Two odd dreams from last weekend.
Madonna was riding a serpent-like sea monster following Buffy Summers who kidnapped Madonna’s son. Buffy turned around to show a blonde sea siren who suddenly attacked the sea monster.
Former co-worker Popin invited me to drink some cocktails she made on the pretext that she was studying to be a bartender. One of the better drinks included omelette as an ingredient. The drink was not called an “omelette”; it had an omelette. All the drinks were good, though.
It turned out to be a reality TV show where people are supposed to get drunk, do ridiculous drunken antics, and pass out in front of the camera. Two of the invited girlfriends started pole dancing in the bar. No, I didn’t get drunk enough to do anything stupid.
But this was not a dream:
I was getting the dried laundry from the clothes line when one of my briefs slipped from my hand and fell on the cement stub outside the balcony of the laundry area. I tried to fish it out, but I caused it to fall further down, on the outcropping roof placed outside the units at the building’s ground floor.
Bern and I had to take the step ladder (which normally functions as a book shelf) to fetch it. It was one of my newer underwear, bought just the week before, so I was pretty keen on getting it back. Good thing this happened at the back of the building, away from where most of the tenants pass on their way out.
We used to have suicidal plants and cooking pots. Now, even our underwear are jumping off our building.