Zinc lozenges taste bad
They really, really do. Well, actually they just make everything you eat or drink after taste like it’s been left to mold for a few weeks. Even water.
Since I started my new job, I’ve been waking up most night having totally stressed-out dreams about the place. Sometimes these are interspersed with dreams about my hermit crabs attacking me. They seem to occur when I hear them scrabbling around as I’m going to sleep, but understanding the method doesn’t make the madness any less disturbing. It’s just doesn’t speak well of my relationship with my pets when they only appear in my dreams to kill me.
In one I had about a month ago, I awoke to find Molly perched on my bedside table staring at me with her beady little eyes (I should mention that in this dream she was, for some reason, a small duck – hence the beadyness). After staring me down for a minute, she then proceed to attack my head and I was forced to kind of lay on her to keep her from doing me harm.
Last night’s ravings consisted of me moving the crabs to a new, larger tank. Despite the fact that I’d bought no new shells, there were several really huge and also menacing hermit crabs and octopi in the tank with them. Okay, so we move everyone over and I accidentally drop Sylvester, thus breaking his shell. So I scramble around trying to find him a new one, and we kind of come to a temporary agreement on this one shell, but all the while the octopi are basically threatening me. And I feel I should mention here that they’re talking to me – and I’m just going to stop because I sound like more of a crazy person than is really necessary.
We were at this bar for open mic night last night. The first guy to get up on stage is wearing a rather unfortunate shirt – one of those kind of gauzy, tie-dyed numbers – which made me think that this was going to go quite badly. Then he got out his white, shoulder-strap keyboard, which was described by one website I’ve been to this morning as having “eye popping synth action.” Have a look: 
And then he donned a white lab coat. And started telling this story about how he used to work at Kraft and they made this ‘cheese’ to go inside Triscuits. And then he started signing a song about the ‘cheese’ the words to which were, “Happy cheese, happy cheese, happy, happy, happy cheese” with this really frightening, sing-song Freddy Kruger keyboard accompaniment. And you’re thinking at this point that it had to be a joke – but I’m telling you, his haircut told me that it wasn’t. He is either so ironic that he’s running on it for his entire life, or the happy cheese has done something irrevocable. There was a later song about ‘happy pills,’ so I think we may have our answer.
We wound up sitting at a table with this Aussie guy – nice enough; we’re chatting about meat pies, Vegamite, and peanut butter when he out of the blue starts talking about Aboriginals. As soon as he said “Arbos,” I knew we were in trouble. After he vaguely suggested that hitting them with Jeeps was okay, I suggested that we should maybe just leave it. Australians are the loveliest people on Earth, but some of them are just ridiculous about Aboriginals. They will seriously be like, “Oh, the poor plight of the Iraqi citizens or African-Americans” and add without missing a beat, “All the Arbos should be hung.” It’s a very odd dynamic.
This is long enough now.
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