Slowly.

Lose a sock...gain a penny. It's like the slot machines in Vegas.

You know...it's been a while since I displayed that, while I'm goofy, quirky, and somewhat amusing in 'real' life, I am beyond the realm of reason and understanding when I'm asleep. I offer you the following dream I had recently. Feel free to say a silent prayer for my husband since he has to deal with me ALL THE TIME.

So...the dream:

I found myself in the back seat of an SUV with several other people. We're driving through a large neighborhood on a sunny day. I look over to my right and see, sitting next to me, Mr. Drummond (that's right...of 'Different Strokes' fame) and become excited. I gleefully ask, in a voice that is too loud for my age: "*gasp* are we...are we going to...BINGO????" and I am met with replies in the affirmative. I begin bouncing in my seat and clapping, because I L-O-V-E Bingo!!

It is then that I look out the windshield and see a man perched on the hood of the SUV (again you are correct in your thoughts; the SUV IS, in fact, moving.) This man is slightly bald, with the sun gleaming off his blank and shiny head. His chin is propped in his hand and he is looking rather amused, watching all of us on the inside of the car. I ask if that is my father. Again, I am met with agreement. I ponder for a moment what a goofball dad is. As we round a corner, we are forced to slow down, as there are about 50 children playing out in the street. Curiously, all the children are of middle eastern descent. We attempt to navigate through them; our only choice, seeing as how they refuse to move, despite our honking and my father's action of waving his hand forcefully through the air - the motion that tells people, in any language, to 'Get the Hell Out of the Way!!', they apparently have not been schooled in Sign Language of Bald Men Riding Atop Cars and continue playing. As we are weaving in and out of children, we are forced at one point to drive up onto the curb to avoid a small girl on a bicycle. Unfortunately, this is dumb. The car flips and I am thrown from the car. While lazily flying through the air, I wonder if the impact that is about to occur between my body and the pavement will cause me to miscarry. Funny, considering I am so VERY not pregnant. I land with an "Oomph!" and immediately ignore my injuries and those of Mr. Drummond and my other companions and scramble to see if Girl on Bike is okay. Don't go thinking I'm noble or anything, because as I'm crawling to her, I am aware that my checking on her is so wildly noble and aren't I just a great gal? And won't people be so impressed that I ignored my own --quite possibly fatal and certainly tragic and painful-- injuries to tend to the children. Yeah. That tends to negate nobility...the knowledge of it and all.

I reach her, and see that she is crumpled, twisted, and bloody, lying beneath her bike. Her eyes are open, implying death. But I begin speaking to her and she responds. She begins untwisting her body and she appears fine. Nobody called an ambulance and Mr. Drummond was apparently in a large hurry, because he left the scene...can't be late for bingo, now, can ya?? Jerk.

I didn't know this girl or her family, but I took her home with the intention of tucking her into bed (please...stop asking unanswerable questions...we go through this EVERY TIME.) I had trouble with her, though, because her family had just moved in and hadn't set up her bed properly. The family was obviously well to do. I was able to determine this by seeing that she didn't have the standard 1 mattress/1 box spring that most people have. No, no...she had EIGHT mattresses, and all of them were just thrown willy-nilly on the frame. So I'm trying to hold her, while tossing mattresses about, attempting to create comfort.

At this point, we hear her father screaming from downstairs, in a high state of piss-off that his daughter isn't asleep yet. He doesn't know that I am here, and I fear that he will get the wrong idea, so I decide to toss her onto the bed, make her pretend to be sleeping and run to hide in her closet; however, when I get there, I see that (as all rich people do) she has a miniature closet that was created for her height..no reaching for missy! Nuh-uh! Her closet is chock full of frilly dresses and I realize that I cannot fit behind the clothes to hide. As the father walks into the room, I realize that he will see me, and things will turn from bad to worse if he sees some strange and bloody woman hiding (and badly, at that) in his daughter's closet. So I decide it would behoove me to make an appearance. So, naturally, I take a few of the child's dresses and place them on my head. Duh, who wouldn't?? And I burst out of the closet yelling "SurrrrpIIIIIIse!!!"

And he was.

He jumped and cocked his head sideways...in the universal "Whaddafuhh??" head tilt. He processed me, a stranger, in his daughter's room...notices the blood...all of it, and realized that he was happy to see me. He grinned. He laughed. His eyes twinkled, and I was certain he was happy. So happy, in fact, that he knocked me out.

And I woke up.

And I'm so very, very tired. But the blood is gone, and my jaw doesn't hurt, the angry man and the untwisted child are nowhere to be seen, and I didn't miscarry my nonexistent child, so Yay!

Someone Arrived Here Searching For:

signs the movie door knob

cat poop on pavement

fries alarm in car [today's show is apparently sponsored by schizophrenic code words from the aliens and/or the CIA. Happy hunting!]

why do me masturbate while wearing pantyhose

growing boobs fetish

cocklicker [asshole. Your turn!]

does leptoprin cause yeast infections?

american free girls bitch

only tits ass and pusy.com

american indian granny nude

dumbass celebrities

************************************************************

Search WWW Search AmericanAngst.com