Note to self, do not buy Generic Toilet Paper…aka John Wayne Toilet Paper: It’s rough and tough and don’t take no sh*t of nobody.
Well, with all the hub bub going around about George Clooney’s recent engagement and wedding, (I can hear the women crying now), it just figures I’d have a dream about it. I don’t even know why, because as dashing as he is, I’m not crazy over the guy.
George Clooney is my roommate in this dream. Not only is he my roommate, but he’s my cousin. He’s rushing around looking for his tux and trying to find the ring. I’m like “What’s goin on George? You nervous?” And he says “OMG…I am nervous as all get out! What if I forget the ring? What if I forget what to say? What if she changes her mind?” I say “Hey, buddy, it’ll be fine. Take a deep breath and try not to stress dude.”
Suddenly we hear noises outside, and there are women from all over the neighborhood. “Hey, Taffy, why didn’t you tell us George was your roommate?…Can we see him?” I said “Nope, sorry ladies, but he’s spoken for!”
Just as we are getting his things together for him to sneak out the back to get to the airport, he jumps through the floor and ends up in a rocky, mountainous area with Scott Bakula and they are both wearing leather biker clothes. They both look at me and say “Hey, Taffy, it’s time to wake up now!” And that is exactly what I did.
I woke up early today. It was a holiday and I didn’t have to work, so I thought “Oh, I can go back to sleep!”….I should know better, since weird dreams (even weirder than usual) occur when I do that. Sometimes, these weirder than usual dreams are very real-like, and it feels like I am awake and the things that occur are taking place right there where I am trying to sleep.
I hear a noise, so I look up and this wrestler (I believe his stage name is EC3) comes flying down the hallway, into the bedroom and crashes to the floor several times. He’s yelling and complaining about the guy he’s wrestling, all the time trying to straighten these annoying little purple shiny pants he’s wearing. I use the term pants loosely, because they are a cross between a pair of women’s underwear and a speedo. I desperately tried to raise my head off the pillow and yell “Shut up, go home and get some real pants on dammit”, but no words came out of my mouth. Well, after about 3 times of crashing into the bedroom, I sent my husband to kick them out. He comes back in and tells me DJ Spud is in the front room, and they are having a wrestling match. I bolt out of the bedroom and in the hallway is a young lady heading back to the spare room. “Had to work late at the hospital tonight, sorry I’m late.” To which I replied “Who in the hell are you?”
I hear a noise in the bathroom, and run in there only to find the bathroom sink and mirror are missing. (Gone, completely gone….pipes and all…nothing left) I run out to the front room to kick that wrestler’s arse, but he is already tearing out in his car.
My dog is on the loveseat, and he is shaking and making a buzzing sound. I don’t even know what the hell that is….AND my furniture has been moved. So, while moving my furniture back, I find a hole in my nice new couch. It’s a small hole, that turns out to actually be an anthill. OMG….my couch is infested with ants. While calling the furniture company, I find a container on the counter in the kitchen with cake and pills in it. It belongs to the gal who was sorry she was late coming home from work. I am still asking “Who in the hell are you? You don’t live here…go home!!!” But, oh, wait…she’s got pills in with her cake, so ok, she thinks she is home.
Suddenly someone appears at the door with a new sink and mirror for the bathroom. Seems the wrestling company sent it. Only problem is, the sink is pink. My bathroom is black and white.