Nightmare.

Normally, I am aware of the context of my dreams; I am aware of certain assumptions or premises that lead into the story. Not so in the one I had a few nights ago…

The dream begins with me in a tuxedo at a wedding. I am confused, because I have no idea how I got here. I’m looking around, trying to figure out whose wedding it is, what I’m doing here, what my character’s motivation is, et cetera.

It is my wedding. My friends Evans, Patton, and Chip are standing as groomsmen, I see the bridesmaids, and the minister is my friend Tim. I see the guests, my family on the right side of the church and the bride’s family on the left. But I still don’t know who the bride is.

I think it might be a certain girl from college, whom we shall call “Martha Quinn”—in which case I’d be utterly fascinated to know how the hell I pulled that off. Or perhaps it’s a certain girl from after college, whom we shall call “Ingrid Bergman”—in which case I’d be utterly fascinated to know why the hell I pulled that off.

The minister gives the go-ahead, and, shivering with anticipation, I turn to my bride and pull back the veil.

And then I just plain shiver.

She is not attractive. At all. She is the antithesis of attractive. If I had commissioned artists to draw “pug fugly,” they could not have come up with this. Actually, that may not be true; she looks like Moe Szyslak, except blonde and uglier. And she is smiling at me.

With fortitude heretofore unknown to Mankind, I refrain from showing my revulsion. The PG-rated version of my first coherent thought is: “There is no way I will consummate this marriage.” How can I? I desperately want to vomit and she’s still got her clothes on.

I look to the minister, hoping to see some hint on his face that this is all a big prank. No such luck. I look at the groomsmen. They’re smiling, happy for me. So are the bridesmaids. So are the families. Everybody in the building is radiating pure joy. This is not good.

A little context here would be useful, but there is none. As God is my witness, I have no idea how this happened. How did I meet this woman-thing in the first place? How could I have asked her to marry me? Had the courtship, engagement, and ceremony all been arranged five minutes ago while I was in the bathroom? Hadn’t I ever been sober enough to call it off, or had I been drunk, high and in a coma since we first met?

My mind races, trying to figure out how to get out of this, fast. Should I just object when the minister asks? Do they even ask for objections at weddings anymore? Should I say, “I don’t” when the minister asks, “Do you?”

I look at the woman-thing’s family. They’re beaming; happier than pigs in slop. They look like the type of nurturing, supportive family that would tear me limb from bloody limb, right there on holy ground, if I didn’t marry their girl. So I can’t just make a break for it. I’ve got to go through with it, for now.

Maybe I can have the marriage annulled. Or I can get a divorce–hopefully, tomorrow. I mean, I don’t even know what her name is, where she grew up, what her favorite song is, what her cat’s name is, what she wants out of life… that’s a good excuse, isn’t it? How bad would it look that my first marriage lasted a day? Would I have to go into hiding from her family? How do I explain to her that there will be absolutely no honeymoon-suite festivities, tonight or ever? After all, I’m a sensitive guy and I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.

Still smiling, I am in total panic. This is the worst nightmare I’ve ever had. This is worse than the one when I fell out of the airplane. This is worse than the one when I was shot by an axe murderer. This is worse than the one when I saw my sister gunned down on national television. This is worse than the one when I saw “Martha Quinn” and a four-year old boy who looked an awful lot like me (it turned out okay; I escaped). This is even worse than the very first nightmare I can remember, when Kermit the Frog turned into a vampire.

Finally, the moment of total, perfect, absolute doom comes, and the minister begins to ask the question: “Do you…”

Mercifully, my alarm woke me.

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 16th, 2005 at 8:26 PM.

14 Responses to “Nightmare.”

  1. Area2 Says:
    October 17th, 2005 at 12:16 PM

In case you have another nightmare like this, go ahead and get married and kiss the bride. The worst that could happen is that she turns into Kermit the Frog. You could do worse.

  1. domthebomb Says:
    October 17th, 2005 at 3:31 PM

how do you know she wasn’t thinking the same thing?

  1. Vincent Viscariello Says:
    October 17th, 2005 at 3:46 PM

Impossible, for two reasons:
1. I’m not blond.
2. I’m “The Bomb,” remember?

  1. domthebomb Says:
    October 17th, 2005 at 7:02 PM

1) okay…almost the same thing. minus the “blond” part.
2)Oh, you thought “the bomb” had positive connotations?

just take comfort in knowing that somewhere in eastern germany a woman named ADOLWOLFA was waking up in the same cold sweat.

[Moderator: East German woman’s name altered to protect her privacy.]

  1. Vincent Viscariello Says:
    October 18th, 2005 at 12:48 AM

I must admit that I did think “the bomb” had positive connotations when used as slang. Maybe I was wrong, but I’m going to need some empirical evidence.

So for the next week, if something upsets me, I will say, “That was the bomb!” If the Bears lose to the Ravens next week, I will say, “Man, those Bears are the bomb.” When my roommate’s cats (one of which is named “Vinnie,” incidentally) sneak into my room just to aggravate me, I will say, “Quit being the bomb, you little bombs!” When I get cut off in traffic, I will call the offending driver a “motherbomber.”

And we’ll see how that goes. Then, the week after that, I will revert to using it as connoting positivity. When I finish reading Former Mormon Student’s book, I will say, “I am the bomb, for I have finished the book.” When I call up my five year old cousin, I will ask my aunt, “Hey, can I talk to The Bomb?” When I get my Italian roast beef sandwich at Portillo’s, I will finish it and scream, “That sammich was the bomb, holla” at the top of my lungs.

I will then make a rational, scientific judgement about whether it is better to be “the bomb” or not. None of which changes the fact that the monster in my nightmare was ugly.

  1. aabrock Says:
    October 18th, 2005 at 12:53 PM

Interesting dream…wish I could sympathize but I can only empathize as I hardly ever remember my dreams. There is only one dream in my life I can specificly recall: being chased by a giant in-makeup Gene Simmons, inspired by a freaky KISS pinball machine. But even though I do not remember dreams I know it when I AM dreaming. On multiple occasions I am 100% certain that it is a dream and not only that I have the power to wake up whenever I want. Seems like you needed that power in your dream…

And am I the only one that laughed at Dom being SHOT by an axe murderer? Had he misplaced his poison?

  1. Vincent Viscariello Says:
    October 18th, 2005 at 2:06 PM

Actually, in some of my dreams I do have that “power.” Example: in one I was dressed up for Halloween as a rock-n-rollin’ demon and chasing this miniature version of… oh, never mind.

  1. domthebomb Says:
    October 18th, 2005 at 5:05 PM

don’t talk about your wife like that!
oh and your roomie’s cat’s name is ironic…because the greatest nickname for you ever would be “Vinnie the Pooh”-spelling optional. (it works much better spoken.) And feel free to gather empirical evidence as to the connotations of “pooh” as well.

  1. Vincent Viscariello Says:
    October 18th, 2005 at 9:15 PM

Now, domthebomb… when you leave comments like that, it makes me think you don’t love me. (I can’t find the smiley that actually sheds tears.)

  1. domthebomb Says:
    October 19th, 2005 at 3:47 PM

😥

  1. jaxaca Says:
    October 19th, 2005 at 7:26 PM

i enjoyed the shooting axe murderer as well ‘aabrock.’ I guess there are better ways to go.

  1. Doctor Hmnahmna Says:
    October 24th, 2005 at 9:31 PM

Just remember, it could have been, say “Myanmar.” Then I would have at least had a twinkle in my eye.

Is ordination inherited?

Hm.

  1. Lassie-v 5.0 Says:
    October 27th, 2005 at 6:30 PM

Thanks alot Mr. V. now I’m gonna have a freakin’ nightmare too. oh well what can ya do?
-You favorite ex-student whose brother you also taught

  1. Simplexity17 Says:
    November 5th, 2005 at 1:31 AM

“Hadn’t I ever been sober enough to call it off, or had I been drunk, high and in a coma since we first met?”

I laughed at this for a very long time. At least it was just a dream…

It seems your personal anguish tickles me, but only because it was all only in your head. Which brings me to the point of commenting, do you have a problem with blondes? I should hope not…Oh yes and by the way, I am pleased to no end that your sense of humor is still in tact. “…destroyed Atlantis when its people displeased her…On my back I have tattooed ‘[first]’ in 58 languages, including Egyptian hieroglyphics…”

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