Sweet Dreams Are NOT Made Of These! (Who Are You To Disagree?)

One week has already trickled past since my triumphant return from the great Colorado Bloggy Sistah Expedition of 2007. I didn't mention it before-hand while writing up all the details of our weekend hootenanny, but I experienced a strangely vivid dream about traveling to Colorado an entire week before Annie and Carrie called to invite me. Yes, I really did. I woke up snickering and thinking, "That's crazy. I never go anywhere, let alone dropping all my responsibilities to jet off to a state I've never been to, to meet women I've never met before." Eerily enough, true to the consistently pre-cognitive nature of my night time visions, things materialized in real life as they had unfolded in the dream.

Stephenie Meyer, author of the phenomenal Twilight Trilogy, wrote the first book based solely on a dream she had. Encouraged, I thought, "If only I could just concentrate and remember the stuff in my dreams with more detail, then maybe I can sell a lot of books and make a lot of money too."
It's disturbing, but I can't seem to stop dreaming about all my new blog friends turned real life friends. It's starting to creep me out. For instance, last night I dreamed of the whole lot of us taking a hay ride, pulled by a tractor, through a small town. It stopped at a little shopping mall and we all piled out to go inside. I noticed the three screen movie theater immediately and noted that the marquee showed movies entitled 'Infidel 1,' Infidel 2', and 'Infidel 3.' I excitedly remarked to NCS that I didn't know there was an Infidel movie series. Then Annie, NCS, and I wandered into a shop that specialized in Mexican candies and treats, and one whole wall exhibited an astonishingly colossal assortment of cotton candy flavors. We walked over and saw they had Golden Turkey Cotton Candy, which was sold out, and Carrot Cotton Candy. I'm assuming that the Carrot Cotton Candy tasted like a vegetable and not, in fact, like Carrot Jello. Earlier in the week, I dreamt of Carrie and the gang all gathered together at the hotel when a suspicious looking fellow with a large metal hook for a hand checked in. Later that night, I nervously asked Carrie if that was such a good idea to let him stay there and she erupted with a mischievous chuckle as she told me that she switched his hook hand for a harmless plastic hanger. Relieved, I went to sleep, only to wake up to blood-curdling screams as the man desperately tried to make Carrie part of his hook-handed urban legend, but was instead slashing the air with his new plastic hanger appendage in futile frustration.

It scared the crap out of me. My kids broke out laughing when I told them about it. My kids are weird.So there you have it. What say you? Do you think I can transform stomach-churning Cotton Candy flavors and tales of plastic hanger-handed serial killers into a best-selling literary series? Can I count on your support?

I Scream, You Scream, We all Scream For...... Professional Screamers?

Long have I wandered aimlessly down an often confusing life path fraught with perils and disappointment to find an optimal career that will bring me happiness along with mountains of untold riches. At one time I felt a strong determination to work towards eradicating the dreaded 'Third Boob' Syndrome that busty women like myself suffer from inferior bras neglecting their lift and separate duties. My interest waned and I moved on to devising unique recipes involving SPAM in hopes of getting a sweet SPAM cookbook publishing deal. Apparently, someone already thought of SPAM cupcakes and I realized that perhaps this profession had reached a point of saturation. Oh what to do, what to do? Surely my destiny in life doesn't revolve around throwing newspapers for an eternity, does it?

Inspiration smacked me upside my addled head last week while listening to my new favorite group, Dutch Goth Rock band, Within Temptation. Their music usually retains a lush folklore-ish feel to it as the gorgeous Sharon den Adel bursts forth with soaring angelic vocals that make you feel as though you turned a wrong corner somewhere and ended up lost in a J.R.R. Tolkien landscape. Well, they've taken a different direction with the recently released CD 'The Heart Of Everything.' The first big track 'What Have You Done Now?' pairs up lovely and demure, Sharon, with an obnoxious guy who yells at her through the entirety of the song. And then, it hit me......

I've mothered children for 12 years now. Needless to say, I've honed and elevated the ancient art of screaming to all new heights. Upon further contemplation I realized that without their potent screamer, would Linkin Park have risen to the top of the charts? Where would Evanescence's career have gone without their screamer guy backing up Amy Lee in the huge breakout hit, 'Bring Me To Life?' Yes, the world of rock needs people with mad screamer skillz, and I got em!

I aspire to becoming the most sought after guest screamer the world has ever known. I'm envisioning bands far and wide begging me to collaborate with them to give their song the extra scream-tinged oomph that only a specially trained screamer like myself can bring. Maybe I'll even take my vociferous talents mainstream. Ah, yes, I'm mentally picturing the glowing marquee now...........THE MORMON TABERNACLE CHOIR FEATURING SPECIAL GUEST SCREAMER ELASTICWAISTBANDLADY LIVE AND IN PERSON FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY! I wonder if special guest screamer people get crowds of adoring screaming fans? That might feel threatening like they're competitively trying to edge me out of my chosen screamer profession. I'll definitely have to impose strict contractual vows of silence as a requisite for all concert ticket sales.

Truly, I've heard people often remark that I'm "such a scream," my entire life. It's time to turn my irascible quirks into a profitable venture!

Sunbum adores Within Temptation's beautifully epic song, Angels, the most, but I'm more partial to the fabulous story telling properties of Stand My Ground. I declare them to be Holland's greatest national treasure. Well, aside from the whole tulip and wooden clog thing. I do love my clogs, just not of the toilet variety.

Wooooooo Dream Weaver, I Believe You Can Get Me Through The Night!

Listen, Dream Weaver guy, Gary Wright, or whatever your name is, I work during the night. I don't need you to get me through the night, or to reach the morning light. I really only need you to get me through a few hours of peaceful slumber without the constant interruption of weird dreams. That should fall within the realm of possibility for an omnipotent Dream Weaver, right? Just please, lay off the psychotropic drug use, Dream Weaver, and spin me something other than the bizarro world you've infiltrated my sleep with lately. Whatever happened to the Dream Weaver work ethic? Why don't you provide me with some useful dreams, like winning lottery numbers, or how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop? The shorter the amount of time I have for laying my butt in bed, the more calm and restful it should feel. And yet, I'm constantly waking up exhausted with a sopping wet, slobbery pillow in the wee hours of the morning.
I swear that TV station owners back in the early 1980's, had to sign a contractual clause stipulating that they would agree to show constant repeats of the 1978 comedy farce, 'Foul Play,' every night of the week. And show it non-stop they did! I mean, movies with midgets, Dudley Moore, and a psycho albino killer just makes for good cinematic fun. But, it wears a little thin by the the umpteenth time you've sat through it because you're too lazy to find the remote to turn it off.

So, last night I dreamed that I received the honor of meeting his Holy Grace, The Pope. Yeah, Pope Benedict XVI himself, rocking the robe and beanie cap look to the max. Instead of his traditional white robes, though, he appeared dressed in a very stylish black and red gown ensemble. I reverently knelt before him upon our introduction, and then proceeded to engage in enlightened conversation, wherein the talk turned to matters of entertainment. I vividly recall that I started chuckling and enthusiastically told the Pope, "Hey, that's just like the movie, 'Foul Play.'" The Pope looked at me quizzically saying, "My child, I'm not familiar with that particular film." I gave him a buddy slap on the arm and said, "Yeah, you know, the Chevy Chase movie about a plot to assassinate the Pope. It was soooo funny!" Then security abruptly swooped in, whisking the Pope away from me. Obviously, the papal security team knew that a potential threat lie in anyone who would reference a lame Chevy Chase movie.

A lot of my dreams have a precognitive quality to them, and they often come to fruition. I've made a mental note to myself that if I'm ever to meet the Pope, I will not bring up the subject of 'Foul Play.' No, I'll keep to safe topics like 'The DaVinci Code,' or maybe the vast complexities of that TV show, 'The Flying Nun.'