KjB

Me and CW. Nevada desert. September. 2004.

Two nights. Two utterly psychotic dreams. Something’s WAY out of whack with my head, I think.

The first night was probably understandable. A copious amount of good wine and a deficit of food just about made my bathroom floor the final resting place for the evening. Thanks to CW (who graciously made fun of me for a few minutes for being ‘that girl who passes out on the bathroom floor’), I made it to the bed, and had this dream.

Last weekend we bought a featherbed for our rock-hard mattress. It’s nice. I feel a bit cocooned when i’m laying on it. It’s warm and soft and squishy and very cozy. In my dream, I somehow spilled a large glass of water on the bed. Which immediately made me mad because water and feathers in an enclosed area would make for a mildewy, nasty mess that would never, ever dry. My dreamish-house was about to reek of aquatic decomposition like the subs in the 20,000 leagues under the sea ride. Fortunately, the featherbed had other ideas. It puffed itself up, very slowly, and as I was backing up, proceeded to sneeze all the water out, and onto the floor. The spray was kind of humpback whale-like. It splattered onto my shoes and pooled around my feet. I remember thinking “wow. now THAT’s a good feature of this mattress. Glad I bought the more expensive one.”

Last night was even better. And even stranger.

To cut a long story short, I dreamt that I somehow had my breasts replaced with big, um, generously portioned…penises. Yep, somehow, I had unwittingly undergone a procedure that grafted two long dongs, at lovely right angles, to my chest. When I walked, they kind of flopped up and down like, for god’s sake, I don’t know, like big rubbery penisis WOULD if they were attached to your chest. There isn’t much to this dream except for me kind of wandering around, being utterly horrified and perplexed, because this seemed to be a situation that I had kind of just fallen into - not really my choice, but not something I was considering fixing any time soon. I was, I guess, just fascinated.

Um, Yeah. Wonder what it’ll be tonight?

Dana and I discussed today what happens when you google her name.

danadeedoubleyou: oh wow… there’s another dana duffy in “death” music… and it’s a chick this time. not the guy in demonic christ / darkmoon, though. Wow. We danas really like the devil.

kendrabentle: dana and devil (and your last name too…oooo spooky) all start with d.

kendrabentle: d. the bastard letter. the EEEEEVIL letter.

danadeedoubleyou: yep! and if you turn the lower case d’s around they kind of look like 6’s!!!!

danadeedoubleyou: or b’s. hmmm.

kendrabentle: bbb. the sesame-street mark of the beast.

danadeedoubleyou: HA HA!

kendrabentle: the letter b. brought to you…by SATAN!

kendrabentle: Ok. i need to get off the crack.

Krumping. Undeniable proof that I am officially out of the pop culture loop. Wow. Gangmembers in clown suits dancing like they’ve got serious neurological disorders. That’s a whole new reason to develop childhood psychoses over our red-nosed, big-footed friends.

And look, David LaChapelle made a movie about it.

Also interesting is how I was enlightened of this information. Tiny CNN byline on their Entertainment page + David LaChapelle arrested in Utah for “disorderly conduct” + ‘Rize’ (the aforementioned movie) being shown at Sundance this week + a google search bathed in my utter disbelief that something so whacked exists.

Because nothing else remotely interesting happened yesterday (3/4 of the studio was out sick), or last night (I went to the place I’m about to describe, bought dinner from one of the burrito places where they assemble your food in front of you, went home, watched two hours of CSI and read half a book), I’m going to, again, talk about how much I hate Banfield, the Pet Hospital.

Jane needed shots, they told me last time. The vet explained that the minimum requirement was one bordatella (kennel cough - required if I ever need to board her), and distemper (a scary-sounding disease that makes me imagine a very angry, crazy pup with wild, roaming eyes and snarling lips.). Rabies - we had already taken care of that. So, we went. Because Jane is under their continuing care until after she’s finished with her heartworm treatments.

Anyway, they attempted to talk me into a litany of other services (they ‘recommend’ I pay them somewhere around $300 for a bunch of stuff Jane just doesn’t need), including a “heartworm test”, suggested not 2 seconds after I had explained to the braindead vet tech that Jane would be needing an appointment in two weeks for her SECOND HEARTWORM TREATMENT. Does she have heartworms? Gee, I don’t know….maybe I ought to fork out the $40 to find out. You know, on top of the $300 i’ll spend in two weeks on that same thing. Good LORD.

To make a long, bitchy story shorter, I get my shots. I get Jane’s toenails trimmed ($10 for that, too), I speak to the vet about how to remove our other two dogs from their ‘wellness plan’ scam (fortunately for them, we won’t have to pay too much to do this), and then go out to pay my bill and make jane’s next appointment.

At this point, I’m as happy as I could ever, ever be in the face of blatant idiocy that conceals a pointed effort to extort cash. Then…we get to the appointment-making. And the vet tells me that jane now has 3, count them 3 more visits before she’s done with the heartworm treatment. THREE. And the first one was something that ’some people opt not to do’, the second one (the one in two weeks) is the ‘big one - and she will stay for two nights’, THEN, after that, she stays for an entire day while they give her what amounts to a normal dose of Heartguard, and THEN in another, subsequent visit, they re-test her for heartworms. Counting the initial diagnosis and X-rays, that’s FIVE visits.

Five opportunities for them to charge me for an office visit. Three nights of boarding. And I’m not sure how much it’ll cost me for her to stay there that other day for the Heartguard, but i’m sure they’ll find a way to charge me for that too.

I honestly can’t believe it.