Taking Care of (Haunted Real Estate) Business

In the State of Minnesota (where I live*) there is apparently a law that when you sell a property you have to disclose whether or not it is haunted

*That's one of the ones in the middle, for those outside the United States

Now, I'm not 100% sure whether this is true or whether it's just something we say on Ghost Tours to give the Forepaughs mansion that air of verisimilitude* but it's still an interesting legal point.  Are you still bound by it if you don't believe in ghosts?  How many people have to believe that it's haunted before you become contractually obligated?  Is just the fact that crazy Aunt Betty swears she didn't forget her meds that day and there's no other explanation possible for what happened to her panties enough?

*Still a great site to check out though. It's a restaurant now - the food is good and the stories of Molly the angry ghost maid are fantastic.

In any case, the other night I dreamed that I did, in fact, have a haunted house to sell.*

*I'm not sure how I knew for sure that it was haunted.  I don't remember being particularly threatened by the ghosts, I just wanted to sell the place and the whole 'might have to reveal that it's haunted' thing was a minor inconvenience.  In real life I do own a home, although I'm pretty certain it's not haunted and I have no interest in sell it at the moment.  But hey - make me an offer and we can see what happens...

Due to one thing or another which made perfect sense in the dream I was attempting to sell the place to Bachman-Turner Overdrive*

*Canadian Country-Rock Crossover group from the 70s.  Their hits include 'Taking Care of Business' and 'You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet'**

**You know... the one with the stutter.  You sing along to it and then feel unsure whether it was offensive or not***

***All the best songs make you feel bad about yourself.  See Also 'Love the one you're with' and 'Pumped up kicks'

I'm not sure why Bachman-Turner Overdrive was buying a house together.  Particularly as they broke up quite some time ago.  I don't know, maybe they needed somewhere to regroup before hitting the Casino circuit, who can say.

What I CAN tell you is that I realized only in hindsight that I probably selected them to sell the place to because they were Canadian and in some way in my head that justified ignoring the rule about spectral-disclosure.

When in doubt, screw over Canada.  That appears to be what my subconscious is saying.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go drink a twelver of Molson-Golden by way of apology.

A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

And apparently I wish to be mauled by a werewolf while I'm naked at Walmart.

To be fair, that's hardly likely to be the most disturbing thing happening at Walmart.

To be fair - His mom really liked him

The night before last I had a dream that I was watching a dog's naming ceremony*

*Clearly the ceremony where a dog appears on stage and a very nice MC announces to the world what the dog's name is going to be.  Come on, keep up people.

I don't remember what breed the dog in question was, but the MC announced, 'Because of his friendliness, he shall be named after the very quintessence of friendliness himself.  The man who embodied friendliness. This dog's name shall be 'James Buchanan.'  Because he is so James Buchanany'

Never Yell Pat Nixon in a Crowded Movie Theater

A while back I wrote about how, after years of complaining that my dreams were too straightforward and easy to interpret (in addition to being shockingly prone to the usage of clumsy travel metaphors,) my subconscious chose to respond by beginning to feed me a nightly buffet of inexplicable crap, as if to say, 'Fine.  Spend some time working out what this might be about, asshole.'*

*My subconscious is kind of a jerk.

Well, that trend continues.  Here's the latest serving-

Last night I dreamed - And I can not stress enough that I am not making this up - that I went to the movie theater.  Fair enough, I've been meaning to go see The Winter Soldier for weeks now*, so there's nothing particularly surprising there.

*I know, I know.

What is slightly more surprising is that sitting next to me in the movie theater was former first lady Pat Nixon.*

*Wife of Richard M. Nixon, our 37th president.  Seriously, it would not kill you to do a little of the research.

This is surprising for a number of reasons.  Primarily, she died in 1993 from Lung Cancer, so she's probably unlikely to catch the latest adventures of Captain America, which is too bad, because I hear it's awesome and she would probably have really enjoyed it.  Also, the odds of me recognizing Pat Nixon are slim to none as until I googled her a little while ago I had absolutely no idea what she looked like.*  Or anything else about her beyond her name and who her husband was.

*Interestingly enough, in my dream she looked more or less like the pictures of her online, which probably just indicates that I've actually seen a picture of her at some stage and it just wasn't important enough to be retained in conscious memory.  Still worth noting though.

So, having found myself in a crowded  movie theater sitting next to Pat Nixon, naturally she and I started chatting.  And it turned out that she was absolutely charming.  We chatted, we laughed, we totally bonded in a 'this was just a dream and didn't really happen' sort of way.  Unfortunately, we did this in a movie theater while the movie was playing, and so about half way through the movie we got kicked out, which I'm choosing to view as some sort of irony.

This is why you shouldn't pick fights with your own brain.

Does that count as being supportive or not being supportive?

So last night I had a dream that I was a heroin dealer.  And I was absolutely the worst heroin dealer ever.  Seriously.  Not just a little bit bad at it.  I was comprehensively unfit for any and all aspects of heroin sales. 

Which is in and of itself not particularly noteworthy (and probably fairly accurate), but for a conversation I had about it this morning;

ME:  

I had this dream last night that I was a heroin dealer, 

but I was, like, the worse heroin dealer ever.  Seriously, 

I was super bad at it.

SOMEONE WHO IS NOT ME:  

Well, that's no surprise.

And I was actually offended.  Who were they to tell me I wouldn't be a good heroin dealer!  I bet I could be a great heroin dealer!  I could be heroin dealer of the month, I'll have you know!

It took a significant chunk of the morning before I let go of the vague feeling that at any moment I was going to head out to buy a shit ton of heroin and sell the crap out of it, just to prove a point.  Eventually it passed because;

A:  I wouldn't know where to buy heroin if my life depended on it.

B:  I would actually be a terrible heroin salesman.  For a start I suspect that they don't refer to themselves as 'salesmen'.

But honestly.  A little support would be nice.  Am I right?

I can really only blame myself for this...

A while back now I had a dream.

(Actually I have dreams all the time.  Often involving werewolves, because werewolves are awesome.  The Werewolf Dreams* are not, however, relevant to the current discussion.)

* Best Band Name Ever.  Someone should be writing these down.

So a while back I had this dream that I was driving somewhere and got stuck in one of those 'roundabout' things that you see in New England (and probably Old England as well now I think of it.)  If you're unfamiliar, they're a big circle that takes the place of an intersection that one might actually be able to use.  Everyone from all directions just flows into the circle and (theoretically) exits the circle in whatever direction they want to go.

So in this dream I was driving on a roundabout, and got stuck in the center lane, with other cars blocking me from getting to the outer lane where I could exit.  So I was just stuck going in circles over and over again and never getting anywhere.

And I woke up and thought to myself, 'Well, no need to waste money having that one analyzed.  Way to get right to the point, subconscious.'

And then a few nights ago I had another dream.

I dreamed that I wanted to go somewhere, so I went to the airport.  But I didn't have a ticket and couldn't find the main terminal, so I was just stuck wandering around in the airport never able to go anywhere.

And I woke up and thought to myself, 'For Christ Sake, Subconscious, you are not even trying anymore.'

So then last night I had another dream.

I'd locked myself out of my car, and so I called John Locke, from Lost, who had opened a Locksmith company called 'UnLocked', and he came and took care of it for me.

What in the name of Sweet Fuzzy Jesus does THAT mean?? 

Seriously, it's all I can think about now today.  What the Hell does that mean?  Am I supposed to embrace the theory of Self?  Am I concerned on some level about the breakdown of the Social Contract?  Should I rewatch Season 6 of Lost?

See, this is why you do not pick fights with your own subconscious.