Last night I took some Advil PM because I had neck pain and a severe headache. As I dozed off, I went through an Aldous Huxley-esque door of perception. Everything felt so incredibly real and in living color, and life was wonderful. If this was Brave New World, I would have taken what they termed a Soma holiday.
In the dream, my boss Bruce booked me for a singing telegram. It was for the prince of this obscure island nation. His name was Rainier, like Grace Kelly’s husband, Prince of Monaco. Anyway, his people had seen my photo on my boss’s website, and Rainier had relayed that he had seen every single video I had ever made. Rainer’s wish was to meet me. He requested that I do a singing telegram cop strip to a bikini, and then perform a puppet show afterward. I googled the locale. It was in some part of New Jersey I had never heard of. The bus and cab would have been an unworldly amount of money. I told Bruce this, and he informed me he knew of a special bus that could get me there for very little money. However, when the prince heard of my ordeal he chartered a car.
When I got to his estate, a secret no one knew about, his advisors told me to be careful. People wanted to catch Rainier red handed, and put him in a Bill Clinton/Gennifer Flowers pickle. He was next in line for the throne of the island nation. Rainier had to be careful.
Rainier was a fellow who was not particularly handsome but rather kind. Despite his station in life, he was humble. He and his advisors were excellent audience members and laughed the entire time. The Prince regaled me by knowing every one of my youtube videos, line for line for line. He told me he was charmed and wanted to see me again. I was taken by him as well, and didn’t want whatever this was to stop at that instant.
The following day, Rainier sent a dress and necklace to me from both Tiffany’s and Alex Wang. Rainier also invited me to dinner, and instructed me to wear the outfit. Ordinarily I would have told him he wasn’t the boss of me, but the outfit looked stunning. We ended up going to an eatery that was quite posh, and a plate there costs more than most people make in a week. Rainier was a gentlemen the entire evening, and did not once lay a hand on me. He also knew about my painful past with men, and didn’t judge me either. Oh, and of course he bought me dinner.
Even afterwards he didn’t demand sex. Instead, he continued to be the perfect gentlemen. He told me he wanted to see me again, and enjoyed talking to me. Rainier told me he found my honesty refreshing, and my strength my best quality. Just as he was about to kiss me I woke up.
Damning my existence I screamed, “FUCK YOU DISNEY!!!”
Then it all made sense. Of course he was a dream dude. No guy spends that amount of money unless he intends to get sexually serviced in some way. Not to mention with men it is all a great big dick slinging contest, and any past you have with guys they take as an affront to their sensitive male ego. Most of the time, even a prince would break out a coupon in an establishment that expensive. Again, fuck you Disney!!!!!
Having my fantasy life disrupted irked me just a little. It makes the screeching voices of those who have been lucky in love and therefore judgmental all the more real. Yes, the idiots who tell me I have to look harder for a good man. Or the ones who live happily ever after telling me that my balls to the wall honesty depresses them. Then there are the idiots who keep telling me to go on 100 coffee dates as if those people live happily ever after.
Prince Rainier was too perfect. He didn’t reveal the chip on his shoulder from childhood. He didn’t reveal that he was an adult man child looking for a mother in the form of a lover. Plus the Prince in the fairy tales is always suspiciously present when the princess gets pricked and falls into a coma. And there he is, getting all sexified with her. I trust Millificent. I know she’s evil. Him, I think he roofied that needle. As for Snow White, she was technically dead when he made a move. DISGUSTING!!!
I have no idea what triggered the dream. Maybe it’s the dating talk with my mother. Maybe it’s my father telling me every conversation that I have with him that I need to settle down. Maybe it’s my very married brother telling me I am getting old and need to get married. Maybe it’s my sister Skipper who’s getting married. Hell if I know.
Either way, it’s ripping open every visible wound I have in that area. Yes, there were three times I nearly did get married and almost gave my parents the son in laws from hell. I still have a different mailing address because of Sean. Scott lied and misrepresented himself so badly that when this attorney at law insisted I could trust him, he came across as a bad legal commercial. Holden wasn’t dishonest, he wasn’t paying child support. He had legal issues. He had bipolar disorder and a drug problem. My family should be happy somehow I spared them those disasters.
Then of course there were all those times when I was accidentally the other woman aka Prince Charming had a queen at home he didn’t tell me about, or he led me to believe the castle was breaking up. Oh, and while I liked dudes in high school, they didn’t make a move. However, some of their dad’s were fearless. Translated, I know the Prince is sometimes a wonderfully disguised toad who broke into the royal closet and stole the crown.
I think what triggered the dream was the possible bipolarity of my life lately. I am princess or pauper depending on the day. Either I am so happy I could catch the sun, moon, and stars because things are so good, or I am depressed like I landed on a bed of nails in The North Pole because things suck so bad. It changes from day to day. I even read my own Tarot, something one should never do. I got both the Sun and the Tower in both readings interchangeably. The Sun is the best, The Tower is the worst. Even my psychic signals are bipolar, not that it is an exact science. But thank you Tarot for this vague reading.
Then there is the off chance that because my life has had no middle ground whatsoever this year that I am lonely and perhaps secretly crave a relationship. However, I have also experienced a shitload of sexism in my comedy career. So much so that when I walk in my door, all I want to do is slam it and be safe from the world at large. I have been degraded my male headliners, pressured for sex by bookers, and talked down to by club owners because of my gender. At times, I feel like to sleep with a man is to sleep with the enemy. And why would I want to spend time with the enemy? Why would I want to make myself crazy when all signals point to the fact I would be better off at times if I were born a man?
On the other hand, most of my fans are dudes. I like dudes and I like the levity they bring to any and all situations. I enjoy their support, and enjoy the fan letters they send. I enjoy sending them sexy photos when they request them in the mail. I enjoy laughing when they post crazy comments. I enjoy fighting with stupid third wavers who have no freaking idea what feminism is, and defending my loyal male fan base. Oh, and I enjoy cracking jokes that piss those stuck up feminists off.
Yeah I like guys. I just hate sexism. Sure I want true love. Yet I don’t have faith it exists. Prince Rainier might be nice if he shows up. April the jaded battle axe might scare him off. If he is a cartoon, I can make him say what I want. I can also erase him.
I dunno. Too much thinking. Time to get ready for work. Enough with the Advil PM.