I've never been on a moped and this is clearly not how they work

I lived in a strange and wonderful wooden house with my dad and my little brother. I woke up at 8:00 one morning and realized with horror that I was late for work--well, not work, but my student teaching position (which is actually more important than work right now because it's so elemental). But for some reason I couldn't move quickly enough and stopped panicking about being late. I dallied in the kitchen and made coffee and toast. A door opened--it was the door to the basement--and suddenly I realized I was at my old house in Columbia, the one I shared with Brice on 8th Street, in that huge, crooked kitchen. And who else but Brice and Carey Page strolled through the door! I realized they lived on the other side of the house, where Gunnar used to live. Groggily pouring themselves coffee, they asked me questions about student teaching. They were friendly enough. I couldn't shake the feeling that I wanted a cigarette REALLY badly. I searched the house and found my dad's pack. "Thank god," I thought, "he doesn't smoke those terrible menthols anymore." And I took one. As I started my search for a lighter, I started to wonder how I was going to get to my placement school. The school in Lacey. How the hell was I in a house in Missouri? Lol, dreams are so irrational. I took a staircase and found myself in a garage where my dad was sitting on a camping chair fiddling with a knife and a block of wood. I asked him for a light. He lit my cigarette. I inhaled deeply and was so relieved. Just then, my little brother walked into the garage, greeted me, and walked into the house. I spotted a tiny grayish-blue moped in the corner of the garage. "Hey dad, isn't that your bike?" I asked. "Yep." "Does it work?" "Yeah." "Can I borrow it for the day?" "Sure. Do you remember how it works?" I sat on the bike. "I think so." I grabbed the right handlebar and said, "Accelerate." I grabbed the left handlebar and said, "Decelerate." I motioned to the pedal on the right and said, "Brake." "Yep." My dad smiled and told me to have a good day. I started the engine and flew out of the garage. It felt so nice to have the wind whipping through my hair.

a trip to wonderland as human trafficking

My dream began in Amsterdam. I was walking around with an unknown friend, taking in the city, seeing all the trinkets and sculptures and strangely dressed people. We walked into an antique shop and it was mostly empty and resembled an art gallery. I started noticing strange things happening, like people playing instruments in corners then looking seconds later to see that they weren't playing any longer. A painting I was looking at started to swirl. I started to feel very funny. My friend was suddenly very heavily made up, dressed in black clothes, and laughing. Things started to feel sinister as I walked through the old house and explored the rooms. My friend and an unknown person came up behind me and told me to walk down the stairs. I walked down a set of stairs into what appeared to be a dollar store run by Chinese people. The men behind the counter were tinkering with small objects or fixing them. I walked around and looked at the cheap plastic wares. I didn't feel unsafe, but was starting to wonder why my friend had wanted to come down here. She came up beside me and said, "Do you know where we are?" I started to feel light-headed, as if I'd just taken a puff from an asthma inhaler. I noticed more strange things happening. "Are we in...wonderland?" I asked her. She laughed softly and said, "Yes, we are in wonderland. Let's go down here." She led me to another short set of stairs and we walked down them. We entered a room that was smaller than the previous and sparsely furnished with wooden crates. There were two men sitting on some of the crates. One of them was smoking and wearing a leather jacket. "Okay," he told some unseen person behind him, and the room began to move. I realized we were in a van. I felt even more light-headed. I didn't see my friend anywhere. The men were laughing. I began to feel fear. I screamed. I realized I had been kidnapped. "No, let me out!" I shouted at the men. They laughed. It reeked of weed in the cavernous van. I opened the door and there was shouting: "Speed up, speed up!" I jumped out and landed on my feet. The last thing I heard was laughter and "Aww, come back!" The van didn't stop, I didn't run but walked quickly away, and there was no struggle to recapture me.

I walked around a block and panicked, realizing I had no idea where I was. I was also half relaxed because I was in a nice city in Europe and not in school. Dutch was heard all around, the air was balmy, there was quirky art everywhere, and plentiful coniferous trees in the distance. I decided to call Ali to see if she could advise me, although she was in Indonesia. I couldn't get a hold of her. I walked for a while and asked the next random person I saw if they could tell me what town I was in. That person was a black man who smiled a huge toothy smile and said, "Mendelhoordt" or something to that effect. He pointed to a sign above us that spelled out the name he had just said. When I turned back to him, he was gone. I went into a café and asked a woman where the bus station was. She pointed out the window and down the road. I walked around outside and came to a paved lot on a block corner. Two men were standing and chatting. I approached and said hello. I asked where the bus station was. They talked in Dutch for a minute and then asked where I was going. I told them home, back to Spain. One of them took out a phone. Moments later a van pulled up. "This van goes to the bus station," he said. "Ohhh no," I said, "Not a van! With crates in it!" I ran away and heard similar laughs and bellows of "Aww, come on!"

killer in the kitchen

My mom was acting mean and crazy. She was calling me ugly and stressed out and laughing maniacally. She grabbed a large kitchen knife and said, "Guess what I'm gonna do!" and put it on my neck, pressed down hard, and ran it across. She wasn't pressing hard enough to cut, but it scared the hell out of me. "What are you doing mom?!" I screamed. She grabbed my shoulders and put me on the kitchen floor. "Guess what I'm gonna do?" She laughed in a sing-song voice. She raised the knife above her head with both hands and prepared to come down on me. I was terrorized, in disbelief that this was really my mom. I covered my chest and screamed, "Stop! What the fuck are you doing?!" Rodney stood in the doorway with a shocked look on his face, but did not intervene. I got up and pushed her. I felt the worst searing rage.

cruise ship captain

I was on a beach and I ran by someone's towel where they'd left their cooler and things and grabbed a bag of sandwiches. No one was around. I took it and ran to a jet ski, which I stole. I felt so thrilled and horrified of getting caught. I drove so fast. I drove to a harbor where a giant cruise ship was being boarded. I saw the captain of the ship riding his jet ski towards the ship. I thought he was going to suspect that I was a thief who was about to sneak on the cruise ship. He turned his head slowly and looked at me sternly. I smiled and waved. He turned his head back. I rode to a long space under the boat. It was like a carved out tunnel underneath the ship. I have no idea what purpose it served. Maybe to make the boat more aerodynamic. I parked the stolen jet ski in the tunnel and started to eat my stolen sandwiches. The ship captain drove into the other side of the tunnel, coming towards me slowly. When he got to me, he turned the engine off and sat there staring at me sternly. I stared back. It was a stare-down. I gave him the most stern, intense look I could. He returned the look. He said no words. Then I bent backwards and started limbo-ing under the tunnel ceiling. It was a challenge to him. He did the same. I clapped my hands and did some crazy movements with my arms. He did the same, a mirror image of me. I woke up.

Marilyn Manson helps destroy weak relationship

Marilyn Manson, Wtf? In my dream last night. Not the first time I've dreamt about him. Don't understand that. Don't ever think about the guy. The dream was this: I was back in my beloved flat in Oviedo, that perfect spot right behind the Gascona and around the corner from Foncalada, the fountain built by Romans in 11th century, tacky and out of place in the middle of the neighborhood, with the cement wall around it and cement stairs leading down into another concrete area surrounding it. It would be a sin to call it an eyesore..it's too great and too old to be torn down. Well maybe not great (kinda resembles a giant concrete doghouse), but outstanding for being one of the few public works-type architecture that survived from that time. Anyway, this is about the dream, not the fountain. Manson looked real scared and nervous, uncomfortably walking around Oviedo as if testing the ocean water after a long winter. I saw him and smiled sympathetically, having survived this city as a guiri (but never in make-up and clothes like that). I approached him and offered to help him out, show him around and even give him a place to crash. He eyed me warily and had the expression of someone who is very constipated and uncomfortable before breaking into a relieved smile. He realized I was a former fan and a sympathizer. I could tell him about the city, teach him some basic Spanish, and show him to the place where he was going to play his show. Later in the dream, Koki showed me pictures of Manson and I together, cuddling on my couch. He had hired a spy to take them. I didn't remember cuddling with Marilyn Manson, and Koki was using these photos as grounds to end our relationship. I was outraged and horrified and sad and pleaded with him and there were so many tears. Then I remembered that he had met up with and made out with his ex (oops) so I got angry and realized I was fighting the wrong battle.

eatin' people

A dream about cannibalism! With one of the most awesome nicest girls I've ever met, Alicia. She was the one organizing it all. She had this cabin in the woods and a group of people who claimed they ate people to end their suffering and to help limit the use of farming and fossil fuels. I was horrified when she brought me to the cabin but she said, "We're helping these people. We only kill those who are sick or in pain and who want us to kill them and take away their suffering." There was a large grill outside. They hacked people up with an axe outside on a wooden platform. I avoided eating anything and Alicia kept staring at me and starting little arguments with me. She tried to steal my purse at one point: "Is this made of leather?" she said, "We should grill it!" It was the only dream I can remember smelling something. It smelled like death...the way it smells when you walk past a crematory. Carmelized onions that have been cooking for hours and hours. Or bloody beef. Ugh, I don't want to eat meat anymore.

I know you're too narcissistic for that.

Smoking again. It seems to be a given with any dreams I ever have these days.

Then I was in a prison, interviewing two psychopaths. Then *expletive deleted* then I saw blood everywhere. And then three confused people--the inmates and myself. Ugh, the shame of even writing down that bit of the dream.

Then the piano, being played undoubtedly in real life by my brilliant roommate in her studio which is the room next to mine. In the dream I was in a junky little restaurant that looked like it was in southern Missouri. The piano player was in the next room and he was a black man who had the looks of a wise person. He smiled when I gushed compliments about his piano skills. Then I noticed all the framed photos on the walls around our table. In nearly every single one was somebody playing a trumpet. I asked the people I was with if they noticed a pattern or thought it was funny, so many pictures of trumpet players. I stood there confused and unable to move until the piano player stopped playing, came into the room, and slammed a trumpet case down onto the table. "Well I play the trumpet, bitches!" he exclaimed, and everyone laughed. "But you play the piano so well," I told him. "Fuck that piano," said he while he flapped his hand towards the direction of the piano room. "This is my real medicine." He picked it up and started blowing away, blaring some aggressive jazz melody that sounded like an angry bee.

Then the last part of the dream. I was on skype and still had Jorge in my list of contacts. I clicked on his picture and a video popped up. It was him hanging himself with the cord of a record player. I cried and screamed and tried to run to his apartment but the friends who were with me held me down and wouldn't let me go.

stealing from a gas station

Why is it that the only celebrity who appears in my dreams is Oprah Winfrey? Last night she was in my dream, and she was working behind the counter of a gas station. I was on a long road trip with Kari and one of her friends and we stopped because we were famished. I opened a bag of bread right inside the shop and got two pieces out. It was a thrill, and it was odd that no one said anything to me. Then I opened a package of cheese and put the cheese in the bread and stuffed the sandwich in my pocket. Then I got a box of cookies and starting walking out of the store, then I realized I wanted to pay for the cookies. I went up to the counter and Oprah started talking shit to me. "Yeah, you just conveniently forgot to pay for those cookies." She told me she had a gun behind the counter and wasn't afraid to use it and just kept making idle threats while I stood there smiling and agreeing, anxious to get out of there and eat.

buhhhh

I was outside talking to some new friends and there were two kids kicking a football back and forth. I heard one of them shout something unidentifiable and then the ball hit me hard in the back of the head. It made a deafening "thuck!" noise that echoed in my head. I yelled "NOOOOO!!!" and it came out slower than it should have and then I fell to the ground in slow motion. It was like being lowered back by two other people. In the next part of the dream, I was very stressed out that I didn't have all the needed ingredients to make a gazpacho and really wanted to impress my Spanish friends. I was nearly in tears because I couldn't go to the store because it had closed at 9:00. "They'll hate it when they find out the cucumber is missing!!"

HET

The only thing I remember is standing at a stove and turning to someone and saying "Yeah, it's gonna be a nice little game of het."