Wiccan Whirlpool

What the heck is that guy’s name, anyway?

I was at this wedding which was taking place after some kind of weird halloween/easter combo event in my old neighborhood. The people getting married had big money, and this was a huge affair. I was related to somebody but I don’t have any idea who, and yet I was such a minor player that I was required to give them free labor, especially for the complicatd reception. There was so much going on that I can’t recall all of it. There was a great big square room painted robin-egg blue, and in it was a series of folding tables, on which were boxes of chocolates. The chocolates came in all kinds of flavors, none of which I can exactly remember, but the wedding party, including me, was to arrange and distribute them. I was also somehow responsible for checking the drink and ice-cream dispensers, placed all around the gargantuan outdoor party area. Think Bilbo’s birthday party…

Anyway, new 007 was there in his tux, only he wasn’t playing Kames Bond. This is weird, because if I was going to dream about James Bond it would be more obvious for it to be Pierce. I *love* Pierce. The new guy is hot, but I don’t dig blondes. Anyway, he was there, and he was totally hot and really really terrifying for no apparent reason. Then the after party started, and he was a waiter. He came to take my order without a shirt on, and then he was serving all of the men at the table but I kept getting ignored (maybe I just need to have sex). When the guys were finished I got the boot because somebody else was coming in to eat, which I thought was totally rude.

Suddenly it’s evening. I’m still in this restaurant, which is now HUGE and labrynthine. Every room is plastered with mirrors and pictures covered in shiny reflective glass. Every time I turn a corner to try to leave I’m in another room and I can’t get out. James is always there, and he’s getting scarrier, but I still notice how hot he is. The somebody else female is near me. She starts walking with me, and we come to realize that time seems to be skipping around. Like, I’ll see James with a drink, and then with a sandwich, and then carrying food to a table. This chick suggests writing on the mirrors in each room so we can tell if we’ve been there or not. She just smacks big greasy handprints on stuff. I write “spirit” with my finger, every time, and it appears like frost on the glass. James grabs me and tells me he knows that the time is all wrong, and says he’ll help us get out, but we have to follow him. I think we follow him out through the kitchen.

After the wedding I’m at home in some place I’ve never seen before. An old friend from high school has called and asked me out. I agreed. I think I was trying to hide that fact from my mom, and I don’t know why. She always liked this guy. But I get all dressed up and leave to drive to his parents’ house out in the boonies, and I’m remembering this secret “back way” to get there–which has come up at least twice in other dreams in the last six months. As was typical of all of our interaction, the gentleman was coy. I had no idea what he really wanted from me and I couldn’t tell if that was because he didn’t want me to know or if he didn’t know himself. It all seemed very hush-hush, which made no sense because in context I wasn’t married and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t either. Nothing really went on, and shortly I woke up.