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Kitchen Sink

Ask. And You Shall Receive.

February 19th, 2008

oprahdream.jpg
Straight from my dream brain to you.

 

I really wanted to blog last night. But I drew a blank, so I began to talk about mucous again, which happens when I’m nervous.

 

I fortunately threw that post to the curb and took to a fitful sleep.

 

The Universe must have taken pity on me, because I had the weirdest dreams ever, giving me something way more freaky to blog about than mucous. (Depending on the mucous.)

 

I shook myself out of bed, lolled to the kitchen and made myself write down the dream. It was dark, and I was tired and then, I think I fell asleep in the sink.

 

These are the dreams.

 

So I’m getting ready for book club and I have prepared all kinds of delicious snacks, like wasabi peas, which I’ve placed in bowls on tables throughout my house, a house which inexplicably turns into a Chili’s restaurant. Suddenly, Oprah’s entourage pulls up into my/Chili’s garage and she, resplendent in green, steps out of an Escalade. She’s looking for me, and I think, “maybe this is one of her surprise book club visits?” and we settle in for a chat.

 

She’s eating those peas the whole time, which I found distracting, but still, we had a nice conversation about African American rights and how when she shops they don’t close the whole store for her and she gets hot flashes. She told me how she went to the Container Store the other day and I say knowingly,”Oh, to buy things for organization?” And she’s impressed. Then, she tells me she also bought a truck and stuff for the nursery.

 

My book club friends are getting jealous now, because Oprah doesn’t want to talk to them, only me, about how I went to Sao Paulo that one time and about the baby.

 

The conversation soon ends and she departs, clutching a handful of wasabi peas.

 

 

Now, I’m on a snowy mountain road driving in a car with my sister. I’m pretty pissed because she got out of the car and I look back, and see it careening wildly behind us. Apparently, I had gotten out of the car with her. So, I’m reading her the riot act, really laying into her. “Why couldn’t you just stay in the car?” I yell.

 

She doesn’t have a good answer, which really gets to me. And now we’re majorly screwed because we’ve picked up speed on this road and are flip flopping everywhere and I guess since we’re not in a vehicle, we’re just sliding on our butts the whole way?

 

Finally, finally, we coast into an Exxon station. After that, I ride my daughter’s Dora bike the rest of the way home.

 

Screw my sister. She can find her own transportation.

 

On March 19th, 2008, sandiegomomma.com » Blog Archive » Like Medusa, But With Mucous. said:

[…] I couldn’t help it. « « Preschool Follies    |     Leave a […]

On March 10th, 2009, foolery said:

See, this is why I never tell anyone my dreams — because my dreams don’t make sense like yours do!

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