Life for this Guy From Chicago has been so devoid of excitement as of late, that even my non-waking life can be only be described as boring and mundane. Case in point: the dream/nightmare that woke me up at 4:30AM this morning. I'll do my best to recount how it went, in a stream of consciousness format.
It's a cold, overcast winter afternoon in a nondescript Chicago suburb, and my brother, mother and I have just parked some sort of an SUV in the parking lot of a Jewel grocery store. We each take a cart and while there's releases from the other carts with ease, mine gets stuck. I try to untangle the cart from the others, but give up. Finding another one with a broken wheel I follow them inside but the stupid automatic door won't open for me. More annoyed than perplexed I ram the fucking cart through the door and behind not to notice the trail of broken glass behind me. We made our way to the produce section where pick out vegetables for to make a salad. Problem is, they're aren't any. The few that remain are curiously large (like a tomato the size of a soccer ball that sells for $500) and I can't find the romaine lettuce [the horror, the horror]. Deciding to make the best of a bad situation, I grab a plastic bag from the roll thing hanging over some phallic looking yams. problem is the roll un-spools and there's plastic everywhere. Making matters worse I cannot rip a bag at the perforated edge's. My mother, sensing my frustration. asks me if I'm having a panic attack, at which point I do and collapse into a table of oranges. Waking up a moment later I am surrounded by a sea of middle aged women pushing shopping carts. Many of them are giving me dirty looks for ruining their oranges and/or impeding their progress. Finally freeing myself of the orgy of shopping carts I go to find my Mother (which reminds me of when I would get lost when I was little) roaming each and every aisle, bumping into several people with my cart, people bumping into me (GAWD I hate shopping cart bumper cars). A large woman bumps into me and says "HEY WATCH IT FAGGOT!" who then recognizes me. It's my old lesbian friend from high school. She greets with by smashing my face into her boobs and she asks me if I still need a job. I respond that I do and abandon my shopping cart. I follow her out back into the loading dock area where random people are smoking cigs and hanging out. A harried looking woman hires me on the spot, writing down my hours on a piece of cardboard labeled "Dr. Pepper". Once again wondering around in the store I see a guy I had a huge hard on for back in high school. Fighting to get a closer look at him I am blocked by a sea of carts that won't move no matter how hard I push. He vanishes. Having had enough of this boring dream I approach the disaster that is the checkout lines. It resembles the security lines at O'Hare Airport on the day before Thanksgiving. Worse still, Rachel Rae is screaming at us shoppers on a plethora of TV's imploring us to try her new pumpkin pie recipe ("use lots of Cinnamon!" she says in a threatening/cheery voice). Finally, it's my turn to check out and all I have is the soccer ball sized Tomato, which I am told I cannot afford because, so the testy checkout girl simply cuts into pieces, and hands me the small wedge she deems I can afford. Struggling to exit as fast as possible I hip check at least 7 people, knocking them over and find myself at the dreaded automatic doors that refuses to open for me. Like JCVD I throw a roundhouse at it, which again breaks. In the parking lot I am looking for that random SUV that carried me there, but my attention is diverted to a Lufthansa A-319 missing a wing, and racing towards the ground at a 45 degree angle (?).
So, what does this all mean? That dreams are fucked up. And if you read all of this, you must be really bored.
And in case you were wondering, yes, I was really high when I fell asleep.
It's a cold, overcast winter afternoon in a nondescript Chicago suburb, and my brother, mother and I have just parked some sort of an SUV in the parking lot of a Jewel grocery store. We each take a cart and while there's releases from the other carts with ease, mine gets stuck. I try to untangle the cart from the others, but give up. Finding another one with a broken wheel I follow them inside but the stupid automatic door won't open for me. More annoyed than perplexed I ram the fucking cart through the door and behind not to notice the trail of broken glass behind me. We made our way to the produce section where pick out vegetables for to make a salad. Problem is, they're aren't any. The few that remain are curiously large (like a tomato the size of a soccer ball that sells for $500) and I can't find the romaine lettuce [the horror, the horror]. Deciding to make the best of a bad situation, I grab a plastic bag from the roll thing hanging over some phallic looking yams. problem is the roll un-spools and there's plastic everywhere. Making matters worse I cannot rip a bag at the perforated edge's. My mother, sensing my frustration. asks me if I'm having a panic attack, at which point I do and collapse into a table of oranges. Waking up a moment later I am surrounded by a sea of middle aged women pushing shopping carts. Many of them are giving me dirty looks for ruining their oranges and/or impeding their progress. Finally freeing myself of the orgy of shopping carts I go to find my Mother (which reminds me of when I would get lost when I was little) roaming each and every aisle, bumping into several people with my cart, people bumping into me (GAWD I hate shopping cart bumper cars). A large woman bumps into me and says "HEY WATCH IT FAGGOT!" who then recognizes me. It's my old lesbian friend from high school. She greets with by smashing my face into her boobs and she asks me if I still need a job. I respond that I do and abandon my shopping cart. I follow her out back into the loading dock area where random people are smoking cigs and hanging out. A harried looking woman hires me on the spot, writing down my hours on a piece of cardboard labeled "Dr. Pepper". Once again wondering around in the store I see a guy I had a huge hard on for back in high school. Fighting to get a closer look at him I am blocked by a sea of carts that won't move no matter how hard I push. He vanishes. Having had enough of this boring dream I approach the disaster that is the checkout lines. It resembles the security lines at O'Hare Airport on the day before Thanksgiving. Worse still, Rachel Rae is screaming at us shoppers on a plethora of TV's imploring us to try her new pumpkin pie recipe ("use lots of Cinnamon!" she says in a threatening/cheery voice). Finally, it's my turn to check out and all I have is the soccer ball sized Tomato, which I am told I cannot afford because, so the testy checkout girl simply cuts into pieces, and hands me the small wedge she deems I can afford. Struggling to exit as fast as possible I hip check at least 7 people, knocking them over and find myself at the dreaded automatic doors that refuses to open for me. Like JCVD I throw a roundhouse at it, which again breaks. In the parking lot I am looking for that random SUV that carried me there, but my attention is diverted to a Lufthansa A-319 missing a wing, and racing towards the ground at a 45 degree angle (?).
So, what does this all mean? That dreams are fucked up. And if you read all of this, you must be really bored.
And in case you were wondering, yes, I was really high when I fell asleep.
