These dreams are from the night after Saturday's heavy drinking. This is a transcription from notes I took immediately after forcing myself awake to write these down before I forgot them.
Drugs, Naivete, and the Robot Who Drives Cars
Hanging out at some underground hip place (literally underground, basement) with stores. We're talking jokingly about where to go buy pot and some dude tells us there is a place across town at some mall full of "record stores" (they don't really sell records, just drugs). All the while next door to where we are is just such a "record store" and it's door opens and closes as one person at a time is going in. Eventually we are invited in and on a lark we say sure why not. I follow slower because I've never bought drugs before and am nervous to commit. Finally, I do. But when I go in, my friends have gone off to some sampling room or something and I can't find them. I have no idea what the protocol or lingo is. I know that if I let on that I'm new, I'll get ripped off. So I just start browsing. I'm aware that all the good stuff is only available from the salesperson but there are boxes of envelopes of random weird samples (the "crappy" stuff). Envelopes labeled things like "British Blunts" or "Purple Hashish". Some of the envelopes contain unlabeled whole roots or other herb shop looking stuff. As I'm browsing there is some young naive hipster chick with us (at one point in the dream I think her character takes over the first person of the dream and she becomes "me") and her friend sees us through the window in the supposedly super secret/secure underground drug den (I guess everyone can see us from the street...doh). The chick inside says to her "Oh my god, you must think I'm like that man who buys a car, not so he can drive it but because he knows he can sell it to the Robot Who Drives Cars, that would make more sense than the idea that Indiana [this is "my"/"her" name] is doing The Drugs." Her friend says mockingly/knowingly "The Drugs?!" "The Drugs." They/we exchange glances and giggle and only then is it clear that they both have been here before and aren't so naive.
Zach Prepares to Invade Iraq
I am at home doing the dishes when Scott informs me that Daria and Steve tried to travel to Iraq on the sneak and got caught and thrown into some black hole of a torture jail. Somehow a third person that was with them secured her own release to come tell us because Daria and Steve heroically volunteered to stay behind. I complain that it was really dumb of them to try to plan this trip themselves and go straight to Iraq as Americans. Some international peace organizations could have (in the reality of the dream) helped them network with their "Libyan friends" to get a Visa as non-Americans (this made sense in the dream, in which Iraq must have had some kind of pre-war or otherwise anti-American regime in power). Anyway I slowly and grudgingly accept the absolute moral truth that I simply have to go to Iraq and rescue Daria and Steve and that in so doing I will have to face great torture and imprisonment, something I've never experienced but although I was hesitant at first I became resolved and set and to some extent looking forward to the challenge.
The Hot Sewer Pipe
My parents decide to get some sort of deluxe trailer home but it needs a ton of work. A sewer pipe is so backed up (slow moving/blocked) that it gets hot (some kind of pressure or kinetic friction thing that only made sense in the dream reality) when the toilet is flushed and seeps through a crack in the cement floor. Dad says he just needs to go down and stick a wrench in the pipe to clear it out.
Creativity Hidden, Not Lost
Me and a group of IMSAns argue about my 5 year loss of creativity theory (I argue that for a period from 1994-1999 or so my brain was kind of dead wrt creativity, they say it isn't true). I begin to doubt the theory but convince them that I was at least HIDING my creativity (for some reason of seeming neccessity that was obvious to the conversants but which I don't remember now).