wierd dream: interpretations welcome

i'm in the living room of a well-appointed house i've never seen, decorated in a style that reminds me somewhat of an ex-girlfriend's parents. it's night, there are a few lamps on, and i'm making my way across the room to the far corner, where i enter a bathroom, filled with blue-green light, pretty dim. someone, evidently one of my sisters, is taking a shower, and my parents are asleep in the next room. there's a short exchange of words in hushed 'don't-wake-up-the-parents' tones, and i want to get out of the bathroom. as i'm leaving i look down and notice some clothes on the floor, including some shoes and a couple black lace bras. for some reason i understand that these belong to my mother. i turn to go, and somehow one of these bras is hooked around my arm at the crook of my elbow. i can't figure out how it appeared there, but it has to go. as i'm removing it i notice it's ridiculously large. i fold it as carefully as someone who knows nothing about folding a bra can, and place it with the others, and leave.

as i re-enter the living room, a rather surprisingly plump and cherubic Christina Ricci- who looks about 12 yrs old- is having a conversation with a black man who evidently has some sort of super powers. he's trying to convince her that she needs to make use of her own powers; she's insisting that she doesn't need to use hers to go after bad guys. their conversation is also taking place in hushed tones and they don't seem to notice me.

suddenly i'm high in the air, looking down, over the shoulder of the black super-powered man, who's 'superhero costume' is a clown suit, predominantly yellow. he's levitating in a stationary position over some clouds, i'm above and behind him, slightly to his right. through a break in the clouds i can see city streets. from this i can tell we're about a thousand feet up. it's all bright and sunshiny.

suddenly i'm seeing Reginald VelJohnson, the actor who played the junk-food eating cop in the movie Die Hard. he's sitting at a dead stop in traffic, at night, in a police uniform, and he's in a hurry. he strikes the steering wheel of his car with the open palm of his hand, losing his patience, yelling, "Come on!" i realize i'm looking at this from beside him, in my own car, stuck in the same traffic.

somehow a path forward opens to me, and i take it, leaving Reginald behind. the 'bad guy' we're both evidently chasing is up ahead. i punch the gas. the roads are cleared out, the bad guy's speeding ahead recklessly with me on his tail. the road narrows to a couple lanes, and he just barely clips the corner of a chain-link fence, taking a 90-degree right hand turn. i take the corner better than he does, and gain some ground. the chain-link fence is flashing past us on the right. there's a white tractor trailer ahead in the right lane. the bad guy darts into the left lane to pass, i follow him. i'm right on his tail. the road ahead takes another sharp right turn; the bad guy jumps back into the right lane, i do likewise, he takes the corner with me right on his bumper- the road turns immediately to the left and dead-ends. the bad guy swings it wildly to the left, i skid around the corner behind him, and he plows into a dumpster in the closed-off area behind a building, i screech to a halt, blocking the exit. he jumps out of his car, i do too. i get a look at my ride, it's a large mid-70s sedan, looks like a cross between a Monte Carlo and a Cadillac.

next thing i know the bad guy's on the ground, and i'm on top of him with my knee in his collarbone. i've got a handful of the hair on the top of his head in my right hand, and my left hand balled up in a fist. he's not struggling. i release the hair. there's no doubt in my mind i can pound him at will. Reginald The Cop arrives on the scene in his car, followed by Christina Ricci in hers (evidently she's old enough to drive?). the whole back lot of this place is bathed in yellow-green sodium-vapor industrial lighting. Reginald convinces me to let the guy up; i stifle the urge to smack the bad guy's head against the pavement and i stand up, leaving him on the ground. Reginald packs him into his car, as Ricci does something with the trunk of her car. they exchange words, and she gets in Reginald's car and they drive off. that's when i notice there's a blonde girl on the scene, with her own car, a red, late 70s Mustang convertible.

she's a pretty girl with blonde, curly, shoulder-length hair, dressed in a very 80s fashion, including a red blazer. we leave together.

suddenly the two of us are driving on a bright sunny day, through what i took for Emerald Hills in Edmonds, though the streets were somewhat different. she's wondering which way to go, and paying surprisingly little attention to the actual task of driving. she's so relaxed she's slumped far down in the seat, so far that i wonder how she can see the road. she's leaning toward me in the passenger seat, and she asks me which way to go. we're at a 5-way intersection (that doesn't exist in Emerald Hills) and i can see a short bridge leading toward "town" (i can see the sign of a Burger King), as well as a few other directions we could turn. i'm not exactly sure where we're headed, and a bit unsure of exactly how to proceed, so i pick the next street to the right of the bridge, and we take it. it leads to a place that's a direct mix between the ferry-terminal/Main Street/Sunset Beach intersection in Edmonds (as it existed before they rebuilt the ferry terminal) and the Marina area of South Lake Union in Seattle, but it's located in downtown Edmonds. the road i chose merges onto a roundabout around a fountain (which isn't really there), and we drive along. as we reach the far side, she comes perilously close to hitting a police car, but the cop doesn't seem to notice, or mind. we take a right turn and start heading up the hill toward the shops along the main drag. she seems to be getting worse at driving, at one point nearly driving into the corner of a building, which i prevent by grabbing the wheel and steering us back on the road. i ask her if she wants me to drive. she declines, but sits up and seems to take the driving a bit more seriously.

suddenly we're walking together, at night again, in a deserted building that could be a museum, or an art gallery...something like that. the lights are all off and it's dead quiet, the place is obviously closed. (it reminds me, now, of something out of a John Hughes movie.)  the brightest thing in the room is one of those long wave-making machines behind plexiglass, which is internally lit and has food-coloring-blue water in it, and is turned on and working. it takes up a whole long wall of a large room. we're just strolling along it, talking. at the far end of the room we come to a passage that's sort of a narrow, zig-zaggy hallway. the entrance is a few feet off the floor, and we have to climb up into it to walk down it. it takes random twists and turns, and is lit by overhead lights at odd intervals, so that our path alternates between light and darkness. periodically there are alcoves off to the sides, with things i'm not noticing in them; i'm involved in the conversation- or maybe more precisely involved in having the conversation with the girl, since i can't remember what we talked about. at one point one of the alcoves ahead is basically a bathtub, filled with water, with a young woman giggling softly in it, and a young man climbing into it. my companion and i find this amusing and try to pass as unobtrusively as possible. we soon exit the far side of the passage, into something that reminds me of a mall. i cross the ground to the girl, who strikes me as unpretentious and is incredibly lovely. i put my arms around her and touch my forehead to hers, and we stand there silently for a few moments, then she pushes me away.

she tells me i don't understand, and parts her blazer with her hands, placing them on her stomach. she's wearing a loose-fitting green knit top, but she pushes it down onto her stomach as she's speaking, and as she does, i notice her slight belly-bulge- she's pregnant. she's obviously into me, and she's tearing up, upset about telling me this, thinking i'm going to react badly. she turns away and walks toward a wall, putting her forehead against it and starting to cry softly. i close the distance, put my arm around her back, and she does the classic, wordless "i don't want you to touch me or see me like this but i really do need to be comforted" thing. i ask her how far along she is, and she tells me almost 12 weeks. (it occurs to me now that i have no idea how pregnant a girl looks at 12 weeks, and if what just occured is even possible.)

CUT to a new scene. i'm with the same girl, but it's all changed. we're making out on a desk in a home-office of some house, and everything's happening more quickly, the overall tone is more fast-paced and comedic. i'm on my back and she's lying on me. the place is a mess, all unorganized, loose papers everywhere. we seem to be messing it up even more. Christina Ricci is suddenly back; she walks in and pulls something from a file cabinet adjacent to the desk we're using, dead-panning some particularly sardonic comment (which i don't catch) in a typically Ricci-esque manner, then she's gone. soon my blonde friend jumps up, upset with me for something. her clothes are different- evidently some time has passed- and i have no idea what the hell is going on; i'm still surprised to find myself in this new scene. she says something to me, somewhat bitterly, and leaves the room. i hop down off the desk and follow her. she turns to me in the next room and says, "i saw you take the shoes." (...ok...?)  i gather that our behavior (both of ours) has become more and more crazy and random over time, and she tells me that she saw me surreptitiously exchange my somewhat-worn pair of sneakers for an identical pair that looked brand new (somewhere previously) which didn't belong to me. i don't remember doing this, but i don't think she's wrong, and i don't argue. i'm a little ashamed of myself. she's very upset by my actions and she's about to leave.

CUT to a new scene. i'm in a large hall, resembling a huge gymnasium. Barack Obama is onstage to my right, giving some kind of pep rally, and the place is packed. the house lights are down. i'm alone, wandering around the floor, looking around. mostly people are paying attention to the stage; no one notices me and i don't feel out of place. there's music playing. on the far side of the gymnasium are bleachers, also packed. i decide to make my way up there and find a seat toward the top/back. as i'm nearing the very top, approaching a section that's mostly black people, dressed in shiny, choir-esque robes in different pastel colors, with leis of yellow flowers around their necks, they all suddenly stand up, and start to crowd surf some guy down the bleachers. i get caught up in this- i'm lifted off my feet- the crowd around the whole place notices what's happening in the bleachers, and they start to react in a panic- and at the exact moment that i'm (VERY quickly) crowd surfed down the bleachers (which was fun!), Barack's voice booms over the P.A.: "STOP! it's alright!"...and evidently it's part of the show. everyone relaxes and takes their seats again. i'm back down on the floor. some music starts up, some sort of crossover contemporary pop/R&B thing, and there's suddenly room on the floor for dancing. the couples are doing some wierd, choreographed square-dance/waltz-type hybrid thing, and nearly every couple is an older middle-aged person dancing with a pre-teen kid.  low-rent disco lights, like something out of a high school dance, make multi-colored spots revolve around the room, playing across the dancers and everything else. i'm conspicuously alone and uninvolved, in the middle of the dancing, so i'm trying to get out of everyone's way. i finally manage to get to the edge of the floor, and take up a position at the end of the bleachers, where i lean against the end of a railing, and turn to watch the crowd for a moment.

i hear a voice address me, and turn back around to see my blonde female companion sitting alone at a table right behind me. she seems interested to see me, and i approach her and we start to talk. this seems disconnected from part of my dream in which she was upset with me; as if everything before happened long enough in the past that it doesn't matter anymore. she mentions her new dog, which she calls, and it approaches us from the shadows of a nearby corner. it's a tan-coated puppy, and really playful, all bounce and wagging tail and puppy teeth. i kneel down and play with it while we're talking, putting my hand in its mouth, grabbing it's teeth, etc.  i glance up toward the stage, which i can now see from the side.  Obama's standing on the floor of the auditorium, about 20 feet from me, busting out some really smooth, flamboyant dance moves with a little kid.  he's wearing a blue button-up shirt.  i'm surprised he's got moves like that.  then i'm distracted by the puppy, and the conversation with the girl, and i look out at the floor, which is clearing of dancers, as the music stops.  Obama's once more obscured by the speakers at the edge of the stage, but i hear him introducing "a fine young musician" from somewhere blah blah.  the musician is a teenage boy at the far edge of the hall, spotlit.  there are a few other musicians; drums, bass, etc.  the boy's seated on a chair, and he starts into an acoustic rendition of some Goo Goo dolls song (at least that's what it seems like at the time to me- i couldn't place the song), singing and playing guitar. he's interesting enough to hold my attention for a bit, and he segues from acoustic into an electrified arrangement that's spontaneous and dynamic and loose and struck me me as far better than anything the Goo Goo dolls would have done. i'm still talking with my blonde friend when the arrangement goes electric, and i look up to see him standing, winging it on a Strat.

and suddenly i'm awake, and (as always) really grateful to remember the whole thing (which can never happen often enough to suit me), and feeling like i ought to write it down. and now i have.


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