It was about 2pm when Mom came into the computer room and said hello. She probably figured I'd have regained the power of speech by then. She tested this out; we bantered; we came to the conclusion we needed coffee. Somewhere down the mountain it occured to me that I needed new sunglasses. I'd lost my old pair somewhere in Dr M's lab back in march, same with this snazzy pair of blue glasses that screamed "I was carved from a Starbuck's stool leg".

I mentioned this sunglasses idea to Mom. She and I thought on it awhile while excursioning to the sortof local Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. Whereas we'd suckled the Seattle-based teat of coffee before, we'd come to realize a few things:

1) The CBTL included more coffee in their iced drinks.

2) The CBTL had superior concotions like a black forest frapuccino thing.

We both decided sunglasses and dinner out were a good idea. We didn't have a clue where a sunglass hut was, considering the old one in the middle of Topanga Canyon closed, but we figured some boardwalk by the beach would have one.

We drove along Pacific Coast Highway (PCH), which begat Lincoln, which begat some street I can never remember, which re-birthed PCH again like a carbon copy Christ child of prophecy. I say carbon copy because, by this point, Mom and I hadn't noticed anything that vaguely resembled the divine bounty of a sunglasses store. There were plenty of other selections, however, like a store with a 20 foot easter island head on the sidewalk, a fanciful "hair beautification clinic" and an even more fanciful 'sports bar' right next to it called "Mr. Pockets". I grant you, they may have been referring to pool/billiards. From the vibe that the decor gave us, though, Mom and I just knew. We snickered. A gay sports bar; only in Los Angeles...

It was around 7:40 then, just at the beginning of sunset. We figured that instead of going clear over to Santa Monica we'd cut a left early and head toward Venice Beach. Ah sweet Venice. I hadn't been there since last september when Jen visited, strolling along the boulevard as her and Mom went through every worthy clothing stall. I remember standing in a reggae-styled shirt n' skirt place, looking up and seeing three different species of bird perched on a lightpole. I had my Logitech 510 then. The shot hadn't been so hot.

A few months under a year later, though, there I was again with my Canon Supershot S40. The atmosphere itself is trippy but not photogenic. The usual beefcakes mauled words with tattoo galleries on legs, a pair of Aussie girls on skates (and not in much else) passing by, swatting at one another's arse. Venice is also known for its sidewalk artists, bums, preachers and poets, baking in the sun and sea salts on (somehow) color-coordinated display cloths. It briefly occured to me that I could set up shop there now and then and sell my photograph prints, but I don't know of any local dirt-cheap print studios.

That aside, though, Mom's ankle was bothering her that day so we took it slow. We finally passed by a "5 bucks each" sunglasses rack and went to town. I wasn't expecting much for 5 dollars, but we both found a few sets that'd at least last the summer.

We drove back along PCH looking for Chinese, but finally decided we both hadn't had Thai food in awhile. We finally found a place that sported two huge aquariums of fish and live corral. Live corral is a dead give-away for how good an asian restaurant is since the stuff is very picky about its treatment. We dug through five courses of slightly spicy orgasms and revelled. The Thai iced tea itself was good. An odd dinner addition, though, was a party that sat behind us, which showcased a young mother who was proud--proud and self-confident--because she was a 'raging bitch'. She sure as hell wasn't pulling punches in that department from what she broadcasted to the restaurant. It wasn't a dwarf in jester's tights beating itself, but it came close.

----

Sure, I had no traffic complications and went home early. Sure, I bantered with Grettle and had her offer that she'd like to model for some photographs. Sure, Scott acknowledged my existence, asked how I was and introduced us into an hour long talk about economics.

**[Section deleted for personal and ethical reasons]**

Waking up was bittersweet. I'd been having a dream that, I think, involved alot of people going to some event inside of buses. The only part I remember is seeing an old friend of mine (and The Captain's), Selene. She'd lost alot of weigh and had a smooth, flat stomach that was exposed. What struck me most though was her. She seemed so warm and familiar, love radiating off like rolls of air in the desert heat. I commented on how exquisite she looked. She smiled and said what a wonder it was to see me. We held each other for a long time. In real life she'd break away after 15 seconds and say we shouldn't be late, but this wasn't reality. To say it was touching is an understatement. At that moment in my dream all I could wish for was to maintain that connection. She'd always meant so much to me and here, part of me indulged in it.

I felt lonely when the dream was gone, but not in the least bit guilty (since Selene has been dating someone for a few years now). There are only two things I sincerely regret with regard to her:

1) I was 15. The attraction was mutual. She was dating, but unsure. Funny enough, I made the mature decision back then: I asked her to choose him over me. It turned out later that he screwed around behind her back and treated her badly. I know our friendship probably would have ended if I kept up the dating thing...but part of me wonders if I should have anyway for what happened to her and for what happened in my own dating arena (of Hell).

2) I was in my late teens and back from college for the summer. She'd always arranged plans around getting a large gathering together, but one night we decided to go to her apartment to eat cheese and drink wine. We became slightly drunk. We snuggled for the last time that I can remember. Toward 3 or 4 we moved to her bed (which we agreed was more comfortable than the middle of the floor). The temptation to have sex was there, but she said she shouldn't. I took her at her word and held her until she slept. To this day she is the only woman I ever regret for not having slept with (sexually and literally). She was seeing someone else for sex at the time. I didn't want to impede on her choice.

It's ironic, really, that for each subsequent boyfriend she found and left over the years, I occasionally wondered why she and I didn't try dating again. Hell, I think we both wondered why back in the summer of 2001 at Zarathustra U. when we'd discuss psychology like geeks via IM's. By the time I'd decided I wanted to ask her, she'd found the boyfriend that she's currently with. She seems happy, which is as cliche as it sounds is best.

Not to sound like a forlorn lost puppy longing for a home; far from it. She was one of the few (and I do mean few) interesting women I dated that wasn't a manipulative and/or emotionally volatile bitch. I think it could have worked if circumstances had been different.

At least I don't have three things to regret. I'm disturbed by how the memory of the dream made me feel, but it'll pass. Probably just a hormone weather balloon sent out to make me wonder if UFO's and romantic love without the Quid Pro Quo exist.

As I'm fond of saying, though, there's a world of difference between idealism and reality--this one..and this ain't Roswell.

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