Weird enough to have to mention

 

I'm trying to target my dreams to include a certain individual. It's not going as planned, though. Lesa and I have been wishing each other "sweet dreams" and other such sentiments in our correspondences, and I've been try to dial her in during my nightly excursions into dreamland. 

I go to sleep in a fairly heightened state of excitability, due to the lovely contents of her messages, so I'm some kind of hormone fueled mess while in my dreams. Pulling in her image has proven to be difficult, though.

I dreamed I was talking with some Latin dude. I'm guessing we were roommates of a sort. We were discussing the finer points of dating, the whos and hows of where we would cast our nets. I don't know how it was, but somehow I found myself in his net. 

Well, this was a fine predicament. It appeared I was being drawn down that road with him, unwittingly. I wasn't exactly protesting, but it wasn't what I was expecting. I'd had my eye on another Latina beauty, perhaps his sister or a relative.

Things morphed, as they do in dreams, and I found myself dancing with the aforementioned girl. She was an alluring, wicked Felina type, you know of the Marty Robbins "El Paso" variety. It was a wonderful feeling, having my arms around this tempting creature as we sailed around the room effortlessly. Still, it was not Lesa.

Later, I was out hunting and scavenging for clothing to wear to some event. Me and some other guy, I believe it was Jose Heredia, an old work buddy and Facebook friend, were going to a soiree, presumably to pick up chicks. I had an outfit in a box which was unopened, and I planned to change into it when we got there. 

When I got there, I greeted the doorman, who appeared to be Napoleon Dynamite, with this odd greeting: "Hello, Lesa!"

I then proceeded to a darkened area to change. Opening the box I found the shirt to quite a disappointment. It was some polyester see-through  number, kind of a two layer business with glittery sparkles in the outer fabric. 

"What is this shit?" I asked Jose. I had no choice but to wear it. "I hope this is what the kids are into these days, because it's a little late to take it back now."

What weird game is my psyche playing with me now, Dr. Freud? Maybe I'll mention it to my shrink, maybe not. I'll be opening a whole can of Spaghetti Os which she may not be qualified to deal with. 

Is gender fluidity in the dreamworld something I should be concerned about? Or am I going to just have to roll with it since I don't seem to have mastered the tuning knobs of my dream reception as yet? I'm probably just gonna go along for the ride and take unbiased notes, as I try to do with all my dreams. 

Have fun with this one, silent judges!