It's official: the weirdest dream I have ever had.

This is saying something, given that I have a recurring nightmare that I must get to Target in a rowboat to buy sour cream. And I can hear the oars scraping on the street in front of an ex-girlfriend's house -- there's no water. :shrug:

In the dream I just awoke from, I find myself with a group of women, wandering the countryside at night in a ramshackle convoy of unidentified vehicles. At least one of the vehicles is a car reminiscent of a '70s Japanese sedan, like a very early Corolla.

I'm new to this group of women, who seem to be a bunch of self-styled, self-searching lesbians (but they're real quiet about it). It's an educational-type group. They're all there to learn about themselves. No one has very good hygiene, and everyone dresses for failure: old, baggy t-shirts, sweats or ratty dirty jeans or stretch pants.

Since I'm new, most of the women are quite solicitous of me. It's rather exciting as I wonder which will be the first to make a pass -- yet such things aren't spoken of, and there is no open flirting. Two women in particular, call them Mo and Flo, take me under their wings. They're almost like a friendly tag team, except that they're both on at the same time, and they're competing with each other. I know which one I'd rather have hit on me (Mo).

The group's day comes to an end in a large and very old house that's seen better days and lousy decorators. The house is on a muddy, rocky hill that also bears a transmitter for KTLA-5, a Los Angeles television station. Being an obnoxious So. Cal. ex-pat even in my dreams, I point this out to everyone. Most of the women set about camp-making chores; the group's leader and her lieutenant sit down to discuss the evening lesson and tomorrow's plan. It's raining and everyone's soaked (inside?) but no one is wet and no one minds.

Before bedtime, Mo suggests I ought to take the car and go buy her a donut & coffee. I'm preparing to do so when the group's leader stops and asks where I'm going; when I tell her, she suggests that I say in a way that makes clear I don't have the right to go anywhere on my own, especially not at night. I'm chagrined and I go to sit down next to Mo & Flo, who comfort me by muttering "bitch" of the leader.

A vague lesson ensues, then it's bedtime. I share a bedding area with Mo, Flo, and about six other women. The rest of the group is scattered about in threes and fours. Little territorial battles rage -- "she slept on the edge last night and now she won't give it up!" -- but soon everyone settles down. After I've been dozing for a while I feel Flo pulling a large piece of paper and some crayons to my side and -- this is where it gets weird -- she suggests I draw a picture while she's breathing heavily at me and pawing amateurishly at my t-shirt. (Note the one I wished would hit on me was Mo.) I'm uncomfortable w/ her advances and begin to draw to please her. Suddenly she's satisfied with my drawing and begins a stilted, virgin-like attempt to have sex with me. All I'll describe is her freakish way of kissing -- super slobbery-slimy, with her lips all over the lower half of my face and having no effect on me whatever except to gross me out.

Before she can get to home plate, I get up and try to leave the "compound." I am instantly rushed by 6-8 women, the leader & her right hand among them. I am questioned as to why I want to leave. I don't know why, but I somehow know that I should start acting like a child; that this is my best way to get out. I'm torn that Mo is in on the wanting me to stay. I want her to be my girlfriend but I've had enough and I have to get out of there.

I offer reasons I want to leave; the others counter. Several times I run through the barn doors, but they always corral me, gently but forcefully, and lead me back. Someone shows me the picture I drew and says "look at this, doesn't this mean you want to stay?" They point out that I'd drawn on top of an illustration of sexy women and claimed that means I belonged there. I told them it was dark when Flo brought me that paper, and I didn't know that was there, and look, I had drawn my kitty, I miss my kitty and want to go home!

After a while I bolt, charging out the doors and "falling" down the muddy, rocky hill -- I haven't fallen but am trying to hide. They find me and bring me back. I run off again -- they get some men in disguise to come after me and say "It's okay, we'll get you home," but I see through this and try to beat them up.

Finally the head woman and I have a come-to-Jesus meeting through five second of eye contact. Without speaking, she says, "You're full of shit. I know you're not a child. But I can't let you leave; you know too much." I reply silently, "Just fucking let me go! I won't tell anything. I have to get home."

Eventually she lets me slip out while everyone else is looking frantically for me. She barks orders and points people in the wrong direction, helping me get away.

I find myself in some tony district of San Francisco whose name I don't know. I'm half-clothed and filthy, and I offend the waiters at a bar I have walked through on my way back to the encampment. I'm going back for my own decent clothes and to show everyone "I got out and you can't make me come back." Mo is proud of me. Flo is pissed and stalks away, and a lesser drone follows after her to comfort her and curry favor. The leader looks at me like, "So I see we understand one another." A look of actual warmth & respect passes between us.

I dress: a frilly, fluffy polyester woman's leisure suit from the '70s, of several layers and varying shades of pink. I try to leave the place -- which is now a dim sum restaurant -- unobtrusively so I don't disturb the diners, but some of my puffy layers catch fire as I pass a candle and my suit half burns off. My ass and other bits are exposed and all the women are laughing at me. But I just say, "Oh, well, I'll just go down to the Castro and see what the drag queens think," and flounce off.

you know... one of those artsy films that uses a lot of symbolism, that NOBODY understands. Yet, even the CRITICS pretend to understand out of fear that they might be the ONLY ONES who don't understand. (A lot like the "Emperor's-New-Clothes" syndrome.) It ends up being the most-talked-about surprise HIT at the Sundance Film Festival!

I just LOVE the image of a fluffy polyester women's leisure suit from the 70's. As I was reading the words, and microseconds before I read the word "pink", I somehow ALREADY KNEW it would be pink.

Thanks for letting us peek into the slumbering (and slightly warped) mind of a lesbian. That was a real treat! :hi:

Love,
Allen

I'd have the Oscars lined up in the library. Guess I'll have to settle for continuing to dream and freaking out everyone I know.