Share Your Weird-Ass Dream

Here’s what the RickJay Unconsciousness Cinema was playing last night:

I was married to my ex girlfriend, and HAD been maried to her for five years. I was working in a trucking company with, amongly others, a bunch of people I went to high school with., and I was preoccupied with getting a bunch of bills paid, including for some reason a $1000 bill for Internet access.

But as it turns out my real-life evil ex, was in fact my wife, and was in a car accident and had lost her memory of everything following the wedding. I was quite upset by this. But then it turned out her memory damage was so bad she’d fogotten she liked being female and she wanted to get a sex change operation. Also, her Dad was for some reason trying to sponge money off me. Now remembering that she had always been a lying ho anyway, I wrote her a check for $1200, twelve postdated checks for $100 each, and told her to get the fuck out, and she did, with surprisingly little complaint. I was suddenly at the corner of Division and Princess in my old home town, only the buildings were all different.

Then my actual wife came along and asked me out and I realized she didn’t know who I was. I was trying to figure out what the hell year it was, because none of this works chronologically with reality and why didn’t my real wife know me? But I couldn’t read the calendar. Then I was in a room with all the people I was working with. Someone asked me to tell the hilarious story about my evil ex sex change bit so I stood up to regale them with the tale, but nobody could hear me over the music and I had to keep starting over, and everyone got bored and left. Then there were kangaroos, and I woke up.

Boy, wasn’t that screwy? What did you dream about?

I am in a room, tied down to stakes in the floor. Somebody is gonna do something kinky to me.

I suddenly see a tiger leisurely pad its way into the room…and get this: its smoking a pipe.

How was it trained to do that?

It gently lays down just feet away from me, filling its jowls with sweet vanilla smoke, pure contentment on its face.

It lowers its head to the floor and takes a long draw, then drops the pipe from its mouth as it inhales the smoke into its lungs with a delicious hiss.
It holds it for a moment, then exhales smoke from its mouth and nose with a chuff.

It abruptly gets up and approaches my face…

…and the channel changes in my mind, so I’m dreaming about changing a flat tire or something. :rolleyes:

Oh, I have so many of those.

Had another freaky dream last night. Thought I should write it down here before I go on to the events this day will bring me.

The dream started innocuously enough, with me and a group of friends just chilling at someone’s house. I don’t know any of these people in waking life… just a bunch of “nice people” my dreams supply for me, I guess. shrug Soon, it began to turn into a sequence that reminded me of a bit out of a soap opera. (no, there wasn’t any illicit sex in back rooms!)

It started with someone bugging me to memorize some Chinese lessons out of an easy Chinese reader. I studied, but unfortunately we couldn’t find the reader I wanted when it came time to show what I’d learned. There were more complicated Chinese readers tacked up on the memo boards, in piles of paper on the kitchen table, and overflowing junk piles on the table and floor. We looked, but it was nowhere to be found. Oh well, at least I did retain it. (in the dream, not in waking life)

While others stayed home, some of us then decided to go for a drive somewhere in a white car parked across the street. (since I have almost no idea of car makes in waking life, I wouldn’t know about this dream car) We were almost all set and ready to go, when suddenly BLAM! One of the tires exploded on us! Luckily, nobody was seriously hurt. There were orange projectiles all over the road, though.

Abandoning the idea of a drive in order to investigate further, we found that somebody was deliberately trying to sabotage the car. We warily returned to the house, and found a scared kid with a small knife inside. It took some heavy convincing for him to give up the knife so we could store it above his reach on the wall.

While we were discussing things with the kid in the kitchen, the dream suddenly cut to a shot of the empty hallway. Then it cut to a shot of the place where we had stored the knife, to plainly show no knife in view. Someone asked where the knife was, and the dream again cut to a shot of the hallway. However, the hallway now contained an insane-looking woman who now had the knife. Someone yelled, “Run! She’s got the knife!” We tried to figure out if the kid was perhaps in league with the woman: he said no, and we had no choice but to believe him for now… since we were all on a run for our lives!
Somehow, we all found ourselves in Granville Island Market… or maybe it was Lonsdale Quay. After determining by some means that the woman was no longer after us, we paused to take stock. Nobody was injured, although we discovered that the kid was still with us. We checked him out thoroughly for any other weapons… he had none, and told us that he’d carried the knife to defend himself against the woman. (she was clearly demented, with some very frightening post-apocalyptic messages)

Soon, we began noticing very strange sights in the market. Backpacks where the back flap was in the shape of a breast, people with antennas growing out of their heads, and babies with morphing faces. We discovered some of my RL friends in the market, and hung around with them. Curious about the odd things going on, we decided to consult with one of the market workers. He told us that whoever stepped through the portals of the market would soon exhibit some sign of these phenomena, whether it be physical, emotional, or some other aspect of the mind / body.

We began to notice this for ourselves, when Sean (in his leather jacket) discovered that he could just go through doors much like a ghost does. No more opening doors for Sean or for the rest of us, as we found out. We could just go through the walls and reappear on the other side. Very handy ability, especially if it was really crowded.

Apparently, there was something to see in the food court. Some people there would eat in very strange ways. They would squirt fluid out of their eyes into bowls, then drink that. Emily (in a red ribbed sweater and blue jeans) went one step further: she expelled some partially clear fluids out of her mouth, and then ate that. It kind of looked like congee, and the action reminded me of a mood icon. (yes, thinking of LJ even in a dream state… oh my!)

I remember trying to eat like that… surprisingly, it didn’t taste as bad as I thought it would. We kept a close eye on the kid to make sure he didn’t go postal on us. Basically, we managed to have a somewhat relaxing time at the market…

I had to go to the dentist yesterday morning, for real, and I guess I was thinking about that when I went to sleep the night before, because I dreamt that I was on the way to a dentist appointment. In my dream, though, the appointment was in New Jersey, which was much, much closer to Illinois than it is in reality. I think I rode my bike over. When I got there, it began to snow. I ran into the dental hygieneist outside the office and we were commenting on how strange it was that it was snowing in August.

When I woke up I was tired and confused enough that I spent a couple minutes trying to figure out whether or not I really had to go to New Jersey for my appointment, and whether or not I should bring along a scarf and hat in case it snowed.

We have a houseful of company. My son in law is making some outside repair - the lawn or driveway, whatever.

Suddenly through the living room picture window,I see him driving a huge flatbed truck right to left across the lawn, and going like a bat out of hell. (There is no way he could have gotten up to that speed, but this is a dream.) On the flat bed, I see some nonspecific construction vehicle towards the front, a UPS truck in the middle and a backhoe behind it. The truck is rocking so furiously it is certain to tip over.

I rush out of the house and now discover that the truck has stopped, and Penny, the neighbor’s Golden Retriever is lying on her side with her front paws straining against the cab to prevent its toppling.

“It’s okay, Penny,” I say, which in dream speech meant, “You can relax Penny, the truck won’t tip over, now.” Penny, of course immediately understood and relaxed.

Ah, it’s back to school time.

I’m walking into the lecture hall, and I suddenly realize that I haven’t prepared a lecture for class. Wait a minute, I think This has never happened before. But I always have that forgot-to-prepare-a-lecture dream! I must be dreaming!

At this point, the lucid dreaming gurus say that, having realized that I am dreaming, I should become lucid, the master of my dream, allowing me to leap into other air, fly away and have crazy monkey sex with Russell Crowe.

But this time, no dice.

I think, Hmm, well, doesn’t seem to be a dream. Darn it. No hot monkey sex with Russell Crowe. Better think of something. So I figured out that I would have them do an exercise described by Jay Pasachoff, where they break up into small groups and discuss what “astronomy” means. When I read about this idea, I thought it was about the lamest thing I ever heard, but comparing it with 50 minutes of 90 students staring blankly at me not lecturing it was starting to sound pretty damn brilliant. And I shall display the results on my laptop, I think. But wait, I don’t have my laptop, I’ve left it in my office.

So I went back to my office and got my computer.

And spent the rest of the dream, lost, trying to find my way back to the lecture hall, because, you see, suddenly the building had turned into a huge mall-like structure where none of the stairwells lead to the second floor :rolleyes:

I have a frequent dream in which Margaret Atwood brutally criticizes my writing. Sometimes I wake up and shake it off as ludicrous, and sometimes I take it to heart.

The weirdest one was the Double Margaret:

Margaret Atwood is giving me shit as usual, and makes a series of cruel (but fair) observations that would basically require a rewrite from scratch. She concludes with, “McClelland and Stewart will never publish this!” and I say that’s okay, because I never intended to shop it to them. She gives me this look like I’m the most mentally crippled person she’s ever seen, and says “If McClelland and Stewart won’t publish it, you’re wasting your fucking time writing it.” – like it’s a basic law of physics. I make some protestations about how what I’m trying to do isn’t for that sort of house, and she gets this mocking look on her face and says “Oh, I get it. You’re a smart guy. Ask her if you’re so fucking smart.”

She gestures across the table, to where Margaret Laurence has been sitting, apparently unnoticed. Margaret #2 is holding a cup of tea in both hands, and looking into it with a sad, contemplative expression. She looks up at me with the same expression, but says nothing. Some time passes. I’m vaguely aware that she shouldn’t be there, but I’m not sure why. I’m too confused to say anything, but that’s okay, because Margaret #1 isn’t finished with me:

“See? She won’t even talk to you. Asshole.”

A big part of what makes it weird for me is that dream-Margaret is almost impossible to reconcile with the real one.

I dreamed about the graph of y=x^3 rotating in 3-D. That was pretty freaking weird.

How 'bout having wild me-on-top monkey sex with my highschool/college boyfriend while my husband watches, furiously masturbating?

I have a recurring dream in which Ed Asner stuffs green olives into my vagina. I am not making this up. In the dream, I am having a sublime erotic experience, despite the fact that it is fer-cryin-out-loud old, bald, overweight Ed Asner, to whom my waking self is not particularly attracted.

Eat your heart out, Sigmund Freud. Or, if not your heart, at least your pimiento.

I think my psyche dislikes me.

I had a dream where I was in a marathon. Everyone else in the marathon was walking really, really slowly and getting in my way. I was running flat out as hard as I could and everyone was still passing me. Eventually I get sick of this and notice a strip poker session is going on in the car park of the local bowling alley. I join in, everyone else is naked, I’m fully clothed and yet I understand that I’m the one losing. Just as I’m about to win a hand I notice a large, blue garbage truck fly overhead. I’m stunned to see a flying garbage truck hover over our poker game and even more stunned when the back of the garbage truck opens and showers me and the other players with rocks. The rocks hit me and hurt so bad it wakes me up.

That’s a good’n, pink freud. I once (only once) dreamt that I was in a dumpster and Ernest Borgnine was standing on top of it, peeing on me.

I probably never have told anyone about that one. It still comes up from time to time.

My goodness, maybe it’s relatively common to have sex dreams about ugly old dudes doing disgusting things to our tender selves. I feel a lot better about my Asner Olivegasm now that you’ve told me about The Importance of Peeing Ernest.

Dear god, I hope so. If not common, at least normal.

BTW – That’s “I probably should never have told anyone…” Margaret is going to be such a bitch about that one.

Have you ever considered, being a writer and a Canadian, that maybe this dream is just inevitable? Your own personal version of the back-in-the-8th*-grade-without-no-pants-on dream the rest of us have?

*or 9th, in Canada

I had a strange dream just last night that seemingly went on all night long. We were at some kind of an amusement park but there was just a single attraction. It was some kind of a frozen mountain/hill thing that young folks could slide down and older folks could walk around on an interesting path. Every time you went around it you got a colored glass panel, about 5 x 7 inches. The panels would attach to each other to form a larger, placard sized group and it took 96 panels to make it complete.

These panels were incredibly coveted by everyone, young and old alike. When you’d collected all 96 of one color, then you’d progress to the next color. Everyone in line had their panels with them as partially assembled placards and the various colors demonstrating how many placards you’d assembled were a real sounce of status and pride. Additional items such as basketballs and geriatric walkers could be purchased with panels too.

What was bothersome about this dream was that it just wouldn’t end. I kept wanting to dream about something else, yet I was stuck in an amusement park line behind a bunch of sweater-clad senior citizens with their beautifully colored panels in colors it would be years before I could ever attain.

My wife and I are reading Agatha Christie mysteries - mostly Poirots. I do xword puzzles.

Last night, I dreamed I looked out from our second floor apartment to see Hercule Poirot, pacing up and down the quaint main street in Westfield MA. (In real life, we own a house in Brookfield CT.)

So I go downstairs and by then, M. Poirot is seated on a park bench on the green, looking carefully at a Sunday sized xword puzzle. Of course this is tied directly to the case he’s working on.

I look at the clue for 2 Across and quickly determine that the answer is

Trying to sound casual, I ask if he needs any help. “Mais oui!” Hercule replies and proceeds to ask me to solve the entire puzzle and also to write a report on 4 specific comic strips in this very area of the puzzle. Which, of course, was entirely reasonable. Tacitly we agree to meet later on.

I go back upstairs and now a friend of my wife is there and she has tickets to a musical, but because of budgetary and other problems she has some for Friday - tonight - and some for Saturday nights. I have to go tonight and my wife on Saturday. I must also accompany this leggy, gorgeous, shapely, but shy Scandinavian-type platinum blond. I try to weasel out because of my commitment to Poirot, but wife shouts that she will have none of that. I must take this young lady to the show. So we go and things get very hot and sexy while we watch the musical.

I was in a hospital waiting room, waiting for a doctor to tell me how sick DeHusband was. I got tired of waiting so I start looking room-by-room for DeHusband. I hear this flap-flap-flap-flap sound and look in the room and there is my cat, sitting on her haunches, hitting the shade like a punching bag. Flapity flapity flapity flapity. I wake up just enough to push the cat off the window sill and threaten her life. I go back to sleep, only now I’m searching for the ever-elusive clean toilet because I have to pee.

Last night I dreamed I was working with Peter Jennings on a vital news story that was absolutely vital to the survival of the United States.

Which is funny, because I’ve never worked in the news industry. Must’ve been the TV special I watched last night.

These are great.

Ok, I think I’ve told this one before, but hey. It’s the funniest dream I ever had, so here it is again.

It was like watching a movie: I was looking at a fat, bald guy sitting in his living room. Suddenly, there’s a knock at his door. He opens it to reveal several hundred cartoon frogs jumping around outside.

He grabs one and starts…er…sodomizing it, while exclaiming, “MAN! I love popping these things! I could pop a whole bucket of these!!”

I woke up laughing my ass off. :smiley: