Nightmare Time Again -- LONG

It's been awhile -- I can't remember exactly how long -- since my last really horrific and real nghtmare, so I suppose I was due for another one. This one was a bit frightening but equally stupid.

This nightmare had a slight basis in reality, but aspects of it could never have actually happened the way they did in the nightmare. That's somewhat characteristic of  dreams and nightmares for me, anyway, in that they're a blend of just a touch of autheticity or realism with things so far-fetched that it causes one, once awake, to wonder how he or she could ever have bought into anything so ridiculous to the extent to be scared by it even in a state of uncnsciousness. I'f like to think I'm not a total moron even when I'm asleep, but such is apparently not the case.

It's difficult, upon awakening, to remember every last detail of one's nightmare. Thus, I needed to fil in a few details to make the story flow, so to speak. I'll leave it to you, the reader, to decide which parts authentically happened in my dream and which parts are fillers. 

In this dream, my group was traveling back to the mainland from Catalina.  On our return trip, we were traveling not on the smaller and slightly faster charter boat that took us over there. The independent charter my Uncle Jerry had arranged for us had apparently flaked ut.  Instead, we had to choose between  one of the major ferries that leaves from the more standard ports of call such as San Pedro, Newport Beach, Long Beach, one of the large catamarans also providing this service, or , for some unknown reason, Maid of the Mist XIII, which usually takes passengers across the Niagara River beneath the various waterfalls that make up Niagara Falls. 

The supposedly unprecedentled number of passegers wanting to depart Catalina at that exact time had necessitated calling for the service of one of the Niagara Falls crusing boats.  How it had been known far enough in advance that such a demand for boat trasportation would be needed to get a Maid of the Mist (there are multiple Maid of the Mist boats numbered with Roman numerals, but I seriously doubt that there is one numbered 13, with or without Roman numerals. Rather, I'm certain that such was just one of those dream- enhancing features inexplicably present in most nightmares) wuld be anyone's guess.

Why the port authority there didn't just tell those in charge that designated boats would make a return trip for the excess of passengers desiring to make the trip back to the mainland of California, or why the port authority didn't just tell the people who failed to make return reservations in a timely manner that they would need to wait until the next available space are two very good questions, and again, typical common sense-defying features of nightmares.

It had been my choice to try to board a catamaran, as that would have been the fastest way back. I was outvoted by my traveling companions, most of whom hadn't been my actual traveling companions on the trip. Jaci was there. Judge Alex and his wife were there. Josh Groban was there. Judge Judy was there. Judge Marilyn Milian was there spouting  little Spanish proverbs her grandmother or her mother used to say. She was sitting with Judge Alex. Other people continually asked them if they were married. After awhile they got tired of asking the same question. JA told me to stand in front of them and answer "No!" whenever anyone asked if they were married. When I was later chosen to get of the boat and parasail, Judge Alex said I couldn't leave because it was my job to say "No!" when anyone asked them if they were married. I said Becca could do it for me. JA said she wouldn't say it with the right level of hostility. Meanwhile, Judge Alex and Judge Marilyn Milian were playing footsie whenever she wasn't spointing one of her grandmother's Cuban proverbs or fixing her lipstick. JA's wife was there, but she was holding hand with the cute Irish singer who gives music theory lessons online. i was a bit jealous of her. As much as I love parasailing, I would have preferred to hold hands with the really cute Irish singer.

OJ was there, along with Johnnie Cochran, who I believe is technically dead, which didn't stop him frm appearing in my dream.  At least one Kardashian was there, but I don't remember which one. Doug Flutie was there. Knotty was there with her dogs but without the Retired Lieutenant Colonel. Chuck Bluestein was trying to get there. Many more of you than I can remember may have been there. Becca was there. Mitt Romney was there, and he remembered an earlier nightmare  encounter in which he was trying to inject me with a syringe full of the ebola virus. he said, though he claimed not to have the syringe with him on this trip, that matter had not yet been settled. My grandfather, who hates me, was present. Donald Trump was there.  Magyn Kelly was there. Heidi Hatch was there. A few polygamist ladies with big hair were there. Any one of you may have been there, as there were many more people with whom I remember being familiar whom I cannot remember now. 

Though I never saw her there on the island, Donna was there. It was she who discovered a novel (pun intended) way to lighten the load of the boad without any human casualties. She discovered multiple copies of Books of Mormon had been stowed in boxes under seats where life preserves should've been stored. "Is anyone going to be reading these?" Donna hollered out. "I didn't think so," she answered herself as she dumped box after box into the water. Alexis jumped up to help.  

Both Alexis' geriatric grandfather and Mitt Romney started to protest but then, realized that each had the entire book committed to memory verbatim, indicating neither needed a hard copy of the book. They ceased with their protests.

The professor who got all pissy at me because I killed one of the "patients" in Medical Pracice lab (supposedly, anyway; I merely inserted a test that would have provided and did provide the right results more quickly, except that the class hadn't gotten that far into the textbook, so I shouldn't have known about that test and I threw  off the professor's agenda, which delayed the test the professor said said should have provided the diagnosis. If she'd looked at the results of my test, which I did, and tried to call to her attention, she would have seen the data she and I needed, as I did, but because according to her I went 'out of the box'. ["Real medicine isn't like House, M.D., Rousseau!" she screamed at me. 'You're getting these ideas from your father. He may be able to get away with it, but a first year med student cannot and will not as long as I'm around here. Consider this 'Strike One' for you."  Really? Reading ahead in the tetbook, when by next week this will be the established procedure, is Strike One? ) The patient's timer went off, and the patient had to seize and then lie motionless even after they shocked her with defibrillators. The "patient" was angry with me because they all hate it when they have to seize, and they ripped open her favorite hospital gown to defib her, which futher irked her. The professor was angry A) because I knew about the test before I was supposed to know, B) because I didn't cry when I "killed" the "patient," and C) because the department gets billed everytime one of those hospital gowns has to be ripped. The professor, other than OJ, Scott Peterson, and Casey Anthony, and maybe Donald Trump (all of whom were there) were the very last people I'd care to have on a boat with me. Very few of my 
actual traveling companions were with me, if any at all.

It ended up that there was one too many people on the boat, and there was also not enough gas on the boat to make it back the either 22 or 26 miles depending upon whether or not a person trusts the lyrics to a cheesy 50's song or the measurements of geographers for the distance. Someone had to parasail both to get the extra body off the boat and to provide momentum to propel the boat back to the mainland. Everyone knew that I love parasailing and nominated me. "Yes, I love parsailing, " I admitted, " but that's when the boat goes fast enough to get me airborne!" No one was listening except Judge Judy, who said, "If it doesn't make sense, then it's probably not true."

"It's getting a little boring on here," Trump complained. "you, and you, and you, he pointed at three random passengers, "Sing something!" The three random passengers looked at each other. One said, "I don't even know any songs."

Another said, "I don't sing . . . ever."

The third satrted singing, 'Happy birthday to you."

'You're fired!" Trump screamed.

Josh Groban began the opening line to one of his hits. "Amateur hour, obviously," Trump whined, "but it'll have to do." 

Cute Irish guy from Celtic Thunder wandered over to join him. "Just what we need. More amateurs," Trump added.

Knotty joined in. "At least she's female, " he  said in a slightly less whiny than before. "None of you are fired . . Yet!"

I got hooked up to the parasailing gear, but, predictable, never got off the boat deck. "she's too heavy. We need a lighter passenger, " Donald trump suggested. The boat's captain told Donald Trump to go all over the boat looking for someone lighter than I. His method of doing this was to grasp all the women's breasts. Several screamed sexual assault and a few cried rape. "What? I'm not even Mexican. I didn't rape anyone," he whimpered. Judge Alex cuffed him while Trump sat there moaning, 'What did I do?' Will someone tell me what I did wrong?" 

"You forgot to put sunscreen on the top of your head," Megyn Kelly told him. By the end of the day he had an at least 2nd degree sunburn from the neck up.

"What did that woman say? I can't understand a word out of her mouth. I don't even think she uses real words," he complained.

A helicopter was hovering.  Someone suggested that If they extended a rope and I held onto it, we would be going fast enough to propel me  to go airborne, sort of jump-starting the parasailing effort. I was skeptical, but OJ thought it was our only chance. OJ said they should have me attached to the helicopter really high, as in very close to the blades. Scott Peterson thought they should just get out into the water a bit, weight me down with Maid of the Mist XIII's anchors, and toss me overboard. Then the boat wouldn't have too many passengers.

Jaci thought the helicopter was a good idea, but that no sober person could tolerate it, so she thought I should consume several shot glasses full of something potent before going up there. Then I wouldn't care. She said someone on the boat - she wasn't naming names - had magic mushrooms, which would work even better. "It'll be the most exciting  parasailing experience of her bloody life," Jaci concluded. 

The captain wanted to know how to find the mushrooms. Donald Trump offered to grope all the female paassengers to see if they were concealed on any of the female bodies. Judge Alex wouldn't unlock his cuffs, so he went around groping the best he could with both hands cuffed together.  He groped Rosie O'Donnell,then, realizing who he had groped, turned and began vomiting. Rosie pushed him overboard. The consensus, minus Becca, was to leave him in the water as shark bait or whatever, and if he made it on his own, perhaps he really should at least appear on the ballot, or maybe at least in the next debate. Becca couldn't stand to see him drown, so she extended an oar, to which he clung for dear life.

Meanwhile, the helicopter extended a line, which had a harness. I attached the harness to myself, which meant I was harnessed to both the boat and the helicopter.The boat harness, for parasailing, was not attached tightly enough, so I slipped out of it, when the helicopter took off, i slipped out of the parasailing harness. Casey Anthony quickly attached herself to it. She wanted to go up in the air to see if she could spot Caylee anywhere in the Pacific.

The boat wasn't moving fast enough to propel Casey into the air, so she reached for me when the helicopter made a dip toward the boat. i grabbed part of her harness and tried to attach it to my harness. after about seven tried, it attached. i soon regretted this action, as roughly every twenty seconds she hollered out that she could see both Caylee and Nanny Zanny, otherwise known as  Xenaida Gonzalez, or both of them in the water. She kept wanting the helicopter to stop, which it did not. 

We were now moving the Maid of the Mist XIII at a decent clip toward the california shoreline. Becca was dutfully hanging onto the oar to which Donald Trump was hanging onto the other end. He saw Megyn Kelly on board and accused her of sabotaging his efforts in the debate because of using words either he couldn't understand or of which he had never before heard. Heidi Hatch threw a dictionary at him, probably just as a joke. Joke or not, Trump held onto the dctionary with one hand while trying to hold onto Becca's oar with the other hand.  

Then he saw Judge Alex and Marilyn Milian.  who by then were staring at the spectacle of the helicopter, which was beginning to catch fire. 'Are you people Mexicans?" he called out to them. They looked at each other, then, looked at ther spouses and children, then ignored Trump and looked up at the helicopter, which was essentially enguled in flames. "She should've stayed here with us and told everyone we're not married,' Judge Marilyn Milian commented.

"Yeah. What a stupid question anyway," commented Judge Marilyn Milian's  husband - a real-world judge with a surname other than Milian whose bench is somewhere in Dade county, who was by this time holding hands with Judge Alex's wife.

Jaci by this time was screaming at Alexis (me!), "Disconnect yourself from the helicopter. It's going down in flames."

'I can't!" I exclaimed to her.


"Why?" she demanded.

"Because I have to go to the bathroom!" I answered, my face turning red either from the wind, from the hotness of the flames, or from embarrasent at having announced to a boat full of people that my bladder was full.

"The loo is on the boat, not on the helicopter," she told me. "Disconnect yourself. You'll fall in the water, and we'll fish you out and get you on board so that you can use the loo."

"I don't need a loo!" I yelled at Jaci, "I need a bathroom."

"Like she really wants to take a bath right now. Idiot American," Jaci muttered under her breath. "A loo is a toilet, you little fool, "  she shouted up to me. "Now unhook yourself and fall in the water. If you still think you need a loo after that, we'll show you where it is."

"Is it a public restroom?" I demanded.

"I would assume such to be the case," she answered, shaking her head.

'I can't go into a public restroom unless someone checks it to make sure there are no bad guys in there,' I announced.

By this time even Becca was growing impatient. "Unhook yourself from the helicopter, Alexis. I'll let go of Trump's oar and  hold one out to you. Then you can come on board and use the restroom, which Judge Alex will check out for you to make sure it's safe from intruders."

"How many of you on board are Mexicans?" Donald Trump hollered.

No one paid any attention to him except Marilyn Millian, who called out a Spanish proverb she'd learned from her grandmother. She then offered a translation that said something like,  "Only a fool in danger of drowning would be concerned with whether or not the person saving him was a Mexican." 

"I thought so. You're a Mexican. You're a rapist and a thief," Trump bellowed at Judge Mariln Milian.

Judge Marilyn Milian's husband, Judge John Something-Or Other, hollered back, "She's never raped anyone or stolen anything," except he hollered it in Spanish. which Trump did not comprehend. "And you're a Mexican, too, you thief and rapist," he hollered and Judge John Something-That- Sounds-Very-German.

Alexis disengaged herself from the helicopter harness and executed a near-perfect inward dive with 1 1/2 twists (perfection marred only by lack of springboard or platform) just before the fumes of the flaming plane nearly overtook her. Becca, as she had promised, dropped Donald Trump's oar and extended one to Alexis, who treaded water until the boat got close enough for her to grab the oar.

Becca fished Alexis in first, then Casey Anthony after her, a mst disdainful expression on her face as she helped Casey Anthony aboard the boat. 

Judge Alex, true to his word, checked the bathroom. "There are no thugs inside, Alexis. The bathroom is safe for you to enter."

"There's no bath inside there either," Jaci countered. "It's a toilet, you American dullards, not a bath."

Judge Alex sat next to his wife. 'I don't think she cares what anyone calls it, "Mrs. Ferrer observed, "as long as she can pee in it."

The flaming helicopter then plunged into the Pacific. Out of it came Jose Baez and  various members of the Goldman family, all wearing life preservers, and all viciously pursuing various prey.  The boat at this point had enough gas to make it easily to the pier at San Piedro, which was only approximately 3 nautical miles away. 

Trump was already dog-paddling away from Rosie O'Donnell as fast as he could. O.J. frantically tried to hide rings, watches, sports memorabilia, and gold chains as members of the Goldman family approached. Jose Baez presumably came in pursuit of Casey Anthony, wanting payment, but was not likely to collect any even if he caught up to Ms. Anthony.

The consensus among the captain of Maid of the Mist XIII and the passengers was to let everyone who was in the water fend for himself or herself until the U.S. Coast Guard arived tosort things out.

As for Alexis, she A) made it to shore, B) escaped the smoke of the helicoper and C) made it to the restroom, which was found to be free of thugs, then D) made it back to shore. Upon return she made a quick call to her medical school adviser , who assured her that she did not need to take any further lectures or sessions from anal retentive professor with characteristics that would cause her to be described as a female dog even though such comparison is blatantly unfair to femaile dogs.

Again,  80% of this really happened in my dream. I'll leave it to readers to decided which 80% was autherntic nightmare material.