Friday, January 19, 2007

Sandcastle dreams

Based on my previous post, Kirk and I had a (semi)serious discussion yesterday via IM regarding why there seems to be so much animosity between me and other women.

This isn't a recent development, by the way. For as long as I can remember, I have maintained a couple of positions in regards to my relationships with women. All women, to me, fall under one of three categories:
  • Women that I respect greatly that seem to respect ME greatly. The common denominator is usually a shared wicked sense of humor and some kind of tragic past that unites us in our down-to-earthdom and logical approach to life
  • Women in my family that love me regardless, because they pretty much have to

  • All others women that hate my guts, and I hate them right back

Category 3 is the one that we were discussing at length yesterday. Unfortunately, most women that I meet end up falling under Category 3, never to return. Kirk had some nuggets of wisdom to offer, which seemed valid, and more than likely fed this dream that I still vividly remember this morning as I sit her sipping my coffee:

(cue wavy dream sequence and harp music)

I was at the beach, of all places. Seemed to be a place like Daytona, with lots of activity going on, and decks built off of bars and restaurants onto the sand, and people milling around, going from the sand to the shade of umbrellas and cool drinks. I remember sitting at a table on one of the decks, under the cover of an umbrella, feeling the breeze off of the ocean, stirring my mojito with a little sliver of sugar cane, and watching three women each building elaborate sand castles on the beach.

All three women were picture-perfect, their towels were perfectly laid out, their tans, their hair, their bathing suits, everything was postcard perfect, and they all three had these perpetual Stepford Wife-like smiles on their faces. For some reason, I got the notion that the table of too-loud men next to me were probably their husbands. Snickering at the sandcastle women and sipping beer, making comments and gesturing to each other as other women walked by, and catcalling, they were acting like drunk frat boys. The sandcastle women seemed to be oblivious to this. I remember wondering whether the women were ignoring it, or just too busy to notice it.

The woman closest to me was sweating her ass off, working on her castle, forming the turrets, adding little flags and shells, and stopping here and there to admire her handiwork. She would back away from it, admiring it from a distance, then return to it with a worried look, shaving away bits of errant sand from the perfect structure. I remember noticing with a chuckle that she kept eyeing the OTHER women's sandcastles, and there seemed to be some kind of friendly, but intense competition between the three, based on their chatter and frantic ministration, molding and remolding the sand.

In the dream, I remember feeling this tremendous sense of "What in the hell are these women doing?" I remember sipping the cool drink, thinking, "Jesus - what a fucking waste of time," and with that, I got up, walked directly out to the beach, and approached the closest woman. She looked up at me, shielding her eyes from the sun, squinting, her face and forearm covered in sand. The look on her face quickly changed from confusion to shock when I punted the center of the sandcastle as hard as I could, sending little flags and shells flying in a dazzling display of flying sand. I remember feeling that I was doing this for her own good, and as she sat there, speechless, the other two women started screaming at me "What are you DOING?!" I noticed that the men stopped yukkin' it up, and I turned to see them sitting at the table silently, stunned too, not quite knowing what to do, and doing . . . nothing.

Silently, but purposefully, I strode across the sand to Sandcastle 2, then 3, administering the same treatment, hearing the screaming hyena-like wailing from all three. Screams of "Oh my God! You have ruined EVERYTHING!" and "I can't BELIEVE you DID that!"

I remember cooly surveying my handiwork, and I still actually had my drink in my hand. I took a sip of it, completely oblivious to all the drama and screaming, and I remember approaching the three women, who by now looked terrified, and telling all three of them "Don't you realize that it's all just sand . . . the entire thing was built on nothing. It's fucking pointless, all of it."

They looked absolutely crestfallen, as though their entire world had just crumbled in front of their eyes. I walked away toward the water, leaving them all behind me.

Then I woke up.

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