Blowup

I dreamed last night that I was in a building that blew up. Yep, that’s pretty much how I’ve been feeling lately.

It was the Manos Theater. My first job EVAH was there, as ticket seller and then candy girl. This was WAY back in the days of real, drool worthy, can’t-get-enough-of-it movie theater popcorn. *sigh* I miss popcorn.

In any case, the entire lobby area was blown clean out. Mondo wreckage. Yeah, I managed to survive as did everyone else except….except the “suicide bomber.” Fairly quickly we found out that, no, this wasn’t ISIS. Nope, it was some late middle aged white guy with no political agenda. He was depressed, tired of his life that bore no resemblance to an heroic Hollywood testosterone fest where, in the end – naturally, he wins the model beautiful, big boobed babe (or three). He figured he’d go out with a big bang.

And he did.

Unlike Real World Manos, Snooze Time Manos was in a tall building with pale, raw meat hued, marble walls with a long bank of elevators. I rode up to the 13th floor (ominous much?) where there was a funny little mosque and tea room. In my yoga pants, T and purple hair, I felt wickedly, conspicuously out of place.

Why was I there? I’m not Muslim. I’m not Christian, Jewish or Buddhist or even an atheist. Nope. I’m a stone(d) agnostic. I wouldn’t lay claims to being spiritual either. Maybe, probably I am but, well, that’s not the point. More, I was (and am) Islam Curious.

Also, a tea room has COOKIES right?!

I sat down at a low table with a group of hijab clad babes. Guess what?! They were all deaf AND communicated using ASL! How cool was this? (FYI – very) We had a lovely chat – these women were wonderfully friendly and kind. I, as usz, apologized for my weak-ass signing. Grammar. It kills me every damn time. How pathetic is it that I’m embarrassed and apologizing for my language skills even in my dreams . *sigh*
 
And then they told me that the imam was about to come in. I decided to leg it. I’m not real comfortable around the pro religious league. Possibly I’m expecting preachy hectoring and condemnations of my alt life. Yes, got that in spades from the christianists so now I think every god botherer’s gonna be like that.

I was in a crowd of business suited folk, all waiting for a lift down to the bombed out first floor. We noticed then that, of the ten elevators, every last one was showing that it was on the first floor and not moving.

What to make of this? Am I feeling stuck in a strange, new-to-me land? Yup.

I would’ve liked to see if I ever got off the 13th floor but Rocco chose that very moment to get all up in my sleeping grill. He gently patted my cheek (that’s his new thing) and announced “Time to get up you lazy slag! I need pats, chin skritches and brekkie NOW. No, NOW!”

Yeah, I "hear" and obey. Outta my face cat.

and, for no particular reason, Immigrant Song – Led Zepplin.