Confessions Of A Middle-Aged Drama Queen

What does it mean that in the last two nights of sleep I’ve gotten fallen-off-the-seat-laughing-my-ass-off-drunk in my dreams?

In the first night’s dream, I was at a restraunt situation, except I was also somehow at a Mass at a Catholic church, and without thinking I took a swig of the sacramental wine.  I’m vaguely remembering thinking someone was passing around some new fruit drink, and then someone at the table said “You don’t drink!  Why did you drink that??”  And I said to myself, “Oh shoot… you’re right…” and then I immediately remembered I had just taken valium or a painkiller and started feeling woozy from mixing the two.

Last night, which was the much more fun dream, I was driving around town with a well-meaning (but extremely annoying) ward member who was trying to help me out with finding a car, and I stumbled upon a taco stand.  It was a no-name dive, but it had a frozen margarita machine like Rubio’s does!  I was hungry and beaten-down frustrated so I ordered a rawther large frozen strawberry margarita (figuring it was virgin since anyone could order and they didn’t ask for ID) and it was so good I started sucking it up like I’d been in the desert for days without water.  About 2/3 of the way through, I noticed it had a medicine-y taste and shouted:  “HEY!  IS THIS A REAL MARGARITA?!?!” and they said “Yup!” at which point I no longer cared it was chock-full of alcohol and ordered another.  I was very funny.



Try not to mock.  Ha ha ha….

In other news, I’m not on-the-verge-of-a-mental-breakdown upset anymore.  I’m still mad, but after getting feedback from all my grrrls, I can relax now and I know that it may take 400 years but in the end the other insurance is going to have to suck it up and be responsible for their driver.

Rock and roll, ladies!


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