Friday, April 17, 2009

Dream Weaver

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You've been gone too long in the midnight seaaaaa.

Oh wait, that was Holy Diver not Dream Weaver.

At any rate, I woke up groggy and in need of the only thing that gets me going in the morning when my girlfriend is still asleep. Diet Mt. Dew from the can. Oh, sweet nectar of the non-alcoholic gods, how I cherish thee. You see, my girlfriend needs special coffees with things like pumpkin spice crystals, gingerbread shavings, or juju-berry essence. All organically grown from the farthest reaches of the earth and brought to the Americas on bamboo rafts by people who smell of patchouli. The ingredients, hand-ground by the types of women normally seen in National Geographic and mixed by baristas who have lived no less than six months with Shaolin Monks. The cups are recycled by ninjas only and swirling sticks are whittled to specifications by the grizzled mountain men of Appalachia. It's the kind of thing you can't buy in the grocery store (Because it doesn't taste the same) or make at home without a $400 espresso machine, brawn, and eye of newt. I just need a Diet Mt. Dew from the can.

We used to have to go get coffee for her each morning when she was in town. This was absolutely brutal during the winter. In fact, because I'm such a great guy I bought her an espresso machine a while back so she wouldn't have to walk outside in the cold each morning when I wasn't there. She hates the cold as much as she loves her lattes. The bonus, of course, was we didn't have to go when I was there visiting. Here was always a different story. But now that she lives here with her espresso machine mere strides from our bedroom, there is only one remaining frustration I have in the morning hours.

Having interesting dreams cut short by my alarm.

Normally I remember a little bit of my dreams when I arise. It's not always the bulk of my dream, and I certainly don't have crystal clear memory of them all the time, but I dream every night and usually have a clue about what was happening. What absolutely kills me is when my mind concocts a story for the ages but purposely back-fills the story with all the good stuff so my alarm goes off just as I'm getting to the payoff. It seems to happen with crazy regularity.

It sucks not to know if the BoyGenius was able to successfully trap the mini-elephant before it further destroyed my room in the basement of my elementary school.

What? Exactly.

Don't ask why I was living in the basement of the elementary. It's a long story and let's just leave it at this: I didn't do anything to the meat in the sloppy joes and everything would have been fine if Mrs. Satterfield hadn't seduced me. But again, that's not the important part. What happened to Captain Torso, my mini-elephant who flipped and began rampaging through my school which for some reason was now also my home?

Do you know how hard it is to get moving in the morning with so many unanswered questions? It would be like only watching up until the moment you were about to find out who Kasier Sose was and then shutting it off. Over and over and over.

The other night?

Why could Elizabeth fly?

How come she morphed into a giant Care Bear that attacked me in a sporting goods store also designed for giants? Thankfully I was small enough to hide from her and her other ginormous Care Bear friends, but what happened after that? Did I find a way to kill her? Because she was clearly going to stop at nothing to see me dead. And why was she only going to kill me by GCBPS (Giant Care Bear Paw Suffocation) and not by using one of the guns I saw her wearing around her waist?

Have you ever been attacked by a giant Care Bear version of your girlfriend wearing the outfit of a bandolero? Didn't think so. Let me tell you, it's pretty fucking scary.

And let's not even bring up the many frustrating instances where my subconscious decides to interrupt the start of sex just long enough in my dreams that my alarm sounds before it's (Using the official medical term) "Go Time!"

It's a basic dream formula that breaks down as such:

- Girl I want to have sex with is all up on my shit
- Girl and I interact with other people in my dream for a bit
- Girl and I head to a bedroom
- A friend is in the room and inadvertently cock-blocks me
- We hang out for a few
- A mini-elephant tramples through the room, destroying everything
- We find another room
- Bed is gross
- Leave in search of another, more classy room
- Can't find one
- Evil Giant Care Bear girlfriend flies by the window
- Alarm goes off

You probably have the same problems, I'm sure.

I guess I should get used to it. It's been happening for so long now I suppose I know it's coming. And I guess it's saved me a few times as well. It's no secret that the occasional fatty or mongloid somehow finds themselves in the enviable position directly in front of my thrice confirmed huge junk. In these cases my alarm has become invaluable.

Unfortunately, at the 2005 Bash at the Boathouse there would be no alarms. At least not until I woke up and was astonished (Dare I say...Alarmed) to finally see what the girl I'd been courting all drunken weekend actually looked like.

Let's just say I couldn't have weaved a dream that scary if I'd tried.

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