What Dreams May Come

A couple of months ago, I had this incredibly vivid dream about zombies. It was easy to figure out why....Shaun of the Dead had been on TV a lot, and I pretty much can't not watch it when it happens to be on. Still.

I was in my own neighborhood (with the obvious "dream" variations) with my family, friends and coworkers (at different points), and we were collectively attempting to escape via the normal escape-from-zombies channels. At one point, I am alone and cross a street to the opposite sidewalk. The sidewalk is garnished by some tall shrubbery from which two zombies suddenly emerge. I felt brave, for you see, I had crossed the street with a nice, big baseball bat in my clutches. I was gonna knock this sort of dead bastard's brain in.

I go in for the hit. And again. And again. His eyes do this kind of old school video game thing where the giant black pupils shrink to almost nothing. I know that if they disappear all together, he's a goner. But they don't...they start to shrink, but come back again. What the hell? I check my weapon to find that it's no longer a bat, but a plastic comb. The same one I use in the (waking) mornings to untangle my hair. I'm toast. Panic. Wake up. End scene.

It's 4:00 AM. Think about something else. Think about something else. So. Sleepy.

And back in zombie scenario.

That was months ago.

Last night, I go to bed way early, like, 10:30. No good reason - I've had some wine and watched a Ricky Gervais rom com (The Invention of Lying - not awesome, sadly). All harmless.

I'm in a house in the French countryside. All old world and ivy-ey. It's some sort of party...not wild, just like a dinner party or something. Weird stuff starts to happen...there are people outside and they're moaning and banging on the door and walls. We turn on the TV and yes...zombies. Damn.

It gets a bit fuzzy after that. There are some secret passages. Some "friends" lost. Somehow someone got a shotgun, but I think we lose them too..

Then I'm in a room and a zombie is attacking my friend. I have no gun, no bat, nothing. So I grab a pillow off a bed and try to smother the already-not-needing-oxygen corpse by pushing its head against the wall. Yes, the zombie is upright. No, it's not working.

It's not working at all. Shit. I'm toast. Panic. Wake up. End scene.

It's 4:00 AM. Think about something else. Think about something else. So. Sleepy.

Yeah - right back in it.

So what gives? I'm not one of those people who watches horror movies with glee. Not a huge Romero fan. I don't participate in the Portland Zombie Walk. Why am I having the most realistic and terrifying dreams I've had since childhood (and that one that I had from reading The Road) about being attacked by the undead?

Anyone have an idea? Thoughts? A dream encyclopedia?

Click Your Heels Three Times...

You people are pushy.

So, I'm back, but there's too much to tell, so it's going in list form with very little detail. And pictures:

This is where I was. Sadly, the water in Clearwater doesn't taste good. I have a feeling it goes from this orb on high straight to the faucets with maybe a stopover in an aquatic center.

After spending our first night in our separate rooms (well, Kansas in the living room...sucker), we got to drive two hours across a great deal of nothing to a place just outside of Sedan...where we had Thanksgiving lunch with Kansas' extended crazy country family...some of whom were missing teeth...and wearing full hunting camo.

I ate wild turkey. Couldn't taste a difference.

Friday, we went out with his friends and their family. Thankfully...they drink. A lot. They made me go to sushi despite my protests about eating raw fish in a landlocked state. Good news...I didn't die.

Then we went go-karting at this place below...that has designated smoking hours...and is called The Back Alley. I kid you not.

Then onto a redneck karaoke bar where I tried to ingratiate myself with the locals by singing What Condition My Condition Was In very poorly. Apparently I'm no Kenny Rogers. We closed the bar and wandered out into the hallway. A redneck fight broke out over how someone looked at someone else. There was shirt untucking and fist clenching...but it all came to naught. The hot-headed drunkards got behind their SUV steering wheels and sped away. People seem to have no ethical dilemmas concerning drunk driving in Kansas. Just an FYI.

Below is the empty lot by Kansas' mother's. It had snowed several inches whilst we were in the bar and at the request of his drunken friend...Kansas (who was driving non-inebriated) did a little off-roading. You know, a typical Friday night.

Saturday we went to see the sights. There are about 2,000 people in Clearwater. There are two restaurants (Pizza Hut and a burger joint), one small grocery store, a hardware store, a bar and two car washes. Yep.
Oh, and a museum...because why not.

I'm thinking of getting the angry chief tattooed on my left kidney. Well, the skin above it anyway. I'm fierce...and so is he.
Then a nighttime tour of Wichita. Below is "the keeper of the plains". He's a little ominous. Like...what if that axe falls while you're below it? His arms are going to get tired at some point. Imminent danger. That statue is flipping huge, by the way. And we went to gawk at it...in 20 degree weather. Morons. But here we're trying to appear unmiserable.

That picture is going on the Christmas card, by the way...despite my lack of make-up and Kansas' lack of expression. Lemme know if you want one sent to you.

Heh heh.

So all in all...don't go there. Ever. Not even to see the twine.

I love my boyfriend...so I'm going back.

But next time...I'm packing. (you know what I mean)