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Lucid Dream and Living Dream

Issue Date: Wednesday, Apr. 02, 2003

A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel hanging out of the front of his pants (breeches… whatever).
The bartender says:
“Excuse me sir, but you seem to have a steering wheel hanging out of the front of your pants.”
The pirate replies:
“Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrgghhhhhhhh, so I do… and it’s drivin’ me nuts!”

Ok, I had a very surreal dream this morning. I was at work and Doc from The Love Boat (Bernie Kopell) called me and was laughing maniacally on the phone when I could not find the website he wanted his business linked to. He kept saying* but spelling it with all sorts of Russian consonants. He was certain that his pawnshop would be the bestest pawnshop in all of Minnesota.

* is some sort of welding equipment thing. I looked it up this morning.

Flash Forward (same dream): To complete a task for work Mister and I had to go to a stadium and find the lady that handles concession. I was also there to spy on Jagger and Julie (radio personalities from a morning show) while they did an on location remote. They were late to their commercial spot and I saw them sneaking around the corner of this enorma-huge (shut up, it’s a word.) stadium. I was sad because I knew I would have to tattletale on them. Mister and I then proceeded into the enorma-huge stadium to find the concession person. On the way through the back stage area Mister found some straw seat covers stacked up like a Whack-A-Mole game. He went and sat on each stack of identical straw seat covers and proclaimed, “Oooohhh!!!!! I like this one!”

Then… I woke up.

Whee. Yay, brain enema.

I need to give a shout out to Mister. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You are an amazing man. You are sweet, kind, gentle, strong, masculine, handsome (as a MoFO!), tender, loving, intelligent, funny, witty, a great listener, an amazing lover and my best friend.

People, I have a confession to make. I suck with my own money. I have run businesses where I was in charge of over 3 million in inventory and handled it beautifully. But give me a few hundred (Who Wants to Marry a Hundredaire?) bucks and I will screw my budget up royally. I think it comes from never having a penny to spare and budgeting down to the last buffalo nickel when I was previously married. (Oh Suzanna Danna, you and your wacky penny/nickel metaphors.) I was so stressed just to keep the family fed that I wore myself out worrying about money. When I left that life behind I had nothing* and built my life back for myself.

*Seriously, see the lyrics to Movin On by the Rascal Flatts. That was me, all the way down to selling something to pay for gas to leave town.

After getting my feet back under me I realized that I had more bills, but more money. How did this happen you ask? Well, I wasn’t supporting any habits (good or bad) and I took immense pride in paying off my left over debt quickly. Since then I have had practically no worries. And my budget (or lack thereof) has suffered for it. I have been carefree for several years and haven’t balanced my checkbook in ages.

Why, pray tell, am I telling you guys this? Well, rent is due and I went to check on my bank account online yesterday and Lo and Behold! I was about $80.00 away from what I needed to pay rent. Two things cleared that were reoccurring charges that I forgot about and I was about to be spanked for being such a moron.

Mister to the rescue! (Dammit, I need to find him a cape.)

It’s not that I’m so in awe that he’s loaning me a few bucks to pay my rent. It is the fact that he was hell bent on me not feeling like a complete idiot about it.

THAT, people… is amazing.

I am also a bit weirded out about something. I have been a strong, self-sufficient woman for years. Why do I have this sudden urge to hand Mister my paycheck and ask for a small allowance? I have two answers to the above query that may be possible.

1) I am impossibly lazy.

2) Or… I am totally trusting and willing to be taken care of by this man.

That (#2) is so eye opening. I have always been sort of stiff and rigid, unwilling to show a soft side (except to animals) or be feminine because I saw it as a sign of weakness. Not so anymore. Now, I have no problems admitting when I can’t do something or asking for help. That he wants to help and does not look down on me for admitting defeat makes my heart happy.

Sound goofy?

Well, then, give me floppy ears and big, blue, ugly pants… because I am Goofy!


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

My Amazon Wish List.

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