It's raining brake pads!

Or, the alternate title: What the hell? WTF?

Sunday morning the kids were upstairs and they heard a strange sound that kind of startled them, like a bunch of Lincoln Logs sliding down the roof. My oldest son went out to investigate on the side of the house where they heard the noise, and lo and behold, he found a small box and oddly shaped discs lying on the lawn. That’s right, there were brake pads on the wet grass near a sopping wet, flat, torn box that read “… Disc Brake Pads”.

I have no idea what this was doing on our roof. But I guess all of the rain with no sun to dry out the box caused it to finally slide down and make an appearance.

Who put it there? When did they put it there? How long has it effing been there?! But most importantly, why would anyone put a box of brake pads on the roof?!? It doesn’t make any kind of sense. I am still baffled, and I don’t like being baffled.

We get our brake pads changed at a local shop when we need that done. My kids and I know nothing about installing these things. I can barely change a tire ‘cause the jack and I just don‘t get along. All I’m good at is checking fluid and keeping levels up to par. Anything more than that when it comes to automobiles would be like trying to perform brain surgery. And no one wants me poking around in anyone’s brain.

When my ex stopped by I showed him the evidence and watched his reaction very closely. After all, he did live in this house at one time. But no, he was just as surprised as we were. He said they weren’t new, but that’s all he could tell me. I’m so sorry he couldn’t get any use out of them.

Well, hell. That leaves the roofers under suspicion. A few years ago they were up there daily for about a week, maybe longer. They were the “budget” roofers. They dropped cigarette butts on our lawn. One guy even looked like a pirate. He had tattoos everywhere, wore a bandana on his head and had a nipple ring. All he was missing was an eye patch, a sword and… brake pads?

I give up trying to solve this mystery. I’m afraid of heights or I’d see if there’s anything more on the roof I should know about.

What else could possibly be up there? Hoses? Belts? The rest of the car in pieces stuffed down my chimney?

Sick of Dreaming

I’m talking about dreams today, and not the kind that when achieved give you a massive ego, and the next thing you know you’re invading other countries in the name of ‘peace’ rather than fixing your own. No, I mean the other kind of dreams - the sleep kind. I wish that every night as I slept it could be a quiet, still darkness until I awoke because having dreams nearly every night is exhausting. If you go to sleep and your mind and all of your senses go to sleep with you, all I can say is you are one lucky bastard.

My dreams are so realistic I’ll think it’s real life until something so weird and over the top happens that I’ll realize it’s just a dream and either get pissed off or be relieved. How I feel about it depends on whether it was a good dream or a bad one. But lately I’m always pissed off when I wake up. I’m pissed off because I had a nightmare. I’m pissed off because I had a good dream then had to wake up. I’m pissed off because I had a good dream that morphed into a nightmare. I’m just pissed off that I keep dreaming, period.

Last night I dreamt that I started meeting up with a realtor because it seemed like as good a time as any to buy a home. The realtor and I became friends during our visits while I was house shopping. She apparently grew tired of me shooting down every suggestion with, “Can’t afford it.” So she somehow talked an old rich couple into lowering the price on a home she thought was perfect for me and the kids. When I went to check it out I was a bit skeptical because it was an old home and we all know what happened in the movie The Money Pit. But the place had wood floors so it started out on the right foot, as I’m allergic to dust mites. There were four huge bedrooms on the main floor. The bedrooms and dining room all had old faux wood paneling which made those rooms dark. The living room was a cheery room with white walls and lots of windows letting the sun in, but it was smaller than the other rooms. The kitchen was pretty basic, nothing special about it. After scoping out the main floor I climbed an old, wooden twisting staircase that creaked on every step and made me uneasy but it led to a gigantic room that had a wood floor and a huge almost wall-to-wall window that was 6 ft. high and overlooked the backyard. There was a long short seat built into the floor in front of the window so the kids and I could sit there and watch the stars at night. That was pretty cool and I was sold at that point. Then we went down to the basement. It was newly remodeled and quite the opposite of your average basement. It was all very bright - white from the floor up to the ceiling, with tons of white cupboards with violet trim and teal knobs. There was a kitchen, bathroom and a door leading outside so it was a place of its own.

The strangest thing is most of my dreams, overall, take place in houses and each house is different from the next. But this is the first time I dreamt of buying one. What could this mean? Well, it obviously means I need to get out more. And maybe I should be designing homes for a living. I know it doesn't mean I'm ready to buy a home. How absurd!

Well, back to the dream. After deciding I wanted the house my ex-husband Slick came over to see the kids and we got back together. That was the moment I realized I was just dreaming. WTF?! Now that I knew this wasn’t real life things got chaotically crazy. We got a man-maid (what the hell is that?) and a female nanny to take care of the kids, then Slick and I went on a road trip. When we drove through the Res Slick picked up a drunk Native American who just happened to be hitch-hiking. Then as we continued down the highway we kept seeing explosions as bombs were being dropped all over the mountains. Big, bad firey explosions. Great balls of fire! We could feel the ground shake every time a bomb dropped, and I swear I’m not a Vet. That shit finally scared me awake. And this was one of my milder dreams.

I guess this also means I need to take a road trip. And maybe, that they all should fear bombs on the Reservation.

Do your dreams wear you out? Ever?