I was ordered by the courts to attend a camp for hermits to break them of their "dreadful habits": we had private rooms, but were expected to participate in group activities the whole other time. A guy came up to me and said, "My name's Mario. Just Mario. If anyone asks, you never met me." He stuck out his hand and I shook it. "Just Mario," he repeated. I said, "Just one name, like Cher and Madonna." "Just Mario," he said, walking off. I went back to my room and read; the camp directors weren't too happy with my performance.
I had just had surgery, and Matt and Zach came over. Zach looked essentially like he did the last time I saw him (1995). I was in my newest old room in the Summitlawn house. Matt went outside to get something, and I mustered all my strength and courage to go over and hug Zach. "Thanks for being here," I whispered. He didn't say anything, but as I hugged him, it was like I could read his thoughts--which were plain text documents. So it was as if I was reading messages behind his back: "Sorry about last time . . . I'm here now . . . " etc. There were a lot of ellipses, which is unusual.
Lael and I were waiting in IHOP. He was showing me something he had written, and he turned to me and said, "I sometimes feel like two characters on television--either Eddie [the dog from Frasier] or Giles [from Buffy the Vampire Slayer]." I told him that I felt like Daphne from Frasier, "Oh, I don't want to deal with all this," I said in a British accent, "I'm going to go wash my hair." We both sat stunned for a minute because Daphne is nothing like that. I got depressed and looked out the window. Melanie and Anna J. were riding horses. I looked back inside and a puppy was urinating on the floor; Lael barely got his bag moved in time before it ran in the ruts where tile grout lives.
Brian H. demanded that I re-examine his paycheck because surely he was owed more than he was paid. I took a look at it and realized that, in fact, I had paid him too much. He threw a huge temper tantrum in the hallway.
I can't remember much about my dreams, but there was something about two foot high Powerpuff Girl statues. There was something else, but I didn't write them down when I woke up. I was stupid (and tired).
(If this is the first time you've read this journal, please ignore the last two dreams and skip to a fun one. It gets better, trust me.)
I was going to Sam's (Wholesale Club) with Jon. He didn't have a card, so we went to the membership desk. They had a card with his name on it and two pictures from when he was a kid. They also had a card for Greg, Jon's best friend in seventh grade. It was quite creepy, and I told Jon that it was part of Sam Walton's massive photo project: to get a picture of every person in the United States. Jon then vanished, and I was shopping with two women in Wal-Mart, possibly Mom and Grandma. I was a little upset that we weren't at one with a grocery store, but I wandered nonetheless. Of all the Wal-Marts I've been in, it was most like the Blackwell, Oklahoma Wal-Mart: like Newton's, but more claustrophobic and dirtier. Anyway, I saw long baby pink and baby blue spandex skirts that I thought about, but decided against. I picked out three pairs of corduroy pants until I noticed they were $35 each: out of my price range. It was then that I stopped and wondered what I had become--I was looking at a corduroy, a fabric I swore I'd never wear again after failed slide attempts in third grade--and thinking about buying clothes . . . baby pink spandex skirts even. I shuddered, put the pants on the rack, and went to find Mom and Grandma. Tom F. had gotten in an argument with Grandpa, so I screamed at him. "How dare you insult him," I yelled, "He's done more good in the world than you can even comphrehend. You, of all people, should have the decency to leave him alone." I could tell Grandpa didn't really care what Tom F. had said anyway (not that I really knew, beyond a vague "he was mean to my grandpa, that bastard" sense), but I also sensed he was proud. Then Grandma and I looked at some miscellaneous items. I was still furious.
(This is the first "normal"--meaning nothing related to death--dream about Grandma I've had since she died in August.)
My dream was heavily influenced by E.L. Konigsberg's The View from Saturday. Lately, I've been rereading favorite books from my childhood and the library didn't have Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William Mckinley, And Me, Elizabeth which made it cool to eat raw onions.
I was "abandoned" with one bossy white girl, a small child--possibly Guatamalan, and an African-American girl. We were left out in the woods to survive, but somehow there was a house nearby and there were mature adults all over. The bossy girl was making us use lasanga noodles to make "truck ruts" in the mud--I have no idea why. I carried the small child with me to a structure somewhere and reassured it that no one would let anything happen to us and that my mom might be back with the van sometime soon anyway. I said something mean about the bossy girl. As we left the room, I looked in the other room: the two girls were in front of vending machines getting candy and Coke. I glared at them, knowing they had heard me. The small child was afraid again, and I walked off, saying "I don't care if they heard me. I meant everything I said."
From today's nap:
On The Spin Room, Tucker Carlson and Bill Press were going to be talking to the inventor of breast implants that were surgically implanted, then users (or anyone with the remote control) could inflate as desired. They were constantly turning the dial on Mandy Moore while she was in concert, and giving a diatribe about "What if the remote fell into the wrong hands?" Tucker simply giggled, "We're always the wrong hands." Meanwhile, I found in my closet (the Summitlawn house again) a sports bra from cheerleading and, in my dream (and it's completely accurate), I remarked that it was incredibly strange--I never once even had the desire to try out for cheerleading after age seven. I got it out though and thought about trying it on just to see what happened. Of course, I became so engrossed in TV that nothing happened. I heard Free Design's "Bubbles" playing and immediately turned to the computer to get on the Spin Room and discuss Free Design. While they were playing it, Bill and Tucker were on board a submarine, playing with the controls. It was Tucker's turn to say that they were going to break for ads, but Tucker wouldn't speak--he was too busy eating.
At that moment, Mom came in and wanted to use my computer. So I got off the Spin Room while the chat program was still loading and went to a different computer. When I left her, it was on her start page: a dark teal green, swirly-patterned thing that said "who wants to boogie" across the top. I went into a different room, completely empty (and I thought about how much more space the parents had since I moved out), and got online. Of course, I didn't have a TV anymore, so the Spin Room was somewhat out. At some point while moving from room to room, I noticed my hair was shoulder-length (about 8 inches shorter than it is now), and, even more terrifying, my bangs were exactly like Mom wanted them when I was twelve: two rows curled back, two rows curled forward, then teased and hair sprayed. Ugh.
Matt and I got stuck in a Harry Dean Stanton-type movie. He had a fourteen-year-old alcholic brother, and the cops were always coming by looking to see if he was drinking so they could bust them both: Matt for negligence, and the brother for underage drinking. They came by one time, and I advised Mom to get lost. We were sitting on their driveway (they lived in the family for whom I was petsitting's barn) and I ran. Mom said she was going to stay put and knit: she hadn't done anything wrong. Neither had I, but she was more trusting than me. I told her to tell Matt that, if he was free, to meet me in a restaurant at Park City at 10. I couldn't think of one, so I stayed in the shadows of the house all day before they left. Matt wasn't taken in, but he did leave with two friends and a girl in a cage in the back of a pick-up. I ran after the pick-up and threw glass bottles at them until they stopped. The caged girl was laughing the whole time at me running after them. I asked Matt where he was going: he didn't know. I pulled out a book, probably a text version of the movie we were stuck in, and we realized we had skipped all of chapter two. We were thus on our way to Adamton or Laugton, Alabama: we'd eventually go everywhere, including from Tennessee to the Great Lakes three times. Paths were color-coded, and we were on the pine green path right now, headed south from wherever we were (Southern Kentucky, most likely), headed for Alabama. During this process, I had a vision of an aerial view of the US, including Florida being entirely trees and New England being wholly concrete.
I was spending the night with Matt and his two friends: I think the caged girl just slept in her cage. One of his friends shared a strawberry Fruit Rollup with me after joking that it "got all smashed."
I did have long and complicated dreams, but I don't remember them that well.
I was working with Mr. T somehow, and he didn't have anything to do. So I went to my bookshelf and started pulling out books for him to autograph and pictures of him from magazines. I told him which pictures were Kathleen's and which were mine, and he'd just sign away. "That was a good idea; I'm not nearly so bored now." I had a picture that I wanted to scan in to look like a book cover, so I also looked for an appropriate book to get ideas from, but didn't find any,
Matt and I went to a nursery in a big truck to buy grass seed. While he was talking to the salespeople, I went to the record collection and started browsing through their albums for sale. I found a Shaggs LP for $8.00, but the girl on the back didn't look like a member of that family at all. It seems the Shaggs fell apart after she--Linda Shagg--married a wealthy athlete. Then we were taken upstairs and given a sales pitch about buying the top four flights in the barn. Once you went up one flight, you couldn't get back down. We weren't interested, but there were three other sets of people that at least pretended to be. I noticed my dad up there in his silly cold-weather hat. He was tired and said he was in his 2:45 pm slump. The real estate agent did succeed: one couple bought all four stories. Then we did get to go back down the stairs.
There was more, but I can't remember right now.
I've been housesitting, so I haven't had very many dreams. I haven't been sleeping well, although when I get sleep, it is deep.
As part of the cycle, after I haven't been able to remember my dreams, the first night afterwards I just can recall images. The next night usually has a very complicated dream, so there may be something to look forward to tomorrow.
Now, the images:
--I was in the bathroom of the place where I was housesitting, and I looked in the mirror only to find Brian H. behind me. I was terrified, confused, and angry. I just continued to wash my hands, wondering what to say.
--We start with an aerial view of a LA intersection, then swoop down until we're sitting in the car. I don't know who I'm with, but someone else is there. A mentally ill and/or drunk man is screaming, "How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?" I scream out, "Three." He turns towards me, and my companion steps on the gas. As we leave, he mutters, "The world may never know." (Probably a bleed-through from a commercial on Cartoon Network.)
Another Boston dream--this time I've lost my Pikachu backpack, but it turns out that I just put it in my car after getting off the subway. Matt and I went to a huge concert with all sorts of people. Jon Spencer and the rest of Boss Hog got onstage and performed about thirty seconds of a song before running offstage into a tiny room. I asked Matt if we all were supposed to run in there after him. We didn't know what was going on.
It's way too early for me to be having summer camp nightmares, but I had one last night. Forty-five students were coming, and I had no way to transport them to the event we were going to attend. Luckily, we had some older students--some in their sixties--that we were able to rope into driving. Once they left, I started worrying about snacks. I didn't have anything and there wasn't really time to go buy anything.
The following two dreams occured within the nine-minute paradise the alarm clock gives me every morning. I remember flipping over and thinking, "Let's show her what we can do."
Another education dream: this time I was a student in some class, but I don't know what. I assumed it was an art class. The instructor, a frumpy woman, told us "Well, you have all either improved or maintained your math and science skills." A lot of people sighed and rolled their eyes; she was supposed to be teaching us math (aha!), but obviously was not doing that well. She realized she had instantly lost the class' goodwill with her none-too-enthusiastic words.
Mom and I went to Space Mountain, and I was quite delighted to ride backwards with my eyes shut. We got separated and she ended up going in the first car. I was going to have to wait for another train before I could go. Then the snooze alarm went off and I didn't get to go at all.
Wasn't it funny when you got your soul stuck in that gourd? Good thing you got out.
I also dreamt about some color-matching Flash game: the screen I was on used peach and baby blue together. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
A busy night of dreaming . . . no wonder I woke up tired.
I was with my mom and dad in our old house. At first, we were in the living room reading the newspaper. Mom tore out an ad for a Siamese kitten and handed it to me. "Go call them," she told me. I didn't see why she made me, but I went to my old bedroom and called. The lady asked if why I wanted the kitten, it had "knocked a guy out" and "refused to be T.T." (toilet trained). I asked if we could at least meet the kitty, and told her about how Mom could make the gorillas talk to her. The lady thought it would be okay.
Matt was getting out of the Army (perhaps a sequel to the dream of him entering the Navy?). Maybe it was just a movie set where he playing a soldier because it wasn't that disciplined. For one thing, they had sheets with little Hitler clipart on it: there was Chef Hitler in a chef's hat chopping vegetables, and Clown Hitler, etc. If you've seen Rocky and Bullwinkle plenty, you'll remember the janitor at the end of Mr. Peabody's segment: Hitler looked somewhat like him, but it was unmistakably Hitler. About twenty or so soldiers went into a convenience store and said, "All hail America's heroes!" and took baseball cards. They opened up them and up and said, "Hail Jackie Robinson," etc. As we were leaving, I said, "Hail Babe Ruth" to the poster of him. Back in the room, I asked a man who looked like Lou Rawls if they got to keep their props. He said sometimes.
Then Katie E. and I were going to school early. I didn't know what we'd do because, as I told her, "we can't exactly wander through the barracks now that Matt's out." Jon J. said "Be glad you're not in the room. It smells like 'party' in there. I can't exactly put my finger on it." Dan S. was dipping chicken nuggets and french fries into mayonnaise on his hamburger bun.
We were in a sandwich shop, and we left when Greg and his girlfriend did. Matt's former bunkmate tried to leave too, but he wasn't allowed to. He sat in the corner and talked to himself a lot; he went crazy after he was released from the army. Outside, I removed the tomato from my sandwich and threw it away. Even if I liked tomatos, it was a bit too green around the seeds to eat.
I was standing in a line, holding Matt's hand. Jesse Harris wanted to be involved in our hand holding too, but found a girl behind us and held her hand. Aali was in front of us, and he turned to me and asked if I had read his poems. Then I had a flash of a poem titled "Girl, You're Like My Cappuccino" and another one which included the lines (roughly remembered) "All I want are passing glances / From the people I knew five years ago / And maybe a word too."
Lael and I were saving the world, and we told people that too--I added "before bedtime" like the Powerpuff Girls. We found a bomb hidden in chicken and dumplings in an old butter tub. As we drove on the highway, we were sure there were more bombs hidden in the basket of flowers that had fallen off a truck.
We then went to a garage sale, and I became interested in an old (1930s era) yearbook from WSU. The price on it was *$1.95: a little blond girl came up to me and said, "All books are three dollars." I asked her if that included those books that had lower prices listed on them. I put the yearbook back--I wasn't too interested in buying it for $1.95, much less $3.00--and found Norton's Anthology of English Literature (Vol. 1). I put it back, praising myself on not buying yet another anothology. Under the anthology were tons of romance novels (it was pretty blindingly pastel pink with all the flowery covers), and I immediately doubted the seller's tastes. The kid came back up to me and handed me a note that read, "Yes! The prices with an * by them are to be ignored. $3.00 is the correct price." I went inside the garage and found two Seventeen magazines about dreams. They were analyzing teens' dreams based on which celebrities were in their dreams. I didn't really recognize any of the names, but Lael definitely didn't. We left.
Then I was in a hotel, riding with three people up to the sixth floor in a very shaky elevator. Rebecca (from the preschool) was waiting in the lobby, trying to get all the energy out of her system before returning to her room where her husband was fast asleep. At the sixth floor (which looked like the Kendall/MIT stop on the red line in Boston, minus the bells), they started complaining about their rooms. I told them it was better than the second floor (the orange floor). I got off the elevator and decided to take the subway home. I was the only one though, and was surprised when it started going down the stairs, especially since there was no track. It took me to the fifth floor where a whole bunch of children were sitting in multicolored sofas that would whisk them places.
I got an email for Grandpa with two broken images:
1.) hot-water-heater-no-answer.gif
2.) water-pump-no-answer.gif
The only text in the email gave the phone number to call for a status report.
It was a busy Friday night for dreaming (I didn't have to get up early, but here it is 8:57 am and I'm already awake). Last night, I woke up at 4:30 am and thought to myself, "What a complicated dream. I wasn't even involved." I don't know what the dream was, but I am amused at my pseudo "It's not my department" kind of apathy.
I went to a very neat estate sale, but Beck was not my cashier this time. I was doing the usual--trying to figure out the previous owners of the merchandise--and it was fairly complicated. I got intrigued by a number of items: a multi-colored woven afghan, the Left Behind DVD (which was still $10, so I left it behind-hah! Sorry.), and several sequined shirts. One was all about time and had a big Father Time on the left sleeve, a clock with moveable arms on the left breast, a cursive "Groundhog Day" and red sequin stripes on the right side, and even more on the back. There was also a polyester shirt, mostly white, with old illustrations of Siamese kittens. The pictures were all on the sleeves though, so I passed on it. The shirts were $3.00-$4.00, so they weren't too bad, but I'm a cheap girl, even in my dreams. In the kitchen were some wonderful baby blue Fiesta dining sets and a wetbar with a monkey on it. It was Monkey from Dexter's Lab, and he was on the cabinet doors. For some reason, I knew I was on vacation or something and couldn't bring anything big back home with me, not even the blanket.
Dad and I were wandering around misc. large city at 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday. I tried to tell him that nothing would be open, but we went into a Kinko's anyway. We ended up just bringing Mom back a McDonald's Coke.
Mom and I were in a field behind a farmhouse, and she was telling me her dream. As she described it, it happened. Ten white children ran towards us, then immediately to the left, and then hid. When they stood up, they were all black slave children in rags. They again ran towards us and disappeared as they got nearer. Then Mom told me about a sculpture she had seen made out of straw that was clearly a Texan woman. She was about eight feet tall and had real breast implants under her straw shirt. She had a cowboy hat on a pole behind her, so she could appear to wear it, but it wouldn't muss her hair. Then the slave kids were back, and we all ran through the farmhouse, slamming doors behind house, as we ran to the street. It was almost like a time travel thing, where the house served as a gateway from rural to urban. In the house, which we were only in for just a second, I worried about someone yelling at us, and one of the kids said, "They always yell at us. You stop listening after a while."
I don't remember hardly anything from last night's dreams.
I was taken to the hopsital.
Something about Zach.
I drove by WSU to look for someone, and ended up leaving a note for either Blake or Zach. I then talked to a former student.
There were thunderstorms all night, and I slept with the window cracked for the smell of rain. I think that somewhat explains this dream fragment: I was climbing a tree in a fenced yard when Matt drove by in War Machine (a beat-up mid/late-1980s Suburban) and, seeing me above the fence in the trees, asked me, "What's the matter? Can't you sleep?" I shook my head, and he said, "Have you tried swimming?" I hadn't, then I was in the ocean (only chlorinated) floating with my head through an inner tube. I then "fell asleep" bouncing with the waves.
There was some decompression about the brainstorming session downtown.
I came back from lunch in last night's dream to find a message from our printing company that they are no longer partnered with some company starting with N. This other company was the one who got the computer files all ready, so what this company change meant is that they couldn't handle PageMaker files anymore. I was completely floored--a printing company who can't handle Microsoft Publisher or Adobe PageMaker? What did they expect us to use -- Quark? So I went back to my desk to make the phone call, and I was basically at a semi-abandoned trade show. There were a few people sitting around watching their companies' presentation videos.
Caryn told Matt and me about this wonderful place to eat, but she couldn't remember the name of it. It something to do with horses, she thought, but it was exactly five miles one direction out of downtown. We found it (I suggested going east, which was correct) and it was called "Ponderosa." Caryn and her husband were there.
I was back in high school (ugh) in some science class. We were listening to "Science Rock" Schoolhouse Rock-type songs. Two other girls started dancing, then I got up and started to dance like Ann-Margret. When the song ended, I sat down in my desk. Behind me was Kadon (my best friend from 5th grade). He tapped me on the back and said "We could have had a chance, but you said you wanted a man to cook for you." I just shrugged and said, "I can see me saying something like that." We then started to watch a Steve McQueen movie.
I was about 13 in this dream: Mom and Dad decided I needed a new friend, so they brought over somebody's stepdaughter to amuse me. Her name was Lisa. I was hiding in my closet, hanging things on the wall (it was a walk-in), etc. when she came by. We actually got along surprisingly well. It was late at night and for a while I got excited thinking that we could go for a walk like Nicole and I used to do. Then I heard Mom yelling through the wall and I knew it wouldn't make a difference.
Something about a puppy in the garage.
I had a big bruise on my left temple. I was worried everyone would think I was abused by my boyfriend.
Matt and I went shopping somewhere for his brother and mother's birthday, and on the way there, Target, Wal-Mart, and all other grocery and discount department stores were closed. It was bright daylight and not a major holiday. When we got the strip mall we were going to shop at, I noticed that Food-4-Less was open. We went to a small department store that had an unusual assortment of things.
In the collectibles department, I found a Transformer-type toy of a Noid and a California Raisin. I only realized what it was after flipping the eyes into the right position so that the Noid was the back and the Raisin was in the front (or vice versa). I set it down, but then thought later that Dan might be amused by it. When I went back to get it, it was gone. They had other Noid merchandise though.
"Where can I get a hat? I just want a hat to match these gloves," Matt asked, finding only berets. He also threw out some French words. We were standing in front of some ceramic masks painted with woodland scenes.
I wanted to buy some underwear and socks so I wouldn't have to do laundry as often, but they didn't have any. That's when I started looking at the books and they had a bunch of weird ones. They had a book on Postmodern Interpretations of Spencer, some cheap Faulkner short stories, and anthologies in the Best Poems of 1987 vein. A young couple kept trying to crowd me out while they looked at photography books. Matt was sitting out in the main lobby of the mall waiting for me, so I left.
Kathleen and I were watching TV and flipped it to CNN. There was a documentary about a gifted boy in foster care. Then we saw that boy getting ready to go on Sally Jesse Raphael or something, and got a sneak peek of his "woman," a cheap floozie in Frederick's of Hollywood, in the green room. Then John Ritter burst in, wearning a bathrobe, men's nightshirt, and an awful long-haired and toussled brown wig, screaming something about how "she's not my whore." Kathleen and I just looked at each other.
The Center adopted that little boy (who looked a lot like Lil Bow Wow) because he was gifted and had no other place to go. He was about ten, and he was taking Chinese, Japanese, and so on. Stephanie fell in love with him quickly and squeezed him in a massive hug at the water cooler: "Oh, please let me be your mommy!" He was cool towards everyone, talked a lot about his P (property) back in New York, and liked to give me a hard time. I suppose I wasn't being properly respectful towards him, but he was also just a kid. We posted a psychiatric evaluation of him on Jake's cubicle. I told him I had seen the CNN report on him (see dream above). I asked him what he was learning about in school and he told me he hadn't gone because his mom didn't like to push him to learn when he didn't feel like it. "Oh, so we pander to your desires?" I asked him, and he said yes. Then I asked him about his P (property: his term) and he complained about how hard it was to get more on $40/wk. He didn't seem too impressed with my cost of living comparison. Then we moved over to Steph's cubicle and he asked if she was going to start a protest over trash collection. I told him that was her business.
I had voice mail on my home phone that I couldn't figure out how to delete, or even access reliably.
Steph sent me an emergency email asking me for my Oscar activities during Mar 23-25. I then pointed out we'd be on Spring Break. She also complained about her utility rates.
Eddie Rabbit had the happiest marriage in the world.
This may not make sense, but it's 3:30 am and I want to go back to bed.
It was our high school reunion, even though it hadn't been ten years. I ended up in the hotel lobby first and the bartender had almost stopped carding people since everyone was born within one year. I actually got a drink and it was given to me in a paper cup with a straw and lid. The bartender was very polite and amazed that I so willing pulled out my ID. I guess she was just easily impressed. Olivia and Erika were there, so I chatted with them.
I found a model of some Backstreet Boys/N*Sync video and started dismantling it, amazed I could do so. I moved a waltzing couple, and could see it removed from the live-action video projected behind the table with the model. I also saw that they had left their notes there, full of comments like "Aim for VH1 Behind the Music: need something for twenty-second clip." It was a predominantly red video, possibly with the shade of red in Madonna's "La Isla Bonita" dress from the video, with red sets and dancing (waltzing) couples. Much more Falco's "Rock Me Amadeus" than anything they've done: perhaps they were either expanding their ouevre or parodying themselves.
Somehow I ended up in a grocery store, where I was supposed to pick up Priya. I have a feeling it's where IGA used to be, although it was almost set up like that funky deli/restaurant in Boston that Dad loved so much (Bon Marche?). I found her, and she was with Jay and his girlfriend: both he and she were dressed as Little Bo Peep (Jay) and Nick Park's sheep from that one "Wallace and Gromit" (the girl). Priya told me I had to go see if I was the winner for the birthday drawing of potato salad. We waiting in line and two Amish girls almost cut in front of us, but I was surprisingly assertive and said, "She said you already drew the winner." Someone named Tiffany Jones won, and there was a big note in the meat display about it.
Priya and I got in my car. Daniel C. was supposed to come with us, but he got into a screaming match with two other people in the parking lot, so we left. I was driving very poorly and even commented to Priya that "I don't drive this bad all the time, just often." Oh how I amused myself, and how Priya was scared. On certain steep hills and bumps, I couldn't see the road, just like Bullitt. I looked at the speedometer and realized I was going fifty after I heard the police sirens. We stopped by the side of the road, my heart pounded as I tried to remember if I had had those drinks yet or not, and then I woke up.
I was having dinner with Hayley Mills' mother. She was forty (don't ask me), but looked about twenty, "only no zits," as I pointed out so helpfully. She had short, blonde anchorwoman hair. She was also incredibly lonely. I, again the picture of helpfullness, said , "I'm sure you'll make lots of friends once you tell them you're Hayley Mills' mother." At that point, an ad for The Parent Trap came on.
I also had a dream about a road trip and a creative writing class.
Rather frenzied dreams, for some reason.
Something about an animated character called Gimbel the chicken, who appeared on everything Cartoon Network did, even commercials shown by them.
A series of dreams about robberies, etc., that I can remember very little about.
The life drawing teacher showed up looking for "Woody's painting class." It was at another location (PLMO?).
I helped Steph set up an information booth.
The first time I've had this dream for a while: I had to reschedule a math test, and I had a list of ten people or so to contact to get everything lined up. See, nothing had worked out when I went to school to get it taken care of. There was a complicated mass transit system, and everyone was being pretty generous at letting others go in front of them on the people movers. But when I got to school, I could not find the department I needed. The violin teacher (a relative of Rita Hayworth's--an obvious audio bleedthrough from television) couldn't be found either because, as in an earthquake, her office was smashed into about an eight-inch high area. On a lower floor, there was a bunch of testing going on, and I got sucked into helping this girl with syllables and pronounciation. Then I went home to try and reschedule.
I fought with HTML layout.
Matt and I messed up our lunch plans. I was driving a van and he was driving the Tempo. I thought I was supposed to meet him (and a friend--Keith?) someplace, and when they didn't show, I went ahead and ate. I guess I was supposed to pick him up from "work."
In my dream, I was going to make chicken fried rice at 3 a.m. and I thought about how decadent it seemed to cook at that time.
After rereading old letters last night, I remembered that Rachael wanted to go on a road trip with me.
So, I dreamed about going on a road trip. Really, I only remember sitting in the back of a van (stripped of seats, like the Center van) and smiling at a Great Dane. The Great Dane then tried to run across traffic to hop in the open door of the van, so someone closed it and told me to stop doing that.
A fairly disturbing dream: Orson Welles called my grandfather with advice on how to enjoy life. In the dream, I heard him on speakerphone and was quite concerned because I knew Orson was dead. I'm not sure I want to analyze this one too much.