Creative Thursday: Bad Hosts

Snuggling with Fox

Snuggling with Fox

I get some bizarre dreams sometimes.  They’re the kind that feel very real but don’t make any real sense – like walls move, decor shifts, and people aren’t quite themselves.  Allow me to share one with you.

See, my sleep schedule has been all kinds of wacky lately.  It’s been snowballing out of control since Christmas.  This week, I’m finally back to getting up with Tom in the morning.  The downside is that I’m tired by noon, so I’ve been getting naps in here and there.  Today, I had one of my weird dreams.

Well, a continuation of a dream.  And if it’s shaky, I’m sure you’ll be understanding about it.  Right?


We were living in some sort of converted apartment building.  To tell you the God’s-honest truth, it looked a felt a lot like the church I attended when I was little, but with more levels.  The main part of our apartment was pretty similar to our current apartment, though.

As we’d only lived there for a short time and we’ve never gotten to know our neighbors anywhere else before, we thought it might be a nice idea to invite some people over to hang out by posting flyers in our hallway and by the building’s front door.  Keep in mind, the main room of our apartment was the size of a church fellowship hall that can fit 140 or so people.  I guess we must have decided we might as well invite family and friends over, too, because they were there.

And it was nice for a while.  But it was completely chaotic.

See, Tom and I aren’t the best hosts – or guests, for that matter – during a large gathering.  We get socially exhausted and hide out somewhere we don’t think we’ll be found.  In this case, we hid out in the giant bathroom off of our bedroom.  Now, this wasn’t your typical bathroom.  It had a few stalls and sinks to match.  It also had a television and a fridge.

And a stove.

The stove is vital to this story.

See, we had done our best to fend for ourselves in the big room, entertaining people as best we could, setting them up with movies, music, video games, and whatever else we could think of.  But, for some reason – I don’t know whether we didn’t expect people to attend something they’d red on sketchy flyers in the hall or if we just didn’t think of it – we didn’t have any food or drink on hand.  People didn’t care.  They were drinking water and apparently had brought plenty of their own alcohol.

Now, what I forgot to mention is that our apartment had two bathrooms.  Much like my old church, the bathroom off of the living section was a normal bathroom with a toilet and a sink.  Tom and I hid in our big bathroom and watched TV while people were basically recreating every 90’s teen movie dance scene in our living room.  There must have been access to our attic – I know: Where is this giant apartment because I need it right now! – from the bathroom, so we went up there and took some stuff the previous tenants had left: a fabric folding chaise lounge like you’d use for sunbathing and a couple of chairs.  Oh, and we apparently also kept kitchen stuff in there – because, you know, there was a freakin’ stove in our bathroom and what sane person wouldn’t want to cook in the bathroom off of their bedroom?

We were hungry, so like the truly excellent hosts we are, we cooked in the bathroom and used our makeshift dining table to share a meal while watching television in our kitchen-bathroom-living room hybrid.  I have no idea how long we were in there.  Eventually, we got brave enough and left the bathchen.  The kitchbath?  Restchen?!

Everything was still going well.  The rave seemed to have died down a bit, or at least we felt more comfortable following out seclusion.  When I returned to our place of solitude a bit later, however, I discovered my favorite uncle had fallen asleep on the floor in front of the television.

Oh.

I’d forgotten to turn off the stove.

And the hot pan from whatever we’d eaten had evidently retained so much heat that the chaise was on fire.

Along with the tiny counter space.

And a few other things.

I tried to call calmly, “Tom!”  A few times.  It escalated.  I screamed, “Tom, come here now!”

I also started trying to put the fire out, but it wasn’t really working.  Tom had a hose to connect to the sinks to put it out.  Thankfully, nothing was damaged.  We decided we should put the stuff back up in the attic.  We did.  But while we were up there, we ran into skinnier versions of our former (terrible) landlords.  They didn’t acknowledge seeing us, even though they were about ten feet away.

Also, my uncle disappeared from the bathroom.

Back in the bathchen, I started cleaning.  I apparently cleaned it so well that I brought a new luster to the place and the linoleum turned into cool black and white checkerboard tile.  The lighting also got nice and bright!  I went back to the party.

When I returned to my fortress of solitude, well-dressed middle-aged women were streaming in and out of it.  You’d have sworn we were at a convention in about 1994.  We’re talking Designing Women well-dressed.  I didn’t know any of them.  I was irked that they’d found my bathroom and kicked them out.  Well, I waited for a lull and locked the door again.

Next thing I knew, I was saying goodbye to my favorite uncle and he was telling me about the movie he’d been watching.  I’d convinced him to watch it the last time I’d seen him (this is why this dream is a continuation).  What movie, you ask?

It was either called Lorde or Royals.  I’m unsure because I kept correcting my uncle and he kept saying the wrong thing.  Either way, it was a well-received movie.

And there were long-haired men riding horses.  That’s all I remember about it.  But it definitely had something to do with being based on the songRoyals” by Lorde, so I guess that bit makes a little sense.

And people left.

And I woke up.

Note:  So, remember, no matter how bad your next party is, at least you didn’t spend most of the night in your bathroom, cooking, setting it on fire, and inadvertently renovating it.  Maybe this just means that it doesn’t matter at all what happens at your parties.  People just like to get out of their own lives, even if it just means watching TV and drinking tap water and someone else’s house.


My dreams always make me question how my brain processes things.  Most of my dreams are indoors, in places that resemble mash-ups of the homes in which I’ve lived or spent a significant amount of time.  This church thing was a twist, along with the resemblance to our newest home and the shitty landlord sighting.

Then again, maybe today’s just been a weird day.  Besides my schedule switching, I started something new today, got annoyed by people’s indignance, and I may be incorporating a little too much Murder, She Wrote, into my lifestyle.

More on that tomorrow’s Quick Thoughts Friday!

I’d love to hear something funny that’s happened in a dream lately or even what you think of my dream.  Please leave a comment and take a second to vote on this nifty poll!

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2 thoughts on “Creative Thursday: Bad Hosts

  1. Dreams are strange visions… to this day, whenever I dream of “home”, it’s either the house I grew up in (and left in 1979 and haven’t entered since) or Mom & Dad’s house in Kingman. And while I can vividly remember parts of nightmares I had 40+ years ago, I can’t tell you what I dreamed last night.

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    • They are such strange things! I think it’s interesting that you dream of the Kingman house. I can’t always remember my dreams, but usually napping dreams are easier to recall for me. Also, why Munky was so into LORDE or ROYALS is beyond me. And I don’t know how he escaped the bathchen fire.

      Mystery.

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