In My Brain While Sleeping… Shoe Car Shoo!

My busy week has lead to restless nights.  Last night was no exception.  I could not get comfortable (until I was supposed to waking up, ‘natch), and any dream of computer work instantly brought me back to reality.  I even scared myself in the mirror when I was up hitting snooze (in case you either forgot or didn’t know – I keep my alarm clock in my bathroom far away from my button-happy trigger fingers).

Aside from the IT nightmares, I kept having dreams about these:

Wonderful for convering unsightly cankles.

Wonderful for covering unsightly cankles.

Except they were giant-sized.  And they had wheels.  Because they were cars.  Between every twist and turn in my pursuit for some decent rest included a dream about the return of the Shoe Cars.

Does it have a shoe horn?

Does it come with a shoe horn?

It was as if they had existed once before, like when the new Volkswagen Beetle was released.  My uncles and I were kicking back beers on my grandma’s porch (who knows why this scenario), and talking about how you never see Shoe Cars anymore.  Sure, you’d see this all the time (yeah, right):

Also available in the OsCar compact.

Also available in the OsCar compact.

But the Shoe Car?  As soon as we mentioned it, a new one, colored blue, passed right by.  We clanked beer bottles, proud of witnessing the return, or for the sheer luck of catching sight of one.  Throughout the rest of the night, that stupid Shoe Car wouldn’t stay away.  I might have even seen one outside the window in one of my computer repair visions.

Undreamed of... until now.

Undreamed of... until now.

In My Brain While Sleeping… I May Have A Drinking Problem

I’m almost as hooked on the snooze bar as I am the booze bar, but as of late, I have not recalled many of my dreams.  This morning – a whopper, a flopper, and a doozy.


Do not go Freudian on me.

Do not go Freudian on me.

I was the eldest lad in a family of seafarers.  The brood’s Papa was a maritime cop, and he must have had it hard (who wants to have any job that begins with maritime?).  Every night it seemed Mama would wait for him to get home to serve dinner, and every night he’d be late (you’d think Mama would have learned).  I remember working on a crossword puzzle in a magazine.  I also recall the entire decor looking retro 70’s, or maybe it took place in the 70’s.  (Hello “Life on Mars.”)  Anyway, when Papa would get home, the first thing he’d do was pour a glass of whiskey on the rocks.  Then he’d dunk a banana in it.  He called it the Cop-a-Cabanana.


Hot chocolate chips!

Hot chocolate chips!

I don’t drink coffee.  As I’ve stated before, my cup of tea is Mountain Dew.  In my brain, I must live for Starbucks.  For some reason, while in line to get my iced mochachino espressosaurus rex, the announcement was made that Starbucks was being bought out.  That this shocked me in the dream shocks me now.  The reason for the buyout: too many people that bought their coffee were losing their jobs, and thus poor Starbucks was going down.  The purchaser: Mrs. Field’s Cookies.  They also bought out Arby’s for who-know-why.  My question was, “How could Mrs. Field’s succeed where Starbucks failed?”  The answer: No matter what, everyone eats cookies.


I couldn

No Photoshopping here.

This was by far one of the most disturbing – not in content, but in juxtaposition of content.  Stitch (the alien experiment to the left) was boozing it up and chomping down cigars faster than George Burns, Bill Clinton, and Monica Lewinsky put together.  (He kind of reminded me of the smoking chimp.)  And that’s fine.  It’s well within Stitch’s personality.  But to note: this dream was in cartoon form, and this is where things spiraled into time for me to wake up.   Across the room, Stitch spotted an inflatable doll.  He stumbled towards it, placed his head between its legs, and bit.  Pop! 

Needless to say, I had it enough with the snooze bar. 

…We’ll see about the regular bar.

INGREDIENTS: Cajun chicken sandwich, soggy bar fries, and mucho de boozo.