Ξ October 10th, 2009 | → 7 Comments | ∇ ramblings |
I usually have vivid and intense dreams. Often I will wake up mad at a friend who has wronged me or done something stupid in one of my dreams. Several times I have had my pillow soaked from my tears when I woke up sobbing due to a powerfully sad dream. In my dreams the colors and smells are so real, events are powerful, even if often the dreams are completely bizarre!
Last night was no different.
From my home I decided to walk to another neighborhood. For some unknown reason I made sure to find a grocery cart to take with me. As I was walking the hilly streets and up into the next neighborhood, leaning forward in an effort to allow the grocery cart to keep me from falling totally forward, huffing and puffing from the uphill struggle, I heard sirens. The perfect, classic Ford Model T pulled over so the other two cars kept going. As the police car slid in behind the Ford I realized there was a problem. I got as close to the wall on my left and kept walking slowly, fascinated by the fact that the driver had jumped out and had started running. The cop hollered something about not letting him get away so I stepped into the street, about to do my best Troyus (Troy Polamalu, strong safety for my Pittsburgh Steelers) impression and tackle the shit outta him when Andre the Giant stepped forward and did a move I have never seen before. Something like standing still with his arms out at his sides, like a a giant cross, then stepping forward towards the runner only to bring both of those massive tree trunk arms quickly in to chop the runner in the neck, lift him up several feet off of the ground before dropping him. I was in awe.
Until the (alleged!) bad guy got up and started looking for those who wanted to help the police. Leaving the grocery cart behind I quickly made my way down the street, taking a left onto an old fashioned street. It was easy to duck into a doorway, along with another one of the guys who had considered helping the police. When we saw the bad guy coming towards us we started kissing, pretending to be two lovers caught up in each other, regardless of our surroundings.
It worked. When the Ford driver was past us I left, walking further down the street until I found a covered bridge / barn. The hay on the floor rolled under my tennis shoes and even though I was slipping and sliding a bit, for some reason I felt stable and knew I wouldn’t fall down. Droves of people started filling the space and I didn’t want to be there any more so I made my way out and further down the street.
The next thing I remember is standing at the bank of three small elevators, waiting for our group to be able to fit on one. (I have no idea why I went from being alone to having a bunch of folks with me.) It was a mad scramble when elevator doors opened and lots of foreigners tried to push on. (Right about here I realized I was out of the country and these folks were not foreign, I was!) After a few missed elevator rides due to rude fuckers, I started flirting with the two massive men to my right. Most folks seemed to be afraid of them because they were bald and black, but they joked back with me and the chemistry between me and the one was unmistakable. We all got on the next elevator, packed in like sardines, but since I was smashed up against the cute big bald guy, I was happy. Until the doors wouldn’t close and some angry French chef was insistent that we get off of the service elevator. Dammit!
Everyone piled off and I was looking at the sign to where we were going. It was in Dutch. From the photos it was easy to see that there were several things that the elevator could take us to, the most exciting to me was the amusement park and the Sea World type place. Oh how I wanted to go ride the roller coasters so I convinced the group that we needed to find stairs and walk, regardless of the distance.
Next thing I remember is being in a Renaissance Fair type setting and the feeling of disappointment with not finding a roller coaster. Someone tried to convince me to get on a Ferris Wheel, yet I had no desire. Until I looked over and realized that it was made of flowers. The beauty was unmistakable and I was drawn to it, even if it was French (yes, I am not a fan of the country). Problem was the thing never stopped, we just sort of jumped on. The whole group was seated, but none of us were buckled in. Right about the time we were considering how to strap the safety belts the Wheel left its base and started rolling. There was no time to be scared because the view was spectacular and only got better when we went over the edge of the Grand Canyon. (Except it was not all rocks like the real Grand Canyon, there were flowers everywhere, a lush and magnificent color filled space.) Spectacular doesn’t begin to describe the richness of colors and the feel of the fresh air rushing by as we were rolling along. I wrapped my arms around the bars and held on tight as the Wheel went upside down. That view blew my mind! Fortunately I had no problem staying in my seat as we rolled down into the canyon. (Right about here it should be noted that Britt was the happiest I have ever seen her on that Ferris Wheel.)
Next thing I remember was walking down a street with a strong desire to photograph the old stone buildings, but being without a camera. Since my phone has a camera I tried to snap a few pictures, but Britt was getting angry that I was holding the group back. The group was waiting at a bus stop when I arrived and it made my heart sing to see my Mom with the group. I asked if text messages from another country were as expensive as calls from another country because I needed to send Dave (you know, Dave2 from Blogography) a photo of pooferflargen.
The bus never came. We didn’t have money anyhow. I set off to explore some more and the group followed. My cousin Sarah dropped her iphone so she couldn’t take pictures anymore, which meant I was the only one stopping often to look through the crapped lens of a phone. There was the most beautiful church which had a shrine outside that caught my attention. I was reading what little I could (damn foreign languages in foreign countries!)…which means all I could make out was the last name of the famous Freudeitche (the famous psychiatrist / philosopher Freud / Nietzsche??!?!). Being in his presence overwhelmed me. I was so happy and content. And consumed with capturing the perfect photo of the shrine. So everyone left. Surprisingly, I didn’t care. Besides, I knew I could catch up.
Eventually I drug myself away from Freudeitche and headed towards where the group had gone. I picked up my pace and still couldn’t find them. Turns out it was cool because Cinderella had come back looking for me. Yay, Cinde! She led me to the apartment. Not just any apartment, the casa of the one and only Dutch Bitch!
Dutchy’s place was adorable and filled with lots of fun treasures. Plus, she fed us the most delicious spaghetti that I have ever had the pleasure of consuming. From all the walking we were famished and Dutchy was mortified that she ran out of spaghetti. One would think the guests would have been upset that they ate the host out of all of her food, but not us. We were full and happy. Even if my Mom was using her left hand to serve the spaghetti to everyone.
I don’t remember much more than that.
Probably a good thing…