We're in the woods and I'm married to Paul Rudd. There are people around. This is the nice kind of woods, where it's dusk and there's warm lighting, an absence of cold or hot, and no motherfucking mosquitos. People are wearing flannel. The dream feels like flannel.
My husband Paul Rudd has a restaurant in these woods. He's the head chef. There are many people around, and my husband Paul Rudd is smiling, charming, and utterly beloved by all, including our two beautiful tow-headed sons, who are around but behaving themselves.
Best of all, my husband Paul Rudd is way into me. When he sees me, he lights up. Big smile, big embrace. Big energy. In fact, Paul Rudd gets fresh with me there in the woods, away from the restaurant crowd. Real fresh. Clearly, a well-run outdoor restaurant is an aphrodisiac for my husband Paul Rudd.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
1.17.2019
1.01.2019
Getting time with my new internet boyfriend
I'm in the orbit of Phil Jamesson, the guy from the internet who is very funny and who looks like an actual Tolkien elf (which I'm way into IRL). I can tell that we are some kind of new couple or that we are close to being a couple, but we are having trouble getting alone time. There are people everywhere. His family and friends, I presume. We're on some kind of campus or in a huge park with several buildings. There's a cookout of sorts, a gathering. He keeps having to leave and come back. I feel an almost maternal longing to separate him from whatever it is so we can be alone. I don't remember his specific interactions with me but I remember feeling that we were very sweet to each other.
10.28.2013
Convenient store
My parents have re-purchased the old convenience store they used to own. Except now it's in a much cuter location in the much more happenin' downtown Saltillo, where trendy storefronts have popped up among the tidily landscaped sidewalks.
I arrive at the store with my camera for the handoff from previous owners to my parents. I take the opportunity to explore the inside of the store, which apparently is attached to my old elementary school (Saltillo Elementary), which ceased being a school when I was in first grade. I go through a door and it leads into the auditorium of the school, where there are dozens of books laid out on a tarp on the floor. It's dark and I don't know where the light switches are.
I wonder to myself if my parents will be able to hack it this time around. Having that store the first time was rough on their finances and their sanity. But part of me is sort of comforted by the idea of working at my family's convenience store, and I briefly get excited about putting together their website and social media presence.
I arrive at the store with my camera for the handoff from previous owners to my parents. I take the opportunity to explore the inside of the store, which apparently is attached to my old elementary school (Saltillo Elementary), which ceased being a school when I was in first grade. I go through a door and it leads into the auditorium of the school, where there are dozens of books laid out on a tarp on the floor. It's dark and I don't know where the light switches are.
I wonder to myself if my parents will be able to hack it this time around. Having that store the first time was rough on their finances and their sanity. But part of me is sort of comforted by the idea of working at my family's convenience store, and I briefly get excited about putting together their website and social media presence.
10.16.2013
Club ass
I am with a group — feels like family — and we're on foot, trying to find our way back to some place. We have a guide or a narrator of some sort, someone who speaks up to let us know when we have stumbled upon a large grassy patch where folks from long ago used to fire up various types of pottery. Some of the ancient pieces can be seen jutting out of the grass, worn with age. I pick up one piece that is sort of like a fancy candy dish with many tiers, and it's charred and full of small holes.
My nephews find old metal cabinets embedded in the ground and get them open, to discover less damaged pieces. We gather up the pottery and aim to take it somewhere. Not sure where.
I see someone walking toward me, the setting sun at his back and making him into a silhouette. I can make out his facial hair and instantly recognize it as an old friend I've had a fling with a couple of times but who never really liked me beyond those brief drunken encounters in his bed. He comes up to me and gives me a slow and deliberate hug, putting his hands on my ass and saying, "You have such a great club ass."
Completely unaware of this as a saying (Google tells me it's not really a saying), I ask him what the heck that is supposed to mean. He tells me it means my ass is great to rub up against. OK then.
My nephews find old metal cabinets embedded in the ground and get them open, to discover less damaged pieces. We gather up the pottery and aim to take it somewhere. Not sure where.
I see someone walking toward me, the setting sun at his back and making him into a silhouette. I can make out his facial hair and instantly recognize it as an old friend I've had a fling with a couple of times but who never really liked me beyond those brief drunken encounters in his bed. He comes up to me and gives me a slow and deliberate hug, putting his hands on my ass and saying, "You have such a great club ass."
Completely unaware of this as a saying (Google tells me it's not really a saying), I ask him what the heck that is supposed to mean. He tells me it means my ass is great to rub up against. OK then.
10.25.2008
Uninvited guests
I am passed out drunk on the couch and I hear my dad's voice and realize that he has somehow gotten into my apartment despite having no key. He comes into the living room, followed by my mom and my brother — the 12-year-old version of my brother, that is — and they are looking around at the mess and I give them hugs and try to wake and sober up and am just stricken with embarrassment and guilt that they've caught me in a severely mortifying moment.
9.15.2008
Lightning crashes
The great thing about not being able to sleep soundly is that you have a shit ton of dreams in one night. Or, well, I do.
So on my second round of trying to sleep in the wee hours this morning, I dreamed that my family and I were at Wal-Mart, outside in the parking lot. A storm rolls in and rains so heavily that Wal-Mart has decided to close. These huge chainlink fences slide closed around the store, locking everyone out. I pull out my Blackberry and try to photograph the action and send it to Twitpic and Flickr. (Yes, I know.) We get inside our vehicle to wait out the storm and lightning flashes around us. I realize that the lightning is actually hitting vehicles in the parking lot when I see these creepy trails of smoke leading from the ground to the sky, which is seemingly churning with anger now.
I see lightning strike a truck a few rows over, and then another vehicle closer to us. There's a slight flash of light near the ground right before the lightning bolt hits its target. I assume that at any moment, our car is going to be smote. I decide we've got to get out of there.
And get out of there we do. We're driving through a corn field, the storm still raging around us. We're following my dad, I think, and I keep wondering where mom is. My sister tells me she's behind us, and I can tell by the tone in her voice that she's doing something my sister disapproves of. The corn field, I notice, is faded and withered, which means it must be October.
So on my second round of trying to sleep in the wee hours this morning, I dreamed that my family and I were at Wal-Mart, outside in the parking lot. A storm rolls in and rains so heavily that Wal-Mart has decided to close. These huge chainlink fences slide closed around the store, locking everyone out. I pull out my Blackberry and try to photograph the action and send it to Twitpic and Flickr. (Yes, I know.) We get inside our vehicle to wait out the storm and lightning flashes around us. I realize that the lightning is actually hitting vehicles in the parking lot when I see these creepy trails of smoke leading from the ground to the sky, which is seemingly churning with anger now.
I see lightning strike a truck a few rows over, and then another vehicle closer to us. There's a slight flash of light near the ground right before the lightning bolt hits its target. I assume that at any moment, our car is going to be smote. I decide we've got to get out of there.
And get out of there we do. We're driving through a corn field, the storm still raging around us. We're following my dad, I think, and I keep wondering where mom is. My sister tells me she's behind us, and I can tell by the tone in her voice that she's doing something my sister disapproves of. The corn field, I notice, is faded and withered, which means it must be October.
7.30.2008
Log cabins
My family is broken into two groups, and each group has its hands full, trying to move two large log cabin-type houses across a makeshift bridge made of wooden pylons and planks of plywood. The bridge is busted, segmented, and not meant to be traveled, it seems, although there is some construction going on, which makes our passage even more perilous. Below us, there is some dirty, shallow water measuring possibly two feet deep.
It's slow going, and I'm in the first group. I look behind me to check the progress of the second group, and see my mother trip and teeter and then finally hit her head on the edge of one of the pylons, and then fall into the water below. My father, who's the head of my group, yells to my brother and me to take off after her and make sure she's breathing, because she has a concussion.
Somehow my brother dives into the two feet of water. I drop feet first and get to mom before my brother does. She's lying on her back under the water, unconscious. I lift her out of the water — she's heavy — and wonder how I'm supposed to get her to breathe. I don't know CPR. "Shake her!" someone yells, and I do, and she starts breathing. I'm yelling at her to stay awake, because she's drifting in and out of consciousness. Not sure what I'm supposed to do, I look up to see the family continuing to carry the log houses across the rickety bridge.
I suppose they cross the bridge successfully, because soon they are all beside me as I stand there trying to hold mom up. One of my nephews or maybe my brother — I can't remember which — starts going off on me for leaving chairs out in some building, presumably where the log cabins were taken to be stored, which is why it took them so long. I yell at him to back off. I feel completely helpless with my mom nodding off in my arms. We're both waterlogged.
I look up to see another family carrying another wooden log cabin across that confounded bridge. Someone makes a misstep and the wood cracks and collapses around them.
Good luck with that, I think.
It's slow going, and I'm in the first group. I look behind me to check the progress of the second group, and see my mother trip and teeter and then finally hit her head on the edge of one of the pylons, and then fall into the water below. My father, who's the head of my group, yells to my brother and me to take off after her and make sure she's breathing, because she has a concussion.
Somehow my brother dives into the two feet of water. I drop feet first and get to mom before my brother does. She's lying on her back under the water, unconscious. I lift her out of the water — she's heavy — and wonder how I'm supposed to get her to breathe. I don't know CPR. "Shake her!" someone yells, and I do, and she starts breathing. I'm yelling at her to stay awake, because she's drifting in and out of consciousness. Not sure what I'm supposed to do, I look up to see the family continuing to carry the log houses across the rickety bridge.
I suppose they cross the bridge successfully, because soon they are all beside me as I stand there trying to hold mom up. One of my nephews or maybe my brother — I can't remember which — starts going off on me for leaving chairs out in some building, presumably where the log cabins were taken to be stored, which is why it took them so long. I yell at him to back off. I feel completely helpless with my mom nodding off in my arms. We're both waterlogged.
I look up to see another family carrying another wooden log cabin across that confounded bridge. Someone makes a misstep and the wood cracks and collapses around them.
Good luck with that, I think.
6.13.2008
Something topical, and then complete randomness
1.
We've spotted a menacing funnel cloud close by. We're in some kind of large factory — the paper mill? — and are told to head for the belly of it. We take the winding corridors and finally end up in a portion of the place that looks nothing like a basement, but instead seems to be a wide-open area with a murky yellow sky. I ask if we are actually indoors, and am told yes. Essentially we're in some kind of huge underground warehouse. I look down and my watch has begun glowing in pulses. I realize this means it's go time. Sure enough, we hear a rumble and there are shouts to take cover. I grab some pipes nearby and wince as the storm gobbles up what it can from above. There are two people beside me. I watch in horror as the three of us rise from the ground from the force of the winds. Rise and fall, air and ground.
The storm passes.
2. I'm in some kind of amusement park that is painfully empty. The rides are running on auto-pilot, but there are no people in them, despite the fact that there are a scant few people running around the park. I climb the queue for the park's equivalent of the Old Mill Scream (large boat climbs hill, rushes down hill, splashes water everywhere, the end), thinking I'd like to ride it. I get to the top and watch the boats crest the hill near the platform and then take off without even a pause for a passenger to board. I get spooked and decide I'd rather not jump into a moving boat. Lighthouse Pilot walks up to the platform, wanting to ride the ride as well, but sees the predicament of the moving boats. I caution him not to do it when I sense that he's thinking about jumping into one of the boats. We decide that they must be moving so fast because there's no one here working the ride and literally putting a foot down to slow the boats so people can load. The boats keep cresting the hill and falling rapidly as we watch them, wondering why there's no one there controlling the ride.
3.
I'm at church, and it's packed. It's so packed it feels like a suffocating madhouse. There are people I've never seen before, and lots of children. It's bustling and loud and completely unlike any church I've ever been in. I have to take a seat up front, only to look back and see my family slide into a pew several rows back. My patience with the whole ordeal grows thin, so I grab my bag and slip out. My dad calls out after me, irritated that I would leave.
I navigate my way through the teeming crowd and realize the bustle is because there's some sort of festival going on. A revival-slash-festival of sorts. I don't want to be there and the contempt is bubbling up inside me, so I push my way toward the door until finally I'm outside. It's nearly dark and poorly lit, but there are people everywhere running around and playing. I push my way through the thick darkness, trying to get away from the church, when I hear a FWOOMP and look down next to me.
It's a javelin. A red javelin. I peer into the darkness and realize that there are people out there playing lawn darts with javelins, and launching the giant spears into the crowd with little regard for, uh, safety. And they are gearing up to hurl another one in my general direction. I backtrack and head toward the church again, my eye trained on the horizon. I see a javelin in the air, getting bigger all the time, and carefully plot my next few steps to avoid it. This happens two more times before I'm finally back at the church. I go inside and start telling people, "They've got lawn darts out there!!" but no one seems to understand the urgency.
I'm told my grandmother requires me in one of the rooms of the church, and when I go to find her, I realize I've been duped and my dad just wanted a chance to scold me for leaving.
We've spotted a menacing funnel cloud close by. We're in some kind of large factory — the paper mill? — and are told to head for the belly of it. We take the winding corridors and finally end up in a portion of the place that looks nothing like a basement, but instead seems to be a wide-open area with a murky yellow sky. I ask if we are actually indoors, and am told yes. Essentially we're in some kind of huge underground warehouse. I look down and my watch has begun glowing in pulses. I realize this means it's go time. Sure enough, we hear a rumble and there are shouts to take cover. I grab some pipes nearby and wince as the storm gobbles up what it can from above. There are two people beside me. I watch in horror as the three of us rise from the ground from the force of the winds. Rise and fall, air and ground.
The storm passes.
2. I'm in some kind of amusement park that is painfully empty. The rides are running on auto-pilot, but there are no people in them, despite the fact that there are a scant few people running around the park. I climb the queue for the park's equivalent of the Old Mill Scream (large boat climbs hill, rushes down hill, splashes water everywhere, the end), thinking I'd like to ride it. I get to the top and watch the boats crest the hill near the platform and then take off without even a pause for a passenger to board. I get spooked and decide I'd rather not jump into a moving boat. Lighthouse Pilot walks up to the platform, wanting to ride the ride as well, but sees the predicament of the moving boats. I caution him not to do it when I sense that he's thinking about jumping into one of the boats. We decide that they must be moving so fast because there's no one here working the ride and literally putting a foot down to slow the boats so people can load. The boats keep cresting the hill and falling rapidly as we watch them, wondering why there's no one there controlling the ride.
3.
I'm at church, and it's packed. It's so packed it feels like a suffocating madhouse. There are people I've never seen before, and lots of children. It's bustling and loud and completely unlike any church I've ever been in. I have to take a seat up front, only to look back and see my family slide into a pew several rows back. My patience with the whole ordeal grows thin, so I grab my bag and slip out. My dad calls out after me, irritated that I would leave.
I navigate my way through the teeming crowd and realize the bustle is because there's some sort of festival going on. A revival-slash-festival of sorts. I don't want to be there and the contempt is bubbling up inside me, so I push my way toward the door until finally I'm outside. It's nearly dark and poorly lit, but there are people everywhere running around and playing. I push my way through the thick darkness, trying to get away from the church, when I hear a FWOOMP and look down next to me.
It's a javelin. A red javelin. I peer into the darkness and realize that there are people out there playing lawn darts with javelins, and launching the giant spears into the crowd with little regard for, uh, safety. And they are gearing up to hurl another one in my general direction. I backtrack and head toward the church again, my eye trained on the horizon. I see a javelin in the air, getting bigger all the time, and carefully plot my next few steps to avoid it. This happens two more times before I'm finally back at the church. I go inside and start telling people, "They've got lawn darts out there!!" but no one seems to understand the urgency.
I'm told my grandmother requires me in one of the rooms of the church, and when I go to find her, I realize I've been duped and my dad just wanted a chance to scold me for leaving.
5.24.2008
Late May marathon dreaming
I had another night packed with insane dreams last night.
The only bits I remember clearly:
• I'm on a plane and apparently we've got to jump the interstate to get to our runway. There's no overpass; we just have to do a miniature takeoff and landing to get to the other side of the road. And then when we do, suddenly we're on the interstate itself, trying to take off from there in between those huge green exit signs. Harrowing.
• I'm in a grimy public restroom, peeing, when I see this frumpy middle-aged dude walk past me (apparently there are no stalls) and ogle me. He continues to watch as he walks away. I am simultaneously enraged and embarrassed, and as I berate him for being a creepy asshole, I tell him, for some reason, "I'm sorry." When I come out of the restroom, I find my dad and he wonders what took me so long. I tell him about creepy asshole guy and dad gets so pissed off that he is shaking. He wants to kill the guy for treating his little girl that way.
• A very portly gentleman is telling me something about America and colonial political theory. He says, "Benjamin Franklin felt that everyone should be able to fly whatever kite they wanted, but that no one should be able to see your key." He leans back and begins unbuckling his belt, and I freak out, thinking he's some kind of perv. He reassures me that no, he just wants to show me his belly, which is portly because there's a baby in there. He cups his right manboob and tells me that he's lactating.
I wake up to the sound of a loud thud and realize that one of the five books on my bed has made its way to the floor. There's no one in my bedroom but me, so perhaps I was thrashing around and knocked it off.
The only bits I remember clearly:
• I'm on a plane and apparently we've got to jump the interstate to get to our runway. There's no overpass; we just have to do a miniature takeoff and landing to get to the other side of the road. And then when we do, suddenly we're on the interstate itself, trying to take off from there in between those huge green exit signs. Harrowing.
• I'm in a grimy public restroom, peeing, when I see this frumpy middle-aged dude walk past me (apparently there are no stalls) and ogle me. He continues to watch as he walks away. I am simultaneously enraged and embarrassed, and as I berate him for being a creepy asshole, I tell him, for some reason, "I'm sorry." When I come out of the restroom, I find my dad and he wonders what took me so long. I tell him about creepy asshole guy and dad gets so pissed off that he is shaking. He wants to kill the guy for treating his little girl that way.
• A very portly gentleman is telling me something about America and colonial political theory. He says, "Benjamin Franklin felt that everyone should be able to fly whatever kite they wanted, but that no one should be able to see your key." He leans back and begins unbuckling his belt, and I freak out, thinking he's some kind of perv. He reassures me that no, he just wants to show me his belly, which is portly because there's a baby in there. He cups his right manboob and tells me that he's lactating.
I wake up to the sound of a loud thud and realize that one of the five books on my bed has made its way to the floor. There's no one in my bedroom but me, so perhaps I was thrashing around and knocked it off.
5.12.2008
Red Candy Apples
Prince Harry and Prince William delivered an impassioned speech on land mines at my alma mater, Page High School.
They stood in the parking lot with little oil-caked tykes bobbing around them with their arms outstretched. The children looked like little skeletons dripped in wax. You know, the sort made famous in those damned Sally Struthers infomercials at 2 o' clock in the morning.
Anyhoo, I didn't give two shits from a gnat's behind about Prince William. Of course, I wanted to prod Prince Harry's red candy apples. Always have. But I chomped my lips at the bit, instead.
My Mom drove over to Prince Harry and asked if she could make a donation.
"That's be great," Prince Harry said.
So my Mum swung open the driver side door. In the process, she smacked a little oil-caked tyke in the back of his head.
Prince Harry didn't seem to notice.
They stood in the parking lot with little oil-caked tykes bobbing around them with their arms outstretched. The children looked like little skeletons dripped in wax. You know, the sort made famous in those damned Sally Struthers infomercials at 2 o' clock in the morning.
Anyhoo, I didn't give two shits from a gnat's behind about Prince William. Of course, I wanted to prod Prince Harry's red candy apples. Always have. But I chomped my lips at the bit, instead.
My Mom drove over to Prince Harry and asked if she could make a donation.
"That's be great," Prince Harry said.
So my Mum swung open the driver side door. In the process, she smacked a little oil-caked tyke in the back of his head.
Prince Harry didn't seem to notice.
5.02.2008
Floods.
Ocean flood/tsunami dreams for the past two nights. Both with my family nearby, though in one I was mainly hanging out with Jessie and her husband. Last night I was on the beach when the water pulled out and when I saw the big wave coming back in, I hauled ass up a hill, scrambling and tugging at vegetation, to get away from it.
5.01.2008
Bad weather and a wedding
My father instructs me to get all gussied up; we're going to a wedding in less than an hour, and would I mind getting ready even earlier because we have to stop by the store for something on the way? The wedding is happening at the Parkers' house. I played softball with the Parker girls throughout my school years and we were always good friends (I've not seen or spoken to any of them in years; I don't think they're on Facebook). Apparently Faye (Jo Ann's mom) has cancer (that's true in real life) and even though Jo Ann just met this guy thirty minutes ago, they're getting married immediately and everyone's got to get dressed up to come to the house and watch it.
So I do my best to put my dress on and look pretty and it's tense because we're running late because of me. We pile into the car and my cousin Keri — a younger version of her — has to sit in my lap and I'm afraid she's getting mud on my skirt because she's just a kid.
The weather has started to get nasty out and we are trucking it over backwoods hills, topping them with no tires on the ground, screaming for my mother, who's driving, to be more careful each time we meet another speeding vehicle at the crest of the hill. We have so many close calls that eventually something happens and we're all exposed to the elements and we're wet and my hair is all effed up.
The sky is the heaviest color of dark grey, like it's ready to just flatten us all.
[][][]
I'm in a high rise, in what I've come to understand is my editor in chief's office. It's super swanky, with its own little breakfast stand and attendant in the lobby. There are jars of candy on the stand, as well as doughnuts. The office is sparsely decorated, but seems incredibly, frighteningly open because it's surrounded completely by giant plate glass windows. And glass for a ceiling. The storm is still raging outside and I wonder who would want to work in a place like this when the weather gets sour. I notice a small, black, high-walled, completely enclosed cubicle. It is there that the editor actually keeps his desk, I discern.
I imagine a tornado sucking the entire thing out the window and carrying it across the fields that surround the building.
So I do my best to put my dress on and look pretty and it's tense because we're running late because of me. We pile into the car and my cousin Keri — a younger version of her — has to sit in my lap and I'm afraid she's getting mud on my skirt because she's just a kid.
The weather has started to get nasty out and we are trucking it over backwoods hills, topping them with no tires on the ground, screaming for my mother, who's driving, to be more careful each time we meet another speeding vehicle at the crest of the hill. We have so many close calls that eventually something happens and we're all exposed to the elements and we're wet and my hair is all effed up.
The sky is the heaviest color of dark grey, like it's ready to just flatten us all.
[][][]
I'm in a high rise, in what I've come to understand is my editor in chief's office. It's super swanky, with its own little breakfast stand and attendant in the lobby. There are jars of candy on the stand, as well as doughnuts. The office is sparsely decorated, but seems incredibly, frighteningly open because it's surrounded completely by giant plate glass windows. And glass for a ceiling. The storm is still raging outside and I wonder who would want to work in a place like this when the weather gets sour. I notice a small, black, high-walled, completely enclosed cubicle. It is there that the editor actually keeps his desk, I discern.
I imagine a tornado sucking the entire thing out the window and carrying it across the fields that surround the building.
4.19.2008
Dreambits
1.
Theogeo started a new career as a call girl.
2.
A coked-out feline chases me up a metallic staircase. It clacks up the stairs, mewling and meowing the entire flight. Finally, it leaps on my face and starts clawing my nose to shreds. In real life, I jolt out of sleep only to find myself punching a nearby pillow.
3.
I'm wearing a pink gazebo balloon animal to my sister's wedding. I'm completely naked except for the pink gazebo balloon animal wrapped around my midsection. "That's so gay," a wedding guest says. I begin stroking the pink gazebo balloon animal. I look up at the guest plainatively and say, "it's a part of me."
Theogeo started a new career as a call girl.
2.
A coked-out feline chases me up a metallic staircase. It clacks up the stairs, mewling and meowing the entire flight. Finally, it leaps on my face and starts clawing my nose to shreds. In real life, I jolt out of sleep only to find myself punching a nearby pillow.
3.
I'm wearing a pink gazebo balloon animal to my sister's wedding. I'm completely naked except for the pink gazebo balloon animal wrapped around my midsection. "That's so gay," a wedding guest says. I begin stroking the pink gazebo balloon animal. I look up at the guest plainatively and say, "it's a part of me."
3.14.2008
I wore my smoking patches again last night
The abridged version:
After the bucktoothed, spittoon-toting pastor delivers a fire-and-brimstone sermon at an asbestos-ridden Presbyterian church in rural Tennessee, my mother feels moved by the spirit.
She retreats to a backroom to get saved, but ends up with the pastor groping her chest. Furious that the pastor is a lecherous old perv, my family decides to go all I Piss on Your Grave on his ass.
I begin conversing with a ham sandwich shellacked in careful detail as a shrine to the Nativity scene with the little sprigs of lettuce denoting a goodwill Olive branch.
"The Nun Bun doesn't have nothing on my ass," the shellacked Nativity scene sandwich tells me.
For some reason, I become convinced that this sandwich is Jesus.
At the last minute, right before my family exacts revenge, a cavalcade of cops barrels through a side door. They arrest the pastor on embezzlement charges.
As the end credits roll (end credits?), I grapple with the death of Sandwich Jesus. It seems that one of the cops has chomped him to bits.
"Oh, my Lord," I wail as I comb through pieces of lettuce and Swiss cheese. "Father, I have forsaken you."
After the bucktoothed, spittoon-toting pastor delivers a fire-and-brimstone sermon at an asbestos-ridden Presbyterian church in rural Tennessee, my mother feels moved by the spirit.
She retreats to a backroom to get saved, but ends up with the pastor groping her chest. Furious that the pastor is a lecherous old perv, my family decides to go all I Piss on Your Grave on his ass.
I begin conversing with a ham sandwich shellacked in careful detail as a shrine to the Nativity scene with the little sprigs of lettuce denoting a goodwill Olive branch.
"The Nun Bun doesn't have nothing on my ass," the shellacked Nativity scene sandwich tells me.
For some reason, I become convinced that this sandwich is Jesus.
At the last minute, right before my family exacts revenge, a cavalcade of cops barrels through a side door. They arrest the pastor on embezzlement charges.
As the end credits roll (end credits?), I grapple with the death of Sandwich Jesus. It seems that one of the cops has chomped him to bits.
"Oh, my Lord," I wail as I comb through pieces of lettuce and Swiss cheese. "Father, I have forsaken you."
3.09.2008
The Bottom of the Well
My teeth are falling out again. According to the FreakyDreams.com, this translates into a "loss of honor, fear of failure and feeling out of control." Spot-on. They're like the frickin' SparkNotes of Subtext Becoming Rapidly Text.
I'm standing in my family's foyer. It's Christmasy all around. Sweet Baby Jesus is lying in the manger. My cousin is a six-figure MD, sitting out on the porch with his recently Botoxed missus. My other cousin is a Baptist preacher.
And I'm standing in my family's foyer with my pants bunched around my ankles, smoking a pathetic looking spliff through cud chewers.
But at least, I seem happy.
I'm standing in my family's foyer. It's Christmasy all around. Sweet Baby Jesus is lying in the manger. My cousin is a six-figure MD, sitting out on the porch with his recently Botoxed missus. My other cousin is a Baptist preacher.
And I'm standing in my family's foyer with my pants bunched around my ankles, smoking a pathetic looking spliff through cud chewers.
But at least, I seem happy.
2.12.2008
Wreckage
My mother and I are in my old Alero, driving along the back roads of Lexington, Tenn., which is not terribly far from my family's house in Saltillo (think somewhere between a dozen and twenty miles). She's at the wheel, and we're chatting it up, when she gives the car a bit of gas to go over a hill, and we go flying, Dukes of Hazzard-style, through the air over a rain-filled gully at the foot of the hill, and crunch down on the asphalt several feet later. We're kinda laughing about my mom being a speed demon (in real life, she's anything but), and she continues to push the pedal as we vroom over still more Lexington hills. Except this time, something's off and we slide off the road and into the woods and the car loses its balance and we begin flipping, side over side, end over end, flip after flip after flip, our faces coming within inches of the damp forest floor, our car crunching on top of rotting logs and musty piles of leaves. The roof of the car has either been obliterated or my Alero acquired a sunroof (or would it be moonroof? and wtf is the difference?) in the dream, because I can look up and see the earth as our heads go rushing toward it on each flip.
I look over at my mother to make sure she's okay — she seems to be — and wince upon each new impact because at any minute a rogue branch or something could come crashing through the windshield or roof and plunge right into our faces.
We finally, after what seems like dozens of harrowing flips — land bottom-side-up and somehow we're both able to climb out the side — either through the window, which has been busted out, or through where a door was ripped off. How we're both able to walk, I'll never know. "I'm never riding in a car again," I wearily tell my mother, with thoughts of my real-life previous wreck in my head.
Apparently in order to get to safety and to get to where we can call 911, we have to swim through this murky black lake. We're already wet, I imagine from sweat and the dampness of the forest, so we just wade in and head for the far shore, which, I notice, is my great-grandmother's yard and house (which means we flipped in that damn car for at least 13 miles). My mother swims ahead of me. It's almost like in the dream my mother is me, or a different version of me, because every time I look at her, I see her, but it feels like I'm looking at me. She certainly acts more like me than she does my actual mother.
Anyway, we're swimming through this gross stagnant lake in the middle of the night (what's more terrifying than swimming through some random lake? Doing it at night) and I start thinking about all the gross things that could be in this lake, and my pace slows as I get bogged down with the psychological weight of everything that has just happened. Plus my foot has gotten tangled in some branches from a tree under the water, and I can't get the cluster of branches to fall away so I can swim freely. My mother yells back some encouraging words (like "Hurry up" or "You're gonna make it! Just keep swimming!") and sure enough, we finally make it to shore and I pull the slimy cluster of branches off my foot just in time to hear mom say something about leeches.
Which, I think I should point out, may just be the first time I've ever dreamed about leeches, but I'm fairly sure that it won't be the last.
I'm like, "Um, did you just say you saw leeches on you?" And before I could hear her reply of, "No, I had thought so but I don't see anything," I had already pulled up my shirt and unbuttoned my jeans to have a good look to make sure none had shimmied their way into areas that would have been most painful and embarrassing to address later.
All clear.
We're at my great-grandmother's house (which is not fronted by a lake in real life), soaking wet and exhausted. My mother takes out her phone but I fear that she won't get any reception or that her phone will be waterlogged, so I go inside Granny's house — with the full knowledge that she's dead and no one lives there anymore, or maybe someone lives there but that it's someone I don't know — and am pleasantly surprised to see a portable telephone sitting on the coffee table. I take it outside and realize I don't remember the address of my grandmother's house. Actually, I do remember it — the real-life address — but when I run down to peek at her mailbox, I realize the address is different now.
I dial 911. The operator is a mild-mannered woman who doesn't answer like any 911 operator I have ever heard before. There's some noise in the background — something about the Rev. Sun Myung Moon and his church — but I tune it out and tell the woman that we need to report a wreck. I give her the address I saw on the mailbox.
She is quiet for a bit and then begins treating me as if I am a senile old lady. "Ms. [I can't remember what she called me, but it felt like she was referring to Granny], have you had anything to drink tonight?"
"No, my grandmother has been dead for a year (not true; it's been three years); this is her granddaughter! My mother and I have just been in a bad wreck!" I say emphatically, not believing the 911 woman can't wrap her mind around what's going on.
"This is her granddaughter? Ma'am, has Ms. [Granny] had anything to drink tonight?"
I become delirious with frustration that she is deliberately misunderstanding me.
I'm sobbing, even though we don't seem to have been hurt in the wreck (aside from a gnarly cut on the palm of my hand that seems to be packed with grime and dirt) and don't really need medical attention, but I still feel like we're supposed to get some rescue people there immediately.
"We have been in a really bad wreck and we need some people to come help us," I weep at the stupid 911 lady. "Why won't you send anyone?" I look at my mother, who seems to have gotten through to someone on her phone. Which is a Razr (Motorola best be cuttin' me a check for product placement in my dreams). "They don't believe me!" I wail. My mother looks annoyed yet nonplussed.
The lady offers platitudes and words of false comfort, but ultimately, she's not sending anyone because she doesn't believe me.
Then I get fucking angry, even though I'm still shaking and sobbing.
"Ma'am, what is your name?" I bark at the 911 lady. I can feel her getting nervous. She mumbles something that I have trouble hearing. "WHAT?! Say that again, please." She says it again but I can't for the life of me make it out. It sounds like a jumble of syllables not meant for English-trained ears. I ask her to spell it, but I can't hear what she says in reply. It's like my ears have stopped working. I can hear, but I can't understand.
I've almost reached the end of my rope with this woman, and I yell at her that I can't wait until someone important hears about what a bitch she's being. And then I wake up.
I look over at my mother to make sure she's okay — she seems to be — and wince upon each new impact because at any minute a rogue branch or something could come crashing through the windshield or roof and plunge right into our faces.
We finally, after what seems like dozens of harrowing flips — land bottom-side-up and somehow we're both able to climb out the side — either through the window, which has been busted out, or through where a door was ripped off. How we're both able to walk, I'll never know. "I'm never riding in a car again," I wearily tell my mother, with thoughts of my real-life previous wreck in my head.
Apparently in order to get to safety and to get to where we can call 911, we have to swim through this murky black lake. We're already wet, I imagine from sweat and the dampness of the forest, so we just wade in and head for the far shore, which, I notice, is my great-grandmother's yard and house (which means we flipped in that damn car for at least 13 miles). My mother swims ahead of me. It's almost like in the dream my mother is me, or a different version of me, because every time I look at her, I see her, but it feels like I'm looking at me. She certainly acts more like me than she does my actual mother.
Anyway, we're swimming through this gross stagnant lake in the middle of the night (what's more terrifying than swimming through some random lake? Doing it at night) and I start thinking about all the gross things that could be in this lake, and my pace slows as I get bogged down with the psychological weight of everything that has just happened. Plus my foot has gotten tangled in some branches from a tree under the water, and I can't get the cluster of branches to fall away so I can swim freely. My mother yells back some encouraging words (like "Hurry up" or "You're gonna make it! Just keep swimming!") and sure enough, we finally make it to shore and I pull the slimy cluster of branches off my foot just in time to hear mom say something about leeches.
Which, I think I should point out, may just be the first time I've ever dreamed about leeches, but I'm fairly sure that it won't be the last.
I'm like, "Um, did you just say you saw leeches on you?" And before I could hear her reply of, "No, I had thought so but I don't see anything," I had already pulled up my shirt and unbuttoned my jeans to have a good look to make sure none had shimmied their way into areas that would have been most painful and embarrassing to address later.
All clear.
We're at my great-grandmother's house (which is not fronted by a lake in real life), soaking wet and exhausted. My mother takes out her phone but I fear that she won't get any reception or that her phone will be waterlogged, so I go inside Granny's house — with the full knowledge that she's dead and no one lives there anymore, or maybe someone lives there but that it's someone I don't know — and am pleasantly surprised to see a portable telephone sitting on the coffee table. I take it outside and realize I don't remember the address of my grandmother's house. Actually, I do remember it — the real-life address — but when I run down to peek at her mailbox, I realize the address is different now.
I dial 911. The operator is a mild-mannered woman who doesn't answer like any 911 operator I have ever heard before. There's some noise in the background — something about the Rev. Sun Myung Moon and his church — but I tune it out and tell the woman that we need to report a wreck. I give her the address I saw on the mailbox.
She is quiet for a bit and then begins treating me as if I am a senile old lady. "Ms. [I can't remember what she called me, but it felt like she was referring to Granny], have you had anything to drink tonight?"
"No, my grandmother has been dead for a year (not true; it's been three years); this is her granddaughter! My mother and I have just been in a bad wreck!" I say emphatically, not believing the 911 woman can't wrap her mind around what's going on.
"This is her granddaughter? Ma'am, has Ms. [Granny] had anything to drink tonight?"
I become delirious with frustration that she is deliberately misunderstanding me.
I'm sobbing, even though we don't seem to have been hurt in the wreck (aside from a gnarly cut on the palm of my hand that seems to be packed with grime and dirt) and don't really need medical attention, but I still feel like we're supposed to get some rescue people there immediately.
"We have been in a really bad wreck and we need some people to come help us," I weep at the stupid 911 lady. "Why won't you send anyone?" I look at my mother, who seems to have gotten through to someone on her phone. Which is a Razr (Motorola best be cuttin' me a check for product placement in my dreams). "They don't believe me!" I wail. My mother looks annoyed yet nonplussed.
The lady offers platitudes and words of false comfort, but ultimately, she's not sending anyone because she doesn't believe me.
Then I get fucking angry, even though I'm still shaking and sobbing.
"Ma'am, what is your name?" I bark at the 911 lady. I can feel her getting nervous. She mumbles something that I have trouble hearing. "WHAT?! Say that again, please." She says it again but I can't for the life of me make it out. It sounds like a jumble of syllables not meant for English-trained ears. I ask her to spell it, but I can't hear what she says in reply. It's like my ears have stopped working. I can hear, but I can't understand.
I've almost reached the end of my rope with this woman, and I yell at her that I can't wait until someone important hears about what a bitch she's being. And then I wake up.
2.05.2008
The antiques store
I'm in an antiques store of sort — there's stuff everywhere, but it's not clutter; it actually has some kind of organization to it. My companion, a woman I don't think I know in real life, is telling me that I am to move a video camera over all the goods in one take, almost like it's a tracking shot (but I don't remember seeing any of the equipment required for a tracking shot). The camera I'm using is some wacky combination of a mounted stop-motion camera and an old-timey folding camera, but it moves smoothly and takes video, not still photos. I focus the viewfinder on one item, then another, the another, taking care to transition between the items with ease in one take. I nudge the camera a little hard and the picture goes shaky. We have to cut. But the woman with me isn't mad. In fact, she seems surprised I managed to get as long a take as I did.
We move on to our next task, which is finding the items in the store that have big tags on them. She tells me that these items need their Christmas cards signed. There's a clustered of tagged items hanging near the ceiling. Somehow we get one down, and she shows me what to write in the cards.
[line I can't remember]
The Citizens
I get my own tagged item and begin to write in the card, and am taken aback when my handwriting looks nothing like what I know it should. It's sloppy and childish. I'm embarrassed. I finish one card and then notice a little wrapped gift sitting on the counter next to me. It has my name on it. I realize that it's from my sister and I'm probably not supposed to see it.
[I think I lost some stuff here. Feels like I did, but I don't know what.]
I hear a baby crying, and turn to see where it's coming from. My eyes snap open and I realize the crying is coming from downstairs. The neighbors' new baby says hello.
We move on to our next task, which is finding the items in the store that have big tags on them. She tells me that these items need their Christmas cards signed. There's a clustered of tagged items hanging near the ceiling. Somehow we get one down, and she shows me what to write in the cards.
[line I can't remember]
The Citizens
I get my own tagged item and begin to write in the card, and am taken aback when my handwriting looks nothing like what I know it should. It's sloppy and childish. I'm embarrassed. I finish one card and then notice a little wrapped gift sitting on the counter next to me. It has my name on it. I realize that it's from my sister and I'm probably not supposed to see it.
[I think I lost some stuff here. Feels like I did, but I don't know what.]
I hear a baby crying, and turn to see where it's coming from. My eyes snap open and I realize the crying is coming from downstairs. The neighbors' new baby says hello.
12.27.2007
More falling
My sister is driving a big yellow school bus. I am sitting in the back seat, only it's facing the back window. Something happens (I don't know where we were) but we are falling, falling, falling, and the high-rise buildings outside the window are going by so quickly and so geometrically that I get my camera out to take my daily picture. Even as I plunge toward death.
When we see the ground rising to meet us, everyone jumps at the same time to lessen the impact. We hit the ground hard, but are not crushed into a big yellow people pancake. We drive on, past a gathering of some people, where I see my sister standing. Except she's also driving the bus. I point out this minor hiccup in the space-time continuum but before Stephen Hawking can enter and explain it all, I wake up.
When we see the ground rising to meet us, everyone jumps at the same time to lessen the impact. We hit the ground hard, but are not crushed into a big yellow people pancake. We drive on, past a gathering of some people, where I see my sister standing. Except she's also driving the bus. I point out this minor hiccup in the space-time continuum but before Stephen Hawking can enter and explain it all, I wake up.
10.08.2007
One of the weirdest.
Last night, my husband was working and I spent the night at my parents' house.
In reality, I am an only child of two historians/park rangers, and they live in an antebellum house that was fomerly a B&B, in the heart of the historic district in our city. I say this because:
In this dream, I have a younger sister and am still living at home with my parents, who are not my reality parents at all, and we live in a one story brick house in a suburb. In what I'm guessing is the early 70's.
Now please bear with me, because this is gonna get cheesy. But while I was actually having the dream, it seemed very real and I was absolutely terrified.
Anyhoo, (in my dream), I'm asleep and having a bad dream about ghosts. I wake up and there are black shadowy things moving around in the corners of my room. There's a nightlight beside my bed and one of the shadows passes it and completely blocks out the light for a moment. I hear whispers and a low humming that's kind of electrical. I start to scream, and am thrown out of bed and am knocked unconscious. When I awake (still in the dream), the lights are on, I'm lying on my back in bed, and my family is sitting on the bed. They tell me that when they heard me scream they ran in and I was on the floor. They lift my shirt and show me that I have human-looking bite marks all over my torso. At that moment, things start flying all over my room by themselves. The nightlight comes out of the wall and is "thrown" to the floor, where it shatters. I run to my closet and close the door and sit down. Now, I don't know who the hell this dream self is, but I/She has to quit with the dolls. In this closet, there are shelves up to the ceiling lined with dolls and stuffed animals. I'm sitting there, crying and hearing all the noise on the other side of the door, and one of the dolls falls off the shelf. One by one, they start falling. I start screaming again and try to open the door, and it won't open. All of the dolls fall on me at once. So I'm, like, siwimming in all these dolls and stuffed animals, and the whispering and humming is really loud but I can't make out any words. The door opens. My sister is levitating. I run to my parents' room (why did they leave us??) and jump into bed between them. I'm crying, lying face down and wondering why they won't comfort me. I feel a tapping on my lower right shoulder blade. Instinctively, I know it's not my mom or dad, that it's whatever this evil thing is. I burrow my face more into the pillow and try to think about happy, ordinary things and the tapping gets more insistent. The "finger" starts pressing really hard into my muscles, and it really hurts. I'm crying and writhing and trying to think about some birthday party that's coming up.
In reality, the phone rang and I woke up at that point.
This was almost four a.m. when I woke up the first time. I was shaken enough to turn on the lamp and glance around the room. Then I turned out the light and went back to sleep and had another dream.
Part two: I'm myself, with my real family, and at my parents' real house. In the guest room I stay in, there are these big, old windows that go from ceiling to about two feet from the floor (the house has 15 ft ceilings). It's Christmastime and I'm lounging about. It's getting dark and snowing heavily outside. I walk over to the window and am enjoying watching the snow falling in the beam from the lamp-post. Suddenly there's a huge, shaggy, brown bear on the other side of the window, and he means business. He raises back on his hind legs and does the standard bear growl-roar thing, but to me it sounds like the T-Rex roar from Jurassic Park. He starts pawing and clawing at the window. He can't get in, so he walks over to a nearby tree and swings at it and it falls over. I don't know if he 's just displaying his prowess or what, but I'm really scared. I duck down, thinking maybe if he can't see me, he'll go away. I hear a snuflling on the other side of the window, sit up, and peep through. And down. He's digging his way under the house, really fast. A big paw bursts up through the floor beside me, and I wake up. My dad's dog has jumped up on my bed and is pawing at me to take her outside.
So there it is. The first sounds like a "scary" Lifetime movie and the second ended up kinda funny.
*The phone call was a wrong number.
In reality, I am an only child of two historians/park rangers, and they live in an antebellum house that was fomerly a B&B, in the heart of the historic district in our city. I say this because:
In this dream, I have a younger sister and am still living at home with my parents, who are not my reality parents at all, and we live in a one story brick house in a suburb. In what I'm guessing is the early 70's.
Now please bear with me, because this is gonna get cheesy. But while I was actually having the dream, it seemed very real and I was absolutely terrified.
Anyhoo, (in my dream), I'm asleep and having a bad dream about ghosts. I wake up and there are black shadowy things moving around in the corners of my room. There's a nightlight beside my bed and one of the shadows passes it and completely blocks out the light for a moment. I hear whispers and a low humming that's kind of electrical. I start to scream, and am thrown out of bed and am knocked unconscious. When I awake (still in the dream), the lights are on, I'm lying on my back in bed, and my family is sitting on the bed. They tell me that when they heard me scream they ran in and I was on the floor. They lift my shirt and show me that I have human-looking bite marks all over my torso. At that moment, things start flying all over my room by themselves. The nightlight comes out of the wall and is "thrown" to the floor, where it shatters. I run to my closet and close the door and sit down. Now, I don't know who the hell this dream self is, but I/She has to quit with the dolls. In this closet, there are shelves up to the ceiling lined with dolls and stuffed animals. I'm sitting there, crying and hearing all the noise on the other side of the door, and one of the dolls falls off the shelf. One by one, they start falling. I start screaming again and try to open the door, and it won't open. All of the dolls fall on me at once. So I'm, like, siwimming in all these dolls and stuffed animals, and the whispering and humming is really loud but I can't make out any words. The door opens. My sister is levitating. I run to my parents' room (why did they leave us??) and jump into bed between them. I'm crying, lying face down and wondering why they won't comfort me. I feel a tapping on my lower right shoulder blade. Instinctively, I know it's not my mom or dad, that it's whatever this evil thing is. I burrow my face more into the pillow and try to think about happy, ordinary things and the tapping gets more insistent. The "finger" starts pressing really hard into my muscles, and it really hurts. I'm crying and writhing and trying to think about some birthday party that's coming up.
In reality, the phone rang and I woke up at that point.
This was almost four a.m. when I woke up the first time. I was shaken enough to turn on the lamp and glance around the room. Then I turned out the light and went back to sleep and had another dream.
Part two: I'm myself, with my real family, and at my parents' real house. In the guest room I stay in, there are these big, old windows that go from ceiling to about two feet from the floor (the house has 15 ft ceilings). It's Christmastime and I'm lounging about. It's getting dark and snowing heavily outside. I walk over to the window and am enjoying watching the snow falling in the beam from the lamp-post. Suddenly there's a huge, shaggy, brown bear on the other side of the window, and he means business. He raises back on his hind legs and does the standard bear growl-roar thing, but to me it sounds like the T-Rex roar from Jurassic Park. He starts pawing and clawing at the window. He can't get in, so he walks over to a nearby tree and swings at it and it falls over. I don't know if he 's just displaying his prowess or what, but I'm really scared. I duck down, thinking maybe if he can't see me, he'll go away. I hear a snuflling on the other side of the window, sit up, and peep through. And down. He's digging his way under the house, really fast. A big paw bursts up through the floor beside me, and I wake up. My dad's dog has jumped up on my bed and is pawing at me to take her outside.
So there it is. The first sounds like a "scary" Lifetime movie and the second ended up kinda funny.
*The phone call was a wrong number.
5.31.2007
No — not the camera!!
I am taking a picture of my grandmother and noticing that the autofocus is being a little bitchy. So I switch to manual and zoom in and try to focus on her face. But it still looks blurry and weird. As soon as I press the shutter, I hear this sickening metallic pop — like a spring has exploded inside a small tin can — and I look down to see that my beloved camera has blown out like a popcorn bag — its sides bulging and revealing the parts inside that should stay hidden.
I wince and cradle the thing to the ground, taking special care — and instructing everyone around me eager to get all grabby with the trainwreck of a camera — to not touch the sensor, as if it's even remotely salvageable.
The sight of my camera in such a state launches me into guilty panic mode. Panic because I LOVE THIS CAMERA and guilt because I feel like I probably did something stupid to cause its implosion. My dad is there and, being the one who financed the thing to begin with, he instantly (and this is not what Real World Dad would have done) gets gruff and makes it clear that I'm on my own when it comes to paying for the repairs.
My mind spins as I realize there is no way I can afford a new camera or even the repairs on this one (as if it can be repaired). Phil and I run around some asphalt parking lot between strip-mall stores and restaurants, looking for my car so we can track down the paperwork that came with the camera. I realize with a sick feeling in my gut that I never filled out the warranty card. So I run around with a bleak vision of the apocalypse in my head. I flit past a table of sorority girls in some restaurant and dump water on them. And again when I pass back by. One of them follows me and pours water on me. So I respond (sillily) by tossing my glass of red wine on her velour sweatsuit-clad ass.
None of those things brought my camera back, though. Only forcing myself to wake up ended my terror.
I wince and cradle the thing to the ground, taking special care — and instructing everyone around me eager to get all grabby with the trainwreck of a camera — to not touch the sensor, as if it's even remotely salvageable.
The sight of my camera in such a state launches me into guilty panic mode. Panic because I LOVE THIS CAMERA and guilt because I feel like I probably did something stupid to cause its implosion. My dad is there and, being the one who financed the thing to begin with, he instantly (and this is not what Real World Dad would have done) gets gruff and makes it clear that I'm on my own when it comes to paying for the repairs.
My mind spins as I realize there is no way I can afford a new camera or even the repairs on this one (as if it can be repaired). Phil and I run around some asphalt parking lot between strip-mall stores and restaurants, looking for my car so we can track down the paperwork that came with the camera. I realize with a sick feeling in my gut that I never filled out the warranty card. So I run around with a bleak vision of the apocalypse in my head. I flit past a table of sorority girls in some restaurant and dump water on them. And again when I pass back by. One of them follows me and pours water on me. So I respond (sillily) by tossing my glass of red wine on her velour sweatsuit-clad ass.
None of those things brought my camera back, though. Only forcing myself to wake up ended my terror.
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