Hopefully dreams say nothing about you...

OK saratogajean mentioned dreams and it got me thinking about a couple of mine.

Lately I’ve been having the weirdest dreams. I mean I always have some strange ones but lately they’ve been off the scale weird, and there is even a theme.

The first one was about a week ago. I was on stage in a really pretty (but kind of tacky) ball gown with about fifty other girls on a show like Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire. This was obviously the beginning and everyone was saying why she was there and why she wanted to marry … my ex-boyfriend.

Now he is a wonderful guy but when I realized whom it was I kind of started to freak out. But I couldn’t get off the stage. It was getting closer and closer to my turn and I was starting to panic. Suddenly I was off the stage and running down this never ending red velvet staircase that was strewn with rose petals and pearls. So while I’m running full bent down this staircase I’m trying not to break my neck by slipping on the loose pearls (I’m also in four inch heals). I woke up in a cold sweat, but had no clue as to what this could mean, if anything.

The next one was last night. Apparently I was a contestant on Rock of Love. I had bleached blond hair and a skanky outfit to boot. It was my all-consuming quest to find out if Brett Michaels’ hair was real or not. I think I might have even got into a screaming match with another girl whose boobs were at least triple mine in mass. Brett and I had a date and I was so creeped out by him that thankfully, I woke up.

I have to admit I do watch Rock of Love. No matter how stupid I feel I always feel better watching these people, because I will hopefully never slip so low. But now I have to wonder what my subconscious is trying to say putting me in these situations?

Tests and stuff

You ever play that stupid game where you buy three random things at the market and see if you can get the clerk to react with a disgusted look or a giggle? We would buy zucchinis, condoms and a jar of mayo or whipped cream, lube and a bunch of balloons (what, we were easily amused).

I haven’t done that in years, possibly over a decade. When I realized I accidentally played the game last night (we should have given it some cool name, but I still can’t think of one). I finally got a reaction from the clerk, although this time I wasn’t trying. I laid down a bottle of bleach, a Tupperware container and a pregnancy test. I got a really weird look and suddenly felt really judged; it wasn’t like I was buying wire hangers with the pregnancy test. I didn’t want to jump the gun after all. I guess altogether it might have looked a little on the strange side. I'm pretty sure it was the Tupperware that put it over the top.

Thankfully, I failed the test. I can happily look forward to once again peeing on a stick, sweating for two minutes and praying to God that I will change my ways if only the test comes back negative, before seeing a negative sign and going out and having unprotected sex to celebrate.

Cat fight

I saw the sweetest thing on Saturday night. A friend and I were heading up a rather busy sidewalk in downtown at around 1 a.m., when about 50 feet in front of us rolls a mass of intertwined arms, legs and torsos. Upon closer inspection it did seem to be a group of humans rolled into a tightly knit ball. Well they hit some newspaper racks at the edge of the sidewalk and kind of exploded, in both noise and bodies. At the center of the cacophony was a slender woman in a tiny skirt and four inch heels. It was great, she kept trying to get at someone and random fights kept breaking out between multiple chicks. I wanted to sit and stare and this event all night long, it was so wonderful. I mean these girls were really going at it.

A small part of me thinks that alcohol might have had a small part to play in all this — maybe. One girl did seem to try to walk through a glass window but was sadly stopped by physics. She stared, confused at the bit of glass that stymied her passage to some desired destination.

My friend eventually managed to tear me away (the girls were still going at it when we moved on). But we didn’t end up anywhere better. I mean the guy next to me asked if I wanted him to draw me a picture. No, I don’t want a picture, and now I have to leave the bar because of creepy artist guy.

Oh well at least the fight was good times.