Securing Future Properties

This morning I had to drop Kate off at her dorms before heading to work. It's about a twenty-minute drive, and about 100 blocks in one direction. At one point I began coasting down in speed as I approached a red light. The red light turned green right as I was coming to a complete stop, but the car ahead of me hadn't noticed. So, I stopped.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Honk.

Seems reasonable enough, no? The person in front of us tossed their hands in the air, in a universal "What's the problem?" gesture, and drove off. They proceeded to stay directly in front of us for the next 25 blocks, and turned before us at the same light we were veering right on. It was about that point in the trip when Kate kind of said "Oh no. I think I know which sister that is." 'Sister?' She pointed out the Rosary hanging from the rearview mirror (I like to call it the Trigun Necklace).

I had honked at a Nun.

Sure enough, as we approached Mt. Mary College the car in front of us turned into the parking lot. Since I was going to be pulling right up to the sidewalk and letting Kate hop out of the car, an open target for the ire of a Nun who would certainly not fail to notice that she was returning to campus in the morning hours--and with an asshole who honks at Nun's, no less--I drove one block up, spun around and came back, hoping that my purposeful overshot of the campus parking lot would withdraw my car from the short-term memory bank.

I'm still not sure if it worked. I hope not, because then I'll have an interesting follow-up story.

*

Last week I had a dream that I was one of four chosen from a crowd to have a drinking competition. It is worth noting that I also saw Beerfest for the first time two weeks ago, which is undoubtedly why I felt subconsciously my Inebriation Preoccupation should be tested. It was simple: There were three of us, each with three drinks of varying sizes. The middle size was Sprecher Amber, and the largest and smallest sizes were both light drinks, such as Mike's Hard Lemonade, which I thought was silly. You drank them. First done, won.

I start chugging the largest first, and quickly notice that the other two guys are not participating. I realize I have jumped the gun and swap my glass out for a full one. They then tell us to start and again I notice that the other two guys are barely sipping away. I look around, confused, hoping I can figure out why. Seeing no reason, I go back to slamming mine down. One of the other guys takes few steps towards me, nudges me and points into the crowd. It seems I was mistaken, and there are actually four of us contending. The fourth person apparently suffers from Cerebral Palsy and is wheelchair-bound. The little guy is trying to keep up, but he can't hold his glass properly and is spilling copious amounts of beer and lemonade on himself. The other two guys are tossing the game for him; They feel bad.

At first, I follow suit. But I almost immediately have a lightning stike of dream-logic brilliance, and I realize exactly what is going on. The kid in the wheelchair is playing for a charity, and if he wins he'll donate the money to CP research. The other two guys don't feel their respective charities are on equal footing, and want to help him. I realize--with utter clarity--that if I win I can match every penny this kid would have received to put towards his NPO-of-choice, and that I will do so, in his name--an incredible act of selflessness that will earn me total adoration (and still net me like Eight Grand in prize money). I am amazing.

So I slam my drinks. It is done. The kid looks devestated and the two other guys look pissed. The group throwing this contest seems a bit baffled, but stumble over and hand me my prize money. The crowd begins to boo and rise from their seats. Spastic Boy has knocked over his drink now because, hey--kid's got Cerebral Palsy, give him a goddamn break--and now he's--is he crying? Oh, what the fuck. Someone hosting the event leans in close and tells me that I'd better get out of there, so I do. Winding down side streets, as I make my away from the mob and the uproar, I realize how wrong my original math was... and that I won't be able to make that proxy donation after all. Huh.

Should I feel bad that this is how I act in my dreams? Or, should I just be grateful that I'm not that bad in actual life? Probably I should just feel bad that I kind of wish I was.