First I dreamed about some new kind of tomato juice. The salesman promised it would “pay for itself” by “reproducing in your pantry.” The mating habits of cans of tomato juice were never fully explored.
That was followed by a normal dream in which I refereed a soccer game. Not a biggie, since I am a soccer ref.
Then a classic test anxiety dream. I didn’t study, I didn’t have any idea what the exam was about, etc. Then when I tried to go to a sporting event that evening, my teacher yelled at me for not studying. Test anxiety dreams are bad enough when you’re in school, but they’re just plain annoying when you’ve been out of college for a couple years.
Right before I got up I was having a dream about Russian communists (spelled “Cjmmunists”) forcing me to fill a hole with snow and rocks. Apparently there were bodies at the bottom of the hole, and I was some sort of political prisoner.
When I finally awoke I thought to myself “That was an odd series of dreams.” The tomato juice and Cjmmunist dreams were especially bizarre. But I figured that was the end of the weirdness for the day.
I was wrong.
I got on the bus as usual and sat in my usual seat. A mile or so down the road two teenage boys got on. They were probably 15 or so. They were dressed a little grungy, but for the most part they looked like normal ornery teen boys. They sat a couple seats behind me. Part of their conversation went like this:
Boy 1: Do you ever get yourself tested?
Boy 2: Yeah. I just got tested last week.
Boy 1: I get tested every 6 months or so.
Boy 2: I’ve been going every 2 months.
Boy 1: 2 months? WTF?! [Seriously, he said “double-you tee eff”]
Boy 2: Well, I used to go every six months, but when my lovers [!!!] are sleeping around on me I go more often.
Boy 1: Do they get tested?
Boy 2: Oh yeah. I won’t fuck a chick unless she’s been tested recently.
…and so on for ten minutes. There was also a nice conversation about how if Boy 2 ever got a particular STD he would “bang” chicks he didn’t like, and then:
Boy 2: …I’ll give 'em a picture of me and say “take this and think of me when you try to piss, bitch!”
Then I got to work where I remembered that our whole office is going to a nearby cemetery to have a picnic lunch. “Dining with the dead,” if you will.
So let’s review: My day so far has consisted of fornicating tomato juice, “Cjmmunists,” and 15 year-old boy-whores discussing STDs, and in a couple hours I’ll be eating with dead people. What a weird freakin’ day this is turning out to be.