me + dreams: Paul Pierce and General Conference

Pretty much...I have some of the craziest dreams known to mankind. As I've said before, Scott continually asks if I take drugs before going to sleep. Who knows. Maybe I'm a sleepwalker junkie. (Though the strongest medication we have in our home is Advil.)

Dream:

My ENTIRE family (Larkins side) is all dressed in our Sunday best and heading to the stake center in Valencia. Apparently, dressing in your Sunday Best meant Hawaiian attire for me. I had on a long khaki skirt, a lei, a giant flower in my hair, AND a black flower headband (i was loving the accessories), two necklaces, a belt, yadda yadda yadda. I was decked out.

We got there early because the Prophet was coming to our Stake Conference which then turned into a General Conference. Upon entering the stake center it magically turned into a mini Conference Center. Our family quickly snagged the cushy seats that everyone covets at Church--we had a whole row to ourselves.

Since we got there early we had a lot of time to kill. I was content sitting in my chair looking at the other speakers already seated on the podium. Except the guy in front of me starts swinging back and forth, hitting my knees and then causing our entire row to sway back and forth. I was not amused and asked the guy to quit it since it was making me sick.

But my dad, whose a few seats down, decides that was fun and starts rocking us with full force. The little kids are loving it, but I on the other hand am getting seriously sick. I yell at my dad to stop and, like a 2 year old, sit on the floor with my arms folded and lips pursed in protest.

Unable to take it any longer, I stand up and head for the bathroom. On the outside, it's a typical church bathroom. But don't be fooled. In President Monson's honor the bathroom has been renovated into a Moroccan masterpiece. There's even a bathroom attendant to hand you towels and what not.

I wash my hands, turn around, and there's Paul Pierce from the Boston Celtics. He flirts with me but I give him the cold shoulder because I hate Paul Pierce--plain and simple. But he's persistent and hands me a note all folded up in cute ways like I used to do in Junior High. There are even little pictures he doodled of basketballs all over the note. He asks me to read it. AND I TAKE IT!!!! I take it smiling even!

If there had been two of me in that dream, I would have beaten myself up. What a traitor.

Paul Pierce leaves. I look in the mirror. Finally I realize that maybe Hawaiian attire is not appropriate for listening to the Prophet. I stuff the leis and flowers and miscellaneous accessories in 3 shoe boxes. I filled them all. Then I head back out to the Conference Center carrying them like Gus Gus carries the corn kernels from Cinderella.

It's 10 am. Right when the Conference is supposed to start. I head back to our row. My seat is taken.


And that's it. Yep. Quite a letdown at the end wasn't it? Maybe this is just Part One. Maybe Part Two tonight will be reclaiming my honor and throwing that note in Paul Pierce's face. I will say this for Paul Pierce though: He's just as good an actor in my dreams as he is on the court.