The Time My Mom Was Kidnapped Next to the Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa María

Last night I dreamt that I lived in Europe and that Europe was being terrorized by a Cockney gang that would ambush people in their cars, kidnap them, demand exorbitant ransoms, and kill the abductees whose ransom wasn't paid. They always made sure that one other person was in the car when they kidnapped someone so that there would be a terrified witness.

I had this dark, mysterious guyfriend who really liked me but never said anything who had some kind of connection with the gang. He made them swear never to abduct me. However, the leader of the gang resented my friend's power over him, so he abducted the passenger in my car not once but twice. I was so scared of them.

Then my mom came to visit me, and we went to Spain to tour the replicas of the Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa María. They were docked in a beautiful harbor and the sun was shining. Then she and I spent some time in a building where the typical dream-stuff happened: I felt like I wasn't wearing enough clothing and then when I tried to change clothes in the women's restrooms, all of them had super long lines with a few men in the lines so I felt intimidated.

Anyway, then my mom and I finally got back to the lobby of the building where we'd been stuck and saw that not only was the sun setting, but a terrific storm had appeared. There was thunder and lightening and ferocious wind and some funnel clouds. My mom and I decided to run to our rental car in the parking lot and drive back to our hotel before the storm got even worse. The rain came down so hard, and when lightning struck I could smell it and feel the vibrations. We should have stayed inside after all, but by now we were closer to the car than the building.

My mom had the car keys, but I was driving. She unlocked the doors, but as we climbed in the car, the Cockney gang showed up and grabbed the keys from her. We got in the car and snapped our seatbelts, but the windows were partially open and they were grabbing at us. Since we didn't have the keys, I couldn't turn on the car and drive away. I got out my cellphone and tried to call my friend and tell him to tell the gang to back off, but I had no signal.

Suddenly the windows were the roll-up kind, so my mom and I rolled up the windows and decided to stay in the car like that until the Cockney guys went away or were struck by lightning. I think I did get a hold of my friend, or he heard from someone else what the gang was up to, because he contacted the gang and told them to stand down. However, they were tired of listening to him, so they decided that if they couldn't kidnap my mom, they'd dump our car in the harbor next to the Niña. A couple of them went to get a crane.

I pulled some wires out from under the steering wheel and tried to hotwire the car, and then I woke up.

The Time My Lion Friend Helped Me Fight Injustice

Last night I dreamt that I went to an old, traditional college. Most of my classes were in two historical buildings—the Big House and the Little House. Both buildings were about the same size, but all the doors inside the Big House had been cut larger than normal doors, and all the doors in the Little House had been bolted shut and had new, tiny doors cut into them. The doors were so tiny that to get through them I'd have to scoot sideways along the ground.
The mascot of the Big House was a lion that we kept fenced in behind the building. He was an adult male, but he had a scraggly blond mane so that he looked like a lioness. I never told him that, however. After class I would go visit the lion and feed him huge chunks of raw meat. I was experimenting with different animals to see which ones he liked better—beef was okay, but I think he liked pork even better. (Of course, I was worried about trichinosis, so I didn't feed him pork very often.) I'm fairly sure the lion never spoke, but he did communicate telepathically with me. Mostly he just said "Hi, what have you got for me today?"

Anyway, one day a bunch of my friends and I got very tired of crawling on the ground to get into the Little House, which was run by a severe Victorian matron. We gathered some pickets and posters and decided to protest. Our protest marched across the quad and into the Little House, where we confronted the little doors, chanting. Then I pointed out the hinges to the larger doors in which the tiny doors we cut would still allow the large double glass doors to swing if we broke the bolt. Some of the other protesters pushed and pushed on the doors until the bolt broke and the doors swung wide.
Then we freaked out and scattered out of the building before we could be arrested by campus police for destroying campus property. Later, however, I was watching campus television and saw a report on the protest. There I was, right in front of everyone in a distinctive t-shirt with a turtle on it (which I was still wearing when I saw the report), running in front and looking like I was the leader even though I really just wanted to get away badly. The report also suggested that our protest was some kind of feminist march, since all of the protesters were women. I was worried that I would be arrested at any moment, and then I woke up.