Although by that point I may be satisfied with a nap and a good BM

My folks just returned from snowbirding in Arizona. (For those of you not in the know, 'snowbirds' are what they call retired Canadians who winter in the southern US. I've no idea if you're meant to use it as a verb or not. Probably.) In addition to some Roswell Alien Ale beer and a stuffed armadillo for my kid, my Mom brought me a little ceramic dreambox:

Isn't it pretty? The Legend of the Dreambox is that you "write down your fondest dream on a small piece of paper, put the paper in the dreambox and place it beside your bed. Every evening as you retire and every morning as you rise, hold your dreambox and think on your dream, believing with all your heart that it is so."

Except that I have a rambunctious toddler with free access to my bedside area, who likes to open my bedside table and rifle through it (a few awkward moments out of that. There is nothing in there now, nothing). So I guess, like a lot of things, my fondest dream will have to wait until my kid is grown up.

I'll get to you one day, Clown College. One day.

Does this dream mean I need a new uterus, or a new butt? Or possibly that I should be a little more clear when giving directions?

In my dream the other night, my friend wanted me to be with her while they performed a surgical procedure. In this procedure, a centipede was inserted into her open abdomen. This was a miraculous centipede, which, like maggots feasting on only dead flesh, would only eat the rotten parts of her uterus and then crawl out (presumably to take a nap).

I told her I would be with her, and hold her hand, but I couldn't watch because they were going to perform the same procedure on me and I didn't want to know what was going on down there.

Her centipede performed admirably. When they performed it on ME, they removed the surgical drapes to reveal that not only had the centipede eaten my entire uterus, but all the way clear through to my ass.

So then, obviously, I needed a new ass. They weren't going to replace my plumbing, but asked me what kind of rear end I wanted. I said, with typical wishy-washiness, "Oh, y'know, an ass. They're all the same."

Naturally I ended up with saggy mom-butt, rather than the glorious firm supermodel hiney I had envisioned.

I have no idea what this dream meant, or why I'm even sharing it with you, because now you're all picturing me with no ass.

Seriously, stop it.

Feel free to skip this one, really

A dream:

I am, secretly, part-owner of a spa salon. Keeping it a secret makes me feel like a super hero, but it's hard to make the staff listen to you.

I am trying to book a manicure, but the receptionist doesn't feel I should get it for free if SHE doesn't. I tell her she can have one free one a month. She turns up her nose.

Two, I say, two. And a waxing. I'm conscious that she's good at her job and we should probably keep her around.

Who ARE you, anyway? she demands.

The spa is decorated in an 'aquatic' theme. I rearrange the crabs that are part of the decor, but they are still alive and won't stay put. I feel like they are ungrateful - I brought them from my old job at Red Lobster.

(I've never worked at Red Lobster).

My manicure peels. It is too hot in the aquatic-themed spa, the boiler is working too hard. I try to take it up with the maintenance man, but he is hiding in the basement playing with dolls.

Quickly! He shouts. Don't let them in!

I throw myself at the front door just in time to stop them from entering. It's the What Not to Wear crew. I actually really want them to accost me, but in the dream I'm painfully fashionable and it would be admitting defeat.

It doesn't matter, because they're here for the ugly girls next door anyway.

Yeah, I don't get me, either. Interpret. Discuss amongst yourselves.

Dreamy suburban warfare: Random Tuesday Thoughts


I thought I'd center the button today. It feels weird and slightly dirty.

So, how's it going? Come here often? Yeah? Well everything you heard about me is a lie and you already know how this works.

New here? Really. Well how YOU doin'? Want to play some games?

Blog games! Blog games! Not any of that other weird shit. Here's how it works: You write a totally rambling and potentially incoherent post, you take that shiny purple button up there, and you use it to justify what would normally make your followers wander off in confusion. Then you leave your link with Mr. Linky and the rest of us can TRY to follow along! Bonus points if you manage to offend people!

No, not really. I made that last part up. Let's begin:

So I know I blog-threatened our house mouse last week, but then with the whole detox/cleanse thing and my son getting sick, I didn't really have time to wage full-out war. I put out a couple of token traps, just to let him know that I knew he was there. Which he promptly mocked by eating the peanut butter from without setting them off. And then, to add insult to injury, the little fucker waltzed across my living room Friday night while I was sitting on the couch, trapped under a sleeping toddler.

The next day, in between doing vomit laundry and providing a cushy surface on which my son could nap, I sealed up the hole under the sink that I suspected he was using to access the garbage. He got in anyway, and as if the chewed-up garbage bag weren't enough evidence, he left his fecal calling card on top of the garbage catcher. Oooohhhhh, he's got tiny steel ones, this boy.

So today, because it was a holiday and my son was feeling well enough to shoo out into the backyard with his father, I launched an assault. That mousey bastard screwed up by running in front of me - now I know his paths. I put traps in likely spots, baited with scant amounts of peanut butter, and removed every other food source I could find, including the garbage.

Good way to spend the long weekend, no? That one's for you, Queen Victrola - don't say Canadians never went to war on your behalf.

What? It's Queen Victoria?

Whatever. I had the day off.

I know a great big bunch of you are going to leave another comment about, "Cat! Get a fucking cat already!". I know, internets, I know. If you can explain to me how to do that without making my dog's head explode, that would be helpful. Dog brains are messy.

While I had the house a boy-free zone, I also broke out the cordless drill and put up some drapes that have been sitting there, mocking me, for months. Yesterday I hauled two dead trees out to the dumpster and did other yardwork. I feel all manly now. Like I should pop a woody and crack a cold one.

Um, no, okay. They were just fucking drapes.

This detox/cleanse thing has revived my bizarre dream life. I haven't had my good weird dreams (ie, no zombies) since pregnancy, and I missed them. They're a little more disjointed now, but last night I was doing shooters in a nightclub while buying teapots and Mexican dresses.

In my dream, I mean. Ahem. Really.

I had a salad, a couple of slivers of chicken, and some juice for dinner and I'm not hungry. That seems....just so fucking wrong.

Okay, now that I've thought about it I'm hungry. Whoops. I'm off to rustle up some celery sticks or something equally enticing. I bet you have some babbling to do - grab the button and make it happen!

Deep philisophical discussions

This is a Facebook chat I had with FoN the other night. I don't know what to write as an intro to this. Really, I'm just as appalled as the rest of you.

(Please come back)

FoN: I dreamt I killed Politika's cat
and then left the squished dead cat on their kitchen floor
Politika's Daughter found it and Politika was mad and asked me to leave
Do you think I have issues?

Well, clearly you don't like cats.

FoN: I do! My head is a weird place

Me: Do you? Do you REALLY?

FoN: I didn't kill the cat on purpose

Me: just left it there for Politika's Daughter to find?

FoN: Well, yeah. Actually, I forgot about it

Me: lol
So you're violent AND you have memory issues...

Whatever, I once had a dream that the end of the world was coming and people were killing their children humanely so they didn't have to suffer and I didn't have children so I just found one to kill. You were REALLY upset with me.

FoN: Yeah, I would take issues with that.

No killing babies.
Adopt that as your motto

Me: You were killing YOURS.

You just thought it shouldn't be my job since it wasn't mine.

Well, thats my right as their mother

Me: Yes, exactly.

See? My head is a weird place too.

FoN: That's OK. If it happens, I'll let you kill one of my children

Me: Aw, thanks. But I have one now. I wouldn't be missing out.

FoN: Well, I have three, so that would be two for you and two for me!

J is wondering what I'm laughing at

I'm not going to tell her

Me: lol probably wise

She'd always be wondering if I was sizing her up for killin'...

FoN: Especially since she has a friend over

Me: A boy? Way to scare off any potential man-friends

FoN: I just asked her and she would prefer you to kill her.

I'm not sure how I feel about that


FoN: Now her and her friend are dividing up their friends

As in, who gets to kill who

Me: omg, your child is just as warped as us

I feel terrible!!

FoN: Clearly. I'm not sure how I feel about that either

Me: I feel like I should blog this whole conversation.

Nobody would ever follow us again.

A new low

It finally happened. I'm having dreams about BLOGGING.

This usually happens to me when I've been obsessed spending a lot of time doing one thing. At the height of my City of Heroes superhero career, I dreamt at night about superjumping around the city, thwarting evil. Those were pretty good dreams.

Once I read the entire Diana Gabaldon Outlander series from start to finish. For two weeks I had some REALLY good dreams. Mmm, Scottish burrs and men in kilts.

When I was a waitress and pulling a lot of shifts, I'd have nightmares where my section was the size of a football field and people would be ordering really complicated drinks in a whisper while people at other tables impatiently flagged me down. Obviously, those were not fun dreams but every server has those dreams, so at least I could go to work and expect sympathy.

But dreaming about blogging? It's not like I can wake up and exclaim, "OMG! I just had this whacked out dream where savvysuzie posted something really funny but nobody commented and then barefootfoodie put me on her blogroll!". I mean, I've never been cool but - c'mon.

So, yeah. I think I need to play more Warhammer or something.

Plus, I woke up with ink in my ear

The other night I had a dream about which, upon waking, I thought: "That would make a great blog post" (yeah, I'm not right in the head). After which I thought, "I'll never remember that, I should write it down.". Followed swiftly by, "Of course I'll remember it, it's totally unforgettable. Must go back to sleep now, precious sleep.".

Well, duh. I forgot it.

So the following night I installed a pen and notepad on my nightstand. And the next morning I looked for my nocturnal brilliance to find:

NKOTB - tix!
underwater ninjas
(illegible scrawling)
Momdeath, crying. Bus

...yeah. So, that process needs work.

Does this make me weird?

Oh, right. So, the zombies. I should probably explain them.

I only ever have one type of nightmare - the zombie apocalypse nightmare. The locale changes, but it's always the 'Night of the Living Dead' scenario where I'm trying to keep them out with a hairbrush and a flimsy screen door. And running from them through conveniently-placed quicksand. You know the drill.

I've recently come to the conclusion that they represent the fear of being caught unprepared. It's not my only fear - spiders, ew - but it certainly encompasses a lot of them. Because you can prepare for floods, hurricanes, losing your job, death and dismemberment, but who the fuck prepares for zombies?? Being prepared is kind of how I function (yeah, that's right, I'm Batman). I can't leave the house without running through a bunch of different scenarios in my head, can't pack a bag without making sure every contingency is covered.

(Although, this is in complete opposition to the way I parent. I'm a study in contrasts).

So, zombies? Kind of my nemesis.
Although, if I were a less medicated person, I might have started preparing.

Be clear, dammit!

I had a dream the other night that I was standing on the top of a waterfall, and I was supposed to jump. All my friends and family were there encouraging me, and I was totally nervous (which is not usually my style, I'm normally the first one signing up to fling myself out of a perfectly good airplane). I stood there, my toes curled over the edge, and they yelled encouragements from below. Finally I made the leap, and landed in deep water with a really strong current. I struggled to swim to shore, and my friends and family swam out to help me.

This one seems pretty obvious. Right? Take The Plunge. Friends And Family Will Help.


Except, um, I don't know what the Plunge is. Seriously. I have no major upcoming challenges, no major stresses, nothing I have to make a risky decision about (which, itself, is kind of a problem. But I don't think that's what the dream was about. I wasn't, after all, going in search of waterfalls). So, what? WHAT? What is it I'm supposed to be all nervous about, exactly?

The subconscious is stupid. Why can't it just send an email?


So you're walking down a road. It's a red road, and you're with that guy you had a crush on in 7th grade. What was his name? Not my department. Anyway, you're heading into the bright sun and this neon blue butterfly cuts across your path.

See, it's a parable. Get it? The road is red because of your desire, and the guy from 7th grade represents unrequited love, and the Really? You don't get it?




Is that more clear? Great.

Just for that, I'm sending you another zombie nightmare.


Your subconscious