So, anyway, he threw me out, and then later I was telling someone, I'm not sure who it was, all about the Ordeal. We were in the kitchen of the house in Massachusetts where I grew up. My nephew Jonathan was there, and he was agreeing with me for some reason that had to do with commiserating about ADD. So this teacher guy (who looked a LOT like Colm Fiore, go figure) was also in the room, so I grabbed his arm and started saying stuff like "Tell my mother why you kicked me out of class". The person he started talking to wasn't my mother; she was some blonde woman in her forties I'd never seen before.
While they were talking I went into another room (I can't remember what I did there), and when I came back, this woman told me "The reasons you were thrown out were all about looks and control". I started saying something about yeah, it was control all right, but I didn't know about looks, and she interrupted with "no, I meant he was right". So I started yelling at her, saying she didn't even know me, and who was she anyway, she didn't know me any better than the teacher since I'd just met her that day (apparently she was my stepmother. Dreams, geez.) Now that I think of it, she looked like Ellen Tigh from BSG, which I'd just watched before bed, so that explains that part.
I was woken up by something outside, I guess, so I don't know how it ended, but my first thought when I was not-quite-awake was that I was going to take the issue to the principal, the superintendent and even the US government, because I'd been wronged, dammit. Um. Yay, dreams?
And then to top everything off, my morning netsurf came up with this, which is also weird as heck but also all cracked-out satirical and made my entire day (the reasons for which probably don't need exploring at this juncture because it'd be way too scary):
True Patriot Love by glossing
Past Shawinigan, the Trans-Canada Highway is deserted. Beneath the bloody sky - and that's not really metaphorical, as the sky had been dripping A+, half-coagulated, for a week now - a massive van, crazy-quilted with rust and the remains of various paintjobs, clatters and huffs its way east. It has the lane to itself as it rat-a-tats across the cracked asphalt, swerves to avoid remnants of the undead hordes, and guzzles gas like nobody's business.
This van is the last, shaky vessel of Can-Con. And it's running as fast as it can.
No, really, it's a whole new genre: pseudo-RPF political/satirical crackfic. I was hooked at the first line of the disclaimer: "Dude, *of course* this is made up. I swear on Stephen Harper's Evil Hidden Agenda".
All right, all right, it's been a weird morning, okay? Hmmph.
Now I need coffee and food. I have to drive to New Hampshire this evening. Ellen is feeling fine and dandy, thank you, and even goes up hills without complaining. Yay for the car doctor!
In completely other (non)news, Jimmy Rankin's voice breaks me. Guh.
Oh, here, see for yourself: Jimmy Rankin - Colorado