So, weird things here. I can’t explain it all except to say that Mexico is calling? And I’m apparently the creepily badass foundling? I mean it’s lengthy, but that is the gist of it really. I’m still unpacking it, I just need to get it hammered out & outta my chest, to see if a different way.
There’s a lot I’m unpacking recently & things I’m not ready to face, but that is a different blog post that I’m still working on & started before this one shot up into the forefront of my brain.
I had weird dreams, but this is not really about laying them out step-by-step & interpreting them according to outside information. I mean, I don’t know what they mean, & I want to, but no dream dictionary is going to help me with that.
OK. So, Lil’ Small mentioned she wanted a fruit tart from the Mexican bakery in town… if it didn’t contain chocolate, like this one grocery story snuck in last year. I had no idea they’d layer chocolate between the pastry & the creme, because… that’s not how that’s supposed to go.
So, that was a real life discussion & I get how that could get mixed into dream land, but that’s not usually how these things go. Generally, I wouldn’t even dream of the place, & if I did it wouldn’t be that night, but weeks later. And I’d either just be trying to obtain said fruit tart in odd places or else would be purchasing cupcakes from that bakery. Ya know, that sort of deal.
No. That very night, mere hours after she’d randomly mentioned it, I walked right into that bakery & it was in the same place in town that it’s in, but instead of a partition wall separating the front from the kitchen, it was open. There were big windows in the back showing the once train tracks, now turned walking track & the soft ball field beyond it.
The cheque out area was not directly in front of the entrance door, but off to the left. I walked in, wanting to ask about the tarts & they were speaking to me in Spanish & kind of upset that I was of them… but also not. Like I didn’t work there, but like they were disappointed that I wasn’t speaking Spanish back to them like I should be. That they knew I was Mexican, but that I myself didn’t know it. And they were upset & sad for me.
Now inside that place, I’m pretty sure it’s just a solid wall at that back with just a door, but if there were big windows that is exactly the view I’d be seeing as all of that stuff is behind this strip mall. I never dream in exacts.
Also, while I didn’t really know what they were saying to me in Spanish, my sleeping self could feel what they meant, feel their thoughts. I knew what the dream entailed, in the moment, even if my dream self was confused by how the interior looked & that they insisted on speaking to me in Spanish.
That’s not how real, normal dreams go for me. Ever. I can’t tell you if this really happened in some dream land world, because while it didn’t necessarily feel other like it was really happening, it certainly didn’t feel like just a dream. Perhaps the intent was what was real & other & not the people & scene?
That same night, before bed, I got Youtube up on the telly, intending to find some nice rain scape sound to read to, but got stuck on some Lana Del Rey music. It was one song I liked, & I intended to just hit back & play it again while I was looking online for a little bit, but it would go to another of her songs that this person put together. Some person, because it’s just some benign background & then words.
OK, sure. And this one song came on. Cola. I’d never heard it before so I said, ‘Sure, I’ll give this a whirl.’
The lines right out of the starting gate were, “My pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola.” I LAUGHED. Because it’s so ridiculously stupid & that was the start of the song. It was a stupid song in my opinion. I do like several of her songs, but this one… while the tune might have been OK, I still wouldn’t have it in my music because the tune wasn’t that good. But man, I don’t want a song about daddy issues & being some dude’s mistress. And it’s not like I don’t have funny, sexual songs in my music, but this… this one wasn’t for me. Besides the fact that I’m pretty certain she wasn’t intending it to be funny.
Listened some more to the song I did like, Ultraviolence, then another came on that I hadn’t heard before. West Coast. It was the last song, that I’d not heard before, that I listened to before sleeping, because of course after that I listened to Ultraviolence again.
Why is all this important? I’m getting there. So, I do dig Lana Del Rey. I have some of her music in my collection & listen to it often. Ultraviolence is my new favourite & have probably listened to it, on repeat, like fifty times so far in the past two weeks. Also, remember that West Coast, a song I’d never heard before, that I didn’t care for, was the last to play before I slept. Not Cola.
Now, we’ll skip back briefly to a week ago. We’re painting our parents room. Lil’ Small is making a playlist & wants songs for it. I only have two coming to mind, because they’re always on my mind at this point. The Order of Death by Public Image LTD & Ultraviolence by Lana Del Rey. So, I pull those up for her to hear.
When the Lana Del Rey song plays she says, “OMG _________ is obsessed with her. He LOVES her music.”
It’s this guy that we both, barely know. Chicano. Used to come into our basement coffee house. Nice guy, but we don’t really know him. Though the both of them are friends online & he came to the house to pick up a piece of her art for some auction & he realized who we were, that we had that coffee house. He even hugged me hello after he realized who I was, yet when I added him as a friend online he refused it. Which is fine, but it has bearing on the story.
That night that I dreamed about the Mexican bakery being upset that I didn’t realize that I was Mexican, that damn Cola song was playing in a different part of my dream. And he appeared right at her opening lines. He looked me up & down & said, “You like her music too?!” & kept smiling at me & kind of strutting around or flexing & doing things like I don’t know, some bird in a weird mating ritual.
All I could think during this part was ‘UGH why is this song on repeat & why in the hell are you here?! Get outta my dream, man!”
Because what’s weirder than weird is that this felt completely other. Like this guy was really there. Somehow pulled into my dream & wouldn’t leave. And I didn’t want him there. He’s not a bad looking guy & he’s not a creepster, but eh… he’s not for me. We’re not connected in any form (he’s not my brother, my super BFF, or my +1) so I don’t want him showing up & tromping around in my dream land.
I know one would think, well, it’s because it was mentioned by Lil’ Small that he liked her music. Yes. But. How come I didn’t dream of him that very night that it was mentioned, last week, with the Ultraviolence music playing? Why not in the week since with that song playing or other songs that I have by her, & have been listening to? Why not the song West Coast, which as I’ll remind you a third time, was the last, unknown song to me, to play that night?
What’s the logical (yet illogical) conclusion that we can come to? With the dream feeling real & the line of “You like her music too?!”, with the you very much emphasized? I’m gonna go ahead & guess it’s because I’ve got the devil magicks in dream land, I do like her music, which is our connection. It was the unknown song of hers that stuck with me that night because it was stupid to me… & I’m gonna go ahead & guess that he’s looking for a chick whose pussy tastes like fucking Pepsi, man.
He showed up because of that song. That was the feeling I got from the dream. That was the siren song for him. It must have been playing in my subconscious & pulled him to where it was coming from, which was my dream land. Just because I’ve got the devil magicks, doesn’t mean I know how to control them.
Well, I’ve got news for him. For one, while I do drink Pepsi, my pussy does not taste like that. And I should know. Secondly, I am not for him. At all. He’ll never know if I’m this girl of the song or not, because I am NOT for him. Thirdly, even if I was (which is totally hypothetical, because I know that I’m not), he’s not gonna add me on socials for like three weeks before I pull the request, though Lil’ Small is all, “Oh no, he’s been super busy over there, I’m sure he would have seen it. It’s not like he’s not been on.” & then show up in my dreams all happy & excited? I don’t think so. He doesn’t have to be my “friend” on socials, I’m not upset about that. But you can’t say, “Eww, not her….” & then tromp around in my sleepy time brain. That’s not how I roll. I’m not someone’s second chance girl. And considering the song is about being some older dude’s mistress. I am NO man’s mistress. I am first & most honoured wife, ONLY. I’m top bitch, or nothing to you at all.
It’s also not lost on me that my +1 is also Chicano & they share the same first name. Mixed in with a dream that I’m apparently… Mexican?! But I’m not being fooled. What ever the dream means, even though I really think he was there, I’m not fallin’ for it. I’ve got my +1 & no one else is him. I don’t care if you are both US born Mexican men with the same first name. One of you ain’t him & I know the difference.
I don’t know why part of me feels like it’s a trap. Is it because Lil’ Small prefers this guy to my guy… for me. Always waving it away like this is just some passing fancy & my real man is out there somewhere else? Is it just residual with that just instantly springing to mind like I gotta fight it? Or was that really mixed up in the dream?
And what is the deal with me being Mexican? The orphan girl stating that I was Mexican, but that I had blue eyes like the other people & she wanted to know how I’d accomplished that. While using the word magic, I might add. Or me always being drawn to Mexico. If someone stated someone was Mexican I would say, “Oh, really?!” because I found that absolutely fascinating, but that person would shoot back with something about me not being allowed to judge them on it & that they were cool people, which always made me pull a face because it wasn’t where my head was at to begin with.
Two incidents come to mind. My cousin Martin taking me across the street from our grandparents house to his friends house. Why he felt the need to state that they were Mexican is beyond me, but he did. I suppose so I wouldn’t have a heart attack when they opened the door? I’m not racists.
The other was some random get together my friend dragged me to in these apartments behind the handless Jesus cemetery. For all my fascination & pull to Mexico, I was quite limited in Spanish surnames. For lack of better words, I was stupid. I knew these brothers’ last name, but I couldn’t have told you what language it was. Someone there, some girl, said, that the brothers were there & also stated that they were Mexican. (Again, why?!). Of course I was all, “…Mexico….” about it with my eyes going wide. Like I needed to get closer, for… I don’t know why… so I could jumpstart the Mexican in me? Why was I always so excited about finding this out? Not thinking until later that the scenario of telling me & then shooting back with basically, “Don’t make fun of them!” was really, really fucking weird.
This guy I’m talking about was one of those brothers at that apartment. I already knew who they were from their group that would hang out in our coffee house. I’d already said that I’d learned of their surname, which was like Greek to me & meant nothing. As in, I didn’t think, ‘Oh wow! They’d speak Spanish because of a surname like that!’
Honestly, if I were going to make fun of them it would be for the group they were apart of, because that seemed… well… rather extreme. But, I’m not a very make fun of people kind of gal for anything & I’m not gonna make fun of someone for their ethnicity.
I guess it makes sense though. People deal with a lot of hate here, & the people closest to them just jump the gun on ‘& don’t you dare fucking use it again them, man!’. My cousin has downs syndrome. I don’t know why his older brother, who was discussing it, then shot me a look & said, “& he’s really cool & can do anything!” all defensively. “Well, of course Winston is really cool & can do anything. I wouldn’t doubt it.”, then the defenses lowered like he remembered who he was talking to. Sure we didn’t visit often, but I’d known both him & Winston since they were born, had grown up with them, & had never once treated Winston like he was less than.
When the German exchange students showed up, the one at my school, & the other two at the other school, but came to our coffee house. I just said, “Hi hello!” & treated them like the real people that they are. The girl, who is still my friend, would get defensive about things with me, & then say, “Oh no… it’s you…” & wave it away, until I asked her about it. I should have realized, but I thought things were one offs.
With the guy at my school, I had to save him from bullies. They were just taunting the fuck outta him & treating him like he was stupid. But those guys were always stupid, so I thought it was a one off.
With the girl, some guys at my coffee house called her a Nazi, & I stood up between them & said, “What the fuck, man? It’s not 1940, she’s not a fucking Nazi & how dare you!” “Well, her granddaddy was a Nazi then!” “& who the fuck cares whether her grandfather was or was not a Nazi. It’s not relevant, leave her alone!”
That is when she saw me as different from everyone else in this backwards po-dunk town. But, I just waved them away as assholes & of course, I didn’t realize it at the time that she was assessing me & that I’d pass some test. That wasn’t until years later, that I realized this. I think it’s because I didn’t see EVERYONE ragging her constantly. She didn’t discuss it & I didn’t see it. But I was not about to let that shit happen at my fucking house, man.
I never even asked her later if anyone in her family had been a Nazi. Do you know why? Because I wasn’t trying to fucking be friends with her, probably dead, or else really old, relatives back in Germany. I just wanted to be friends with her. And it was already pretty clear from her demeanor & how she reacted to things that she didn’t set herself above others or hate people. So, who the fuck cares? She isn’t her ancestors, whether or not that we were good or bad people.
I’ve discussed it before, but I’ll just say it again. Since I was a teenager (& up to age 22), & it was my house, if people did shit that wasn’t OK, I had no qualms about bowing up to them & telling them to get the fuck outta my house or to clean up their mess or whatever.
Incident 1: I was in charge of the bands that played there. Most bands were comprised of men in their 30’s. They came in, set up, played, packed up, & left. Very adult. One band was comprised of early twenty something… boys. They asked me if they could move a few things, pieces of furniture, to set up. They motioned where they wanted to set up. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine. I’m going upstairs, I’ll be back in a bit.”
When I came back, they’d toted out half the furniture into the back fucking yard.
“What the fuck y’all?!”
“You said we could move things around.”
“Yeah, like shove it… over here against the wall. Not halfway out into the fucking yard! Bring it back in.”
They stood there & crossed their arms. I was only slightly younger than them. “You think I’m fucking playing?! Move that shit back in here. NOW!”
And they moved. They brought it all back in. The adult men would ask if they could move things, & just slightly re-arranged the furniture… in the building, which is what I assumed these guys were going to do. Apparently I couldn’t leave them alone for half a second.
Incident 2: This guy I went to school with came into the coffee house. Never thought he’d ever show up there, but he actually came back pretty regularly & his band would even play sometimes. However, this one time he brought his girlfriend. Some girl from our school. They were inside, they’d ordered coffee. Something happened. She said something. It was offhanded & wasn’t mean at all, but it was one of those shit moves where the guy is so unsure of himself that EVERYTHING on the fucking planet emasculates him.
“How did you do on the test?” “I failed.” “It was a hard test. I don’t think I did well either & you also didn’t study.”
It was said so offhandedly that any confident person would have laughed & agreed with her, because they hadn’t studied. Was it because she said it in front of me, because I was setting their coffee down? But he started suckin’ lemons & the next thing I know he’s asking her to go outside.
After a minute I was thinking, ‘What in the fuck is all that goddamn noise?!’. Turns out he was right out on the patio off the sliding glass doors giving her a dressing down. For one, it was getting on my fucking nerves. Him yelling. Secondly, no one’s going to bully anyone on my watch.
I slid the door open. “What the fuck, man?”
“Oh sorry, Sarah. We’ll be done in a minute.” She looked at me like a deer caught in headlights, which, though I think she wanted help, it was more of a ‘I’m afraid of him & you should be too.’. Honestly, I could eat this guy for breakfast. He didn’t scare me at all.
“No, I think you’re done now.”
“This isn’t any of your business, so go back inside!”
“Excuse me?! Yes, it very well is my business! This is my goddamn house & no one is going to tell me what to do, least of all you, your screaming is giving me a fucking headache, & I’m not going to allow you to just scream at her like that. So, shut the fuck up or get the hell off my property.”
He’d never seen me have a back bone before. It’s not like I was a push over at school, but I kept too myself because it was too people-y out there & also I didn’t hulk out unless someone really pissed me off.
But he apologized to me with his eyes all big. “Good. Now apologize to her. Now….” & he did that as well. She did look shocked but thanked me with her eyes.
But where was I…? Oh yeah, people assuming the worst in me, because everyone else has shown their worst sides. I get it. But I’m also not that person. So, I never would have known these brothers were American born Mexicans, except that someone there felt the need to get it out in the open so what? I would come upon them & start saying they should get back across the border or ask where their sombrero’s were or whatever else ignorant people might say.
I’d already seen them. I already knew they weren’t pasty white Irish boys. Did I still serve them coffee with a smile? Of course. Why? Because I don’t care what colour skin someone has. I only care how they treat me, the animals in my vicinity, & other people. These guys weren’t assholes at all, so why would I think badly of them? I wouldn’t.
I mean, sure, at the time, I thought it was odd I was being given this information, but now. Now I’m really wondering.
Moving on to my last bit of this post. Yesterday was our parents’s 53rd Wedding Anniversary. They wanted us to play cards with them, so we did. At some point, I don’t know what prompted it, but dad said, “& this coming from the girl who slept with a knife in her bed!”
I paused not sure if the subject had been changed or he was relating some film. “Who are you talking about?”
“You! You slept with a knife in your bed!”
Umm…
“No, I didn’t!”
“Yes, you did!”
“Really?”
“Yes, really!”
“Really? How old was I?”
“Oh, young. Three or four.” he said & mom shook her head in agreement, then she said matter of factly, “Yes, you took one of his big knives from the kitchen. Had it tucked under your pillow with your hand on it.”
Then it was dad’s turn to shake his head in agreement.
“I assume you took it from me? What did I do?!”
“Screamed that you needed it. To give it back. “You neeeeded it” & then cried.”
I’ve been thinking about this since last night. There’s so much to unpack here. I mean, what three or four year old girl steals a big kitchen knife & sleeps with it, desperate to keep it once it’s being taken from her? What little girl, this age, would even think of getting a knife from the kitchen?
I know why I would have taken it. Demons. I wasn’t afraid of people like my parents or some random person breaking it. It was all the ghoulies that haunted me in the night time & in my sleep. I’ve always been plagued by nightmares & night terrors & spooky shit. I’ve always tried fighting them in anyway I knew how.
But it still baffles me that I’d think, at that age, to sneak around, grab a big knife from the kitchen, then sneak it upstairs, & hide it from my parents. There’s no telling how long I had been sleeping with it. The story indicated that they woke me up from sleep to take it from me. It wasn’t because mom changed my sheets. I’m sure it was just that dad finally wanted said knife (I’m wondering which knife if was. I didn’t think to ask. I’m sure it wasn’t the rusted butcher’s knife, but what if it was? All I got from them was that it was a BIG knife), & couldn’t find it in the drawer & they wondered what could have happened to it. So I’m guessing upmost to an entire week.
I’m thinking even if some three year old little girl is plagued by night terrors or is afraid of a family member or people breaking in… is she really going to go for a knife? Isn’t she just going to hide or make booby traps or cry & hope it doesn’t happen again? If she does go for a knife, she’d go for a paring knife or something else easy for her tiny hands to handle? Right? But I’m still betting that little girls don’t generally take knives to bed, no matter the size of the blade. Little girls don’t arm themselves, right? It’s like when they state it might be murder because females really don’t commit suicide by shooting themselves in the face like men are prone to do. They do asphyxiation like the running car in the closed garage or slitting wrists or sleeping pills.
No wonder my family is afraid of me & has always been! That’s like the creepy foundling kid a family takes in & then they find her in bed with a knife that she intends to use. It simultaneously bothers & excites me. I mean, that’s really badass, y’all! But also… what the hell, man?
Alien Tea Shoppe 