Why I Would Make a Sucky Polygamist Wife (alternate title: Why Not to Eat Leftover Shrimp Pad Thai with Extra Peanut Sauce after Midnight)

[WARNING: This is going to be a "what I dreamt last night" post, so if you don't like those you should probably "walk on by-y-y-y" (shout out to my girl Dionne!). However, before you leave you might want to consider that the post will include, among other things, Jennifer Love Hewitt and jarring fruit (talk about key word search combination!), just so you know.]

[[DISCLAIMER: This is in no way meant to criticize or mock people who choose a polygamous life-style, as long as everyone is consenting I'm cool with that. It's all about me. Really.]]

So I'm sleeping, minding my own business, when my damned brain decides to make up a dream, where Hubby and I, along with a lot of other people have apparently decided to become Polygamists and live in a Compound. Not a scary, creepy compound like the one that has been in the news lately - ours is really nice and modern and I didn't notice any kids, but then again, that happens to me frequently anyway.

We come in mid-story where Hubby has taken on Jennifer Love Hewitt (JLH) as a second wife. See, JLH is one of Hubby's real-life-never gonna-happen lust objects, and frankly why wouldn't she be - she's adorable, right? So we're in our beautiful polygamist compound house and Hubby is "with" JLH while I'm in our state-of-the-art equipped kitchen attempting to jar peaches to store for, I don't know, the Apocalypse? Whatever, the point is, I of course, suck at it because HELLO!, it's *jarring fruit* - that counts as a craft in my book and I'm not frickin' frackin' crafty!

So while I'm wrestling with the jarring machine (there is a machine for that right? Well, in my dreamworld there is, it's big) and getting all sticky, my best friend Purplepassion (did I mention some of you, my Blogging buddies, are in this dream? Well you are.) walks in - ostensibly to make sure I don't kill myself or the peaches, because well, she knows me.

As she's wiping peach goo off of my super beautiful counter top, she tells me that JLH was mentioned in the Polygamist Gazette because she had sold some ridiculous amount of tickets for the Annual Polygamist raffle or carnival or something. To which I replied "Of course she did!" all snarky and bitchy and sarcastic, like you know I can be. She looked up at me and asked if I was OK, and I said no. I'm an only child - I don't *do* sharing all that well.

So we took a break from the peach torturing jarring (is that the term?) to go out and sit on one of the beautiful Polygamist Compound front porches. When we get there we run into newly Polygamisted Poppymom and DixiePeach (I've never physically met them, but we've known each other virtually for years) who are sitting there knitting, and Purplepassion begins to knit too. Meanwhile I sit there, sniffling and looking at my beautiful cuticles (they have a mani-pedi service at the Polygamist Compound) because HELLO!, knitting is a craft and I'm not crafty dammit!

Poppy, who had apparently just arrived, looks at me and asks me if Hubby had taken on a second wife? I said yes, and they all came and comforted me, by giving me ice-cold Coca Cola in a frosted glass. Then Poppy told me that she had read about it, again in the Polygamist Gazette, and that now that he had a second wife Hubby was highly respected in the community. To which I responded in my dream, I swear I'm not making this up, "Well la-di-frickin-da! "

That's the last thing I remember before Hubby woke me up to start our road trip to Naples.

The morals of the story so that this doesn't happen to you:

• Don't eat leftover shrimp pad thai with extra peanut sauce after midnight


• Don't pause your TV during Jennifer Love Hewitt's bra commercial because you have to do something else for a few minutes and you don't want to miss any part of the show that comes back on right after JLH's commercial


• Continue avoiding the polygamist story on the news

Don't say I didn't warn you!

"These dreams go on when I close my eyes"

I rarely remember my dreams, but I had a cool dream last night. ready? Here goes:

Bill Clinton was in town (in reality it is extremely common to have all levels of politicians come to Miami, usually for fundraising) for a day, not spending the night here. For some reason he chose *our* 1,000 square foot condo in the heart of the most suburban of suburbs to use as his hangout while he wasn't doing whatever he was in town to do. He could've picked the beautiful Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables, or Ritz-Carlton in Coconut Grove - but no, he picked my place!

Anyway, in my dream I ask what he'd like to drink and he says "beer or sangria". I don't drink beer at all, and my husband drinks sometimes but not often enough to necessarily have beer in the house. And while I love sangria, I like it freshly made and I don't always have the necessary ingredients lying around. So I found myself in the horrible position of not being able to give Bill Clinton what he wanted to drink! I panicked in my dream. I went into the kitchen and found several bottles of red wine - frankly too good to use for sangria, but I was willing to sacrifice for Bill - but I didn't have Seven-up or even Sprite!

Freaking out I looked in my refrigerator and lo and behold, there I saw an un-open bottle of "Real Sangria"! If you've never tried it I can tell you, IMO, "Real Sangria" is VILE and wrong! Not to mention the fact that I have never, ever in my life owned a bottle of "Real Sangria". But, it was an emergency - so after some dream time was spent trying to remember in what kind of glass sangria should be served, I served "Real Sangria" to the former President of the United States - a President that I actually liked! He loved it - and then I woke up.