Mystery by Mail (life is not a television show. I hope.)

On Saturday, I opened the mailbox and there was an envelope with my name and former address on it (forwarded from the NM address to my current one), with something bulky (felt like jewelry beads) inside. I didn't recognize the return address and name but of course curiosity won over caution and I opened it. A blank sheet of paper had been folded a few times and stapled, then paper clipped shut. As I start to open it, I realize that it isn't jewelry beads, but something more earthy. And of course, as visions of Anthrax dance through my head, I realize I shouldn't be touching this mystery package. Enclosed in the paper is something that looks a hell of a lot like pot seeds. No note, nothing. Monk took a whiff, but couldn’t tell for sure, and I waited across the room, watching for signs of internal organs swiftly decomposing (from inhaling some mysterious seeds-of-death vapor). Here's what drove home the weirdness:

1. I do not know anyone in Seattle, WA (the return address)
2. I do not know anyone with a name even remotely similar to the sender
3. I moved from the NM address, out of state, last July and did not have any friends that would have asked for or known our mailing address there (the only good things to come out of our Albuquerque phase: another dog and a motorcycle license).
3. I have not been 420 friendly for many years now, and even when I was, I was a dabbler, not a gung ho grow-your-own-er. Therefore,
4. No one I know, that knows me, would send such a care package.

I wonder if I should be a-skeered? Monk threw the paper and its contents out even though I was ready to take it the police station and have them go all CSI on it, and I kept the envelope for some reason. Now, unless this is some X-Files thing where some crazy killer-insect-alien is going to sprout from these pods and devour my neighborhood (and later, of course, the world), I’m left wondering what the hell is the point. If it really was some prank designed to instill fear, and the sender is reading this, make a note: What really strikes cold fear through my skittish heart is cash, lots and lots of cash arriving anonymously by mail.


Cruising Jessica Simpson

I'm one of those people that believes that dreams are better off left in one's head. It's easy to bore someone with the retelling of a dream, especially since the dream is usually relayed with speech slowed by just coming out of a unconsciousness, and peppered with "so then we're in this car, no actually it was a boat, and somehow we're flying to some place I used to have playgroup in..." You want to scream "Get on with it! What's the point?" But of course, there is no point, this is a dream after all, as random and rambling as the retelling. But since I make the rules here, I will follow that bit of alliteration by telling you about the dream I had this weekend:

I was staying in a room on the top floor of a 12 story skyscraper hotel, situated on a cruise ship. The elevator did not transport up or down, but more in terms of ripples in time and parallel universes. Which is why, in my room on the top floor, I had a view of the bottom half of a lighthouse (I guess). Basically, to take the elevator up, you pressed the button, the walls started to crest and ripple left to right, and you were rolled up in something like carpet for a few seconds, then deposited on the desired level. A little claustrophobic, but temporary.

Now, I had broken up with Monk due to apathy, a couple days into this cruise. At the dream-present, I had just found out that Jessica Simpson was on board, and had dumped Nick for me. This was very cool; I began to plot my corruption, ahem, seduction of this blond little baptist. However, she kept following me around and being extremely annoying and clingy, so naturally I was trying to figure out how to get rid of her, and also thinking maybe I shouldn't have broken up with Monk. Bottom line: I had to end it with Jessica, but not before I got in her pants.
And then (as all mediocre stories seem to end) I woke up.

So. I'd tell myself no more red meat for dinner, but I kind of liked the ride.