Two nights ago I had a dream that featured a guest appearance by my Canadian friend and fellow writer Kelly, a curious bumper sticker, and the coining of a new euphemism for sexual activity.
In the dream I was visiting Vancouver and thinking about moving there. At first I was with my maternal grandmother, who apparently had just moved to Vancouver and was big on living there. (In reality she died in 1997, in Florida.) As we walked uphill on a bustling street–a street somehow reminiscent of my early days in Philadelphia, or rather of my dreams about a city that has aspects of my first big city–on a sunny day, she was giving me a bunch of typically bossy advice about having my furniture moved and stored. Then somehow I was with Kelly and Alyx, who were encouraging me to move to Vancouver and singing the praises of Canada in general. All I remember of my response was a muttered and dubious, “Well, I should probably look into the taxes . . .”
I must have decided the taxes were worth it, because in the next part of the dream I was living in an apartment in Vancouver, in a big old building. At some kind of party or gathering I was sitting in a big chair when a man I didn’t know–nice-looking but not spectacular, 30ish (I was that age, too, how nice)–came over and sat on the floor, or on my chair, in front of me and leaned back into me in a very familiar way. We started flirting. At one point I bent over him and he leaned his head back and we shared a Spiderman-type kiss. Then it turned out that the meeting was some kind of atheists’ activist group, and our big plan was to distribute blank yellow bumper stickers. Each of us was given a batch of them that looked just like a Post-it pad, only the size and shape of a bumper sticker. The idea was that the blankness of the stickers would proclaim the nonexistence of a deity.
In the next scene I was alone in my apartment with the guy from the previous scene. We were under a blanket on the couch. My POV was that of an observer, not a participant, so I don’t know how far along things had gotten, but the blanket was moving.
Just then the door flew open and Kelly stormed into the room, brandishing a handful of the yellow bumper stickers. She said, “What do you think you’re doing?”
I stood up with an attempt at dignity and indignation, holding the blanket (don’t know what the guy did), and said, “What do you think I’m doing? I’m getting my bing on.” I have never heard, much less used, that expression.
Kelly then said, “You upset my beloved Nana with these things! Now she thinks there is no god.”
The last thing I remember is me saying, “Well, actually–” Then the dream ends.
Well, actually, I don’t think blank yellow bumper stickers are a very good way to promote atheism, nor do I love the phrase “getting one’s bing on.” But the idea of moving to Vancouver and being a Canadian, and a neighbor of Kelly and Alyx . . . ah, that’s a beautiful dream.