Roomie and I stood at our kitchen counter going through our morning vitamin/pill ritual.
"So," I said. "I had this dream last night."
She turned around. "I had *crazy* dreams last night, too! But - you first."
"So I'm living in New York - "
"Just you?"
"Just me."
"And was this after the cocktail party?" Roomie makes fun of me and my dreams because, in them, I am always at a party. I cannot help that my subconscious makes me out to be Holly Golightly.
"Yes," I said. "And then Al Pacino stopped by to say hello." Yes, celebrities often made an appearance in my dreams. "Anyway, I'm living in New York. My sister and her family are coming out for a visit. They are bringing with them a Filipino surfer guy and his sister. Who are these people? I have no idea. But, apparently, I have a big enough apartment for all of them.
"Anyway, they arrive and the Filipino surfer dude says to me, 'Hey, I think I know someone who knows you and he's going to be here in New York for a thing and it would be great to see him, so is it ok if he stops by so we can play XBox?'"
Roomie interrupts. "I love how the guys in your dreams all talk like girls."
"They do, don't they?"
"They're so chatty."
"So I like my guys girly. Anyway, I say to Filipino surfer guy 'I can't think of who I know that you know but ok. Whatever.'
"The guy comes by, I open the door and GUESS who it is? It's B-! I'm like, 'What the fuck?!' He's all like, 'What the fuck?!' and all I can think of is how totally random my life is, how it's filled with these crazy, weird coincidences that make me nuts.
"My sister and her family go sightseeing and I'm left in the apartment with Filipino surfer guy and B-. B-, of course, is quiet. I'm just hanging out at the back of the apartment wondering how the hell this just happened. Then, suddenly, a masked intruder breaks into the apartment and KILLS B-! He shoots him in the head! I'm all 'What the hell? They killed B-!' Filipino surfer guy is totally traumatized and he's like, 'That was totally unneccessary and harsh!'
"My sister and her husband get back from sightseeing and are absolutely horrified. All they can say is how glad they were the kids weren't home to see this. Filipino surfer guy and I are sitting on the curb, smoking cigarettes while we watch the crime scene team do their thing and roll out B-'s body under a sheet. Heh."
Roomie said, "And you laugh. You are so twisted. I shudder at the thought of whatever psychotic break you'll have when you're tanked up on pain meds after your surgery."
I ignored her. "Anyway, Filipino surfer guy is really broken up about it and he's like, 'But you...you guys were a thing. How are you?' And I have to admit that there's shock that this crazy random crap keeps happening to me, but I'm not that broken up about it. And then it's like that skit at the Second City Show, where the guy tries to cry but can't? Yeah, I'm like that. I'm unh-unh, trying to cry and I got nothin'. And that's when I wake up."
Roomie just stared at me. I smiled.
Then she said, "This was my dream. I'm waiting to pick you you up at work. You come out and you have a dead body with you. What the fuck? You sort of roll it on the ground in front of Corner Bakery and you say, "You have to help me get rid of the body." And you're dressed in high heels and looking girly and I'm still, What the fuck? Who is he? You keep telling me he's just some guy from a meeting; all I can see is this shock of white hair. But you, of course, can't lift him into the trunk. And there are people all around! No one notices this! Some firemen come by and wanna know if you need assistance and you’re waving at them and saying ‘Hi!’ and just flirting with everyone, pissing me off, and so I just get grr! And lift the dead guy over my shoulder and dump him in the trunk. He flips over and GUESS who it is?”
I was agog. “Who? Bill Clinton?”
“It was B-!”
To say that I laughed my ass off would not convey just how hilarious I thought this was.
7 comments:
Ha!
I dreamed that I was out of town and staying in Barbara Bush's big old brick house atop a hill. All the furnishings were old, and all the room-sized rugs looked to be about 60 years old. But imperious bat Mrs. Bush declared that I was ruining the carpet in the room I was staying in, which I so was not because they were all threadbare around the edges anyway. So she kicked me out in the evening. I said, "Well, if I go to the airport at this hour, there won't be any flights. Why don't I just stay the night, and I'll leave first thing in the morning?" "No! I want you out of my house now!"
She's so mean. And I'm so nice, I didn't even kill her in my dream. 100% corpse-free dreaming!
heh. First Lady Barbara Bush becomes Crazy Lady Barbara Bush living on a hill. i can see that.
(technically, 'i' did not kill B-, either. it was the masked intruder.)
I'm laughing outloud, right now and had to close my office door because I cannot be seen having too much fun at my desk.
it *is* funny, isn't it?
i replayed this exchange all the way to work and i couldn't stop smiling.
good times.
When did this blog become a Dixie Chick video? My God, I'm still trying to get over "lasagna of tension."
Speaking of tension lasagna, my haiku festival is falling flat. I'm going to start writing some under fake names.
it's a B- story! i always tell stories about B-!
i posted a very nice imperfect haiku on your site. i feel miffed.
Ding, so far you're the only contributor to my festival. So, apart from your contribution, which, might I say, is a pillar of literature, my festival is falling flat.
Tonight, I hope you dream of your next boyfriend. Manfriend. Sexobject.
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