Dorf on my Husband
(or, How Tim Conway Tried to Steal My Man)
Jay and I both had really messed up dreams last night. The really weird thing is that our dreams bore some strange similarities. What brought on our tandem dreams? Was it the Pizza Hut dinner? All the bourbon we drank? Or the bag of beef jerky? I only ate ONE bite!
My "Braided Fabric and Self-portrait Photography" was being displayed in a large gymnasium-type building, along with the Braided Fabric and Self-Portrait Photography of several other Fabric Braiding/Self-Portrait artists. I can only guess that this was some type of 4-H activity being judged at the State Fair. The "artwork" was literally large bolts of fabric we had unrolled and folded into braided patterns to which we'd attached 8.5 x 11" head-shots of ourselves. Some of the displays still had the fabric wrapped in its original bolts.
My parents and grandparents had come to view my handiwork. To get down to the gymnasium floor, we had to descend via an intricate and increasingly treacherous system of conveyor belts and escalators. At first, the belts were fairly simple, seemingly safe, and rather fun as I slid down and sideways in my descent into the gym. But the journey became more and more tricky, and dangerous, ending in a long balancing act high above the gym floor on a single rubber escalator hand-rail pitched at a 45-degree angle. I slid down it deftly, and called to my grandpa (who was following me) to jump at a certain point. He did, and I tried to catch him, but he landed hard on the wood gym floor, and I heard his ankles snap.
Apparently my grandpa's injuries weren't of great concern, because we went on to view the fabric displays. This is the first of several points in the dream where I thought I woke up, but was actually still dreaming. We were now in the basement of my parents old house in Grand Island, NE, and the fabric displays were on the walls.
My mom confided to me, "I can't really tell what is artistic about these."
Thinking I was actually awake at this point, I said to her, "That's because I dreamt them all up! These are all from my dream!"
Her eyes lit with understanding and she said, "Ohhhh..." It all made sense now.
I then found myself in my childhood bedroom, also in the basement. Again, I thought I had just woken up from the dream. In fact, I went through I don't know how many awakenings in this portion of the dream. It was almost like one of those Russian dolls, where you open one up, only to reveal another doll inside it. And when you think you've opened the last one, sure enough, it opens and there's another, smaller one hidden inside. I'm not sure how many times I "woke up" and thought I was finally in the waking world, but finally I woke up, and went back into the other basement room where the fabric had been on display.
Here, I found Jay sitting in a chair with Tim Conway (from the old Carol Burnett show). Jay was wearing a pair of black speedo biking shorts, and Tim had his left foot pressed into Jay's crotch. I could see through the spandex fabric that Jay was ... enjoying the placement of Mr. Conway's foot. I pulled Jay away from the little usurper and back into my bedroom. And once again, I awoke.
This time I awoke for real, but by now was so bewildered, I had no idea where I actually was. Through my (truly) open eyes, I looked in front of me and recognized, sort of, the room I was in, and feeling cold, realized I wasn't covered by the blanket. I pulled at the blanket, and immediately heard Jay protest. "No! Those are MY blankets!"
"No, they're MY blankets!" I argued. But then I realized what I had been seeing through my open eyes was the bedroom through the mirror on the wall at the head of the bed, upside-down (because I was lying on my back). This explained why the room didn't look quite right - I was seeing it upside-down and in reverse. I had, as a result, pulled the blanket the wrong direction, completely off of Jay in the process. Finally properly oriented, I said, "Man I am having fucked up dreams!"
"You're telling me? Jay responded.
"You're having weird dreams too?" I asked.
"Oh yeah. Like, I can't distinguish dreams from reality at all," he said.
"Me either!" I said. "And I'm having dreams within dreams within dreams like I've never experienced."
"Mmm Hmmm" he agreed. "And I was in the basement of my parents old house."
"So was I! In my parents old basement!" I marveled at the similarities in our dreams, and added, "And I caught Tim Conway playing with your weiner."
(silence)
(silence)
(silence)
"The old, shriveled Tim Conway, or the young Tim Conway from Carol Burnett?"
My "Braided Fabric and Self-portrait Photography" was being displayed in a large gymnasium-type building, along with the Braided Fabric and Self-Portrait Photography of several other Fabric Braiding/Self-Portrait artists. I can only guess that this was some type of 4-H activity being judged at the State Fair. The "artwork" was literally large bolts of fabric we had unrolled and folded into braided patterns to which we'd attached 8.5 x 11" head-shots of ourselves. Some of the displays still had the fabric wrapped in its original bolts.
My parents and grandparents had come to view my handiwork. To get down to the gymnasium floor, we had to descend via an intricate and increasingly treacherous system of conveyor belts and escalators. At first, the belts were fairly simple, seemingly safe, and rather fun as I slid down and sideways in my descent into the gym. But the journey became more and more tricky, and dangerous, ending in a long balancing act high above the gym floor on a single rubber escalator hand-rail pitched at a 45-degree angle. I slid down it deftly, and called to my grandpa (who was following me) to jump at a certain point. He did, and I tried to catch him, but he landed hard on the wood gym floor, and I heard his ankles snap.
Apparently my grandpa's injuries weren't of great concern, because we went on to view the fabric displays. This is the first of several points in the dream where I thought I woke up, but was actually still dreaming. We were now in the basement of my parents old house in Grand Island, NE, and the fabric displays were on the walls.
My mom confided to me, "I can't really tell what is artistic about these."
Thinking I was actually awake at this point, I said to her, "That's because I dreamt them all up! These are all from my dream!"
Her eyes lit with understanding and she said, "Ohhhh..." It all made sense now.
I then found myself in my childhood bedroom, also in the basement. Again, I thought I had just woken up from the dream. In fact, I went through I don't know how many awakenings in this portion of the dream. It was almost like one of those Russian dolls, where you open one up, only to reveal another doll inside it. And when you think you've opened the last one, sure enough, it opens and there's another, smaller one hidden inside. I'm not sure how many times I "woke up" and thought I was finally in the waking world, but finally I woke up, and went back into the other basement room where the fabric had been on display.
Here, I found Jay sitting in a chair with Tim Conway (from the old Carol Burnett show). Jay was wearing a pair of black speedo biking shorts, and Tim had his left foot pressed into Jay's crotch. I could see through the spandex fabric that Jay was ... enjoying the placement of Mr. Conway's foot. I pulled Jay away from the little usurper and back into my bedroom. And once again, I awoke.
This time I awoke for real, but by now was so bewildered, I had no idea where I actually was. Through my (truly) open eyes, I looked in front of me and recognized, sort of, the room I was in, and feeling cold, realized I wasn't covered by the blanket. I pulled at the blanket, and immediately heard Jay protest. "No! Those are MY blankets!"
"No, they're MY blankets!" I argued. But then I realized what I had been seeing through my open eyes was the bedroom through the mirror on the wall at the head of the bed, upside-down (because I was lying on my back). This explained why the room didn't look quite right - I was seeing it upside-down and in reverse. I had, as a result, pulled the blanket the wrong direction, completely off of Jay in the process. Finally properly oriented, I said, "Man I am having fucked up dreams!"
"You're telling me? Jay responded.
"You're having weird dreams too?" I asked.
"Oh yeah. Like, I can't distinguish dreams from reality at all," he said.
"Me either!" I said. "And I'm having dreams within dreams within dreams like I've never experienced."
"Mmm Hmmm" he agreed. "And I was in the basement of my parents old house."
"So was I! In my parents old basement!" I marveled at the similarities in our dreams, and added, "And I caught Tim Conway playing with your weiner."
(silence)
(silence)
(silence)
"The old, shriveled Tim Conway, or the young Tim Conway from Carol Burnett?"
1 Comments:
OMG! So funny! Totally laughing my arse off! Jay, honey, it is Tim Conway -- does it matter if it was the young one or the old one? :)
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