As I sat down here I was trying to think about what my Sunday blog post would say. I went through some pictures, trying to think of something spiritual I learned at church and how it can be applied to my daily life. Until I found this picture, and as you can see by the title of my blog post, this haunts my dreams.

This is my brother in law, Jeff. He goes through cycles of being dead/not dead to me. I can’t remember where he is right now. Maybe not dead to me? That way I can make him dead to me when he does something “nice” like tells my sister the vinyl came from me. It didn’t. It came from him. He arranged it and is a liar.

Anyways, Jeff doesn’t haunt my dreams. Not anymore. Neither do dudes with knives. Those dreams belong to my sisters. Along with the murderers in their basements. I’m not really afraid of that. You know that if you’ve ever been to my house when I wasn’t there, tried the door to find it unlocked and let yourself in. Fortunately, the only ones I know who did this left treats (like this sweet thing you stick over the stuff you’re nuking in the microwave so it doesn’t get your microwave dirty? That was Misty. You can learn more about her in the sidebar).

My dreams lately have had my skinny friends in them. They haunt my dreams. Them in their cute jeans. It’s mostly Jill (have I told you this, Jilly (can I call you Jilly?)? If not SURPRISE…you haunt my dreams) and E. We’re always exercising or cleaning. Those dreams are horrifying. I’ll find pictures of these chicks so you can see how freaking scary they are.

That’s Jill with…YES…John Freaking Travolta. Is it sad that my only claim to fame in my life is that my friend met John Travolta, got a picture with him with his arm around her (gasp! really, if the thought of that doesn’t make your heart pound you’re mostly dead inside) IN HIS JET. He even kissed her. It’s a jealousy that might quickly become obsessive, so I’ll end that. *she did just give me permission to photoshop my head onto her daughters.) <—-that’s not an emoticon if you’re wondering. I don’t use those. Not ever.

This is E. Or E-Hos. Or Hosfrizzo (fo shizz-o!)

Take it in.
Take it all in.

That picture is my most favorite thing.

Okay, back to things that haunt my dreams. My dreams almost ALWAYS take place in Phoenix. I remember things in my dreams about my house in Phoenix that I haven’t thought about in years. Like the awesome monochromatic living room in shades of deep fuschia (my husband could remember the name of this color when I couldn’t. It makes him gay…also, when I wikied “shades of pink” I learned that there is really a shade of pink called “shocking pink.” I once knew a little girl who’s room was that shade. It pulsated. I swear it). or that place behind the couch we used to hide behind when mom got mad. But it’s friends from Washington in Phoenix. You’d think we’d dry out or something.

I wonder why all my dreams are stuck in Phoenix. I wish that because we are there anyways, my dad would just show up. I miss that dude. I think about him a lot. He’d really be into iphones.

{ I’m actually trying to get this post away from actual dreams to things that scare me. But it’s not working. So I’m going to say these things do actually haunt my dreams just for continuity’s sake.}

Cancer. Whenever I have a lump – like this weird one above my ear- it’s cancer. Or a headache. Brain tumor. It’s always freaking cancer. I think when you’ve seen cancer so much in your life, it kind of becomes ingrained in your psyche. If you believe in psyche’s, which I don’t. I always think too that any odd scrape I have that I can’t remember getting is a flesh eating bacteria, mostly because of an Oprah show I caught.

I think I’ve mentioned this one before, but large cylinders that gradually come to a really sharp points really scare me. It makes me all fidgety just thinking about it.

Death. I’m not afraid to die. I’m really not. I had a dream that I died once. It was the best dream I’ve ever had. Really. Got killed by an airplane. It was instantaneous and for a moment I was in Heaven (in my dream) and it was so awesome I could die. That’s ironic. Anyways, I can’t die. If having one child with special needs makes it so I have to live a long, loooong life, having two pretty much means I’m invincible. Like that dude on that show. I can’t die. This thought scares me. Did you see that movie “Dead Again”? My dad used to wear a shirt from the movie that was made to look like he had a cannon shot through him. Fun fact.

{want to know another fun fact about me? I have NINETEEN pairs of stretchy pants…if that doesn’t warrant a call to “What Not to Wear” I don’t know what does. But not yet. Wait 4 months until I’m as skinny as the chicks that haunt my dreams}