evil eye ball

I went to the Evil Eye Ball with A last night; it was a fundraiser for Rude Mechs Theater Company. There was free Real Ale and good food (though we'd eaten at Blue Dahlia right before and I could only stuff down a few tiny tarts). People were encouraged to dress up in their luckiest outfits, or to wear some sort of evil eye; all of this because this is Rude Mechs' 13th year. S painted eyes on the back of my head -- which turned out pretty cool. I had matching dark underlines on the front side because I'd read that young Nepali girls are never allowed to leave the house without darkened eyes (evil eyes) to ward off bad spirits.

I bought a beer glass with the Evil Eye logo on it and had a couple of beers, then wandered around the space perusing the silent auction items, and ended up with "Pckg #24," which contained a $25 gift certificate to Farm to Market grocery store; a Farm to Market T-shirt; a subscription to Edible Austin magazine (plus the two old issues and one current one that were on display); a pound of coffee from Progress Coffee as well as a $10 gift certificate to Progress Coffee. Value: $93. Cost: $45.

I ran into lesbian artist M (on whom I have a crush) and she told me about her recent trip to Cuba; I chatted with all of A's many acquaintances in the Austin art and performance world, the UT community and the Dance Group she's heavily involved in (me not so much anymore, but that's where I met her), including J, whom I like, and her Welsh husband C, whom I've never really talked to before, but he was drunk, as was I, and the two of us were cracking each other up while the hired hypnotist went on and on and on and on...zzz... We were cracking other people up too (and probably annoying the hypnotist) because we were talking a little too loud.

Hypnotist: When I snap my fingers, you'll go twice as deep. (Snap.) Twice as deep. (Snap) Twice as deep.
C: So they're, what, four times as deep now?
Me: Twice as deep? Call me when you're twice as long, then we'll talk!

Oh, well, you're bound to get at least a couple of ne'er-do-wells when you're giving out free liquor.

I bought another beer glass on the way out (thankful that I hadn't won the silent auction item of "Pies for a Year in the form of one Pie a Month," which I bid $120 on -- undeniably a good deal, and I'm sure S would have been happy had I won, but still!) and was home by 11:00. S wasn't home -- most likely out at the Chain Drive with his buddies -- so I smoked a cigarette on the porch, then hit the one-hitter and went to bed, too drunk to do anything productive, including, as it turned out, brushing my teeth or doing any of my ritualistic nighttime duties, which I attributed as the cause of my bad dream karma.

After my 7:30 a.m. pee, I had two disturbing dreams, which probably won't sound as disturbing in writing, but you know how it is. They were terrifying.

1. I found an armadillo. He became my pet. We loved each other. He rode around on my shoulders and on the top of my little pickup truck. He was like a little fat plushy toy, soft-shelled.

Then something went wrong. He climbed out of back window while I was driving around and couldn't hold onto the roof like he had before. He fell onto a busy street. I pulled over and chased him on foot. When I caught him, he was smaller, no armor, more ratlike, with fangs that he kept trying to bite me with.

2. I was at a house with a big yard. I don't know if it was my house, but an old man who reminded me of my mother's father lived there. My middle sister was there, as were my two nephews -- one of whom belonged to her, the other to my older sister. I was going away and we were trying to figure out what to do with the pet rabbit and the stray dog puppy. We had cages for them, but they were small and I was worried that the animals, particularly the stray dog puppy, would go crazy in the time that I was gone, no free time to run around. I guess the old man was going to feed them, but I didn't trust him to do it right.

I was attaching plastic to the inside flap of the mailbox to keep the mail from blowing away or getting wet while I was gone. It was a very tedious process I was employing, using little lengths of wire to attach the plastic to the metal box. My sister said she had already taken care of that, but I pointed out that she had only done a side-to-side flap with duct tape and I was fortifying that with the top-to-bottom flap of plastic and wire.

The nephews saw something at the fence line, a dead animal or a dirty diaper or something. They were going on about it, but I couldn't be bothered; I was busily making preparations for my departure and for the animals. I decided that maybe I could afford to board the dog at least, and got in the old man's truck to drive across town for something; I didn't ask his permission. My sister was going too but in a different vehicle with the boys, I guess.

There was a dog dragging its butt along the side of the road, and then the stray dog puppy was suddenly running to catch up with me, running in the busy street. The dog dragging its butt got up under a car, but the driver avoided running over it; I was afraid I was going to hit and kill the stray dog puppy, and I was having a hard time driving the old man's truck, which was standard transmission with a hand clutch instead of a foot pedal. Suddenly I was in unknown territory, on a street I didn't recognize in an unfamiliar town.

There were sirens and flashing lights. I saw two police motorcycles on a parallel street. I pulled over with the other cars and people. The motorcycles were escorting scary-looking prisoners to jail. A black man standing in the street next to me made an unfortunate move and a prison guard stepped out of the line of prisoners and shot him in the gut. I fell to the ground like everyone else did until the prisoner procession had passed.

When I stood again I had a sporty motorcycle (which I didn't know how to work) and had a pistol in two parts (which I had a hard time putting together and keeping it that way). I pushed the motorcycle forward but I was suddenly in a hallway, in a doorway. I turned around and was headed off by a security guard who hadn't been there seconds before. He was demanding to see my prison ID. I told him I didn't have one but he didn't believe me. He pointed to a sign on the wide open door (which I had missed) that said not to go through that door without the proper ID. I was scared, frantic, pulled out my Texas driver's license and in all of my confused explaining mentioned that I had lived in Tennessee before. He asked me suspiciously, "Oh, yeah? In what district?" I told him I didn't know, that I'd never heard of such a term. He told me not to go anywhere and left with my driver's license. I considered running, but there were too many things stacked against me (and I thought of the black man who got shot for less).

Then I woke up.