–All in a week’s dreams. Again, no idea what any of this means (if it means anything), but dutifully logged for the record and your amusement.
I am in a car with a bunch of guys. We pull up in front of a bar. The guy who is driving the car is Gareth David-Lloyd, but he doesn’t look like Gareth David-Lloyd; first of all, he is Black; secondly, he is dressed in 1920s clothes. I realize all of us in the car are Black, and I am the woman who was trying to get into the speakeasy in this dream.
We are once again trying to get into a bar, but it’s not that speakeasy. This bar is closed too, but it’s because we are there too early. I get that we are the entertainment for the evening, and we are there to set up. I am standing on the sidewalk in front of the building and look up and see the sign. I know the name in the dream but I can’t remember it now. The logo looked like an null sign, you know, a zero with a diagonal slash. There is lettering making up the circle spelling something out, and then a name as the slash. All I remember is that it had something to do with fishermen, maybe a fish market or something like that?
Chris and I are sharing a hotel room. She is being much friendlier to me than she was in the last dream. I’m not sure why we are sharing a hotel room as I just ran into Walmart to pick up a few things. This room is attached to Walmart, one I’m not familiar with, a very small rural one, and we have the door open and can see people walking past with their shopping carts.
Then the weather siren goes off, and I tell Chris I’d better make for home. I have my dog with me, and I am reacting to her as a dog, but instead of seeing her as a dog, I see her as a boy around ten or twelve (Background: When I first got my dog, I tried to psychically connect with her to ask her if she wanted to be spayed. When I made contact, I saw her as a teenage boy who told me his name was Michael. He also told me he absolutely did not want babies—he looked horrified at the idea—so I called the vet for her appointment the next day). I am trying to pack up my stuff and keep finding my bras everywhere. I realize every single one of my bras is in this hotel room. Why the hell would I bring all my bras?
Chris and I are no longer in the hotel room. We are in a penthouse suite, and part of the ceiling is glass. I can see the storm clouds rushing over our heads, and suddenly several clouds appear that look like the undersides of very large black termite-like bugs. Suddenly, termite-like bugs start swarming out of the clouds and we realize the clouds are really alien spaceships. One of the bugs materializes right in front of us; we are defiant but careful because we don’t know how dangerous he is.
I am driving to my mom’s house. Suddenly the storm sirens go off, but they aren’t telling us about a storm; they are ambulance sirens. We are all supposed to get in ambulances. I say out loud as I pull up in front of my mom’s house “I don’t have an ambulance,” and I hear a voice answer, “Get everyone in the SUV and buckle the seat belts.”
Someone has sent me a DM on Twitter that has a link in it. I click on the link and it’s a photo of a poster for a movie. It looks like a 60s era sex comedy, you know, like Doris Day and Rock Hudson in Pillow Talk. There are several girls in bikinis—60s era bikinis, you know, the ones that actually covered cleavage and had cute little girl ruffles across your bottom. They’re all posing in cutesy Playboy-like poses around a man in a 60s era suit, who just happens to be Gareth David-Lloyd. He is making an exaggerated look of astonishment, with his mouth a perfect O and big wide eyes as if he’s shocked, absolutely shocked, to see girls in bikinis. The title of the movie on the poster is Love and Ovaries.
I have no idea what that means folks. I’m just reporting what I saw.
Not really a dream. Just kept seeing the name Patton flashing in neon lights throughout a dream with nothing else coalescing around it. I don’t even remember images or feelings associated with it–just the name.
I’m going to get my hair done, and I tell the owner I don’t want the new guy to do my hair; I want her to do my hair. The guy gets pissy with me, and I threaten to walk out. She pulls me aside and shows me that she has published an article with a guy named Franklin, and she is listed as Mrs. Franklin as the co-author.
Then she and I go to a party. There are guys everywhere. Outside I see a squirrel with a collar on. I go out and put my dog’s leash on the squirrel’s collar.
Then the owner and I go back inside with a guy and he grabs me from behind. There’s something about my dress–I’ve got on a pale lavender cotton tee shirt dress under another lavender silky dress. I’m a little freaked; I’m afraid that he is going to rape me (I think is was a flashback to when I was attacked; I was jumped from behind) and I think This is it. This is how it ends. I’m gonna die. And then suddenly the guy pushes me away and grabs the owner and comes on to her for a while and then leaves.
I tell her “What a weirdo,” and she says “I kinda like him.” I say “To each his own,” and walk away.
I go outside and see my dog off her leash. Duh. I put it on the squirrel! It’s an outside party, and I’m afraid someone will open the gate and she’ll get out. I go over to the squirrel and try to take the leash off it, but every time I reach for the leash the squirrel nips at me. At one point I am shaking the leash and the squirrel is hanging from it! It still is flipping itself up trying to bite me!
I let go of the leash and let the squirrel fall to the ground. I think I need work gloves to put on so if it bites me it won’t break my skin. Where am I going to find work gloves at a party? I wonder if oven mitts would work.