Last night I dreamed that we built a house on Portland’s waterfront. It had a spectacular view of Mt. Hood on one side, the city on the other. There was a pool. There was a huge master bedroom. Perhaps best of all, there were no kids’ bedrooms. I know you’re jealous.
Lest you think my dream of buying a no-kids-allowed house colors us as the worst parents ever, I assure you that the blueprints showed kids’ rooms, but once the house was done, we discovered the builders had put huge holes in the floors of those rooms, meant to be a new-fangled type of skylight. It was kind of awesome (turns out we were the worst parents ever); the kids hated them but we were all HEY, WE HAVE A POOL SO SHUT UP AND ALSO, I HOPE YOU DON’T SLEEPWALK.
The house was $100. I don’t know how we got such a good deal. So maybe we had to give up the kids… whatevs. More pool for us!
Oh, and the Rose Festival Fun Center surrounded us on four sides, but that was only for one month a year so we decided to just deal with it. Less easy to deal with was the other new-fangled design element: no exterior doors. We hadn’t even moved in when our house had become a transient camp. At least during Rose Festival, when it was a carny camp, there was a party feel to it. Geez.
Who knew carnies are more fun than hobos?
My subconscious did, that’s who.
Do you ever wake up from a vivid, insane dream and wonder WHERE that came from? Me three. Here’s my guess for this one:
- There’s a house being built near us, and every day I drive past it I think a different side is the front than the day before. It’s impossible to figure out—maybe once they get doors on it’ll be more obvious, but it’s funnier to assume that the builder is just really, really indecisive.
- We’ve passed the Fun Center repeatedly in the past week. I love Rose Festival, but I prefer to pretend the Fun Center does not exist. So why am I defensive when Victor starts in with his trash-talk? I have no idea. I like to think Rose Festival has a bit higher safety standards than parking lot carnivals, but who knows if ride inspectors have a clue what they’re doing ANYWHERE? And that is why I am not going to ride “Vertigo” this year. Or any year.
- You locals know that the Rose Festival Fun Center (now apparently called “CityFair”) is a hell-on-earth mudfest. Last night we drove past it and the kids asked why we never go there. I wanted to say, “Because the ride operators depend way too much on the effectiveness of that giant jar of Vaseline at the base of each ride” and I wanted to add, “plus they use so much in their hair, they could run out at any minute.” Instead, I said, “Maybe we’ll go this year. But not if it’s raining. Or if it has recently rained. Or if it might rain. Or if it rained once. Or if it ever rained.” Vic nodded along enthusiastically (probably not because he agreed but because he’s afraid of carnies). Cue the heavy we-never-get-to-do-anything-fun sighs from the back seat.
(See? Best parents ever!)