taking applications

hey so two three things:

1.) i had the most effed up dream last night.  really excuse me for the coarse language.  the truth is i say a lot of naughty words in real life but not so much here.  i don't want to make anyone uncomfy.  but sometimes i seriously want to be like, "@&^SH##$F@^$^#B%^!!!!"  

do you cuss?  how many times a day and what are the circumstances?  only when you accidently cut your foot off or more like when you chip your nail polish?  just wondering.

but back to the dream, what happened was i woke up and immediately opened the laptop which was on the bed next to me from the night before (sickness) and i did my usual rounds, half awake, wondering why i don't have a coffee boy and then, BAM, a scene from the dream which i had forgotten popped into my brain and i must have had a look on my face like, GOD, MY WEIRDNESS KNOWS NO BOUNDS, because in the dream, and this is gross so skip this last bit if you are at this moment taking a big bite of something involving tomato sauce or ground beef or something (REALLY, I MEAN IT), someone had the audacity to, um, jeez this is hard to type....scalp me.

ew, right?  WHAT THE?

i think the guy was this child abuser dude who i had previously ratted out to the police and he also happened to be the owner of a small traveling circus.  FIGURES.

and after it happened i needed to get to the hospital, OBVI, but i had some trouble getting there and then once i was there i was being seen by some kind of 12 yo intern and i had to run around the hospital looking for the real doctors (side note- i've been watching old episodes of "grey's anatomy" before bed) and it was all rather.....ANXIETY MUCH, LIANE??

honestly.  where do i get this crap?

of course i then went looking for some sort of guidance from internet dream interpretation sites and decided i either A. am afraid my ideas and thoughts are being stolen or B. i am becoming more emotionally open or C. i need a long "spa" vacation.

but moving right along..

2.) will you please tell me your last dream?  i know i've asked you this before.

3.)  i am currently taking applications for a new position which has opened up here.  your main responsibility will be to have my coffee ready in the morning when i wake up and you will also be required to deliver it to me in bed while i surf the net.  an auxiliary duty will be to listen to me recount my dreams, offer interpretation and finally, drive me to the hospital no questions asked should a child-abusing traveling-circus-oriented man scalps me,  for chrissakes.

bad dream

ok. nightmare. 

sometimes i hate it when people try to tell me their dreams.  is that mean?  but you're my captive and now i'm going to tell you mine.  it's 4 AM and it just woke me up.  but don't try to analyze it.  i hate being analyzed.  unless your conclusion is that i'm completely emotionally balanced.  oh, and a super model.  then analyze away.

so i'm at this golf course resort place.  all schmaltzy.  you know, the kind of place you can imagine me hanging at...not.  and this very bad mean sleazeball guy is going to double-cross me.  he may be my brother or some sort of associate i can't remember now.  isn't that funny i said "associate."  i'm in a bad tv show. 

anywayz, he's a sociopath.  which reminds me, fascinating subject.  we'll have to talk about that later. 

so, the jerk shoots me.  but i survive.  actually, he completely misses me even though he's like 2 feet away.  i fake die.  he checks my pulse but i fake no pulse.  wow,  i'm good at this.  then he decides to do a little light reading in the next room and i have to keep my fake death pose for a long time which totally irritates me and gives me anxiety.  my dog is with me. she's not happy with the situation and is sniffing at me and whining.  i'm a little concerned that this will set the sleazeball sociopath off so i'm trying to maintain my fake death fake no pulse pose and keep her calm at the same time. 

finally he checks my fake no pulse one more time and does a maniacal little laugh.  then his high society low class girlfriend comes in.  she's all like, ew, dead body, let's go play golf and get hammered.

so they leave.  and then i realize my son, eli, is with me.  he knows i'm faking.  we have to plan a getaway.  we gotta escape to canada or something.  i get out of my fake death fake no pulse pose.  FINALLY.  i remember being all like, how long do i have to stay here like this.  i can't take it any longer. 

at this point i don't feel like a super hero who can get shot at close range and survive.  i'm really scared and i'm wanting a getaway coordinator.  an underground railroad.  a GOOD associate.  but i'm thinking, alls i got is myself.  so i frantically gather my shit together in the dark in the golf resort hotel suite.  we must have had some dough.  it was a suite.  and eli and i are like, let's head for the border.

and then i woke up. 

the end.