The one in which I tell you about a dream I had and allow YOU to tell me what it all means

(Wordnerd, this one's for you...)

From time to time, along with telling embarrassing stories about myself and offering up tidbits of my life for amusement and telling made-up stories about vampires or warlocks, I like to tell y’all about my dreams and let you rip my psyche to shreds in the comments.

For I am a loving kind of blogger, and want you to feel good about yourselves in a smarty-pants psychiatrist kind of way. It’s a little thing, but can mean so very much.

Anyhoo - the last dream I had before waking up this morning was a doozy. A DOOZY, I say! It astounded even me, which is saying something, and so I strove to remember as much of it as possible. I will, of course, not be able to tell you all of it in excruciatingly rich detail, for to do that would be to spend far too much time scene-setting and not enough time getting to the action, of which there was much, let me tell ya!

As far as I can recall, it started off with me and another woman going clothes shopping in an all-stainless steel mall, in which the usual mode of shopping was to sit in front of a store window while the attendant handed stuff out through an opening in the front. The front walls were either all glass or completely open, and there was only one or 2 visible wares within, so it was kind of anybody’s guess as to what was inside. So, OK, we sit in 2 plastic chairs and the attendant starts gushing at my friend “oh, you MUST wear this to the party tonight! You’ll be a HIT!” and hands out a see-through plastic dress. SEE THROUGH. Totally. Like a dry-cleaning bag with a waistline. My friend goes “squee!” and clutches it to herself, and then we are instantaneously transported INSIDE another store, which is staffed by men wearing colorful dresses and flowered hats. They look remarkably like Graham Chapman and David Spade. They are on a teevee show, and are there to dress ME.

In black velvet. An entire BOLT of it. Thanks guys.

Then, back in our regular clothing, we decide to throw out the plastic “it” dress, and go in search of a trash can. We go up a wide flight up steps that have no kick (the vertical bits) so we can see through the stairs, and I get dizzy. The stairs are covered in oriental rugs in shades of rust and mossy green. There’s a wide U-shaped mezzanine level that has all kinds of middle-easterny looking shops, but there are NO trash cans.

My friend takes a right turn at the top into a shop that has a front door that looks like the entrance to a gothic cathedral, and indeed, inside are rows of pews and an ornate pulpit behind which we find a trash can in which to stuff the plastic dress. There are a few people in the pews, including more men in dresses, and they are practicing hurling epithets from “The Search for the Holy Grail” at one another and mispronouncing “knights” by saying it the RIGHT way instead of “kuh-niggits” as they do in the movie. I correct them, and one parishioner begins shouting “kuh-niggits!” over and over again, spraying macaroni salad out of his mouth and all over the pew in front of him.

We beat a retreat through a side door, into a wide ballroom, where Weird Al is setting up to do a show for retired people. The room is short from back to front, with tables scattered here and there. It’s like twilight in there, with walls the color and texture of russet potato skins. Weird Al’s sound system is a Mr Microphone. He doesn’t have a hat on, and I can see he’s going bald. He looks over his shoulder at me and winks, saying “Hey babe, I was wondering when you’d show up,” from which it’s obvious he knows me and was expecting me. I tell him I’ll be right back, and quick march out to the mall with my friend, but the mall is really the outside, and we’re in a Target parking lot, where a chubby girl in a too-short tee shirt is telling me how thrilled she is to have lost weight while tugging at the waistband of control-top pantyhose that are poking out the top of her too-tight jeans.

And then........

I woke up.

And INSTANTLY started trying to remember this dream, for, as I said, it was a doozy.

Feel free to thank me, or psychoanalyze me, in the comments. I'm expecting one or the other.