A few things

I'm awake at 5:30 am on Thanksgiving. I have no idea why. HERE'S WHAT YOU GET AS A RESULT.

1. The other day Charlie leaped on the coffee table, and this was as weird and anomalous an act as he's ever performed. He's sedate, if not unconscious, most of the time (unless a fire truck sounds its alarm, and then he's gotta HELP OUT!) and his favorite activities are a) sleeping and b) relaxing. He has never jumped on anything that was not cushioned and/or made for napping on.

Here you see Charlie in his natural habitat. It might seem as if he's peacefully dozing, but in fact he's waiting for me to place that blanket on top of him. He will soon look up and hrmph at me and if I don't do it he'll hrmph again. Come on, human with opposable thumbs--make with the blanket-application skills.

He will occasionally nab a person-food but only if it's on the very edge of the coffee table, at which point we're really just asking him to take it. But this, this jumping on the coffee table? It was as if he stood on his hind legs and offered us homemade crumpets. It made no sense. But there he was, just like that, on top of the coffee table, looking as confused about how he got there as we were. Scott and I were like whaaaaa? and he looked at us like I KNOW and then we had to help him off because he was all scrabble-legged and freaked about how to get down. And then afterward, oh, how we laughed. How we laughed!

We laughed like this: Ha, ha! Ha! Hoooo! Heh.

2. Ever since Camp Mighty, I have been having stress dreams about Oprah. Oprah is terribly disappointed with me. Every time she looks at me she makes her unhappy face, which I do not like. I complimented her on her dress, and it turned out that she called me into her office specifically to show me the problems with her dress and to ask me to return it for her! Goddammit! And then I woke up soaked in sweat.

3. Scott and I went out to dinner with friends last night and I spotted a character actor also at the restaurant, the kind of actor whose face you instantly recognize but you can't say from where. But his face, his lovable kindly hangdog face! Scott can usually identify these people at a glance, but the name was also escaping him. (Our friends just looked at us blankly while we referred to various obscure actors it could be but probably was not. Thank God we're married to each other.) On the way home I said, I know he's got a really WASPy name, like Buckram Gainsbridge or Percy Crampton. Scott scoffed at this and insisted that this actor was nothing if not Jewish and his name was probably Schlomo Herzfeld. (I'm paraphrasing.)

It turned out it was Austin Pendleton. Austin Pendleton! WHO WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE KIND OF NAME HE HAS OH THAT WOULD BE ME. Scott was not impressed enough that I at least could pull the characteristics of his name from deep within my subconscious. So now I'm asking you to be impressed. Go on.

4. I feel like this is some kind of metaphor for my life, but I'm not sure how:

5. In another dream Oprah wanted me to find someone's missing baby while she talked with her contractors about renovating her new offices. I couldn't find the baby. Once again: all sweaty upon awakening. I NEED TO MAKE OPRAH LIKE ME.

About last night

I realize there is little on Earth more boring than hearing about someone else's dreams, but I just slept for twelve hours, and before that I was writing for twelve hours. What else is there to talk about? The good part is you don't have to listen to me droning on and on ("then I was in my apartment, but it wasn't my apartment, but it was, you know? And you you were there, only you weren't you, exactly..."). You may skim this as needed.

Since Eden and I found out that the Let's Panic about Babies book was a go, I have been enjoying nightmares the likes of which I haven't experienced since I was a kid, when there were scary things in the closet and under my bed, and while I was asleep they would come out and show themselves to me. These days my nightmares are moderately more sophisticated, as I now rarely worry about the monsters lurking in the shadows. Even though they're there. In the form of giant dust bunnies that probably contain H1N1, for all I know.

So last night I had a fairly mild nightmare for me. I didn't, for one, wake up lurching out of bed, clawing at my throat, so that was nice. In the dream, Scott and Henry and I were staying at some kind of summertime resort. It was our last night there, and I was up in the middle of the night because I had to change the multiple litter boxes (?) that festooned our condo-style apartment. As I entered the living room, I found a horde of EMTs, working diligently on a group of cub scouts, all of whom were lying unconscious on our floor.

I tried to find out what was the matter, but no one would answer me, so I got to work embracing various cub scouts and kissing them all over their heads and singing soothing lullabies; figuring, I guess, that if I wasn't going to get an answer I might as well help out, in some small way. At this point one of the EMTs leaned over to inform me that these boys had an incredibly uncomfortable, potentially fatal, extremely contagious virus. And then the boy I was embracing leaned over and vomited in my lap.

Oh!

I dropped the kid and ran to the sink to wash off, and then the real nightmare-y stuff started, because Henry was also sick, and then he disappeared, and everything started to look weird and spooky, blah blah usual scary crap blar.

And there was all this...stuff in my mouth. This is a recurring theme in my dreams, that my mouth is filled with clay, or gum, or oatmeal, or something, and I can't communicate and I'm scooping it out but it keeps returning. So I'm performing my familiar dream-scoop when I realize, wait a minute, this is a DREAM, I don't have weird crap in my mouth for no reason in regular life! Almost never happens!

I have rarely had such moments of lucidity while dreaming, so this was exciting. I realized I could do anything I wanted! This dream was mine for the taking! So I said OUT LOUD, "Why, then I'll be gay!"

Because what else do you do in a dream, if you could do anything you wanted? You get gay, obviously! It's an unprecedented gay opportunity!

Standing next to me was a particularly fetching lady EMT, and I then took her by the hand and, without warning, we both flew up into the sky together. At which point I woke up, laughing. Because really, it figures that when I finally get a lucid dream, it would turn into the ending of Zapped.

(Sadly, I can't find a Youtube clip of the ending of Zapped, so you're going to have to take my word for it. Scott Baio and, uh, a girl? fly up into the sky together. It is silly.)

Two posts in a row involving cats = run while you still have a chance.

So last night I dreamt that I was at a play, and the entire cast was composed of cats. (Are you noticing a theme?) Needless to say they were wretched actors, and missed every one of their cues. Audience members get scooping up the cutest and running off with them. It was a short dream.

I might as well just come out and SAY IT: we're getting a cat. At least we're planning on it. Which accounts for the dreams about cats and the comparing of my son to cats and also the paillette-adorned cat sweatshirt I am wearing right now. And the cat hanging from my earlobe. Cats!

Henry insists that we name our future cat Puma. We may go with this, unless we adopt a puma, in which case it would be redundant. We will probably require a puma to deal with the mice in our kitchen, as well as the cat(s?) who broke into our basement (or, okay, slipped through the broken window that maybe we should have fixed six months ago) over Christmas to pee and poop with abandon. Because why pee outside in the grass when you can spray your blindingly noxious urine all over someone's private property? Why do we want to get a cat, again?

Oh! Hey! While I'm here, let me add that I've got a new post over at AlphaMom. If you like that sort of thing, you might want to check it out.

In real life, I don't send cards even when my mom begs me to.

In my dream last night, I complained to Scott, “I send greeting cards to my friends all the time, and no one ever sends me any. That’s it. I’m not sending Jen my usual card for when it’s time to color her hair.”

Can you imagine such a card? I’m not sure whether it’s a reminder (“A little bird flying overhead told me it’s touch-up time!”) or congratulatory (“Hooray! You’re not letting yourself go!”). I think I need to come up with more cards like this. I could start a line! My mom would buy them all.

My calendar says it’s time for someone's pap smear!

Saying “Those frames aren’t doing a thing for your face” is my way of saying I care.

Congratulations on paying your bills on time (I hope)!

Flossing yet?

Come on, give me more. Together we can start a passive-aggressive greeting-card empire.