Before I start, let me remind you that I hardly EVER bore you with my dreams, unless they are exceptionally disgusting. See: the Marilyn Manson nacho-chip-butt incident.

That said, WOMG, I had the worst dream last night. I dreamt that my companion and I were renting the cutest little house in the most idyllic neighborhood and I was upstairs in the bedroom…with my ex-husband Seattle Federline! And he was about to (sorry if this is getting too scientific here) “bust out his junk.” SCREEM!

And I looked at it, and it looked exactly like some fake boy parts that we saw at the Pacific Science Center on Monday, when we were desperately trying to beat back cabin fever brought on by an extremely rainy xmas break. While Franny blissfully operated the robotic dinosaur off to one side, there in front of us was a giant model of a four-legged dinosaur.

“Look,” said my companion, “it’s a boy.” I looked, and sure enough, the dinosaur in question had a wrinkled, browny-green penis thingie in the undercarriage area. Do they know what dinosaur junk looked like? Or are they just basing it on iguanas? Hopefully my rabid archeologist readership will be able to enlighten us.

ANYWAY, lo, the penis thingie reappeared last night on SeaFed. He just started moving towards me, and I have that feeling you get in dreams where something like this has to happen and you can’t stop it, and it doesn’t matter at all what your feelings are in real life. I felt resigned, like, “Oh, well, this is happening now.”

Then, thank you Giant Head of Vin Diesel, my companion and a mutual friend came home in my dream and I had to shove SeaFed out the window, with all of his clothes, a la Desperate Housewives. I thought I was in the clear, but he came back for his car key, which was in the bedroom. (The car was a nicer late model car, rather than that pimptrocious Cadillac he drives now. In my dreams I either edit things to be much, much better, or much, much WORSE.)

So I was hella busted, and confronted by both my companion, and our friend who decided to scold me. Then, hooray, I woke up.

I’m going to Freudianly diagnose myself and say that I am no longer capable of seeing SeaFed as a sexual person, so I replaced his dick with a plaster dinosaur thingie. And since the panic I felt about getting caught was the only genuine emotion I had, I would like to assert that my only concern would be intentionally jeopardizing my relationship with my companion. Because I have had some really sexually inappropriate dreams (cue “Vicar in a Tutu” here) and have been okay with them.

In conclusion, damn you, subconscious!

In Other News

Then I woke up and I had an email from SeaFed about putting Franny in kindergarten next year, so my dream turned out to be a slight premonition. I am bummed about this, because she’s going to be six next fall, and if she were going on at her school she’d be the equivalent of a first-grader. She is doing early reading and will definitely be reading at the first grade level by this summer. She has been in the her school primary class for three years now (as is normal), so I think it’s time for her to move on. I hope the public schools here feel the same way. I will see what his reply is.