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I had a little moment of clarity this morning, coming home from the gym. At least I hope it was, but only the future will tell. Let me bring you up to speed.

I had a dream last night that I kissed this woman. I'm not sure who she was (when I awoke... I knew her in the dream). She had dark hair and a wide mouth, great lips, and she was nervous, a little surprised, but didn't pull away. She was married, showing me the gold band afterward, but it was out of a sense of guilt on her part, not anger at my actions.

I long time ago, I had a dream that I saw myself in the future. It was the closest thing I ever had to a "vision" and I woke up with a profound sense of destiny. The only details I remember was that my future self was with his pregnant wife or girlfriend, who was shorter, with short blond hair. My future self had wandered off and the woman was very excited to see me, as she wished she would have known me "back then" (to her; to me it was the present).

That dream, of course, I guess, hasn't come true. I've only dated one blond ever (not counting the cute little hand holding thing in grade school) and it certainly wasn't destiny. I've dated other women, of course, and had about an equal amount of me breaking up with them, them with me; but the only place I've looked for that girl is when I'm dreaming, and can remember/realize I'm dreaming, then remember to look for her.

I occasionally dream of either her or someone like her. It's usually a mix of complete fantasy and the little girl I knew in grade school, who I only started remembering after that first dream; who knows how the mind works. In real life I am no more attracted to blonds than any other hair color (though I can't explain why I've only dated the one), yet in my dream world that usually who shows up... all sunlit hair and blah blah.

I tell you what I am attracted to, though, and that's hippy chicks. Not smelly ol' burnt out hippy chicks, but that willowy, smiley, calm looking girl with dirty feet and odd thrift show wardrobe kind of hippy. There's a problem with that, and that may be the last piece of the puzzle.

I was raised in the county, as long time readers know. Not in the cute Smallville, farming country. I mean the country. One of my elementary schools had a single classroom for each grade. I didn't graduate from there, but their senior class was around 15 people, I think. We lived the first formative years of my life in a four room house (kitchen, bathroom, living room, bedroom) that my dad built two small rooms onto so my sister and I had a place to sleep. We ate deer, rabbit, cows, of course, and lots of home grown veggies. But we weren't hippies.

Far from it, in fact. My dad, mentioned in last journal's republican entry, was, and still is a little, a goddamn redneck. Not a stupid, black guy hating, gay bashing redneck. But, he did drink his share of beer in the old days and still shoots way more than his share of firearms. Just not at the same time.

So, despite moving eventually to slightly larger towns (like Tumwater in the 70s), I was raised in a loving, redneck household.

Remember that part where I said I like goddamn hippy chicks? Let me further define, I like the way hippy chicks look. And there lies the rub and the moment of clarity.

Allow me a moment of stereotyping. I eat meat. Lots of it. Hippy chicks are vegetarians. And Vegetarians hate meat-eaters. Sorry, they do. The truest words ever spoken were in Samuel Jackson's vegetarian girlfriend speech in Pulp Fiction. Remember the one blond I dated? Vegetarian.

I do not take drugs. Oddly, I don't really care if people take drugs, provided they are punished for any fuck-ups related to it (redneck's like punishments more than reforms), but hippy chicks smoke pot at the very least and drug-users like to hang around other drug-users for either drugs, validation, support, or because they all have some "when I was fucked up" story. Remember the blond I dated? Smoked pot.

I do not care as much as I should about politics, the environment, human rights issues, animals, or clean water. That's not to say I don't care about them at all. I have voted every year I've been able, I recycle when I can, I think we treat the poor like shit and shouldn't, I hate animal cruelty but I eat some of them and don't think any of them are as important as humans are, and... I drink water. I just don't get up on a high horse about it. That blond? Nuff said.

I think politically incorrect humor is funny. I don't want to molest children or hate minorities, but stand-up about it can be pretty funny. Humor is borne in cruelty, by the way.

Anyway. So, to finish my stereotyping, redneck chicks, not so cute. Part of it is that I don't like a lot of make-up. Which also cuts out the in-between stage of bimbos/celeb types. I don't like high maintenance hair, make-up that I have to lick through to get to flesh, or someone so uptight I can't kiss them on their beautiful wide mouth without messing up an hour of prep time. I don't like drunken beer drinkers. In fact, I probably like drunk people a little less than high people. Depending, of course. My friend Jeremy, a pretty fun drunk. But he's a guy redneck, so there's the things I like about rednecks, mixed with the fact I don't want to fuck him.

Do I need a redneck brain in hippy body? Maybe. Does such a thing exist? Who knows. My dreams think so, but I've realized my dreams have their head up their ass. The girl I kissed in my dreams last night wasn't blond. The girl in my dreams was married, which means she has a sense of playful kink I like, but is unattainable, like most of the women I've run into in the last few years (see previous entries re: Aquarians, married Aquarians, and me not fooling around with married women).

Again, not sure where this is leading. I could write a whole 'nother chapter about what I like physically in the real world, so I'm just not sure about the blond dream thing. But maybe it's done. Maybe in the real world, some cute hippy chick with a love of violent movies, well-written TV shows, slow-cooked bbq pork ribs, scotch, and Beretta 92s will walk by and realize she's been dreaming of a bald redneck with big hands and a leaning toward leftist politics; we'll stare awkwardly and pray one of use has the balls to say something first. Maybe my nervous, beautiful brown-eyed heart-breaker will be back in a few nights and we can talk about it.