sure some of you assumed if I was having a homosexual dream it would involve me in the homosexual acts, but I think others might have just thought I was dreaming about other people doing homosexual stuff, and I wasn’t involved in it at all, just observing it through my dream. I’m not sure what I would have thought, none of my friends have ever told me they’ve had homosexual dreams, and it’s not because they’ve never had any. They must have at some point with all the homosexual thoughts I’ve put in their heads. I don’t mean that as in I’m so damn sexy that even thought they’re straight they can’t help but to dream about me. I just mean me and my friends talk about homosexual things all the time. And I don’t mean homosexual as in “gay”. I mean homosexual as in gay. That may be a little confusing. I don’t mean homosexual as in the way so many people use the word gay these days, that being as a synonym for stupid. I mean homosexual as in gay as in its second original meaning, that being for a man who likes other men in a homosexual manner. So what I mean (you’re taking way too long to explain this) I know, and it won’t be worth it, but what I mean is that me and my friends talk about gay people and make gay jokes and that kind of stuff a lot – mostly me. It’s very offensive actually. If there was a gay guy there most certainly he would have been offended. Wait a second, it turns out all those years there was a gay guy there. And no, although the heavy money would have been on me coming out of the closet that day will never come (you do realize that makes it sound like you’re gay but just not willing to admit it) and that’s what I want the people to think. But it turned out one of our friends was a homosexual, which makes all those gay jokes over the years I’ve told really awkward. Not to mention all the times I jokingly accused one of our other friends of being gay and kept telling him to come out of the closet.

I’ve strayed off the point, and that’s why I’m starting a new paragraph. I’m sure we all have homosexual dreams, and to stray off the point one more time (please don’t) why does saying homosexual sound so much more offensive then saying gay? Or is that just me? This blog aside, you don’t even have to read the rest of it, but would you be so kind to as (or as to) let me know in some way, shape or form, whether it be by leaving a comment, writing your own blog about it, or having someone sky write it, whether you think gay or homosexual is more offensive to call a man who likes other men, or are neither of them offensive at all, or is calling the person a man who likes other men the most offensive of them all?

And here we are again, at the beginning of a new paragraph, with misplaced commas strewn about, trying desperately to stay on point, which has undoubtedly been my biggest downfall as a writer, you know other than writing anywhere near well. So, to get back on point and stay there, ‘gay’ has been a big part of my life (what the hell do you mean by that?).  Granted up until recently I have never knowingly had someone who was gay be a big part of my life. But from the time I hit puberty, like most boys, I became hugely obsessed with penises, mainly my own. Hours upon hours I would waste abusing it as if it was a terrorist detained at Guantanamo Bay. And then when I started watching porn, which I’m starting to believe was a huge mistake, I started noticing all these big penises, and that’s when I became jealous. I’ve never been jealous of things so ugly. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a penis before, but they are disgusting. All you ladies reading this (‘because there must be millions’ I say with more than a hint of sarcasm) want to know why guys love receiving oral sex so much? Partly because guys are lazy and they don’t have to do anything but sit there, but mostly because it’s fascinating to see a girl like the guy so much that she’ll put his ugly ass penis in her mouth (what about the pleasure part) guys get no pleasure from it. Physically it feels like a rattlesnake eating your penis, but emotionally it’s a greater ego boost then being voted most awesome person in the universe (first of all I don’t think that vote takes place, but if it did Cody from Step by Step would win, and secondly you’ve never received oral sex so how would you know?) I’ve heard through the grapevine. Okay, so it’s true that I’ve never had my hot dog boiled inside a woman’s mouth pot, but I’ve had the discussion many times, and penises are ugly, and I would never stick something that ugly in the same thing I kiss my mother with. Oh my God, my mother has kissed me like a million times with the same mouth she probably used to go down on so many guys with. Oh my God, I can’t believe I actually wrote that. It’s probably so offensive to my mother. I should really delete it. But instead of deleting it I’ll just say that this is how ugly and against giving head to a guy I am. I’ve said on many occasions that I’d much rather be fucked in the ass then have to give head to a guy. With most guys they have to think really hard about that question. And some won’t even answer and just say ‘neither, I’d kill myself first’. But not me, I immediately go with being fucked in the ass. Sometimes I say my answer before they even finish the question. And I’ll even go as far as blurting out ‘I’d rather be fucked in the ass,’ apropos of nothing.

At some point in my life I started making gay jokes, and not offensive jokes, although I’m sure gay people would be offended by them, but more so just gay comments, and somehow that turned into me making comments that would suggest I’m gay. I don’t know which came first, whether it was me making gay comments about myself or if people thought I was gay and I jokingly went with it and took it to the nth degree. I guess it’s like the chicken and the egg; we’ll never know which came first. Although I guess scientists have figured out that the chicken has to come first, which most have thought so for years, but apparently one of the chemical components that make the egg is created within the chicken, so you can’t have a chicken egg unless there’s a chicken to create the egg, whereas you can have a chicken without a chicken egg because God can just go ‘poof’ and then magically a chicken is created. But facts aside, my life has been filled with gay jokes towards myself, and I wouldn’t say at the expense of myself because I’m not really gay. And it’s odd that my humor as taken that route because I don’t have a gay ounce in my body. Okay, maybe my ass is a little gay, but no big deal (that’s a joke people). I think the gayest thing I would actually do is kiss a man on the lips for the sake of humor, but no tongue, I don’t think I could do that unless it was really, really funny, or I was really, really drunk. I wouldn’t even partake in a Devil’s threesome, even if the girl involved was Scarlett Johansson. Although I think I could do it if I was drunk and while he was banging her from behind and I was receiving oral, or vice versa, there was a curtain between us so I couldn’t see him. But other than that there will be no two guy, one girl threesome for me. I could watch a Devil’s threesome though, just not be involved in one. I could probably even watch one in person, if the chick is hot, and there’s like some chips or popcorn to munch on, but it can’t be a buffet of hot dogs and popsicles. And although it would be awkward to watch people having sex in person, and I don’t have any desire to, I’m just saying I think I could because it wouldn’t be that much different then watching porn, except the part where I can’t rewind so I make sure I jerk off at my favorite part. Instead I’d have to tap the people on the shoulder and ask them if they could do that part over again, and it wouldn’t be as good because then they’d probably just be faking it and I’ll be able to tell. So I guess it’s probably best if I just keep my jerking off to traditional methods. The point is I’m not gay in any way except for the part where I constantly make jokes that make it seem like I’m gay, although I don’t think a gay person would do that, so I’m not even gay in that way. If I were really gay I’d probably over compensate and make jokes about fucking the cliché hot celebrities like Megan Fox and Pam Anderson (no one thinks Pamela Anderson is hot anymore) I do, I’d fuck her so hard (<– over compensating).

I always used to joke about my subconscious being gay, which most people would then say I must be gay too, but I argue it doesn’t. My argument for having a gay subconscious without me being gay is this: that’s just how it is. That’s not a very good argument, but hey, I’m not a very good person, so it fits. I used to always joke about it being gay because my first thoughts on things would often be gay thoughts, albeit in a joking manner, but still odd I found. And often when watching porn my eyes would wonder off the girl’s charming, bouncing breasts to the man’s despicably disgusting penis. And I’d just be staring at it, having stopped masturbating, and I’d just be jealous of it, but I’d joke that on a subconscious level I loved it otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it so much, but on the exterior I’d put on this charade of being jealous of it and that’s why I was fascinated with it. And by the way, I really am jealous of big penises, to a certain degree, but its not like I can really sit here complaining that my penis is so small and girls would laugh me out of rooms whenever I took my pants off. I think it’s just that I grew up watching porn, and the penises tend to be bigger in porn, so like how if you grow up watching basketball you dream of playing professional basketball, I watched all these big penises as a kid and it became my dream to have a big penis, but that’s a dream I fell a couple inches short of, which in any other scenario it’d be amazing to get within a couple inches of my dream, but unfortunately in this scenario a couple inches is a big deal, which also unfortunately left me with a small deal (Oh my God, the wit you portray is legendary) how dare you and your sarcasm, sir, that joke would be good enough for Two and a Half Men (Whoa, whoa, whoa, I didn’t think the joke was that bad) Zing.

But alas, I get to the reason I’m writing this – I think I meant to put at last instead of alas but even though alas means it’s a bad thing I’m getting to the reason I’m writing this I like the way it sounds so I’m leaving it. I had the gayest dream of my life the other night. Okay, maybe not as gay as the time I had that dream where I kissed my step dad on the lips. But I argue this one is gayer because the one where I kissed my step dad on the lips was short and sweet…I mean just short, not sweet, whereas this dream I’m about to speak of was a little longer, not much though, and it was not said, but implied that I was gay in the dream, where in the dream where I kissed my step dad there was no thought at all. And it was just a peck on the lips, no passion whatsoever, which by the way, ladies, in real life I’m all passion (no you’re not) I’m at least 70% passion (I’d argue that’s too much passion for most people).

In the dream I just had I went on a movie date with my gay friend. It wasn’t said that it was a date, but I know a movie date when I’m on one in a dream, which is apparently the only place I can get a date, and what’s worse is that I get a date in my dreams and it ends up being a gay date. That’s about the extent of the dream. There was a little bit of who should be paying for the popcorn and drinks and stuff like that – I remember being confused about the appropriate paying policy, but I felt as the manly man as should pay– and there was no making out or holding hands or even eye contact. In fact I may have even felt a little awkward, but can you blame me, I’ve never been on a gay date before, let alone any date. And now that I think about it I’m offended. My gay dream date (dream date is poor wording) my gay date in the dream didn’t even try to make out with me. What the fuck? Am I not good enough for him? What a kill to my ego.

When I woke up the next morning I felt weird, but I felt a little comforted because I don’t recall having a boner, which I usually do when I wake up. The weird feeling went away when several minutes later I masturbated to some extreme lesbian porn (<– over compensating). It was just what I wanted. These were real lesbians, short hair, no tits, they looked just like boys. I’m kidding. I don’t recall what I masturbated to that morning, but I remember not really caring that much about the dream. I’m not one of those people who thinks every dream means something and that if I dreamed about being on a date with my friend then I must be gay and want him. But I do think dreams often represent what’s going on with a person’s subconscious and as a student of psychology (since when?) I’ve taken psychology (one time, and you barely passed) well as a person who finds psychology interesting I like to analyze my dreams sometimes. Especially when they’re gay dreams and there’s potential of me outing myself. Oh how wonderful it’d be to get to be gay. I’m kidding of course. Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. But I maintain that of all the options of sexuality gay is one of the worst for the sole fact that there are less people to hook up with. At the same time they’re competing for less people, and that may be good for some people, but I’m really picky with who I want to be with, and not many people live up to my high, high, way too high, so high that I now only want one person and this could end up making me die alone, high standards. And this may shock you, but I don’t think heterosexuality is the best of all the sexuality options. Clearly bisexuality is the best. You get everyone. If you’re a bisexual female you still have the whole man species to choose from, excluding the gay ones, but you also have the options of hooking up with a lesbian. More is better. Heterosexuality is fine, and so is homosexuality, but combining them and having more options is by far the best option, especially in this day and age where as long as you stay north of the Mason-Dixon Line most sexualities are widely accepted, and even if disagreed with people tend to mind their own business.

The day of the dream, or the day before, or I don’t know what you want to call it, but the day spent that led up to the night which the dream took place during (you have a genius type way of making things longer than they need to be) me and a couple of friends hung out with my gay friend and his gay boyfriend. We went hiking up a trail to Multnomah Falls and for most of the time hiking I was quiet and thinking about how badly I wish a certain girl could have been there with me. It’s something I’ve never got to experience, doing something with the girl I love, anything, even something as simple as going to the movies. My gay friend in the dream didn’t represent love for him, it represented my jealousy of him getting to do things with his boyfriend. Sure they didn’t get all lovey dovey during the hike and when we hung out at the lake, but I get jealous of the simplest things, and for a guy like me who has loved – and some people will debate whether its real love because of the circumstances it was under, but I say fuck them mightily, it’s love – but never got to do anything with the girl, even something as little as sitting at a picnic table on a warm summer day eating relatively plain sandwiches with complex tortilla chips that apparently taste like cheeseburgers seems like fucking heaven. Of course I still get jealous of the big things. When my friends talk about having sex and cuddling and stuff like that I’m extremely jealous, but its too the point now where even seeing people holding hands is killing me. To hold her hand for but a second is more desirable then getting to fuck Scarlett Johansson for life. And I mean it, and that’s saying a lot because just thinking about Scarlett Johansson makes me want to run to the computer and jerk off to pictures of her (running to the computer seems odd seeing as you’re typing this on the computer right now) I meant the other computer (the one sitting a foot and a half away from you?) yes, a brisk jog will do.

So I think the dream represents the desire for even a simplistic relationship, and not even with her, I don’t think the dream had terribly much to do with her, I think the dream represents my subconscious desire for a relationship with anybody, and at this point apparently even a man. Maybe my subconscious is telling me to go for whatever I can get –I don’t think I could get a gay man by the way, they wouldn’t be able to put up with my constant barrage of gay humor – but I don’t really listen to my subconscious because I’ve always felt it’s not what I really want. My subconscious just works preliminary shit out, but it’s what’s going on in my external thought process where I believe the real truth lies. And as much as I think about being in a relationship, and as much as it depresses me at night to be alone, I’m still going to wait and not force anything, even if that means years and years of homosexual dreams, but in case my subconscious is reading this I’d much rather have dreams of being fucked in the ass then sucking a guy off.

….

Podcast of me and Chris talking about stuff, and maybe even this topic unless Chris deleted it from the Podcast.

Thoughts on the Rose Bowl

About a week ago I got the privilege of seeing my beloved Oregon Ducks lose in the Rose Bowl to the Ohio State Buckeyes. In the past this would have upset me to the point of breaking my remote for the fifth time, but over the last couple of years I’ve purposely distanced myself from caring so much about sports I have no involvement with whatsoever. Yes, the Oregon Ducks football team is one of my favorite teams in all of sports, but I’m not a part of the team, and I don’t go to the school, so I see no reason to get upset about a loss. Of course I would have preferred for them to win, but instead of moping about a loss, and complaining the next few weeks about how they could have won, I just jerked off and went to bed. Well not really. Normally I probably would have jerked off, but I was so fucking tired from being up forever that I just went to bed. But believe you me my dreams were filled with wild fantasies of jerking off. One of the things I’ve been upset with in my life regarding dreams is that they haven’t been very sexual. Dreams are the only place where anything can happen, yet in my whole life I haven’t even had enough sexual dreams to count on two hands. And I’ve never had a dream where I’ve full out had sex with somebody, which I find shocking considering I can’t get laid in real life. My dreams won’t even do me the courtesy of letting me have sex in them. When I see a hot girl walking down the street and I say to my buddy, ‘boy I’d like to give her a serving of my pickle,’ and he says, ‘yeah, that will only happen in your dreams,’ no, not even in my fucking dreams could I get her. It’s ridiculous! My dreams should fulfill my ultimate fantasies. But instead they just have me waking up every morning thinking, ‘what the fuck was that dream about.’ (What ever happened to talking about the Rose Bowl?) I can never stay focused.

The first thing I always notice when watching football is how tight the pants are. I figure most girls think it’s done purposely with the intent of raising the number of female viewers. But in actuality the idea is that you want everything you’re wearing to be as tight as possible so it makes it harder for the other team to grab onto your jersey. It’s not like the NBA where every player has their shorts sagging down to their ankles. I’m sure everybody has their own theory of why the shorts in the NBA are longer than they used to be, and I’m sure on the top of that list is comfort. But my theory is that back in the day the NBA had a lot more white people, whereas now there are essentially no white people, but the shorts aren’t short just because it’s a tradition in the black community to have their shorts sagging, not only to look cool, but also to create a breeze for their larger ass, but if the NBA still had those short shorts all these huge black guys would be running around with there monster cocks hanging out, and that’s just not good for the younger viewers, although I’m sure that would up the viewership of women even more than tight pants do in football, which brings me back to my original point. I don’t like the tight pants. I spend a good 30% of my time watching football just staring at the player’s asses. Don’t get me wrong I’m not just staring at their asses, I’m also staring at their unbelievable muscles. It’s the same way I feel about penises. I’m not obsessed with them because I’m attracted to them in any way. I’m obsessed with them because I’m so damn jealous. When I see a guy with a nice ass, or a ripped body, or a big penis, I can’t stop thinking about him (because you’re gay) yes, because I’m gay… I mean no, damn it, it’s because I’m so damn jealous. It’s like when a guy sees his neighbor’s really nice car. He gets obsessed with it because he wants it for himself. When I see a big penis I want it (in you) yes in me… wait no, not in me, I want it on me (that really doesn’t sound any less homosexual).

Anyway, those were my thoughts on the Rose Bowl.