My tiny girlfriend and the sleepaway party, Shirtless Mario stikes again, and Hope trolls the dregs

I dreamed I was at a fancypants sleepaway party, the kind attended by pedigreed people named Biff or Chazz, long on titles and short on courtesy and common sense. I had a girlfriend, also born of privilege, a wispy little pixie who looked like a miniature Winona Rider in her blonde, Edward Scissorhands days. She was small enough that I could pick her up and hold her aloft like a little child, which was something that I would do on occasion in order to talk face to face.  

"I'm glad you invited me to this event, darling," I said instinctively grasping both shoulders and raising her up to eye level. She smiled and squirmed a bit in her pink chiffon dress and nodded approvingly before asking to be put down. 

"I need to get back to the party," she said. "Make yourself at home, dear. And try to fit in." I set her down, and she was off to mingle with the Biffs and Bradfords. 

I decided I'd better try to take a shower, so I availed myself of one of the estate's many bathrooms. Upon entering the room, I noticed that the floor was completely flooded. At first glance it appeared that someone had simply overflowed the toilet.

"Great,"  I thought, "these hoity-toities don't even know how to properly flush their fancy turds, and now I'm going to have to clean up the mess." I geared up for a messy job, and I wasn't disappointed.

The toilet had not only been plugged, but someone, in a fit of post pooping remorse, had sought to remedy the situation by taking the toilet off of its mounting base, disconnecting it from the drain and leaving it laying on its side. As a result, there was a constant stream of water from the inlet and no drainage.

First things first. I needed to stop the flow of water onto the floor, so I loosely reconnected the drain pipe. Placing the toilet in its proper upright position allowed the reservoir to fill, and finally the inlet shut off. I tightened the fitting between the toilet and drain, which was just a copper ring, but since it was already distorted, I had to bend and twist it like a twisty tie to achieve a somewhat less than satisfactory fit. I made a mental note to mention to the staff that the ring would need to be replaced. 

I finally got a shower after all this, and I felt much better. I went out to the party to find my girlfriend but was immediately accosted by a shirtless Mario Lopez. He gave me a hug and then started making moon faces at me, comically pursing his lips like a goldfish and kissing me on the mouth.

"Stop it, Mario," I laughed. "You're making me like you too much."

He finally relented as my tiny girlfriend arrived and whisked me away. Now, however, instead of Winona Rider, my little girlfriend resembled Hope DeLeon, my first punk rock lover from high school days. We were not exclusive then, and apparently this was still the case, as she seemed to only be toting me around for arm candy while she trolled the party for other guys. 

"I like you, Andy," she said, "but I don't think you're it. I hope you don't mind." 

I didn't mind. Her arm felt nice wrapped around my shoulder, and I was enjoying walking with her, side by side, my arm around her waist joining us at the hip like Siamese twins. We ambled along in this way across a parking lot and into a nearby Starbucks, where she placed an order that took 20 minutes to recite, using an entire Thesaurus worth of words, none of which sounded even remotely like the word coffee. Hope always was a fancypants.