Almost

The dream ended with a startling epiphany: all of my clothes were on backwards.

As I lied there in my sweaty sheets next to the naked, orange-bodied, bleached blond girl whose name I didn’t know, I tried frantically to recall some more of the dream that was quickly disappearing back into the depths of my subconscious mind. Nothing. It was gone.

My gaze wandered over to the pile of clothes on the floor; it always looks the same: two easily recognizable bar uniforms stinking badly of cigarettes and cheap draft beer. Soon I’ll have to think about getting some new boots; the heels are becoming so worn down that I’m beginning to actually look like some hick cowboy (and besides, there are so many beer stains and scuff marks that the leather now bears little resemblance to the beautiful brown suede colour I fell in love with last August when I went back-to-school shopping with my girlfriend and my gold card).

I lifted my head slightly and looked over at my clock-radio: 10:21; good thing I arranged my schedule so that I would have no classes on Friday.

When is she going to wake up? What is she going to say? What am I going to say? I like it much better when I go back to her house and I can just leave when I wake up (I always seem to wake up first).

Though my head was telling me otherwise, I got up and went to the kitchen. Water. I sucked down a cupful of that lovely Britta water and refilled my Jurassic Park cup which I received after purchasing a large coke with my Big Mac back in 1992.

After topping off the Britta, I headed for the bathroom. Tylenol. Extra-strength. I popped three of my favorite morning after pills and sat down to take a shit. I hate beer shits, they’re the worst.

Dilophosaur (dy-LOH-fo-sawr): Traitorous Nedry’s escape plan backfires when he hears the warning hoot of the Dilophosaur. Nicknamed "The Spitter" at Jurassic Park, it resembled a playful kangaroo. But it was deadly when provoked, fanning out its colourful crest before spitting lethal venom as far as 6 meters. Scary stuff. This is an exceptionally cool cup because that Nedry-guy is Newman the crazy postman from Seinfeld. Why do beer shits always stink so bad?

When I get back to my room, she’s putting her uniform back on hurriedly. She looks up at me briefly and continues dressing. Good, this is an easy one; she doesn’t want to deal with me either.

After she left, I rummaged through the pockets of my 501’s, attempting to ascertain the extent of my generosity last night. I found five bucks in my left pocket and wondered how it got there (I’m right handed, you see). At the time, it mattered quite little to me; what mattered was that I was hungry and that there was a Burger King just downstairs which, if I was lucky, would still have a couple of croissandwiches left over from breakfast (it was only 10:36 after all). I was lucky. With that handy blue bill, I purchased the last two croissandwiches and dropped the remaining change into right-hand pocket of my loose-fit button-fly Gap jeans.

Back in my apartment, I turned on the coffee maker, refilled my Jurassic Park cup, turned on the TV., and chowed down voraciously. The afternoon was going to be a write-off as usual (I can never seem to get myself motivated after a night of heavy drinking); that’s alright though, because the only obligation I had for today was to remember to change my train ticket home to tomorrow morning (or my girlfriend will be mad—I can’t forget two weeks in a row or she’ll be really pissed).

Oh shit! I remember what that five bucks was for now! I was supposed to buy my father a birthday card before I go home this weekend; I had purposely put the money in the wrong pocket so that I wouldn’t spend it. Shit. Oh well, nothing a trip to the bank machine won’t fix.

The phone is ringing. The call display feature shows me a familiar number.

"Hey man, how’re ya doin’?"

"Not bad, I just got up."

"You lazy ass! I’ve been up since twenty after ten."

"Whoopie shit for you! I didn’t see you leave the bar last night man, did you pick up or somethin’?"

"Yeah man, and she was really fuckin’ hot too."

"You lucky shit, you always fuckin’ pick up and I never get squat."

"That’s ‘cause you try too fuckin’ hard man, you gotta seem like you don’t really want it, then the babes will come to you."

"I’ve tried that before, man it never fuckin’ works for me."

"Maybe your just too fuckin’ ugly, did you ever think of that?"

"Fuck off. I think it’s just because you have a girlfriend. Girls always seem to go for the guys with a girlfriend."

"So get a girlfriend then."

"It’s not that easy, man. You gotta pick up before you can get a girlfriend."

"No you don’t man, just get yourself a high school girl from back home. Come home tomorrow with me. I’ll get my girlfriend to introduce you to some of her friends. She’s got some pretty cute friends."

"No fuckin’ way man, it’s not worth the hassle."

"Sure it is! You see, even if you can’t pick up during the week, you can still go home and get laid whenever you want. And besides, high school girls won’t give you much shit: they’re just happy to have a boyfriend in University."

"No man, that’s not for me."

"Suit yourself......Hey! I had the weirdest fuckin’ dream last night."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I can’t really remember much except that just before I woke up, I noticed that my clothes were on backwards."

"Backwards?"

"Yep, weird eh?"

"Yeah, weird. So, you wanna go out tonight? It’s Alternative night, you know. The place will be packed."

"Yeah, sounds cool. Do you wanna come over to my place and drink first?"

"Sure man, I’ll bring the beer since you bought last."

"Cool, see ya around eight?"

"Cool, bye."

"Bye."

The dream ended with a startling epiphany: all of my clothes were on backwards.

As I lied there in my sweaty sheets next to the naked, orange-bodied, bleached blond girl whose name I didn’t know, I tried frantically to recall some more of the dream that was quickly disappearing back into the depths of my subconscious mind. Nothing. It was gone.

My gaze wandered over to the pile of clothes on the floor; it always looks the same: two easily recognizable bar uniforms stinking badly of cigarettes and cheap draft beer. Soon I’ll have to think about getting some new boots; the heels are becoming so worn down that I’m beginning to actually look like some hick cowboy (and besides, there are so many beer stains and scuff marks that the leather now bears little resemblance to the beautiful brown suede colour I fell in love with last August when I went back-to-school shopping with my girlfriend and my gold card).

I lifted my head slightly and looked over at my clock-radio: 10:21; good thing I arranged my schedule so that I would have no classes on Friday.

When is she going to wake up? What is she going to say? What am I going to say? I like it much better when I go back to her house and I can just leave when I wake up (I always seem to wake up first).

Though my head was telling me otherwise, I got up and went to the kitchen. Water. I sucked down a cupful of that lovely Britta water and refilled my Jurassic Park cup which I received after purchasing a large coke with my Big Mac back in 1992.

After topping off the Britta, I headed for the bathroom. Tylenol. Extra-strength. I popped three of my favorite morning after pills and sat down to take a shit. I hate beer shits, they’re the worst.

Dilophosaur (dy-LOH-fo-sawr): Traitorous Nedry’s escape plan backfires when he hears the warning hoot of the Dilophosaur. Nicknamed "The Spitter" at Jurassic Park, it resembled a playful kangaroo. But it was deadly when provoked, fanning out its colourful crest before spitting lethal venom as far as 6 meters. Scary stuff. This is an exceptionally cool cup because that Nedry-guy is Newman the crazy postman from Seinfeld. Why do beer shits always stink so bad?

When I get back to my room, she’s putting her uniform back on hurriedly. She looks up at me briefly and continues dressing. Good, this is an easy one; she doesn’t want to deal with me either.

After she left, I rummaged through the pockets of my 501’s, attempting to ascertain the extent of my generosity last night. I found five bucks in my left pocket and wondered how it got there (I’m right handed, you see). At the time, it mattered quite little to me; what mattered was that I was hungry and that there was a Burger King just downstairs which, if I was lucky, would still have a couple of croissandwiches left over from breakfast (it was only 10:36 after all). I was lucky. With that handy blue bill, I purchased the last two croissandwiches and dropped the remaining change into right-hand pocket of my loose-fit button-fly Gap jeans.

Back in my apartment, I turned on the coffee maker, refilled my Jurassic Park cup, turned on the TV., and chowed down voraciously. The afternoon was going to be a write-off as usual (I can never seem to get myself motivated after a night of heavy drinking); that’s alright though, because the only obligation I had for today was to remember to change my train ticket home to tomorrow morning (or my girlfriend will be mad—I can’t forget two weeks in a row or she’ll be really pissed).

Oh shit! I remember what that five bucks was for now! I was supposed to buy my father a birthday card before I go home this weekend; I had purposely put the money in the wrong pocket so that I wouldn’t spend it. Shit. Oh well, nothing a trip to the bank machine won’t fix.

The phone is ringing. The call display feature shows me a familiar number.

"Hey man, how’re ya doin’?"

"Not bad, I just got up."

"You lazy ass! I’ve been up since twenty after ten."

"Whoopie shit for you! I didn’t see you leave the bar last night man, did you pick up or somethin’?"

"Yeah man, and she was really fuckin’ hot too."

"You lucky shit, you always fuckin’ pick up and I never get squat."

"That’s ‘cause you try too fuckin’ hard man, you gotta seem like you don’t really want it, then the babes will come to you."

"I’ve tried that before, man it never fuckin’ works for me."

"Maybe your just too fuckin’ ugly, did you ever think of that?"

"Fuck off. I think it’s just because you have a girlfriend. Girls always seem to go for the guys with a girlfriend."

"So get a girlfriend then."

"It’s not that easy, man. You gotta pick up before you can get a girlfriend."

"No you don’t man, just get yourself a high school girl from back home. Come home tomorrow with me. I’ll get my girlfriend to introduce you to some of her friends. She’s got some pretty cute friends."

"No fuckin’ way man, it’s not worth the hassle."

"Sure it is! You see, even if you can’t pick up during the week, you can still go home and get laid whenever you want. And besides, high school girls won’t give you much shit: they’re just happy to have a boyfriend in University."

"No man, that’s not for me."

"Suit yourself......Hey! I had the weirdest fuckin’ dream last night."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I can’t really remember much except that just before I woke up, I noticed that my clothes were on backwards."

"Backwards?"

"Yep, weird eh?"

"Yeah, weird. So, you wanna go out tonight? It’s Alternative night, you know. The place will be packed."

"Yeah, sounds cool. Do you wanna come over to my place and drink first?"

"Sure man, I’ll bring the beer since you bought last."

"Cool, see ya around eight?"

"Cool, bye."

"Bye."

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