So this is one thing the blogosphere is all about: You get to give your friends names they don't like, names they do like, names they got no business having. And, in the case of Bubba, names your other friends want to give someone -- but they never write about that someone on their blog and thus suggest YOU call that someone by a moniker they invented.
This is the case with Bubba, who until just today was known as SGF, our Single Gay Female. Rather than permanently cornering SGF into her singleness -- which, considering she dropped the kissingkissingkissing girl today, she might just be for a while -- Dr. M thought up a new moniker. This one more accurately reflects the once-SGF's entire being: BUBBA. The name stands for Buddhist brown-eyed, blonde-haired atheist. Got that?
I asked Bubba what she thought of the new moniker, and she immediately embraced it. She added, "You could also try Bubble, if you wanted. That would be the same name, but with lesbian at the end." (She failed to notice the A was gone, and that atheist part is important.)
Anyway, Bubba and I were out tonight, plying the streets, two single lesbians on the prowl for ... there's no telling what we were looking for. I really wanted a new necklace. I got some soap and a little piece of art. Bubba ended up buying a CD of some cello music with which she can chant her Buddist-Atheist self into a calm centeredness.
We were walking the sidewalks for Last Thursday, the monthly Alberta arts festival. There was a lot of good live music, people walking and dancing on stilts, guys riding exceptionally tall bicycles, a high-energy African drumming and dancing group (with actual African-Americans, not dreadlocked hippies) that did some amazing booty moves (mmmm!). There were women juggling and dancing with fire. Brass bands. Clown acts. A cellist with a lot of reverb on his mic. Gallery openings. Artisans plying their wares. And plenty of carny food that the pup kept trying to eat off the ground.
But, in the end, Bubba and I wound up the evening at the Tin Shed, our favorite breakfast spot. They've got a full bar there, which I hadn't realized, and we sat out in the garden, with the tikki lights flickering in the breeze, drank cocktails and ate dinner.
In the middle of eating, Bubba tells me about a dream she had last night. "I was in a room with a woman who was going to kill me," she said. "She had all this torture equipment, and I said, 'Please just slit my throat, and get this over with.' And so she did. I could feel her cutting me, but it was a shallow cut. There was all this blood. But I could still talk, so we sat there and she talked more about how she was going to kill me."
What a nice image with my jalapeno and bacon burger....
So then Bubba says, "That dream has a lot of psychopathy in it. I wonder what Dr. M would make of it." And then she started to twitter and guffaw and giggle and snort.
What's so funny? I asked.
"Oh, I was just thinking. *That's* how we can recruit Dr. M to the woo-woo side," Bubba said. "Get her to interpret dreams! But, specifically, dreams with psychopathy in them."
For starters, I'm not sure what the *we* business is about. I want Dr. M to become "woo-woo" about as much as I want athlete's foot. ... But I'll admit to liking the idea of her doing dream interpretation of nightmares from a psychopathological perspective. It could make for interesting research, specifically if she collects dream data from those dangerous types she digs so much.
Personally, I think the dream had something to do with the demise of the relationship with kissingkissingkising girl. A shallow cut? Didn't really hurt? They were still talking? But lots of blood.... Yeah, sounds like: Shallow relationship, superficial wound but lots of emotional baggage for Bubba.
Still, she requested I put it out there for Dr. M's consideration -- as some kind of temptation to get woo-woo. (Good luck with that!) Even if it's not my dream, it's my blog, so anyone else who wants to weigh in on the meaning of this dream is welcome to comment. ... So?
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5 comments:
Well, we're always told mundane things in dreams represent big, dramatic things - like, if you dream about cleaning the sink, it means you want to kill your father and sleep with your mother, or something - so, perhaps dramatic things in dreams represent mundane stuff.
Dreaming about having her throat cut probably just represented a nagging reminder she really must get round to clearing out her outlook express in box... or some such...
dreaming is a process in the brain wherein the frontal cortex is off, but the brain is still firing random images. But the brain is still trying to make sense of these images, so it imposes a structure, a storyline if you will, on what it's "seeing". We wake up and try to impose meaning on to that story. So any meaning that one finds in dreams is completely projected: it means what we want it to mean. There is no a priori meaning or importance to it. Only that we consciously assign.
Sorry, you can't get me woo woo on dreams. Thanks for playing though. :-)
Dr. M, Dr. M...
It figures.
Bubba will be bummed.
Heh, you got spammed.
You know, the first time I read that I totally missed the part wherein Bubba had dumped Kissy McKissalot.
Yup. She sent the kissing girl packing.
Gotta be congruent, that Bubba does.
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