Feet Fetish.. Or possibly just shoes

April 16, 2007

I’ve had quite a few dreams about feet/shoes lately. Last night, I had some kick ass more-than-thigh-high converse sneaks. Black sneakers with some kind of knit/sweater material around the ankle to shin area, followed by striped socks that came up to the mid-thigh. This was topped off with some kind of denim deal that tied together shoelace style at the top. I was sporting them at first with no probs, but later in the dream when I tried to put them on it was like they had grown taller, and were too long for my legs. I decided to wear them under my ripped jeans and they somehow magically fit again. Serfontaine’s are magical that way I guess.

Earlier this week, one part of my dream was that I was trudging through the snow in my fish flops. I think I may have had capris on too. My feet were sort of numb, but not bad. I know this was followed by more wild dreams, but I’ve forgotten them by now.

Not sure what this all means. According to my dream dictionary, the possibilities are: meet new acquainances, have an annoying mystery, disappointment in love, omen of success, or suggest I’m overconfident. Of course, these things are hardly ever right (knock on wood). Not one of them says a thing about fish and pregnancies, which we all know is fact.

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Coffee, Windmills, and Ice Cream

January 9, 2007

I pondered on the list of questions that must be completed before my first class with Giada de Laurentis – an in-depth look at Coffee.

What are the primary flavors in Arabica beans?

A. tobacco, musky, with worms
B. a nice floral bouquet
C. toasted earth

Hmm, I have no idea. I guess I’ll learn a lot in this class. Well, I’ll fill in my best guesses and we’ll see how much I have to learn.

I show up for the first class, answers in hand. Class starts.

“Everyone pass your tests to the front of the class.” Tests? What the hell?

F-

An F minus? Who even knew that was possible? I totally failed, and yes, this was going to count as part of the final grade.

“I suppose I will have to drop the class, so I don’t ruin my GPA.”
“Yes, that would be best. There’s no way you can recover from the F-. Even if you pass every other test with flying colors, you’re average will still be an F,” Giada advised.

I left class bummed. I was really psyched about this class, and now I have to drop it in the first day. Plus, I’ll have to pick up some crappy class, because all of the others will be full at this point. I guess I could just take a lighter load this semester and load up next semester.

I decided to walk around the fair grounds for a while, wallow in self-pity. Kicking the ground, damp from the latest rain. I walked along the small stream that wound itself in between the fairground halls, muddying my feet. Seeing a slew of picnic tables, I decided to sit at one that had a seat open.

Two large, black women are talking here. I decide I need to go to the bathroom, but the only way to get there is to stand up, step on the small piece bench that is next to the woman across from me. So, I do.

“Excuse me. Sorry.” There’s a little bit of mud next to her.
“Oh, I need to go to the bathroom too,” says the woman who was sitting beside of me.

I try to help her, holding out my hand. There’s not much room, and it’s slippery from the mud. But my offer is met with a glare.

Forget it. This day has been a total loss – nothing’s gone right. New class that has to be dropped. I have no friends. And now even trying to help is getting me in deeper and deeper. I just turn and leave. She makes it over to this side with more grace than I did.

I wander through another hall. There are brightly colored windmills as far as I can see on both sides. They are perfectly aligned; some are painted with stripes, others with polka dots.

As I wander deeper into the hall, it looks like the warehouse from Roger Rabbit. There are some brightly colored yellow sculptures on the floor – circular in shape.

Then I get to another food area. There are more picnic tables and an ice cream shop. Mmmm, I’m craving Butterfinger ice cream.

“I’m closing in two minutes,” the woman behind the counter says.

Panic sets in as I try to quickly scan the types of ice cream she has… I’m not seeing Butterfinger but I want it so bad.

Finally, “Can I get the vanilla back there with some Butterfinger pieces mixed in?”

“Sure,” she starts scooping. “That will be $4.50.”

I put my hand in my pocket… then my other pocket. Oh shit. No money.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. I left my money in the car. I will run and get it. I’ll be back really quick, I promise.”

“Okay, but I’m closing.”

I sprint at breakneck speeds. Back through the warehouse, past the sculptures, through the windmills. Across the covered porch in front of the general store. I find my car and dig out the money.

Again, I sprint, knocking people out of the way. I need my Butterfinger ice cream. Back through the windmills. Back past the circular yellow sculptures.

I reach the ice cream stand. It’s closed up. There’s a box sitting in front of the window I ordered from… Maybe she left my ice cream in there?

“We’re Closed” the inside of the box lid reads. There are iced donuts inside – miniature. “Please enjoy a donut” it says below the closed message.

I feel like crying. The day has been a complete bust, and I’m craving Butterfinger ice cream, and I can’t even have that.

“Hello,” says a guy, as he starts to unlock the ice cream stand.

“Hi… Who are you?”

“I work here… I’m opening up.”

“Oh, I just ran to my car to get my money. The girl that was here closed up before I could pay for my ice cream.”

“Is this it?” He slides the cup of Butterfinger ice cream out from behind the window as he gets inside.

“Yes!” I pay him and take my ice cream. It’s sort of melty from where it’s been sitting. I wonder why they didn’t just put a sign up that said someone would be there to open in 5 minutes, or why that silly girl just didn’t tell me this guy would be here soon.

It doesn’t matter. Something has finally gone right in my day. I’m feeding my craving.

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Dreams of Doggies

August 18, 2006

Satchel Plays Pool

Last night I had dreams of dogs, and they were all talking to each other. My shar-pei Sam was there, only he kept saying his name was Patty. I can’t remember much of the dream now, other than that part. A gender-changed dog sort of sticks out in your mind…

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A Twinkle In Her Eye

August 15, 2006

The other night I had a dream about my Granny. I was sitting in Grandpa’s chair and turned my head to the left, and there she was, standing, looking at us, where she usually sat. We all wondered how she’d gotten there, as she was supposed to be in the nursing home, not in good shape.

At that point in the dream, I woke up, saying, “That can’t be right; she’s dead.” Then I woke up for real.

My grandmother lived a very good, full, long life until the last 5 or 6 months. She’d seen a lot of the world, she’d spent time with her grandchildren (that’s an understatement), she’d live her life to the fullest. So it was hard that last 5 or 6 months to see her not living life — though I wasn’t seeing it, I was only hearing about it since I was on the other end of the US.

Which is why this entire thing still feels like some weird dream — it doesn’t feel real. She’s not gone, I’m just 3,000 miles away.

What’s funny is now when I try to remember all of the things we’ve done together over the years, there’s only one moment that really sticks out in my head. I was in college, home for the summer. Granny was always telling me how proud she was of me, but this time was different.

We were walking out of the living room, where Grandpa was watching the news. She told me, “I’m so proud of you and all you’ve accomplished. You didn’t get into those things other kids do like drugs and sex…”

What was funny was the way she said sex. She lowered her voice, to almost a whisper, and had a little smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye. She said it like it was the most taboo word (and I was shocked to hear her say it, so maybe it was).

Then we both just giggled like a couple of schoolgirls, and I said, “Thank you Granny” as I gave her a hug.

I’m not sure why that is the one memory, out of all my memories of her, that overpowers them all. But I did like seeing that little twinkle in her eye — she’d get it everytime she’d make a sly remark that she shouldn’t and that was so atypical of her.

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Cowboys and Indians

February 1, 2006

As a child I had very few dreams that I remembered. There was one, however, that rocked me, and is still as vivid to me today as it was the morning I woke up.

The automatic doors slid open with a whoosh as I stepped into a record store the size of a K-Mart. Every glance was filled with bins and bins of records, laid out in neat rows.

The group dispersed, my mom and dad going one direction, the others in another, leaving me and my best friend to discover on our own. I had my miniature Hello Kitty playing cards with me, so we decided to play.

Drumroll Please. I had decided to try doing the magician’s basic trick, making the cards fly from one hand to the other. It didn’t work. The cards had now flown all over the store. I bent down to start picking them up, following them in their straight line that snaked around the different aisles.

I had reached the last card. As I went to pick it up I noticed the toe of a cowboy boot. Pan up to the cowboy’s face. It stuck terror into the heart of this 5 year old.

“You’re coming with me,” he said gruffly.

I trembled. “No. Dad?” I looked at him pleadingly, knowing he would help me.

He knelt down on one knee to talk to me, as the others gathered around. The cowboy, too, had his posse surrounding him.

“I think you ought to do what the man says,” he replies quietly.

“No, no, no,” was all I could think inside. As the cowboy took my hand I took one last look at my dad, then woosh, the doors opened and in an instant we were gone.

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