What Would David Cassidy Do?

How many of you dream at night? All right, good, I'm counting lots of hands. Now, how many of your dreams are relatively straightforward and logical? I see very few hands going down. All right. Now, how many of you have crazily vivid, sensory, action-packed, nonsensical dreams, night, after night, after night? Uh....okay....just a few of us. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about.

That very scientific poll doesn't say much. We all have wacky dreams once in awhile. Some of my friends don't remember dreaming at all, which might have something to do with trying to feed 2.8 kids, 1.4 pets, and .78 husbands (again, very scientific statistical medians) and get out the door on time each morning. But most admit to having some crazy dreams once in awhile. Which helps me to feel a little less....unusual. Because compared to others my dreams have always been a little deviant. I say that because when pulled into a dream conversation, the others always seem to want to offer helpful suggestions for my rehabilitation.

Take this past week. David Cassidy paid a visit to woo me while on a camping trip. We got caught by my Dad heading to first base (you know....), but my Dad seemed to be cool with it once David assured him it was okay because, he's something like, 77 years old now. Even though he looked like young David Cassidy. Then we chopped wood. Last night, I filmed advertising spots for soup, with various celebrities slurping and tangoing because it was SO good. Martha Stewart can gyrate with the best of them. She sticks out because she also sang Handel's Hallelujah Chorus. She cannot sing with the best of them, just so you know. Not long after that I was in a van driven by a childhood friend's Mom when police sirens and a blackout stopped all traffic by the mall. Then we all saw why.....the enormous Mother Ship was hovering over J.C. Penney's and appeared to be ready to suck up the feisty ones. So of course my friend's Mom turned the headlights back on and floored it because, you know, minivans have been known to outrun advanced intergalactic spacecraft. I don't remember what happened when we got to the tunnel but we survived because, not long after, I was borrowing my ex-husband's sister's shampoo to shave my legs. That's just what you do.

I am not making that up. Those are the normal, printable parts from the last few nights. The rest.....

See why I wake up tired sometimes?

There's no point in trying to find meaning or purpose in these things. They're just curious and kind of entertaining. Sometimes I just wish I knew that other people were having similar, consistently whacked-out dream experiences.

So, join the club and share some of your kookiest dreams. Maybe we'll discover that the Mother Ship visits more people than I realized. And David Cassidy? He lives on to woo more unsuspecting women in the throes of REM.

Sleep tight.

Ed Grimley Visits Suburbia

While walking the dogs this morning I saw an oddly-shaped man ahead of us, walking himself. Really quickly. I guess his shape wasn't the actual kooky-looking thing. It was more that he walked with a very noticeable pelvic-thrust, like Ed Grimley, and wore a white t-shirt and bright blue shorts pulled up to his nipples, like my Uncle Joe used to (which, I loved about him). But it was really his black socks and shiny black shoes that got me wondering a few things, like.....who was this memorable-looking man? Where was he headed on a frosty morning without his long pants? And, why haven't non-perturbative string theory formulations progressed beyond a divergent series of spacetime approximations?

I tried to catchup to chilly Mr. Grimley, not because I'm competitive or anything (wink), but I needed to see where he was going, or belonged. This would've been much easier, without two somewhat large dogs who were much more interested in checking-in on their favorite pee-poles and staring down a variety of critters. Which apparently can only be done while at a complete stop lasting at least 19 seconds. I've clocked it - I know.

Unfortunately Mr. Grimley didn't need to stop for anything. Even a pee pole (thankfully, I suppose). Maybe he was too cold to linger along his route. But by the time the dogs and I crested the hill and rounded the corner he'd just thrust his pelvis around, he was gone.

So sad. Until he resurfaces - if ever - I won't know if he made it safely to his destination. And where that would've been. Which just meant imagining one of these possibilities......

• Mr. Grimley is a renowned speed walker training for an Alpine-based world championship, by thrusting himself up and down the dreaded Madison Drive hill across the road from my house. I didn't check the bottom of the hill but if he's still there, I'm afraid the wild turkey flocks got him.


• Or....he's in the Witness Protection Program after blowing his undercover assignment as a Goldman Sachs informant. So hiding in Western Pennsylvania should work out just fine for him....apparently certain professional athletes do it all the time.


• Maybe I caught him in a morning after Walk of Shame. Which he deserved, for wearing that Uncle Joe outfit for his date the night before. Just ANOTHER reason I need to avoid match.com.

And oh gosh....so many more possibilities.

So until the next sighting, I'll keep imagining what Ed Grimley-dressed-as-Uncle Joe, was doing in extreme suburbia.

Don't you say.....

Boys Will be Men

For some reason I've always had an easy time with guys. I don't mean eeeasy (get your mind out of there). I mean, comfortable, natural. Many girls and women have been precious friends and influencers and allies, and continue to be. I don't know what I'd do without my Mom and sisters' unique way of relating and knowing, or the varied and many facets of my friends' experiences and perspectives. There is nothing like the connection of a long-time girl friend who may be your opposite on some levels - Cyn, I will never, ever, walk through a Sephora again - but who can provide such sentimental memories as sneaking me a post-marathon beer and hugging my sweaty butt.

But you GUYS. You bring a sometimes foreign but completely welcome twist to friendship. And it doesn't have everything to do with your preoccupation with bodily functions, though that's part of it.

For example, my current co-workers. Til May, I work 20-25 hours each week at a running store with a bunch of fabulous running dudes. With me, they love talking sports, talking Man vs. Food, talking silliness (how many "fart-oops-it's-poop-pants-while-running" stories can you handle hearing?), and doing silliness (how many creative burps can you witness?). But they're also each smart, witty, and - they'll THROTTLE me - sensitive. Not sappy-sensitive. Just acutely aware and appreciative sensitive. They're all 20-or-30 something and love being boys, but they're also mature beyond their years about certain things. They unabashedly love their wives and protect that pact with everything they've got. They relish and protect their friendships. They know themselves well, and understand and abide by their personal boundaries better than I do mine. They easily empathize with the struggles of the folks who walk through the store doors. And they're COOL. Completely unpretentious, and uncensored.

I've loved my time with them, just being a girl (with a twist). They just let me BE. Because of them I've laughed hard the last few months, learned how not to fill out an NCAA bracket, and re-connected with a few important personal precepts I think I'd moved a little too far away from. I have no idea if I've added anything to their lives except a sure-fire way to cure hiccups, and how to win a pizza-eating contest. But I'll take my lessons from them with lots of gratitude, and the laughs with a few hiccups here and there.

The fabulous running dudes are just the latest of the many fabulous guys I've been lucky to know over the years (you know who you are). And all of you marvelous dudes have taught me things I might not've let the equally marvelous girls in my life teach me. Girls get "this", guys get "that". Between both, I'm covered. I'm not sure why. It's just happened that way.

So boys and men, thanks. And running store dudes, I'll miss being with your comfortable, gassy selves on such a regular basis.

Lesson learned.