-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sweet Dreams

Well I was going to write about the fact that business travel just got a bit more hellacious thanks to some asshole businessmen who convinced the FAA to approve cell phone usage while in flight, however Uncle Bob beat me to it. Damn him and his early posting ways. He said exactly what I was thinking, but said it better than I would've, so I suppose I will just let it drop.

I will say that this could provide a new technique for keeping the middle seat free on dreaded Southwest. In the past, I've resorted to putting my oversized laptop case in the middle seat while digging though it to pull out large messy piles of paper that keep sliding onto the floor which require me to reach down to pick them up and on and on and on. Now, I'll just flip open the cell phone, call my voicemail and say in a really loud voice. "WHAT'S THAT BARB? No, no NO! Look, I'll be on this flight for the next two and a half hours. Get them on the phone, and we'll do the conference call now. NO! It can't wait! I can be on the call the WHOLE FLIGHT! Put me through to Al, I'll explain it to him....No, Al. This has to be decided within the next two hours - what's that you're breaking up... I'll talk LOUDER!" For added effectiveness, just add a plate of nachos that smells like a dirty diaper. Ain't no one sitting next to you then.

In other news, I had some really odd dreams last night. Some of them involved driving through a small lakeside Kansas town looking for Rosie's Mexican Food and Enchilada shop. I've never been to such a place, but it sure sounds good. In the dream, Ryan kept mixing margaritas in the passenger seat and trying to get me to drink one. Only I was driving and I couldn't drink. Also, my aunt and grandma were in the car, so it didn't seem right. Then my co-worker who was driving in front of us clipped a low stone wall with her passenger mirror which caused the local police officer to show up. He was Andy Griffith - only not Mayberry Andy Griffith, but Matlock Andy Griffith. I was busy trying to hide the liquor under the seat, but Ryan wasn't havin' it. He kept talking to Andy about Buicks. I really don't know what that means except I think I'll have Mexican food tonight for dinner.

In another dream, a friend from high school was getting married, and I had traveled in to be part of the wedding. Only she's already married, and I never talk to her anymore. When I arrived, it was just in time for the rehearsal. She was having a very elaborate wedding which involved two alternate Christ-loving religion knock-off ministers, a gospel choir that sang only in Latin and a plethora of balloon arches. Evidentially, she had wanted to include everyone she'd ever known in the processional because there were about 30 attendants, male and female. They were already mid-processional when I arrived. To get to your spot, it was sort of like square dancing where you walked through the human arch of people and found your place at the front of the line. One of the new age ministers was calling out names, and I heard him say "Nitpick." Everyone looked at each other asking "Who in the hell is that?" I didn't respond fearing that if I did, I would have to explain to them this journal, and I really didn't want to do that. The minister moved on, and all appeared well. I made a mental note to tell him my real name to use in the actual ceremony the next day. Of course I forgot until the last minute, and by then it was too late. During the ceremony, the people doing the readings would just stand up from wherever they were in the room and shout out the reading. It was really weird. About that time, the cat decided to stretch putting his paw on my cheek, claws slightly exposed. The dream was over.

On my continuing quest to please Jane, I will include yet another Hawaii picture with a person in it. This picture displays the trust already developed in my new marriage. I pointed to a puddle on those rocks and told Ryan to go stand there so I could get his picture. Before sending him to the puddle, I'd seen the waves when they had all crashed like this, but I think he was looking in the other direction. Needless to say, he got a bit wet.

9:19 a.m. - December 16, 2004

|

previous - next











latest entry

about me

archives

notes

DiaryLand

contact

random entry

Journals I Read:

Plain-Jane

(not so) Evil Clomid

Colleen's Musings

Allison

Google Groups
Enter your email address to be notified of new entries:
Email:
Visit this group