Friday, June 27, 2008

Not Dreamy ...

This is what I get for going to bed early: weird dreams.

Like the one last night in which I drove to Alsip (don't ask me why brain wanted to me know that my dream was located in Alsip) to go to a funeral.

Except that I don't know who the funeral was for.

And except that the funeral was in a place that bore a striking resemblance to a shopping mall, which I was aware of in my dream because I had to walk through most of the mall to get to the funeral location.

When I arrived at the funeral location, it was really more of a holding area outside of a series of hallways. Picture an indoor cul-de-sac with hallways spoking off the common area.

Now picture that the common area contained a collection of bar-height tables and chairs. And televisions. And a source of alcohol. But everything was beige. Like a sports bar in a hospital. With bad florescent lighting.

Now picture that in addition to the tables and chairs, there was a wall of bleachers. Just a few rows.

Got all that? OK.

So I sat down on the bleachers and a guy with whom I went to high school (in real life) and with whom I once had a date, long after high school (in real life), appeared and leaned over to place a very quick, light peck on the lips of the person sitting next to me (who may have been my friend Kelley), and then leaned over and pressed his lips against mine ... and held them there.

For a long time.

Which made me whisper, mid-kiss, "This isn't appropriate. We're at a funeral."

So he stopped. And disappeared. And then my cell phone buzzed.

So I answered it and it was him, saying he needed to talk to me at some point. I suggested that we talk right then, as we were all just waiting for the funeral to begin, and he said, "No, 11:30."

Yeah, like at night. Long funeral, I guess.

The whole time, I was trying to be discreet and talk quietly, but Maybe Kelley kept a rather stern look trained on me.

Apparently, some people aren't down with hooking up at funerals.

In my dream, I presumed that the guy on the phone wanted to tell me that he'd gotten divorced. Not that it would have mattered to me. In my dream, or in real life.

At that point, though, it was time to file into our room, but now we were no longer there for a funeral.

We were there for a wedding reception.

All righty, then.

In Room 5, in case you were wondering.

So me and Maybe Kelley started to follow a woman down one of the hallways and she ducked into a room on the right, even though we're meant to be going into the room on the left, and we went through the room (which looked rather like a carpeted classroom) and out a door on the other side and back up a hallway and into another room where I encountered a hideous green dress on a dress form.

The dress was drab-olive taffeta. Strapless. Knee-length. The front was decorated with gold braid and thin burgundy marabou trim. All rather crudely applied.

This dress was to be worn – along with gold Christmas tree earrings – by my mother.

Apparently, she was part of the wedding party.

She had also followed us into the room, and was staring at the dress with a look that said, "There's not a chance in hell."

But at that point, we realized someone in the room had died, so donning the olive dress would have been inappropriate.

And I suppose the wedding reception was about to morph into a funeral after all.

And I never did talk to the guy.

But later I was hiding out in a car with Sean Penn. He was driving. I was ducked down in the back seat, trying not to be seen. But that's another blog post for another day.


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