pizza before sleeping equals

12Nov09

Last night I had a dream that my roommate was betrothed to none other than Barack Obama (yes of course, some poetic license is clearly at work here).  She brought me along to be her right hand woman while she married him in a lavish foreign ceremony.  We were staying in a Trump Tower-like fortress with golden everything that belonged to some sort of a sultan.  The afternoon before her wedding my roommate called me and asked me to come to her suite.  She sat me down and explained that she had fallen in love with the (incredibly handsome) son of the sultan.  She didn’t know how to break it to Barack.

Good grief.  Can you imagine?  The whole world is watching your betrothal to the president of the United States and here you are realizing suddenly that your feelings for the guy were only a farce.

So I go off on my merry way to soul search and see if I can come up with a solution to this problem.  To his credit, Barack had done his job.  He moved my roommate off to this foreign land to stay with a sultan while he stayed in another tower to give her space and yet exclusively court her.  I mean the guy was a champ.  Being the president of the United States does take up a lot of a guy’s time though, and the sultan’s son was allured by my roommate’s beauty and character (like any man would be of course).

So I am running about the sultan’s estate trying to figure out what the heck to do to solve this problem, using my amazing new Obama-blessed iPhone to google things like, ‘how to let him down easy’.  Next thing you know the entire estate is suddenly up in arms and there is media everywhere.  The sultan has had a nervous breakdown.  I soon find out, but manage to hide from the media, that the sultan inadvertently walked in on my roommate and his son.  The looks in their starry eyes were unmistakable.  The sultan suddenly realized that his political plans with Obama were about to go completely out the window and he had hit the deck.

I didn’t sleep at all during the night and my roommate had still not breathed a word to Barack.  The media reported that the sultan was dehydrated or slightly ill and would recover quickly.  The wedding plans were not going to change in his absence.  However, everyone knew that something was going on and people would just not stop gossiping.  The events of the day started bright and early and (oddly golden) signs were posted throughout the estate:  ”The sultan’s condition will not be discussed.”  ”Those discussing the sultan’s condition will be removed from the premises.”  It was a slightly dangerous place.

About the crack of dawn my iPhone rings.  It is Barack himself.  He tells me that he is working on a speech for later in the evening, and would I come over to talk with him about it?  He would like my input because I work with so many young people, and he wants to direct part of the speech to college-age students.  I try to explain that I am likely not the expert he is looking for, but he insists.  I have been staying a few rooms (well, like a wing) over from my roommate and I don’t want to leave her.  But I head out.  Soon I realize that I am walking across the sultan’s estate without shoes.  I run back to get them only to find that the sultan’s people have already started celebrating the wedding and have turned my room into a gift shop.   The room is spinning.  I start asking, where are my shoes?  I wonder, what is going to happen today?  Will my roommate go through with marrying Barack?  If she doesn’t, will I have to give back my iPhone?  What am I going to do?

In the middle of my panic the alarm went off.  I lay there for about 1.5 seconds and actually wonder if I am crazy.  Crazy.

Filed under: glimpses of the piping hot bowl of crazy that is me, what i did last night   |  2 Comments