Sugar and Beer

Last night I had a dream that I was somewhere crowded with my dad, grandfather, and sister.  We were all sitting around when suddenly my grandfather stopped and fell over.  As he was falling he reached into a secret pocket in the leg of his pants and pulled out a roll of smarties.  “He’s diabetic” said my father.  “Well, he should eat these smarties then!” I responded and we began to feed him smarties. 

Suddenly, all of this was happening inside my grandfather’s house instead of outside. 

Next, I was in a fancy dress at a theater which was located inside of a mall.  We were watching the performance when 8 of us (including the director or the play and an old coworker) needed to go to the bathroom.  We jumped up at the scene break and ran out of the theater into the mall and past an Auntie Anne’s pretzel stand.  After we finished we tried to go back into the theater but were each turned away at the door, including my coworker who was wearing a gold lame dress with “who dat” written on the ass.  (I know exactly where this came from: during the Marine Corps Marathon on Halloween I spent about 5 miles running behind a girl in this exact outfit.)

After realizing that we wouldn’t make it into see the rest of the show we started to walk around the mall. A mall that, much like my hometown, consisted of a few shoe stores, the aforementioned pretzel stand and one restaurant.  I’m 99% sure that this “mall” was a replica of the “mall” in downtown Silver Spring, MD. 

After walking around I realized that I wanted a beer so I headed back to the tiny concession stand near the theater and ordered a Blue Moon.  As I reached for my purse, I realized that I didn’t have it with me.  I remembered that I had left it in a store and frantically ran back to grab it.  I saw it on the back of a chair and saw that not only was it open but there was $7 in cash sticking out of the top of it.

I ran back to the concession stand and repeated my order. 

“Oh” said the older woman behind the counter who looked a little like Jay Sherman’s make up artist from The Critic.  “Can you fax your order to me?” 

“Um, what?” I said.

“I need you to fax your drink order to me. The something something something isn’t working” 

“But…I’m standing right here.  Can’t you just give me the beer and I give you money?”

“No.  You need to go back to the bus and fax the order to me from your bus.”

And I woke up thinking about Mitch Hedberg trying to buy a donut.


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