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2007-01-04 - 10:06 p.m.

Of Pooh Bear and BLT's

Damn, I've had the wildest dreams the last couple days. Well, actually one set was from last night, and then a whole other bizarro set happened whilst I was napping this afternoon. Cuz I can do that kinda shit.

Last night's involved a big old house, complete with a "vampire," in the form of Johnny Depp. And he was in love with me. Of course. We had to sneak around to be together. He showed me a grave site and told me it would someday be mine. Oh. How fucking spooky. The date of my death was either May 19 or 21st. Didn't catch the year. I was a little too freaked out, if you know what I'm sayin'. But Johnny has a softer side: At one point, he planned a surprise birthday party for me. I entered a music store one evening, and he'd picked out all his favorite albums. There were headsets attached to each one for sampling, and my gift was to create my own CD. I recall being a little bummed he hadn't selected any Jimmy Buffett albums. But my boyfriend was Johnny Depp, so I quickly got over it. Then the store suddenly became a make-your-own perfume store. I began with a base of lemon scent. I suppose I wanted to smell like Pledge. Then I added some cherry scent. Ooooo, Sexy Hostess Fruit Pie Pledge Lady.

Then this afternoon, I dreamt I was helping Christopher Meloni (the guy from Law & Order: SVU who looks like Lumbergh) with a child murder & possibly related child abduction case. But Chris was my Dad. And even though I wasn't trained on detective work, I had all these ideas of how to catch the bad guy. Chris dad sort of smiled in that "thanks, honey, but let us do our jobs" way. Screw him. I went off on my own and somehow got the detectives to follow me to a post office/storage facility with lots of lockers and filing drawers. I was opening anything unlocked and peeping in to find a dead body or, you know, evidential shit. At one point, I found a room that hadn't been used by the renter in a few years. He'd left some things around, but nothing suspicious. I opened the door to the closet, which appeared empty until a small piglet ran out squealing. WTF? I managed to snag piglet and couldn't believe someone kept him in a dark closet in a storage place. When's the last time he'd been fed? What kind of cruel asswipe would do such a thing? We tracked down the owner, and I pulled some Animal Cops crap on him, finally forcing him to release the piglet to me. Not knowing what to do with it, I finally decided to give it to the mother of the murdered girl. Because there's nothing like a piglet to ease the pain of losing a child.

But it's nice to know that I'm a caring person, albeit misguided, when I'm asleep.

I woke up around 2:30, craving a BLT, having not done a single thing all day, except sleep, walk the dogs, and watch TV. I finally jumped out of bed, gathered up another load of trash, dumped that and checked the mail. Nuffins. Walked the dogs again, grabbed a bag of dog food out of the trunk plus a carton of diet coke, then settled in to figure out the ol' money situation. How much am I gonna need? I was trying to think of every conceiveable expense for the next 3 months (including a week trip to North Carolina + dog boarding, because for that, I think I'll have to), rounding all estimates up. Then I tacked on some extra. And some extra on top of that. Just in case. I worked backwards on how much I'd have to take out considering the mandatory 20% Federal tax, then resquiggled the numbers to accomodate the early tax penalty and money for state taxes.

Wow. That's a chunk o' moolah, chicko. About what I'd (sorta kinda) figured in my head a month ago (just hazy enough so I'd have to guts to quit and not overanalyze finances).

Hell, according to Johnny Depp, I could be dead THIS May, so it's cool. I'm gonna die with a clean apartment and a new vacuum, if it kills me. I mean...um. You know.

And when my family comes by to collect my things, they'll say "Holy shit. Her perfumed soaps are organized by color. And the pennies in this jar are stacked by year. And, yes, before you ask, her movies ARE organized by title and genre. With all the Tom Cruise ones set aside under the category 'Creepy Fucker.' Those, we'll definitely toss. Ok, let's check the bedroom. She must have something autographed by Johnny Depp in there."

Or, on the other hand, I'll get everything cleaned and organized, only to be left with enough time to mess it all up again. ("Good lord, check out this pantry. She put the bottle of maple syrup right in the middle of all the cans of corn niblets and green beans. And she's got a stapler sitting on the bathroom counter. What the hell did she DO all day?")

Ideally, all the negativity will be wiped away when they find a bottle of lemon & cherry scented perfume (in the kitchen, by the slotted spoon). "Whoa...what's this? A custom made fragrance? She even named it! Polished Hostessa. Hmmm. I can't figure out it that sounds like a flophouse in Harlem, or a nail salon in Detroit. But it actually smells pretty good. Here, smell. Yeahhh, I know, she was onto something, wasn't she? Could've worked a little harder on the name, but then again, she was pretty busy near the end, working as a shift manager at McD's. Speaking of which, where are those free McRib coupons she kept promising us?"

See, I got it ALL worked out, even the conversations people will have after I "accidentally" scald myself to death with fry grease. Oh, yeah, I have everything covered. *wink*

Heh. So anyhoo, tomorrow, when I finally wake up from more weirdo but awesomely NEATO dreams, I have many tasks and errands planned. I gots to pay da rent. I gots to get my 'scrips from da Kroger, plus the 'scrips for the dogs from da vet (fleas, ticks & worms are whack). And when I stop talking like K-Fed, I must request the required currency from my financial institution. Pip, pip! Jolly good.

See ya on the flip side.