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October 30, 2003 - 5:08 p.m. Well today�s entry comes courtesy of my wacked out subconscious. Huzzah! Those of you who know me personally will recall that I have crazy, vivid, mini-serieseque dreams and last night was no exception. Ahem� So I�m in �Moscow�, except like any good dream it�s not real Moscow, it�s crazy dream Moscow. Anyway, I�m at some kind of Halloween party wearing this wild, black ballgown, with an enormous skirt that had all these weird ties on it bunching it up. I�m there with Pony Girl, also in a black ballgown, though her�s is more black lacy/gothy (Aside to PG: You�ve got your orange, super short hair!) and she�s wearing elbow length, black and white striped gloves. Anyway, PG and I are walking into this cheesy, Holiday Innish conference room all done up Halloweeny complete with fake spider webs, candelabras with flickering candles, glittery streamers, lots of purple and orange lighting and several disco balls. The place is completely packed with guests and as I�m walking through I spot Mr. Rogers in normal Rogersian dress standing next to a gentleman who very closely resembles him, only he�s in an elaborate Lord of the Rings type costume. On the other side of the room I spot Mr. T. in typical T garb, except instead of the ubiquidus Mohawk his hair is sort of slicked down with metallic, silver strands running through it. We then run into my friend Matt who I excitedly start talking to:
I then run over to the far side of the room which is set up with rows of those rounded back, convention hall chairs and pull out my cell phone to call my brother, because HELLO Hobbit Rogers! (yeah, I don�t know either) So I get my bro on the phone:
PG then comes over with 2 cans of Regular Coke�which she had been giving me all night. I really wanted a Diet Coke, but I didn�t want to offend her, so I took it anyway. She then tells me, �We can drink them, but if we want to leave we can get our $5 back.� (Ummm, okaaay.) The cans were kind of different, like soup cans with the pull tabs that take the entire top off. PG goes to open hers and there is a half of a cockroach in hers. She is understandably grossed out and I just looked at her and said: �Just be glad that the top comes the whole way off, that way you�ll always know when there�s a roach in your Coke� meanwhile thinking to myself, �This would never have happened if it were a Diet Coke.� At that moment Mr. T got up and started performing Karaoke�and right now I�m wishing more than anything I could remember what he sang. Magically, as it is in dreams, my date�this random guy that I went to boarding school with, that as far as I can remember had yet to make his appearance in this dream�and I were up on the stage for some kind of presentation, kind of like Homecoming Court. There was this whole choreographed thing where we held hands, looked towards each other, looked away, all the while the other couples are passing underneath our hands and doing this little dance move thing then moving to the side of the stage. Then Mr. T stops singing and there is a presentation. They, whomever it was that organized this event, had asked me to write down some congratulatory words to Russia that someone else was going to present. I had written down something very eloquent and charming on a Kit Kat wrapper and had given it to Mr. T. Mr. T then says to the audience:
Exuberant applause all around as I try to figure out what he�s talking about since that�s not at all what I wrote, but even in my dream I know you don�t question Mr. T. As the presentation is now over�and apparently that�s why we were at this party�PG, Boarding School Guy, and I go to leave. On the way out we pass the buffet tables which are piled with a kind of Nacho carnage and there�s this guy digging through it, up to his elbows, and every time he finds some new, as yet untried topping, he would pump his fist in the air and yell �Sweeeet!� On the next table is the dessert, an enormous pile of watermelon chunks dyed black (eewwwww), �cause it�s festive I guess. We head out past Mr. T, Mr. Rogers and Hobbit Rogers, out the door and into Moscow, which is apparently a giant, rundown, Florida-like strip, complete with Chili�s and other chain restaurants and stores. Along the strip there were all these shady looking entrance ways into falling down buildings with signs like �Niarobi Mail Post�Invitation Only.� As we continue down the street our numbers keep growing, Mr. T and the Rogers boys join us then more and more people, we were like the Pied Pipers of �Moscow�. As we walked along I kept looking behind us trying to catch a glimpse of the Kremlin in the distance, but it was just the strip as far as the eye could see. � Wondering:How my subconscious was able to pull out "Jibba Jabba"
Doing:Trying to remember T's song, hee!
Wishing:That the energy my subconscious puts into creating these dreams could be channeled elsewhere.
Travel back in time True Art - June 21, 2004
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