Francine had a dream in which I made an appearance. Apparently, I design toys now. Which is tres cool. Or at very least, far more cool than my real job, in which I tell people to reboot their machines all day long.
I’ve had many dreams about Diaryland. I’ve dreamt about going to a haunted house with Chauffi but not now, back when we were in high school, although he would have been like a freshman and I would have been a senior and wouldn’t have even looked twice at him, being that I only dug older guys (and still do, actually. Esteban is just aberration in that whole scheme of things.) It was a nice dream and I’d like to think, age-ism thing aside, that Chauffi and I would have entertained each other to no end on a high school-esque date. We would have probably snarked about the other people in our group, since I believe it was a group date thing in that dream. And oddly, he looks very similiar to the way I dreamt him, although far more blonde and Aryan, but otherwise spot on.
Another time, I dreamt that I had six alternate diaries that I needed to update, each with their own sets of psuedonyms for various people. Esteban was Pepe in one diary, Gunther in another one (which actually is one of the names I call him in real life), and Oswald in a third. Or fourth, since he’s got a psuede in this one already, as those of you who participated in the Holiday Card Exchange ’01 already know. (I felt it silly to sign our pseudonyms after awhile… if I’m sending a person a holiday card, then there’s no need for subterfuge). This dream was more of a nightmare, and it is beginning to come true, as more and more people in my life find out about this thing and I can no longer talk about them. Currently, there’s a decent balance, but it’s probably only a matter of time before something explodes.
Last week, I had a dream that my great grandmother married Ronald Reagan in 1976. My grandmother wasn’t the smartest or the best bred person in the world but she made Ronnie a fine wife. Ronnie’s advisors (we didn’t call him Grandpa, we called him Ronnie) decided that in order to make it to the White House, he needed a different First Lady, so they had Ronnie’s second wife, Nancy, pose as his wife, which she was excited to do, as her acting career had been in the toilet. And it gave her ample opportunity to consult with celebrity astrologers. Also, she was able to score some primo drugs and then covered it all with that Just Say No crap. And in this dream, I wrote about my step-great grandfather Ronald Reagan in this diary and everyone said “Nah-uh! Nancy Reagan is married to Ronald Reagan!” so I had to prove it with carefully researched exposes out on the internet. Of course, my grandmother is dead now, which is why Nancy takes care of Ronnie. It all made sense in the dream. It was bizarre. I think I made that connection because they both had/have Alzheimer’s Disease and my great grandmother really really loved Ronald Reagan. He was second only to JFK in her book. It was kind of scary, actually.
Yesterday I made a striking realization as Esteban and I were shopping for his fancy schmancy dress up clothes: my pants are too big now. Cool. Seriously. Way too big. I need to go down a size. How damn cool is that shiznit?
I celebrated by making a batch of Ghiradelli chocolate chip cookies. My college advisor told me that I am afraid of success and am guilty of self-sabotage. Seriously. I don’t know where he got that.
Esteban’s ass turned the toilet seat blue again. Now I have to buy a new toilet seat. I should just make life easier and buy one that is already blue. Do other people have these weird problems, or just me?
Oh, you want to get some serious Google hits? Put the words “Ty Pennington” on your page. Them MoFos come rolling in for a little Ty Pennington action. If you pair it up with “Allyson Hannigan”, you might just blow up the internet.
