So, the other night, I had a rather amusing dream that the Obamas were coming over for dinner at my mom's house. Evidently both my parents were there, plus the Obamas, a random couple I didn't know, and Ann Landers (zombie Ann Landers?). They were really nice people, and I liked having dinner with them. After the meal, I went over to the sink, and there was this weird fruit sauce in it. Evidently it was some sort of sauce you ate while voting, and this was a sample of it. I got a spoon and had a few spoonfuls. It was good, kind of the texture and color of applesauce with chunks of pineapple and other fruit mixed in. I told my dad I ate some, and he became quite irate. He told me to go ask Ann Landers how to make myself throw up, because I had to get it out of my system. It made no sense to me, since it was just a fruit sauce and couldn't possibly hurt me, but evidently I wasn't supposed to taste it until voting day, and if the government found out I had eaten it, I'd be in huge trouble. But there was no way I was going to make myself vomit unless I'd eaten rat poison or something, and I figured if my dad was so adamant about it, I'd just go into the bathroom and make retching noises or something. Plus, that would have made a weird conversation. "Hello, Ann Landers. Look, I know you're dead and all, but since you're sitting at the kitchen table, I have a question. I ate the forbidden fruit voting sauce, and now I need to make myself vomit. So where exactly in my throat do I poke my finger?" And after zombie Ann Landers said "Rarrr, Braaaaains!" she'd tell me that I needed to see a psychologist or something. We could have at least had Abby over for dinner, she's still alive, and I read her column daily. Anyway, so the Obamas and the other couple were leaving, and I went outside and sat in the couple's car. I wanted to talk to Barack some more and tell him that he was a cool guy, and I hoped he'd win since he's not a douchebag. So the Obamas and the couple got in, and they were apparently driving some babysitter home. Also, my young cousin Kara randomly appeared in the car, sitting in a plastic box. I talked to her a bit, then talked to Michelle about hats for a while. Then in another part of the dream, some photographer was stalking Obama and kept following him into stores. Obama was pretty annoyed by this and kept evading him. Then for some reason I was outside a store that he went into, and I held up a camera but didn't take a picture. The photographer took a picture, and then Obama walked out looking pissed off. I suddenly felt bad and wondered if he hated me for it. Apparently the photographer's picture of Obama with his arm around a pregnant woman caused a huge scandal, even though it was obviously his wife in the picture. They went up on a big balcony before a huge crowd of people, and I was with them. Barack introduced his wife to the crowd and said she was the woman in the picture. Some girl in the crowd screamed out "IS SHE PREGNANT?!?!?!" He said yes, and the crowd burst into cheers. And that was my dream. I totally want to have the Obamas over for dinner now.
I also had a dream last night where there was a secret passage under my rental house. I opened the floor in the bathroom, by this rat-hole in the wall, and went down. There was a cave inside, and it smelled like mold and rat poop. I shone my flashlight around and saw about a dozen cats in this cavernous area. Apparently one of my friends and some other people lived there too, which was weird. There was also apparently a tunnel to Cleveland down there. I went outside, and apparently the property also included a large barn and a big parking area where there were a couple pickup trucks.
Say, has anyone been to Reykjavik? See, I'm not all that familiar with Iceland, but I might be stopping over there for a few days before visiting my Uncle Jon and Aunt Kathleen in Denmark this summer. I'm wondering if I can pull off being a Stupid American or if I should start learning Icelandic as well as Danish, because I'm not going to go to a foreign country unless I can hold a basic conversation in the native language. Of course, I haven't been out of the country in nearly 10 years and am itching for a cultural change of scenery (Hawaii doesn't count - they've been too Americanized, unfortunately, although I do love what remains of the native culture.). I'm pining for the fjords. But not yet dead.
(On that note, I just have to mention that I appreciate the copious Monty Python references in Runescape. I was doing a quest today that involved tricking a werewolf meat seller -- that is, a werewolf who sells meat, not a seller of werewolf meat -- into thinking that a crate of wooden cats was full of live cats, and when he asked why the cats weren't moving, my character said they were "pining.")