I am in serious need of a dream catcher.

Lorelai: I had the weirdest dream last night. We were in our house but it wasn't our house, it was a Kentucky Fried Chicken.
Rory: I'm hooked.
Lorelai: I had to get dressed but my clothes were in the back and the guy manning the giant oil vat would not let me through.
Rory: That's so weird! When you said oil vat that just reminded me I had this dream last night. We were swimming in a pool, only it wasn't water it was like oil or honey or something.
Lorelai: Hey, you totally did the thing!  Where one person is describing their dream and it reminds the other person about their dream and suddenly it's all about their dream and the first person is just standing there like 'Um, hey man what about my dream?'

---

Yes, I have been listening to Gilmore Girl reruns while working this week.
Incidentally, I also had a really weird dream last night.
Which I am now going to tell you about (my apologies in advance).

It all started at this little St. Andrew's cafe on Guernsey Island.  We were sitting outdoors, having crab cakes (which we actually did last April, and they were the best crab cakes I have ever had).  After we'd left the cafe, I realized I'd lost my sunglasses and would have to go back and find them (even though I don't actually like those sunglasses - why do these things never occur to me in my dreams?).

Naturally upon re-entering the cafe it immediately transformed into a giant white mansion of a building in western North Carolina (reality has no place in my dreams.  Or geography, apparently.)  The building was incredible: white and spacious and beautiful, and, like Howl's moving castle, it continued to expand as I wandered around in search of those stupid sun glasses.  At some point I actually forgot I was looking for them at all, but by then Isaac had dumped a huge box of practically invisible toys into the carpet and I spent the remainder of my life trying to clean them up (an actual fear of mine).  Tim, of course, went off to fry some chicken in the kitchen (?).

As I wandered around (I apparently forgot about the sunglasses and the toys), I realized there were people of all nationalities coming and going from the building, buying and selling merchandise, eating, working, watching TV.  I had a conversation with an old woman that went something like this:

Me: ""What is going on here?  This is the weirdest house I've ever seen!"
Old Woman: "Do you see that other house, across the courtyard over there?"
I looked up, and there, on a huge white balcony, was a very classy gray-haired woman in a long black dress throwing a fancy little dinner party with harps and cocktail waiters and funny looking hors d'oeuvre.  "Uh, yes," I said.
Old Woman: "She owns both these buildings.  Her husband left her the property when he died, and she turned it into a little city.  It is now known as the tri-county area."

Of course, I was entirely satisfied with this answer (makes perfect sense, no?), or perhaps I was too tired to care.  Whenever I am tired in my dreams, I tend to walk around with half-mast eyes (no really, they are actually half-mast, I can barely see and am always bumping into things), and have trouble listening or articulating.  It's incredibly inconvenient, especially when your family is waiting for you in the car (because they are going to the beach) and you can't seem to walk the three feet between the bathroom and the front door no matter how hard you try so they leave without you.  I hate it when that happens.

I decided it was high time to go retrieve my husband.  I didn't want chicken anymore so there was really no point in him cooking that much anyway.  Of course I had to stop on the way and buy this giant square tapestry that a little Arab boy was selling at his kiosk (Well, what kind of dream would it be if I didn't try to buy a tapestry?!)  

"Oh, this is absolutely perfect for my living room in Denmark!" I said, stopping to stroke the fabric.  (Apparently I still live in Denmark, even though I am in the NC tri-county area).
The Arab boy glared at me and snapped, "HEY!  Don't touch my stuff!"
"But I want to buy this," I said.
"MOVE ALONG!"
"Can I come back and buy it, then?"  
"NO!"

As he was literally shouting at me, I figured I should leave.  But only after casting a nasty side-long glance at his father and uncle, the two Arab men sitting on a park bench not far away.  They'd apparently decided to make the kid sell their wares and watch from a distance, only they were clearly not paying enough attention to notice that he wasn't actually selling anything at all, the little brat. 

(Huh, I'm still abnormally upset about this.  And I don't even like tapestries.  Weird.)

After that, the whole evening was a bust.  I ran into two guys trying to fix a stereo system they had broken, then I tried to steal a plastic toy and had a stroke of conscience and put it back, then I ran into one of my parent's old friends who I hadn't seen since I was like nine (who was buying her weekly groceries, what else), and she told me that the entire building was designed by Tim's old boss, and then I found Tim and we left the madhouse and Isaac turned into a cat.

And then, thankfully, I woke up. 

On that nonsensical note, I must leave you.  We've made plans.  We are going (drum roll please) outside.

Tim just said:

"Okay, I don't want to frighten you, I just want to warn you: it is nine degrees out there."

(He just looked over my shoulder and saw me typing that and walked away in a huff.  He is convinced the entire purpose of my blog is to mercilessly mock him.  So I told him: anything you say on the record can and will be used against you!)

I love you, honey.  ♥♥♥