I fantasize about stupid shit.

Like getting picked up at the airport by a thoughtful man, a 4 year-old boy with a misspelled “Welcome Home” sign, and a calmer middle-aged Tako waiting in the car.

I think of that one whenever my plane lands at SFO after taking a solo flight. It’s a frequent enough occurrence.

I just want to be disruptive and inconvenient, but as unintentional and unrecognizable as possible.

I’m not asking to be catered to. It’s different if I expect to be coddled or spoiled. I just want to be loved so fucking hard that sometimes efficiency is simply impossible or hell… it’s not even necessary.

I fantasize about silly shit.

I think about baking cakes and writing “thanks for the D” on it. I’ll even throw in a hand-written card to show more of my gratitude. Maybe I’d throw in a gift card to In N’ Out, I mean... as long as the recipient doesn’t feel objectified by my ridiculous gestures.

I don’t want anyone feeling objectified—well, unless that’s what he wants. (PS. It doesn’t have to be In N Out.)

I fantasize about ordinary shit.

I want to have random 2 person picnics in the park (+ Tako). Ones where my dude acts like he’s reading a book and where I jot down blog ideas. Stupid 2 person picnics where we discuss what to make for dinner that night and what documentary we should watch later.

I’m interested in the stuff that goes on during the weekend that no one ever gushes about. Things so boring and mundane that they are not worth uttering.

“What’d you do this weekend?”

*runs down list*

Went to the Farmer’s Market
Ordered Thai
Had a lot of sex

“Oh nothing really.”

You know… stupid, silly, ordinary shit.