oh you pretty things!

i love georgetown, though i always feel slightly nerdy whenever i'm there. the general uniform seems to be american cigarettes, sleeve tattoos, fixies, black denim. d and i went to see f's show. on the way i passed this tower of crappy beer cans affixed to a light pole:

d doesn't really give a shit about how he comes across, which i envy and admire. we went to jules maes and he ordered his usual long island. he drinks the froofiest, most unpalatable beverages- mai tais and black opals and other unctuous swill. i may be a boring imbiber (gin and tonic, nearly always), but at least my teeth don't feel excessively coated after a night out.
jules maes has board games, big booths, and excellent fries.
*
it is very fucking nice to be on break from school. i took a four-hour nap on the trampoline today, surprising even myself. my dreams were erratic snippets of dischord. i hate waking up and feeling mentally soiled. like: i am in an archtypical 'rec room' of faux-panelled walls and hideous sofa. my father is trying to show me how to dance. we are both clothed and he is grinding his groin against my ass. i have never been molested in reality, so WHAT THE FUCK? i mean, GAH! i kept trying to move out of the way in the dream and he kept cheerfully correcting me: "you're doing it wrong" he said. my mother was also there, watching us and applauding our efforts.
i am aware of a very disturbing, freudian, parent-heavy dreamtheme of late. i have no fucking idea what this is about. i would really, really like it to stop, because it's extremely creepy and disgusting.
the dream segways to a tree-lined street with victorian houses. it reminds me of upper queen anne. my parents are showing off the '29 dodge- the dodge they sold (in reality) when i was 10 to fund my mother's 'enhancement.' in the dream it is back, now painted dark eggplant and covered with fake roses. it is a gothic, fabulous masterpiece. the inside is filled with the same tassels i used to put in all my cars; the back windows are covered with sheer black lace. i get into the rumble seat for a ride. "wait, you need your present!" my dad says. "this was on your list, but i bet you can't guess what it is." he hands me a wrapped frame in the middle of the street. it's a red velvet painting of elvis. "oh my god, it's a full-body one too" i gasp. "these are really rare. most velvet elvises are only of his head."
then: i am walking towards the clifflike edge of the neighborhood with a girl from class. we are holding hands, kissing surreptitiously, giddy with the newness of our attraction. we are to meet my parents again in an hour. the sun is setting and our faces are goldenrod. streetlights are starting to come on. "this all makes sense" i say. we smile at each other.
*
i woke up to my phone, on vibrate, skidding across the kitchen counter. it was a fucking timeshare charade that's been trying to contact me for the past two weeks; i must have signed up for something idiotic at a festival. i hate being interrupted from good dreams (which i classify the last one as). it makes reality slightly less lustrous.
seattle center today:

it's already dark outside. the passage of time startles me.