Now Where Did THAT Come From

Oh the subconscious adventures of sleeping Jennifer!

I was in school and living in the campus dormitory. The way these rooms were set up, there was a common area (kitchen, living room, bathroom) with two bedrooms attached. My roommate was a flamboyant male-to-female transgender with an affinity for short skirts and white go-go boots. I have no idea when she ever got to her studies as it seemed she was always up to some kind of crazy shenanigans which I invariably got reluctantly roped into.

In the latest scheme, she had devised a wildly popular intoxicating beverage that she was selling around campus. I refused to partake in this concoction since I knew how it was made, a process that took place in a crock-pot utilizing a giant hamburger named Bernard. He was huge and greasy and his buns were stale. I found Bernard to be repulsive and evicted him and his crock-pot from the common kitchen.

This led to several arguments with my roommate as I kept finding Bernard in various locations around the apartment. ‘No, you cannot keep Bernard in the bathroom. I brush my teeth in there.’ And a rather heated discussion when I arrived home to find that my roommate had company and so had stashed Bernard in my room so as to not reveal her secret ingredient to her guests/customers.

As entropy demands, eventually Bernard went bad (worse?). And again, I was reluctantly roped into some madcap hijinx aimed at finding a replacement for Bernard. Which culminated into us throwing a giant party complete with DJ, a light show, and multiple disco balls, because reasons.

Yeah, I don’t know either. I woke up just as confused as you are right now. Probably more so. I do find it hilarious that I cannot recall whether or not my roommate had a name, but the hamburger most certainly did.


Sick for the last couple of days. I believe I am on the mend. Sorry for the lack of content.

Why is it that fighting off a bug causes such oddball dreams?

I dreamed that for some reason we were staying with my parents for a few days. I had left my laptop out in the living room over-night. My laptop has a couple of cracks in the case, and in my dream, my dad took it upon himself to “fix” it.

Now I should point out that my dad does meddle and mess with things that are none of his business, but he is actually pretty handy with things in real life. When I was a kid I believed he could fix anything. Including a tissue that I shredded just to challenge his skills. He was Mr. Fix-it to little Jenni. Remember Mr. Fix-it from the Richard Scarry books?

Picture via Scratchpad

Picture via Scratchpad












If he knew my actual laptop had cracks in the case, it would annoy him to no end, but I doubt that he would actually do anything about it. He certainly wouldn’t pull out the guts and build my laptop into some lucite box of his own creation like he did in my dream.

And it didn’t work. I mean, it would boot up, but it wouldn’t connect to WiFi. I was mad. Spitting, seeing red, angry. Teenaged yelling in the front yard, angry.

So I did what any completely rational adult would do and barged into their bedroom.

And there were my parents. Just hanging out in their comically giant bed…

with Snoop Dogg. Who was dressed in a red track suit and seemingly quite entertained by my tirade.

Yeah. I don’t know.

What The?

So I dreamed that Ann Coulter was stalking me. Early on, we were friends, but then it just got weird.

She started following me around and showing up in unusual places. And she was drinking my blood. With a straw.

I finally had to call her out in front of an audience. Told her she needed and intervention. She said we could work it out. I told her she had gone too far.

Yes, I can see what my brain was getting at. Ann was clearly the symbol of the GOP. First we were friends and then she became a parasite that just wanted more and more. I just wish my brain could be a little less graphic sometimes.

What Was In That Drink

More strange adventures of sleeping Jen

We were in Japan this time and Ambulance Driver had discovered the single cajun restaurant in the country and insisted we check it out. OldNFO rolled his eyes saying, “You don’t eat cajun food in Japan.” AD was not to be dissuaded, so off we went.

Taking the advice of OldNFO, we stuck to the drink menu. I’m not really sure what it was that Nancy ordered, but what she got was a giant platter of fried eggs. I think there were at least a dozen over-easy eggs. AD’s bucket of crawfish turned out to be one large crustacean with three tails and still moving. Other dishes were similarly adventurous. We helped Nancy eat the eggs.

On the way back to the hotel, we somehow got separated from the group. Which didn’t seem like a big deal because we figured we could find the place since it looked like an old railway station. We were traveling on foot. Every so often we’d approach an entrance to some raised tunnels. Cute little Japanese girls would stand up on their tippy toes and pull down a telescoping ramp and invite us to ride the ‘slider man.’ Having no idea what a ‘slider man’ was, where it would go, and what it would cost, we declined.

Somewhere along the way, my phone got stolen. LawDog appeared out of nowhere to chase down the thief. He caught him, but the thief dropped my phone in the process where it was run over by a ladder truck.

OldNFO laughed about our adventures when we finally made our way back to the hotel and explained that the ‘slider man’ was an elevated moving sidewalk that would have delivered us right to the front door of our hotel and was provided free of charge to all tourists. That was probably how we’d gotten separated because they had all gotten on.

And then all was right with the world.

The end.

It Is Strange In Jennifer’s Head

I dreamed several of us* were all at Weird Al’s birthday party. He had a meadow out back. Like a straight out of a Disney movie meadow. He would walk out and rub the squirrels’ bellies. A bird landed on his head, and he fed marshmallows to the deer.

Sean Sorrentino was there, but Weird Al just kept referring to him as the guy in the blue shirt. And he didn’t arrive with the other party guests, he was already outside hiding behind a rock when we got there. He popped up from behind the rock and all the little animals ran away. He bumped into a shelf which knocked a squirrel and a chipmunk into the pond, which annoyed the beaver.

We ate brisket with chips and salsa, no birthday cake. Michael insisted on carefully arranging the chips on our plates for “maximum salsa infiltration.” He then applied the salsa with a ladle.

At no point did Weird Al wish me a happy birthday, which is awful rude considering that if it was his birthday then it was my birthday too, yeah.

*And you were there…


In my dreams last night, there was some major news story about infidelity.  It started out fairly reasonable with advice and things to watch out for, that kind of thing.  And then the talking heads whipped it all up into some kind of frenzy, enraging housewives across the nation.  Seriously, they were storming offices.

So there I was standing in the parking lot trying to explain to five soccer moms that one: I don’t even have a male subordinate and my male boss isn’t married; two: I don’t know their husbands; and three: even if I did, I wouldn’t be sleeping with them as I am quite happily married myself, when one of the harpies hauls off and punches me in the gut.

I actually cried out in my sleep. I knew I was dreaming at the time, but the reaction was a ‘holy crap that actually hurt!’ It woke me up.  It woke my husband up and caused some concern.  I explained that I was fine and went back to sleep.

The weird part: my abs hurt like hell this morning.  Like some psycho harpy punched me in the gut or something.

Mr. Sandman,

When you bring me a dream,stick with the cutest that I’ve ever seen. Please leave out the violent harpies.Mr. Sandman, take back this dream.

Lost Day

Sorry for the lack of content yesterday. You can blame it on whoever put my head in a vise and filled the rest of my joints with coarse sand.

Meds were applied resulting in fractured dreams.  You know, when the evil priestess kidnaps you and drags you back to her fortress, you expect her dungeon to be a little more foreboding than your average church basement complete with casserole and dude in the denim apron.

Lions and Kittens and Delivery! Oh My!

As previously mentioned, I’ve been having odd dreams lately.  Last night was no exception.

EvylRobot and I had seen a commercial for a new food delivery place that had opened up in town.  (Which is a neat trick since we don’t actually watch television.) The commercial was catchy and corny and most of all, memorable.  Particularly the tag line, “A mountain lion with every order!” Said cheerfully by the grinning spokesperson.

It was just so ridiculous that we had to check this place out. Hey, it pays to be creative. So I made the phone call and placed our order. Predictably, in the same tone as you would expect the ‘would you like fries with that’ line, the operator said, “And would you like the mountain lion with that?”

“Hell yes I want my mountain lion!” *giggle* And then I hung up the phone.

“That’s got to be one of the weirder promotions out there,” commented Evyl.

“I know, right?”

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. I excitedly opened the door.

There, on my front porch, was the pimply faced delivery boy with the expected white bags and a large crate. They are really taking this gag to the limits! I handed over the money instructing the kid to keep the change.  He grinned and thanked me as he handed over the food. He then popped the latch on the crate and into my entry hall walked…

A rather perturbed looking mountain lion. You’d be perturbed too if you were the promotional item for a combo meal.

“Nice kitty”

He gave me that look that only cats and teenagers can give and sauntered over to the couch where he promptly curled up in my spot. (Yes, I have a spot. No, I am not Sheldon-esque attached.) So I did the only reasonable thing I could think of, I sat down beside him and scratched him behind the ears.  My giant house-cats like that, after all. He lifted his head, grunted, and laid his head in my lap. It was actually kind of cute.

Evyl came around the corner, apparently, having missed the delivery boy. “Um, honey? There’s a mountain lion on the couch.”


“Well. That’s unexpected.”

“We did order him.”

“You ordered him, but I didn’t expect they would actually bring one.”

“And yet, here he is.”

After discussing what to do with our new house guest, we decided that cougars probably do not make great house cats and ushered him out the back door.

Where he promptly ate the neighbor’s kitten that had been using my flower bed as its own personal litter box.  I have mixed feelings about this. No one really wants to see/hear a kitten being devoured, but it was pooping in my strawberries.

Dreams like this lead to odd morning conversations with pre-caffeinated Jen as well.

Jen: So I dreamed we had a mountain lion

ER: Huh.  That’s interesting

Jen: It came with my combo meal

ER: That’s a helluva Happy Meal prize

Jen: It was delivery

ER: Did they bring it on a leash?

Jen: Crate. Which they opened on the front porch.

ER: Of course.

I think he’s getting used to the meanderings of my unconscious mind.