City Boy » dream

My perfume can be concocted in my kitchen

Amortya Ray — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 13:12:13 +0000

So I was checking out this site and here’s what the test gave me as the cologne that matches my personality. Now I’m wondering why the hell would the perfume guys with their advanced degrees in the alchemy of scents even make something that smells like cardamom, coriander AND cedar. If I wanted to smell like 2 herbs and a coniferous tree, I would probably just open my kitchen cabinet and rub some on my self and then hop on a flight to the Himalayas and DRY HUMP A CEDAR TREE. I had had enough and decided to debunk the bullshit perfume that this clearly shady survey assigned to my sparkling personality.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Now in an effort to give y’all an optimum blog-reading (bleading?) experience, I decided to conduct some stellar research and saw that cardamom is often used as a masticatory. Except that I didn’t know what a masticatory is and Firefox clearly agreed with me as is evident with the dotted-red-underline-thingy.

And since Wikipedia is editable by pretty much anyone, I was convinced that I was a victim of Wikipedia vandalism (it IS A REAL word, look it up), and that word is actually masturbatory, which kind of makes more sense, since this cologne is expected to seduce ANY woman, and hence its ingredients would have such prurient uses. Also the more I tried to imagine the use of cardamom in any sort of multi-person conjugal act, the more my brain spun out of control and the smarties at Google image search couldn’t help me out with this one either.

And then I took another quiz that concluded that was an alcoholic and in desperately need of help which is totally bullshit because all I got was like 3 questions right out of 20. And another that said that I look 62% like Ludacris which is a bucketload of crap because I don’t even have a moustache. And then I took another quiz that would tell me what Twilight character I am but before the goddamn site would give me the answer, it made me fill out like a gazzillion forms and subscribe to another gazzillion newsletters and even then it wouldn’t tell me what I was and then I was so FRUSTRATED THAT I WANTED TO KILL SOMEONE but I didn’t. Instead I finished my drink, closed the computer, drifted to sleep in my wine induced haze, and dreamt about innovative and slightly disturbing uses of cardamom as a masturbatory device.

Dear Universe, quit conspiring against me. Capiche?

Amortya Ray — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 16:58:04 +0000

Here’s why:

2.75 hours ago: 9.15 am this morning

I’m running to the Path station. All groggy and wishing and hoping that I make my 10 o’clock meeting. I’m listening to Steven Tyler singing about some chick called Janie who has a gun and wants to shoot someone and I’m this close to embarking on a similar carnage of my own not with a gun because I don’t own one and DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE I CAN GET ONE! Instead I’m going to use my index finger and poke people in the eye. Because I’ve had the suckiest morning ever. Like ever.

3 hours ago: 9 am this morning

The oh-so-familiar iPhone ringtone wakes me up and I’m greeted with D’s pretty face on the caller id. As I barely manage to mumble a hello, she’s all, “Uh, you still sleeping? Why aren’t you at work already?”. I ask her the time, and she goes, “Umm.. 9 o’clock.” And then all I remember is scurrying out of bed, connecting my gazzillion portable devices to their respective chargers, all the while listening to D yell at me for something I still have no clue about, gulping down milk that expired like 20 years ago coz it tastes like horse piss, I hop into the shower.

5 hours ago: 7 am this morning

I’m in deep sleep and surprisingly not dreaming about getting shot by gangsters or cops (you’d be surprised how often I have dreams where I get killed). And deep down in my subconscious, I wonder why my alarm isn’t ringing. Because it’s a goddamn bitch when I get up before my alarm rings and realize that I could have slept for another half hour and then realize that I can’t fall asleep because the sunlight seeping through the blinds is at the perfect angle to keep my eyes from closing and turning the other way wouldn’t help because my brain’s already seen the light! It’s like a tiger that’s tasted blood for the first time ever or that saying about going black. You just can’t go back. But I rationalize the thought by telling myself that since I can’t feel any sunlight falling on my eyes, the sun hasn’t risen yet, and hence I have plenty of time before I need to get up!

13 hours ago: 11 pm last night

After an interesting conversation with KB about love, life and other random crap, I go to bed all pleased with myself for being all awesomely productive through the day and having grabbed Boost by its testicles and taming the shit out of it. And I’m all, “Wait! The sun rises sooner now. I need to sleep properly. I should probably wear my eye patch sleep thingy before I go to bed.” So that’s exactly what I did.

26 hours ago: 6.45 am yesterday

WHY DOESN’T THIS ALARM STOP SNOOZING! WHY WON’T IT JUST LET ME SLEEP IN PEACE. And then I do what any awesome guy would do in my place. I turn the alarm off. No. Not just the snooze. Because that’s not enough awesome. I UNLOCK MY PHONE, NAVIGATE TO THE CLOCK MENU, AND DELETE THE DAILY ALARM FROM MY PHONE.

And since I’m not much of a praying guy, I’m putting this out here. On the interwebs. Because the universe will OBVIOUSLY Facebook stalk me when it finds out all the negative energy I’ve let out in the span of 3 hours today, and it’ll be all, “Who is this dude that’s been trash talking me?” And when it finds my blog, it’ll come visit and read this post, feel sorry and do all sorts of universy magic to make my life better like banning snooze buttons from alarm clocks and those eye patch sleep thingies that keep the damn sunlight out of my eyes and mislead me into mistaking day for night.

Suspended consciousness and raw fish

Amortya Ray — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 08:44:52 +0000

The central truth of my existence is that I am at my creative best when I’m fast asleep. Unfortunately, I’m not the best when it comes to retaining that information. I have it vividly clear when I’m in bed and gloriously snoring, but can never remember the juicy bits as soon as I open my eyes. Whats with that? So yeah, the idea for this one came to me as a thought in my dream. And I’m all, “Wow, that would make for a very interesting post on the blog”. And my dream self, who happens to be a whole lot smarter than me, suggests that it would be a good idea if we make a mental note of it. My physical subconscious self wholeheartedly agrees. So my slumberland manifestation decides to jot it down. Yep, in retrospect that was a total dumbass decision. Because dream Morty is after all just a dream. And as soon as I open my eyes, he’s all POOF! Vanishes right in front of me. And leaves me to collect the remnants of what would have been a kickass post if only I could remember what it was all about.

So the thought that popped up in my dream this morning, I think, is one of the things that I find extremely annoying and inappropriate and completely wrong with the universe. Guys who use the word ‘dear‘ in conversation with other guys. And not in a grandfatherly ‘my dear‘ kind of way. More like in a ‘yes dear‘ sort of ridiculously schmoozingly castrating way. Every time I hear a guy use ‘dear‘ in written English, or even worse spoken out loud, my respect for them plummets to the depths of the nether world. Nothing is worse than a guy chopping his own balls off and serving them with bolognese sauce.

On other more delicious thoughts, I was recently introduced to the orgasmic pleasures of eating sushi. It was lil’ m’s birthday last week, and big M, lil’ m, Mixie and me celebrated it at Komegashi, a rather fancy joint in Jersey City. I’ve always been a little skeptical about sushi, well, because it’s RAW FUCKING FISH! But lil’ m did a fabulous job of introducing me to the cuisine. Maybe it was hormones or maybe she’s just getting all maternal on my ass, but she’s like, “Try this Morty. It has cream cheese. It’ll mask the taste of the fish. Or try this one- it has avacados in it. A little high on calories, but that’s alright.” And I was all but salivating with my puppy dog eyes wide open. Almost like when I was learning to ride a bike. Or when Dr. Bhonsle, the sex-ed consultant in 9th grade showed Mrs. Sanghamitra’s class of 40 curious, overly enthusiastic and horny boys a diagram of a vagina.