About that dream...

Raise your hand if whenever you say "I had a dream last night..." you then sing "cuz it looked just like a dream" from the Romeo and Juliet soundtrack that you still listen to because it reminds you of the best movie of eighth grade even though you get all weepy because Leonardo DiCaprio dies at the end.

Me too.

So, I had a dream last night that I pooped on the couch.

Bad Day(s)

This is a grump alert.  Girlfriend's gotta keep the blog alive but so far all she can do is whine.

 Just kidding, I'm not gonna whine at you.

But I am grumpy.  Just so we're clear.

The past week and a half, which I'm sure will seem like candy compared to the next week and a half, hammered me with some serious stress.  I have meetings, more meetings and then meetings about meetings.  Don't get me wrong, I'm all about getting together to go over the deets, but meeting morning noon and night wipes me out.

Although this crazy schedule has given me some pretty amusing dreams:

Like the one about happy little kitties holding hands and playing in the middle of major highways at rush hour.  Dis-turbing.  You can imagine what happened when the cars broke up their frolicking....

Cotton stuffing flew everywhere.  I know.  A total mess.

And then was the dream about walking along a glacier and needing to use the bathroom inside the glacier that was full of stuffed animals and a live gorilla.

This is what mental exhaustion does.  It takes too much energy to make a logical dream so my brain just puts together random thoughts floating around in the gray matter.

Why I would have gorillas and kitty-cide anywhere in there is beyond me.

And I don't quite have the time to figure it all out...I've got a date with a dunk tank to schedule.

Good Dream Gone Bad

I had a dream last night (would have worded that differently, but couldn't figure out the past tense of dream...moving on) that Corey and I were going on a sooper, dooper vacation to New Zealand.

I was so excited that I didn't realize how long it takes to get there.

Our tour guide told us at the airport it would take 23 hours and I cried, and cried and cried because even in my dream I knew that real life Stacie:

1. Hates flying.
2. Can't sit still.
3. HATES flying.

Thank goodness for wet dog noses that nudge your face because they're ready to get up and go potty.

66 days...

I am so far ahead of myself in this wedding planning, I've stopped having dreams about it.



Now I dream about babies.



My co-worker's babies, to be exact, but in my dreams they're mine.



Let's first address the gorilla in the room: no, I am NOT pregnant. Now the elephant in the room: I am not secretly plotting to "forcibly adopt" my co-worker's 4 week old twins. And finally, the '66 Chevy 3/4 ton dually in the room: I really don't know a thing about babies.



How did all these things get in this room??



I love the smell of babies, holding onto their little fingers and toes, watching them make all kinds of faces and noises, but when I get my hands on one I'm like one of those monkeys trying to figure out what the heck you do with a wiffle ball.



"Wait, where do I put this hand?"



"Is her arm supposed to bend like that?!"



"Why is he making that face??"

Yes. I, too, am a little concerned for my future children*. But then I says to myself, I says, "hang on just two shakes of a turkey gobbler. You have two younger sisters. You used to change their diapers. You used to hold them and feed them. You were fluent in baby talk." Then I says back, "You are right. I've got past experience, now I just need to dig up some maternal instinct and those babies might have a chance!"

There was more to the conversation. My self and I went on to talk about the fat content of a bean burrito, but it didn't pertain to this baby stuff so I left it out.

*yes, children. as in more than one. as in 7**

** i say 7, but i really mean 4, don't tell corey, though, i'm using an old sales technique on him.