Dreaming

"Have you seen my garden? It is most peculiar. Have you seen my garden? Nothing there that grows looks anything at all like plants. I hear their voices. Let's take the whole day off" Oingo Boingo from "Whole Day Off"

It started out like any other day, or so I thought. I was, as per the norm in this psychedelic fun house, shackled to my bed awaiting the arrival of my antiseptically scrubbed Florence Nightingale from the depths of Hades. My body quivered in negative withdrawal from my daily Dixie cup of addiction fixers, but they didn't arrive. What the hell was going on? The damned nurse called in sick leaving me unmedicated and longing for the affections of my state appointed care taker. A dreadful feeling came over me. What if something serious happened, what if she was never to come back, what would become of me? Then I heard the steroid swollen orderly say that the nurse was out on some rich guys yacht for the day. What a bitch.

The general plan of how to spend a sick day was once laid out to near perfection in a little romp of a film called "Ferris Bueller's Day Off". It was a film that set the bar for how to play ditch at a level too astronomical for the average hooky player to achieve. I mean, seriously, how often do you just happen on a midweek parade? And on the same day as a big league matinee no less. No, that day isn't near perfect, I mean Scarlett Johannson is near perfect, that day is absolute, Stairway to Heaven, perfection.

As for my day of leisure it would begin, if we are talking a perfect day, by me waking up next to a very horny woman with perhaps an accent and an oral fixation. We would wake after an excellent night s sleep to make love as we called in to our jobs and finagled the day off. After bringing each other to the zenith of ecstasy we would adjourn the bedroom for the patio to enjoy coffee and cigarettes while I finished the New York Times crossword puzzle.

I would then leave my strumpet for a spell, hopping on the Harley and bombing down Pacific Coast Highway towards Long Beach where I would pick up comics from Atomic. Of course it would be the day that the new Garth Ennis trade comes out. We would chat comics and movies while watching a Hawaiian Tropics Bikini Contest from his balcony. Inevitably the contest would be short a couple of judges, they would spy us on the balcony, and of course we would help them out. Atomic would end up scoring a sun soaked model and I would hop on the bike and head for Pasadena.

On the way I would get a call from a literary agent telling me that my latest script was just bought for a seven figure payday. Sick day no longer, I would be quitting my job tomorrow. But, on to the City of Roses, where I would spend an hour or two hanging out with the Weezer Kid doing what we do best. We'd listen to the the Red Album as we enjoyed some of natures finest greenery.

I would grab lunch at "The Hat", for pastrami and chili fries, before heading off to see the new Scarlett Johannson/Jessica Biel lesbian love story action flick. With red vines in hand I would enjoy. The sun would be glowing amber in the late afternoon sky as I leave the theater sure that the film will win a bevy of Academy Awards.

The woman with the accent meets me for a romantic dinner of prime rib, baked potato, and Heineken before driving us back to her place where we pick up where we left off before coffee. I would fall into a deep sleep, waking to the day that I quit HellJob.

What your dream day off?

Dixie Cup of Love: The Woman with the Accent.