I Haz Lasers.

Either I ate something really weird before bed, or I'm having subconscious delusions of grandeur, because I had some doozy of a dream the other night. It was the kind of dream that, when I woke up, I immediately started jotting down notes so I could blog about it. It was weird, and epic, and somewhat sci-fi-y, all in the same brain blip.

So, in the dream, I'm at the optometrist's office, being fitted for new glasses. Brian is sitting behind me, playing Star Wars Angry Birds on his phone, while the doctor flashes the light in my eyes, asking me a string of questions. When the interview is over, he flips on the lights, clears his throat, and informs us that I'm going to need eye surgery to correct my vision. No contact lenses or cat-eye frames are going to do the trick.

In dream land, there's no paperwork or waiting involved. You just flash forward to the day after the surgery is done. I'm sitting in a hospital bed, my head wrapped in bandages. Brian is sitting beside me playing Star Wars Angry Birds on his phone. 

And then the doctor comes in to reveal my shiny new eye sight.

When the bandages come off, not only can I see with perfect vision for the first time since my early twenties, but I can even read the serial number off the bottom of the television on the other side of the room.  WOWZA! That's some surgery!!

The doctor informs me that, for the first forty-eight hours or so after the surgery, I can expect to be amazed by all the many things I can see that I couldn't see before. Then, he promised, it would be just like normal for me. So, we packed up and headed home.

Flash forward again, and I'm bundled up on the couch with Brian, happily watching Doctor Who reruns sans glasses. A shadow passes in the corner of my eye, and I look up. That's when I see it---a giant spider, sneakily snuggled in the corner above our DVD shelf. It's the size of a chihuahua, and not the tea cup kind.

I leap up, shedding afghans and unceremoniously dumping my husband on the floor, and shout, "SPIDER!"

At that point, red lasers come shooting out of my freshly fixed eyeballs, leaving nothing but a black ring of ash where the arachnid used to be.

Insanity ensues. Brian freaks out, spewing information about joining the X-Men and hitting up the Hobby Lobby for red spandex so he can make me a cape. And then, when things settle down, we make a list of all the many different things I can fry with my newfound laser vision.

And then my alarm clock went off. So we'll add it to the list as well.

The Most Amazing Dream, Ever

I don't often have vivid dreams. I usually dream in black and white, and the moments are generally fuzzy and disconnected. However, once in awhile I have dreams that are memorable. But rarely, if ever, do I have dreams as momentous as the one I had last night. 


It was like a dream sequence in a sitcom. There was music and a laugh track and everything.


While there's no way to actually mind-meld with you and send you the bits and pieces of this dream that I remember (because I'm still only an honorary Vulcan), I can describe it for you in great detail. With pictures, courtesy of Photoshop. (Of course.)


Act One: (yes, it occurred in acts. Just like a movie.)
My always-ready-for-an-adventure best pal, Becca, and I are grabbing our luggage from the overhead bins of a bustling airplane. We're both clearly excited. We depart, grab the rest of our bags, and head for the exit. The street outside is lined with taxi cabs, and immediately I know we're in New York City.


Becca and I have been talking about and planning a girl's weekend to Manhattan since college. We've talked about staying at some fabulous hotel, going to see a show on Broadway, taking the ferry to Staten Island to see the Statue of Liberty, shopping at Macy's/Barney's/Bloomingdale's/Saks Fifth Avenue. 


And in this dream, we do it ALL. And the souvenirs are AWESOME.

Becca's way too cool for a silly hat....maybe.

After we've taken in the sights, we head back to our hotel. As we're heading for the elevators, we notice a bellman coming our way. 


Bellman: "Can I help you with your bags, ladies?
Becca: "Well, of course! Thank you."
Abby: "Hey, aren't you Perry Como?"

I never would've known, if it weren't for the name tag.

Bellman: "Why, yes ma'am, I am."
Abby: "Thank you very much for helping with our bags, Mr. Como."
Becca: *whispers* "How did you know that was Perry Como??"
Abby: "Didn't you see his name tag?"


Act Two:
On day two of our adventure, Becca decides we can't officially say we've been to NYC until we've had room service, and read the New York Times with our morning coffee. So, we order room service and coffee, and sit in our fabulous hotel room in soft, white robes. Becca takes the sports section, and I take the entertainment section.


A few sips of coffee later, I reach for the front page. And that's when I see it:

This would TOTALLY be on the front page of the NYTimes. Totally.

I spit coffee all over my soft, white robe, and launch myself at Becca, waving the paper madly about in her face.


Abby: "OMGOMGOMGOMG *incoherent babbling* OMGOMGOMGOMG!"
Becca: "DUUUUUDE! I wonder what floor he's on???"


We race to our closets (there are two, because it's a fabulous NYC hotel) and start getting dressed. Naturally, because we are excellent trip planners, we have the sleuth costumes we need in order to search for Donnie Wahlberg in our hotel.

There's nothing quite as fashionable as tweed.

Becca and I, magnifying glasses in hand, search the hotel high and low for signs of the mysteriously sexy Donnie Wahlberg. Alas, we have no luck. We retire to our room for a nap, scones, and a little television before our night out on the town.


Act Three:
It's almost time for us to venture out into the big, bad city for our last night in NYC. Becca, her hair in curlers (this never happens in real life, but it happened in the dream. I swear.) tells me she's thirsty. So I offer to head out and find some refreshing beverages.


I'm walking back to the room, full ice-bucket in hand, and as leave the elevator and round the corner, I run smack-dab into Donnie Wahlberg and his entourage.


In real life, this would have been humiliating and exhilarating.


In the dream, the music swells, he smiles at me, and I launch myself into his arms.


Abby: "Donnie! Donnie, it's you! We were looking everywhere! Donnie Wahlberg, in our hotel! It's YOU!!!!"


There's a guy who looks a lot like Alan Rickman hovering around us, snapping photographs. He tells me to tilt my chin up, turn a little to the left, and to smile. Donnie poses with me and the Alan Rickman look-alike snaps the last photo.


This entire time, Donnie hasn't said a word. Now, he turns to me and says, "I'll email you a copy, baby." (Pause for swooning) Then he kisses me on the cheek (more swooning) and his entourage whisks him off to the elevator, leaving me standing in a pool of melting ice, heart pounding like crazy.


Act Four:
A flash of me at home, placing a picture frame on top of my dresser. And it looks like this:

That's right, girls. He's a nuzzler.

*Note to Becca:*
Dear Becca,
It's official. We HAVE to go to NYC. And it has to happen like this, ok? If you need me to pay to have your tweed jacket dry-cleaned, I'll be happy to do it.
Love,
Abby