Please let it be a dream...please let it be a dream...

I've been told by a few people that my house-buying dream is one of the weirder things that they've read...maybe a little creepy, maybe a little too detailed.

But something happened on the way to work that made my dream seem less creepy in comparison.

I was driving down Fowler Ave., which is the street that the University of South Florida is on. Rush hour traffic was pretty heavy, but I was moving at a brisk speed. Up ahead, I see a black dot on the road and cars trying to avoid the dot. As I get closer, it's apparent that the cars are avoiding road kill, maybe a dark possum.

As I got closer, I realized that this was the remains of part of a rather large black bird, maybe a vulture or wild turkey. There was no head, just indiscriminate bits ground into the pavement. While gross, the creepiest part was that the entire wing was intact and there was no mistaking that this was a really large bird when alive.

I started to get creeped out the closer I got. I hate road kill anyways. But I wasn't prepared for what happened when the air streaming off my car brought that wing to life, flapping wildly from off the ground as I passed.

It was like some ominous visual from a Tim Burton movie and it's still creeping me out.

Justin and I took in a double feature this weekend and it was heavenly! To just go and camp out at the movies was a blast.

First, we caught the early evening showing of "Sideways." Ah, this movie has such wicked wit and heart. I giggled myself silly, while also marveling at all the wonderful way the characters would converse with each other. I also learned more about wine than I ever thought possible. A definite must-see if you're in the mood for a good, adult movie, with huge laughs, great characters, and real emotion. A real non-throwaway movie.

Then, after a foray to the snack bar for a hot dog and nachos...I know, I know (ick!)...we settled into the smallest theatre room they had, for the late showing of "Closer." It was such a well orchestrated movie, very play-like (which is not surprising, since it was adapted from a play), with well drawn characters. On the flip side, those characters were so cold and mean spirited. It was such a cruel delight, because even while despising the characters, I could revel in the amazing dialogue they got to throw around. Don't see "Closer" to see real people doing real things...watch it to see actors stretched to their limits and not breaking under the pressure. But be warned, while there's no explicit imagery of sex in this movie of sexual manners, there is plenty of talk, and plenty of raw emotion surrounding the subject. But, alas, the wicked movie contains what is probably the funniest scene I've watched in the past 12 months.

I can't quite get my head around the fact that we've spent untold BILLIONS on this war in Iraq (some of which we've misplaced), the President is asking for more BILLIONS to continue fighting it, yet Social Security, a program that I've been paying into since I entered the job market at 17, is getting sold down the river for a lack of funds.

I mean, I like the idea of free elections in Iraq and the closing of rape rooms, but I also can't stop thinking that we've spent a lot to buy ourselves a flash-democratic country where we don't belong, now on the verge of a civil war between recently enfranchised tribes salivating over their first tastes of political power--all the while letting our domestic programs dwindle.

Yay!

Sigh.

Justin just woke me up from the worst dream.

We had bought our first house. It was this two-level thing with a basement and a foyer downstairs, the rest of the house on the second level. It was in one of those planned communities, with its own restaurants and little market (health food market, no less). I protested at the lack of diversity and the manufactured nature of the paradise, but Justin and I really liked the house.

And then everything started going downhill. I wish I could say that part of it didn't include me being locked out of my house in just a big T-Shirt, sans underwear. I wish I could say that Justin didn't track my semi-naked, lost self in our new Volvo, which he parked at the market, where we returned to find the car defaced with all manner of sexually-explicit, anti-gay bumper stickers by local kids.

Once home, we found cars in our yard and a bunch of redneck-y kids playing "fort" while their obese, leathered mother doused them with water and dirt while up on our balcony. Justin said that he had enough and locked himself in the bedroom. I ran out onto the balcony to kindly ask the woman to remove herself and her kids, no doubt the kids who defaced our car.

"Chill out, man," she said, "The pastor always let us play fort in his yard."

I watched as one of the kids shot a real arrow at another.

"This yard?" I asked incredulously. Before she could answer, I said, "You've gotta get off of my property."

"No sir!" she said, steel cold. She then tossed some more water at her kids.

"Look, what's your name, lady."

"Henry Winkler."

I then decided to do something that I've never done before. I went "Hey, yo!" and waved my arm in an exaggerated, mock-Fonzie motion. The "Heeeeyyy, yoooo" was followed by a quick, harsh "get yourself and your kids off my lawn, bitch. I'm calling the cops."

And then Justin woke me up from this nightmare. As I marvelled over the perils of house ownership, he asked what kind of breakfast I'd like from Burger King. I asked for a crosandwich, but all I could think about was the final freeze frame of my dream. It was when the woman, eyes flashing, lifted her shovel over her head, and pounded me one on the noggin.

I figured I deserved some Cini-minis, too.