Tag Archives: dreams

I’m not a guy, but something tells me that isn’t exactly how The Stranger works.

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This little tidbit will be of interest to no one but my sister, but last night I dreamed her professor told her she had to fight me to the death as part of her dissertation. Not to apply logic to a dream, but it seems like a strange thing to have to do in order to obtain your doctorate. I mean, do they take your research into consideration too? Or is it a simple, if you win, you get your PhD, and if you lose, then you’re…dead? On the other hand, our university system might be in better shape if all the professors went through gladiator training. Anyway, she and I decided we didn’t want to fight, and instead we went to the world’s largest Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum.

Right about then my alarm woke me, and when I went to turn it off, I realized my arm was all floppy. This happens to me all the time because my shoulders pop in and out, as do my hips. I’m not exactly sure why it happens, but it probably has something to do with the fact that my joints weren’t fully developed when I was born. I had to wear a brace as an infant to hold my legs in place, and once everything finished growing, I was fine. But I’ve always had this weird deal where I can slip them in and out.  I can do it purposefully, but it also happens without my meaning to do so, like when I sleep, and it has been that way my entire life. More often than not it’s merely an inconvenience, although I have this theory that if I fell down a flight of stairs I’d be fine because I could just pop everything back in place.

However, it totally sucks when this happens during sleep, because it cuts off the circulation in my arm, and I wake with a gnarly case of Saturday night palsy. Which brings me back to floppy arm and my alarm. When I realized one arm was asleep, I had to use the other to turn off the alarm. I hate waking up to one dead limb, so I decided to hit snooze, pop my arm back in, and sleep for a few more minutes. I dozed immediately, only to be awoken a couple of minutes later by a hand on my throat, which scared the shit out of me. I yelped, sprang up, and threw the covers off me to find both dogs staring and absolutely nothing else.

My hand had involuntarily twitched, and because it was still asleep, my neck registered a hand, but not that it was my own. I felt like a total dumbass.

You’re welcome.

What have I been smokin’?

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23

Nothing, but you wouldn’t know it from the dreams I’ve had the past few days.

I am always a vivid dreamer, but lately, I wonder what in the hell is going on inside my subconscious. I won’t even go into last night’s strange, fragmented dreams – they were too weird to pass on to the world.

The night before, however, is a different story. I’ll give you the cliff notes version (because, honestly, no one ever wants to hear another person’s dreams, unless you happen to be a psychic or something).

My husband and I were in a big building not far from where I used to live in Hollywood. People were everywhere, seeking shelter from an outbreak of some sort (I referred to it as zombies when I relayed this to my husband, but that really wasn’t what they were. They looked just like people, but whenever they opened their mouths, four incredibly long, dark purple tongues shot out. My husband said it sounded more like an invasion of the body snatchers than zombies). Anyway, the zombie/body snatcher people made it to this building where we hid, and everyone had to evacuate. My husband and I got separated, and outside, people kept telling me I had to leave anyway, but I refused. Just as the hysteria reached critical mass, a group of people ran from the building, and my man was among them.

Cool, now I could go.

So the plan was that we were all going to run to Lancaster, which seems like a crappy plan, because it’s like 60 miles away from Hollywood. That is a long way to run. Anyway, my husband told me he was going to go ahead of the group and scout things out. Suddenly he was in track shorts. You know how, at the Olympics, they shoot the gun or sound the buzzer or whatever, and all the track people take off like bats out of hell? Their legs move quicker than you’d think was humanly possible? Well that’s how my husband look as he ran off – all I could see was ass and elbows. When I tried to follow, I discovered I couldn’t run. Someone dressed like a referee walked up to me and said I needed to pick up the pace if I wanted to live, but no matter what I did, my feet would hardly move. For whatever reason, I decided to try and run backwards, which worked, and I ran with my head turned looking behind me down the 101 highway. While all this may sound nightmarish, in my dream I wasn’t particularly scared.

So last night while trying to fall asleep, I started thinking about that dream. What I found most odd about it was not the zombie/body snatcher people, or the fact that I could only run backwards, but my husband running. I realized that, in our seven and a half years together, I’ve never seen him run. Well, he’s done a sort of half run with Spazzy, but he’s 6’3”, and she weighs 10 pounds, so he isn’t exactly sprinting. He spends most of the time looking down at her to make sure his feet are nowhere near her tiny legs. So really, the dog run is more along the lines of a fake run. You know, that half run people do when they go through a crosswalk after the hand starts blinking – the, I’m-gonna-move-my-arms-like-I’m-running-but-my-legs-are-pretty-much-walking, run?

Well I think that’s weird. Not the fake run, but that I’ve never seen my husband run. How is that possible? How have I never once seen him run, not to or from anything, in all the years we’ve been together? And then I started thinking, has he ever seen me run? The answer is no, I don’t believe he has.

And this thought kept me up last night. What other acts have we not witnessed the other doing? Countless ones, obviously, but I’m talking about normal things, like running. This, of course, prompted me to try and formulate a list of what constitutes normal. Do somersaults count?

Geez, it’s seven in the morning, and I already need a nap.

It’s book time! (And other stuff too)

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Hello and happy Monday y’all!

If you haven’t already read Human Resources, Martinis, and Other Bad Things, then guess what? Today is your lucky day. And so is tomorrow, and Wednesday, because now through the 22nd you can download your copy on Amazon for free. If you don’t have an e-reader, don’t worry, you can download this free app from Amazon to access books on your PC, phone, and etch-a-sketch.

Tomorrow we’ll discuss my new book, Kikki Killmé – Ixcotep, which is the first in a series.

Okay, that’s actually it for book talk, but I do have two other completely random bits…

First, do you guys have recurring dreams? I do, a whole series of them, as a matter of fact. One has to do with waiting tables/bartending. I haven’t done either in years, but I began waiting tables at the age of 17, and in my early twenties started bartending, which was my livelihood until my late 20s. Just over a decade is a long time to do anything, so I suppose that’s why I still frequently have dreams…well, nightmares is a more accurate description. They are never happy dreams, I’m always either slammed with too many customers, or I forgot the menu and/or how to make drinks, or I showed up to work with no pants, or whatever.

So last night I had one of those nightmares. Guess who my coworkers were? Several of you guys, and the cast of True Blood. Which is totally weird, because I don’t even know what most of you look like. Anyway, the restaurant was in an old theater, and every one of you (plus Sookie) thought I was a moron, because I couldn’t walk through the rows of seats without tripping…

Um, yeah.

And in other news, it finally happened. This is a Lil Stinko story, which I try to keep at a minimum so as not to be the crazy dog woman, but those of you with a juvenile sense of humor will find it funny (which includes me, my husband, and my dad). As you know, we’ve renamed her The Tooter, and if you’re new to the Cowardly Feminist, see this post.

The other evening, I was walking down the stairs carrying Stinky, and she let one fly. Loudly. So loud that it scared her (honestly, she should be used to it by now). And of course, when I got to the bottom of the stairwell, one of my neighbors was standing there with raised eyebrows and a HUGE grin on her face. What was I going to do, point to Lil Stinko say she did it? Who would believe that?

So I waved, said hello, and kept walking. And you just know my neighbor will forever think of me as The Girl Who Farted on the Stairs.

Thanks a lot Stinko.