Karl (louderback) wrote,

Showering with Celebrities

I'm still dreaming                   

         Wow! Yet another weird dream. This one, unlike most, featured people I know (or know of).

         I was in an old apartment I lived in while in Miami. It was a three bedroom three bath apartment, a rare thing at that time in that place. Around a large table set in the living room, several people were fiddling with tarot cards. I sat there, as did beanrua, Ed Quinn (…that's Nathan Stark for those of you who watch Eureka), and two others. The others were young and reminiscent of a TV series called Level 9 that I recently caught in re-runs on the Scifi channel. In the background was a large wood and glass display case filled with many decks of tarot cards.

         We talked for a while. Two of the guys seemed to be playing poker with the tarot cards. beanrua announced she wanted a shower and left the table. One of the poker players did the same. I was talking to Ed when there was a knock on the door. David Boreanaz (Buffy, Angel, Bones) came in and joined us at the table. He asked where beanrua was and when I told him "In the shower…" he decided he needed one too.

         I went back to talking to Ed until we all realized everyone had been in the shower a very long time. We went and knocked on the door to the "front" bathroom (first one down the hall) and got no answer. Ed and I shrugged at each other and opened the door.

         "Who's there?" asked beanrua and I replied, "Is everything OK?"

         "What could go wrong? I'm taking a shower."

         "We thought you might be in trouble… She replied, "What kind of trouble. It's not like the Mongol horde is going to raid my shower."

         "Uh, OK." Here she stepped out of the shower wrapped in a perfectly dry towel. "Sorry." Ed and I backed out and went down the hall to the next bathroom.

         Knocking produced no answer so we went inside again. This time, one of the guys that had been playing poker was standing in front of the sink shaving. "Didn't you hear us knock?"

         He said "What?" and we both just shrugged and left. In the last bathroom, the one that was in the master bedroom, we repeated the whole knock-get-no-answer-go-on-inside thing and found David standing in the middle of the floor wearing a towel and looking puzzled.

         "Didn't you hear us knock?" "Yeah, so?"

         We went back to the living room.

         Sitting at the table we began discussing how to keep the tarot cards safe. While we did beanrua and the poker guy joined us. beanrua joined the poker game, ignoring the somewhat animated conversation between me and Ed. David joined the table.

         In the middle of the discussion about tarot cards one of the guys yelled "Gin!" and the other guy said "…but we're playing poker!" The other replied, "Yeah, but look!" and showed them his cards. Everybody nodded and Ed, David, and I just shrugged at each other.

         David said, "We need a safe," and that was the end of my dream.

         I'm taking this dream to my shrink and I'm not going to pay for the session until he explains it to me.

         Today's poem is at my website and in louderpoetry

         Recipes added today: Shrimp and Noodles in Peanut Butter Sauce, and Egg Salad, Chicken Breast Asparagus with Wild Rice, Hoisin Sauce.


         As I looked at him I realized he was just plain ugly. Not many people really are. I mean, not many people look like movie stars or models, but most people just look average. This guy looked ugly.
         He was mostly bald. Now you might think he had male pattern baldness, a comb over, a receding hairline? Nothing of the sort, hair grew on his head, and everywhere else (I've seen him naked) in dispirited clumps like a poorly tended lawn in mid-summer Kansas. He had a mustache that was luxurious on the left and just plain droopy on the right. His knuckles were hairy. His hands and arms were not.
         He wore clothes that lacked any discernible style. Not everyone is a fashion plate, but this guy's clothes were conspicuously lacking in anything resembling thoughtful consideration when he donned them. They didn't clash, they weren't outlandish, they were just ugly. Used, worn, faded, wrinkled, obviously thrown together, they simply hung on him. He wasn't wearing them, just covering himself.
         His face was scarred. It was not that he had been injured, the scars were as much psychological as physical. He was blotchy, of half a dozen shades between chin and forehead. His forehead was wrinkled, his chin double hemispheres of uneven size. His nose was a ski-jump ramp of diminutive size between eyes that were too deep-set to be called anything but beady. Beady and dark, they were, with a luster that was far from pleasant. Scar tissue made a flap across his scalp with a red stripe down the center. Flapping ears completed the picture.
         Gods! I hate a full-length mirror.

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