It is well known amongst my friends and family that I have the most bizarre of dreams. I can clear a room just by saying, "You know, I had this dream last night..." at which point El Jefe will say, "I"m sure you did," and try to escape. Because my dreams are so very random, just don't make sense at all, (like the one where we were all Superheroes and S had had a spontaneous mutation of powers that allowed her to both fly and breathe underwater, and no one but me could see what a problem this was likely to be, because, HELLO? This is S we are talking about.) and they tend to be lengthy. And no one wants to hear that.
The best comparison to my dreams was a description I read once in an Anne Lamott book where she said something along the lines of, "You know these dreams where you think nothing about the fact that you and Roslyn Carter are sitting around together smoking weed?" Those are the kinds of dreams I have.
However, since you all are a captive audience, I am sharing my most recent dream with you.
To start, I have never met Dooce. I doubt I will ever meet Dooce. I do read her (see her over there on my blogroll? I imagine she is on everyone's blogroll.), but my interest really stops there. Like Bossy and Suburban Bliss and other big name bloggers, I doubt I will ever meet them. Mostly because I will probably never go to BlogHer unless it is held in MN, and because (AGAIN) I don't know these people. And I doubt they read me. (f they do, well, hey! Post a comment, stranger!) Seriously.
However, that said, my dream was that my entire family (minus the naughty dog) were going to visit Dooce and her family in Utah. I was excited about meeting Heather and discussing Etsy shopping, El Jefe was excited to meet John and talk about computers, and the kids were just excited. Although I think they were more excited to meet Chuck, now that I think about it. And I think S mentioned babysitting Leta. But poor Coco got no love at all in the dream. (And if you're thinking, HEY! You know an awful lot about Dooce, well, she writes about her family. I am not a crazy stalker. That would take way too much time and energy.)
The biggest part of the dream was the discussion as to how we were going to get there in time. (No, I don't know why there was a time limit. It was a dream. Go with it.) El Jefe, Master of the Trip Plan, had put together a binder with all directions, points of interest, plane reservations, etc. for the trip. Now before you start to find this amusing, you have to realize that he does this in real life, for every trip we go on. And sometimes for the trips of others. It is just one of his many gifts.
The issue at hand with this particular trip plan was that it required us to drive from MN to Chicago, and then fly to Texas, and then drive to Salt Lake City.
Let's just review on a map where everything is located. (And do note that the star representing Fort Worth is larger, because everything is bigger in Texas.)
Let's look at what is normally the preferred route from MN to Utah:
Now let's look at the trip plan:
See how this makes NO SENSE AT ALL? This is just one of the many features of my dreams.
Since we were in a time crunch to drive to Chicago to make our plane in 4 hours (HAH! 4 hours to Chicago from MN - at warp drive, maybe), we were trying to figure out how to get to our car. Because we were trapped in this old house. (Doesn't make sense because, HELLO! Dream.)
In the house was this large room with a closet and another large room with a bed and then a staircase heading downward. Now, Momma didn't raise any fools over here, and even in my dream I knew enough to NOT GO INTO THE BASEMENT. The rest of my family? Refused to listen to reason. Even when I pointed out the mummified body in the bed, and the fact that there was a trap door under the other side of the bed. They all thought it better to go into the basement.
AT NO POINT DID ANY OF US THINK ABOUT GOING OUT THE DOOR WE HAD COME IN, WHICH WAS STILL WIDE OPEN. Because? Say it with me now: DREAM.
When we opened the closet we found a creepy looking baby/toddler with one eye. I believe this particular component of the dream was due to my watching "Harold and Kumar Go to Guantanamo Bay," which also had a creepy one-eyed baby/toddler.
And for the record? The ONLY reason to watch that movie is for the Neil Patrick Harris scenes, because the man is a GENIUS. Hysterical.
"WHOA! Did you guys see that unicorn? It's horn was so SHINY!" At the end of NPH's beautiful soliloquy about Tashonda, his one true love, El Jefe actually burst into spontaneous applause. I would watch an entire movie about NPH pretending to play NPH. And if you want to see all of his scenes in the movie, you can watch them here. (MOST DEFINITELY not safe for work. And I didn't watch this clip all the way through, so I don't know if this was the rated or unrated version, but the Tashonda clip is at the beginning and ends by 3:45, and the unicorn clip is right after that. Rated R for language.) I love that Harold is so completely offended by it all. And please don't think this type of movie is my regular movie of choice - I far rather would have seen Alan Rickman walking the moors in "Sense and Sensibility". (Hello Colonel Brandon!) But hey, marriage is about making compromises.
Back to the dream. Once we found the creepy baby, my whole family (and some random friends who had wandered in) all wanted to go into the basement. This is where S will ask me, "Which friends?" And I will say, "I don't know. Just friends." And she will persist, "Do I know them?" And I will say, "They were people I know but can't remember who they are, I just know we knew them, but it was a dream, so stopping asking me these questions!" And she will say, "Hmph."
At this point in the dream I am screaming, "DON'T GO INTO THE BASEMENT!" No one listens to me, and I am left alone in the room with the one eyed baby and the mummified woman in the bed, mostly wondering how we will ever make it to Chicago in time to catch the plane. My family at that point was a minor concern. And then I woke up.
And THAT is why no one wants to listen to my dreams. I also want to apologize to poor Dooce for dragging her into this as well. My subconscious has no mercy.
