Goin' to Califnorn-i-a

D. and I are going on vacation together. We're going to drive/take boats down to California together to stay in Br's mom's condo at the Monterey Bay resort. The dream skips around a lot, but all of it is intensley vivid.

We're at this huge relaxation spa. There is a big hot pool, a swimming pool. It's packed with older people, and my junkie-friend D. is there. A guy is walking around with a tray with partially drunk drinks on it. He offers us a samply, and it's like a chilled slurpie fruit drink - it's great, and D. says he wants to buy one. He pulls one out behind him, and when I look behind him, he's got a whole row stored on this string thing behind his back. D. has a green one, and sips it. I walk to go see if there are steam rooms. There is one room that I guess is in the intense steam room, so I keep looking down this hall to find a milder one. There is a room where people are training martial arts. It looks Thai, or Maori or something, and I peek in. There is a hot guy watching me look into the room, and we talk briefly about it. I keep looking for the steam room, and find this huge gymnasium. It has the same feel as the monster trucks that I went to once in real life - it's filled with "All American" thick, tanned athletese, and it's like that cheesy show that used to be on TV where muscular chicks play lame theme games (Knock your opponent off a tower, etc)

We're walking down the street that the bookstore is on. More good stores have opened up, and there's a new clothing store that is totally cool. I go in - they have amazing women's clothes - very stylish & unique, and they have delicious soaps. There is one that smells like oranges, and they say you can eat it too. There's men soaps and women's soaps. I pick out this darling little denim shirt - it's kind of like a babydoll shirt, with a sloped out hippie waist, and puffy cheeks, there is a little triangle slit by the neckline. That and an orange soap, I buy them, then realize that I haven't tried on the shirt.. I decide to try it on outside, and take it back if it doesn't fit. D. watches for other people, and I take my shirt off to put the other one on.

I'm at my house, packing for the trip. Now S. is there, and she's talking about how she's going to sell the dog crate that her chow chow came in. She has this piece of black luggage, and she's telling me how she doesn't have enough luggage anymore. I'm packing clothes, and doing things like thinking about the trip, and remembering that I need bathingsuits. It's vivid - I am packing my bikini, and my bathingsuit, and they are identical to what they are in real life. I am packing my goggles, and yell to D. to ask her if she has a pair for herself. I have everything that I need, and I'm packing my bag to the car, and putting it in the trunk.

I'm in a bookstore that also sells CDs. I am looking around, but they don't have a very good selection. The CDs are messy, and the girl that alphabetizes them once a week is just finishing organizing the first shelf. The store has a haphazardly messy look to it, but it's also very cozy. She also carries a line of delicious smelling soaps, very earthy and lovely. I am lying on the windowseat with my cat, SiskaC. She has falled asleep on my chest, but I'm still petting her anyways. Their bookstore cat comes out, but doesn't notice us. I tense up, because I think that Siska will be upset if she sees the cat. She wakes up, and they notice each other, but she doesn't really seem to care.

We're on a boat. It's a sitcom type situation now, and every week, they focus on one of the characters travelling on the boat. They do a close up of a black chick putting her bags on the bed. D. and I are doing it off camera, and she is not in the room with me as I get into bed. I'm brushing sand from along the edge of the bed, and banging my fist against the wood to know more grains loose from the the little ledge where they've become lodged. She comes in, and asks me if I like the bunk beds - they are very nice, mahogany slats, thick square poles, very modern, the mattress is very comfortable. She tells me that she bought them for 150 lire - that she doesn't know that that means, but that it's more than the 1.5 lire that it costs to buy a zebra, so she assumes that makes it cheaper. I marvel at the idea she knows how much it would cost to buy a zebra, and ask her what we're going to do with the bed once we arrive - dissassemble it & tie it to the roof of the car? She says that we might as well just leave it, and I'm a little shocked about this.

We're at Monterey Bay, and it's the same as I remember it with Br. We're watching the waves, and the light is just right. I feel very peaceful & happy, & tell D. that I truly love her. She says she loves me too.

Hometown

I'm in the town where I grew up, driving down the main street in an old silver car. Shops are to the left of us, and there is a park on our right, the tracks are along the edge of this. There is policetape everywhere, and crows of people are trying to see what has happened. The train tracks are completely blocked off, and there are policemen everywhere. A train is stopped on the tracks, its engines still running. And then I see it - there is a homeless man with a beard that has been hit by the train. The train ran clean over his body, slicing him through his stomach in a vicious diagonal line. I can see inside his body, although there seems to be no blood, and his dead eyes are staring at me. I shudder a bit, and continue driving down the road.

I am the passenger in the car as we drive towards the high school. When we arrive my friend asks me if this is my school. I tell him that I don't know - that I never remember arriving, I just always remember leaving at the end of the day. I remember that I usually go to the drug store, and ask them how to get to my highschool every day, and I tell him that. He points at some people outside the school, and asks if I recognize them. I say that I do, and we conclude that this really must be how I get to school. He's black, and everyone in the parkinglot is staring at him. For shock value, I kiss him, and snicker as I say, "Don't think they've ever seen a negro before." He laughs at this too - he's the scandal of the small town just be existing. I get out of the car, and everyone crowds around to get a better look at him, and look at me as though I'm very different from them.

Paring Knives & Small Grow Ops

The bookstore has moved to a new location. It's an older house that is HUGE. There are so many rooms in it - it's dim, and kind of funky, with neat paint colours, and hardwood floors. There is a big room at the back for the staff, with a coat closet & a shoe rack. There's a lot of work that needs to be done around the place, and I'm walking around in awe, trying to figure out where I want to start. As I walk around the house, it stops being the bookstore, and starts being someone's house.

This guy I know in real life, D., who has one ball, has made a random appearance in my dreamland. It's his place, and I can't imagine how on earth he could afford it, as he's a bit of a bum in real life. He's showing me around, and offers me a beer. I decline, as I have to drive home in a little bit, and told him that I didn't want to catch a buzz before then. He'd already started taking one out of the fridge, and shoves it back in - there is a beer lying on its side that is already open, and it sloshes into the fridge. He leads me through a big, dumpy, open & empty livingroom. It has a big laundry sink against one wall, and I look closely at it - it's a tiny little grow op underneath a white sheet - probably only one or two plants. He sees me looking at it, and says, "You didn't see anything." I slap his butt, and assure him that I know how to keep a secret (In real life, I know of a helluva lot of grow ops, and have never mentioned anything specific about who/where/when in my entire life... I am not a squealer) I tell him that I prefer the huge grow ops to the little house ones.

We're out in the yard, which seems to stretch on forever. He has a large german shepherd that he calls to him, and while it's running towards us at top speeds, I feel a little afraid. It's friendly enough, and is shedding all over the lawn. I ask him how much he paid for the place, and that's when I figure out that he's squatting. It's an old grow op, and he's moved in to make use of it. This makes more sense to me, but feels sketchy, as I'm sure the people that really do own the grow op don't want some heatscore in there.

We get back inside, and there are more people in there. There's a guy who offers me a beer, and I decline. He offers to show me downstairs, and I do - I start following him downstairs, and he says something shitty to me. I lip something back at him, and he grabs me by the chest/throat and pushes me to a sitting position on the stairs. I don't fight, just go limp, and tell him that I didn't mean anything by it. Then I say something lippy anyways. He whips a knife out of his jacket pocket, and it cuts my cheek as he pushes it closer to my neck. A girl walks in, and starts going up the stairs, totally oblivious to what is happening to me. She's wearing a big ski jacket, and has blonde hair. I wheeze out, "Help! Help me!" but she pays no mind as she disappears up the stairs. Some guys grab her at the top, and start hitting her in the face.

This was the wrong house to come to.

I have escaped, and a bunch of angry women are outside picketing the house. We are banded together, young, hip with good hair, screaming crap & holding signs. We scare people away from going into the house, and spit on a girl who is being on-purpose provocative in front of our angry signs/demonstration. There is someone on a bmx crusing around amongst our group.

I wake up.