Midwinter Night’s Dream & My Other Husband

I had an absolutely mind-boggling dream last night.  There was music, crowd-surfing, werewolves/vampires, tattoos, horses, diamonds, sex, and…Maynard.

I’m going to try to relay the highlights, but now it has that loose narrative and hazy chronological sequence that defies any attempts to make sense once you’re awake.

I’m at this concert in this big dark space.  I’m sitting against a corner wall near the middle of the room.  Check out my bad-ass Paint diagram.

"X" marks the spot

“X” marks the spot…

And who should be sitting next to me but Marilyn Manson… only he’s yelling stupid things at the stage where Maynard is singing, trying to be cool or something.  And I tell him to shut up.  And he kisses me and tries to stick his hand in my pants.   And I’m like, no way, dude.  What kind of woman do you think I am?   I also seem to remember telling him my age, but lying and saying I was 29 instead of 31.  At some point, he (I think it’s him) picks me up and throws me in the air, and I am crowd surfing all over the room.  Eventually, I end up somewhere across the room, and the person holding me up is Trainer Bob, and he asks me for something (I can’t remember what,) but in return, I ask him for a favor– get me closer to Maynard.

"Whaaat?"

“Whaaat?”

At this point, as I pass near the stage, it looks more like a backstage tête-à-tête than a concert.  Maynard is sitting in a chair and his entourage is busy around him.  He’s not looking his usual put together self.  His face looks haggard and broken out…but I still love him anyway.

At some point I have circled the room and am dropped off near MM again.  He is also not looking his best… turns out he’s balding on top and wearing a black hairpiece to cover it up.  He flops the piece back on his head, and– voila!– instant sleek!  There are a lot of faces I recognize, mostly from high school, in the crowd.  At one point I am in a line near a side exit and a guy behind me (who I think I was supposed to know) was staring at me lasciviously and making menacing remarks.

At some other point, I found myself near the stage again.  This is about the point where I felt some sort of threat, as if I was being chased or hunted, by a werewolf, perhaps.  Maynard and his crew finally acknowledge me and hand me a small tray to which is affixed a variety of silver pieces (barettes? small styluses? I don’t know), but in the dream I knew what they were for– protection against my pursuers.

And now Maynard is close to me …

tumblr_m4itfanrkQ1qawp6m

…and we’re talking about our tattoos and he’s helping me fit these gi-normous fake fangs onto my teeth (more protection, I think?)

…and then there was this pretty horse, with kind of a pale palomino beige color in the head area and a dainty, thin nose.  I was told to let it eat, so I walked it to the area near the back wall of the main room, where there was a little inlet with a mound of hay.

A stall in the middle of a concert venue...weird, I know...

A stall in the middle of a concert venue…weird, I know…

And then I was riding the horse around a trail (still in the concert venue) and it was like I was on a parade circuit or something.  One of Maynard’s lackeys was giving me all this fancy jewelry.  It was for, like, some mock video where we were getting married or something.  They took my wedding ring off and threw it on the ground, and I asked one of the girls to retrieve it and put it somewhere safe.  She didn’t so I went back to get it and put it on another finger.  The ring that the girl had given me as a wedding ring was big but all the diamonds were like little marcasite-looking stones… you know, all pomp but no real value… and I was like, Well, this ring is unacceptable… 

img-thing

Marcasite ring (photo: polyvore.com)

Soooo…

You’re leaving something out, you say.

Oh, you mean the sexy part?

Yeah, of course we mean the sexy part.

What I do on my fake wedding night with my fake husband (who also happens to be a talented and hot musician) is my business, you pervs!

I don't know who took this picture, but it wasn't me.

I don’t know who took this picture, but it wasn’t me.

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