Uranus Goes Retro, My Dreams Go Nuts

I have no idea what any of this means, but I am dutifully logging it anyway.

I am in a building (hotel, convention center) with a teenage girl. We are trying to get onto an elevator to get to the parking garage to get to my car. People are ahead of us, and as the doors open, they get onto the elevator. . . and when it’s our turn, they shut the doors in our faces.

“How rude!” the girl says.

I tell her another elevator will eventually come. I’m more preoccupied with trying to find my car. Where did I put it? I thought it was on the first level, but as I’m looking around, this place doesn’t look familiar at all. Am I in the right building?

I walk outside and the girl walks with me. There is a big sign over the entry to the parking garage, and I could read it in the dream but I don’t remember now. It had a Knott’s Berry Farm kinda feel to it, but I think it was something along the lines of “The M—– ——-.” Some kind of tourist attraction, not an amusement park per se but maybe something historical or cultural? Definitely had a country appeal.

So I’m curious now, and really confused, because none of this is looking familiar and I don’t know where the hell my car is. The idea of walking through an entire parking garage looking for it isn’t appealing either. I think maybe I can go into the garage and set off my car alarm to find it, but that would be really embarrassing and everyone would look at me like I was nuts. Why the hell didn’t I write down the level and letter when I parked? Why didn’t I take a damn picture of it with my phone?

So the girl and I are walking around, and on the other side of the building, there is an entrance to what looks like a large indoor farmer’s market. It kinda has the feel of the Reading Market in Philly, but it’s not the Reading Market, and over the door is that sign again, “The M—– ——-.” We go in.

It is very strange. To the left, there seems to be food stalls and tables and chairs where people are eating. To the right is the urinal, and there are no walls! Seriously, you can sit at the table and eat and watch the guys as they walk over to the urinal, which is in plain sight, and whip out their willies and take a whizz. I’m thinking, Jeez, I’ve got a kid with me! They should have a wall up. What kind of people are these? I turn around to say something to the girl to see if she’s seen it yet, and she’s gone! Now where on earth did she disappear to?

So I’m vaguely worried, because even though this girl is not my kid, it’s the mom instinct in me to be protective. So I’m wandering around and trying to find the girl and at least make sure she’s okay. I find the women’s restroom, which at least is walled in, but she’s not there. I walk around to the back of the building, where they have stalls set up to sell stuff. There are some nice pieces of reddish agates, cut like small rectangular tiles. A young boy is looking at them; I reach around him to look at one, ask him if it’s okay, and he says yes. They really are agates, but I have no idea what you would do with rectangle ones. I reassure him I’m not interested in them. He seems relieved because he wants to buy them.

I walk around and see lots of jewelry, but nothing that really appeals to me. There are some Indian women there selling tee shirts; I like the colors and designs on the tee shirts but they are using them as advertising for their business which is a real turn-off for me. It’s really blatant and detracts from the artistry of the design.

I’m disappointed in what I’m seeing, and I still haven’t found the girl, and I still don’t know where the hell my car is. I walk down a ramp and as I get to the bottom, a guy stops me.

“You’ve won!” he says.

“Huh?” I say. I look around. It looks like assembly from high school, but it’s all adults and older people at that (like meeting time at the senior citizens’ center).

“Your tee shirt! It’s won the design contest.”

I look down. I’m wearing my Blue Gillespie hydra tee shirt.

“I didn’t design this,” I tell him. “g designed it. A guy named g.”

“But you’ve won!” he insisted. “You put your special touches on it and made it yours.”

Are these people on crack? I think. What special touches?

I look down and am horrified. The tee shirt is supposed to be black with the hydra and the band logo in white. This tee shirt, MY BELOVED BLUE GILLESPIE TEE SHIRT now looks like someone has covered their hands with bleach and grabbed the shirt at random places around the hydra to take off the color. The (sorta) handprints are in a greyish mauve and whatever idiot has done this has put sparkly glitter around the handprints.


Seriously, I am enraged. I actually am yelling BLUE GILLESPIE DOES NOT DO SPARKLES when I wake up.

Sparkles. No. No sparkles. Never, ever, ever.


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