![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_xl7oVxZBsKavd32pn9vRbc2mAhyphenhyphenBV-W9GABoXXBkm-ptopJMbeP4ByxEohYnvDPpeMrrIXbB-wPAsRCF5Gh3_wAZAwcbcNQ5zsE403YIY2PgRlf53T2hTUPjEqdXKXpbtIPkkp-cqcT/s400/cougar.jpg)
[SIDENOTE: if you're new here, WELCOME to Tapdancing in the Dark: the only blog on the web where we essentially pimp our family members!!! Stay. Have a Latte. Breathe in the shame. mmmmm. smells like tacos.]
But beyond our penchant for preying on young men (I keed, I keed), our brains seem to be more alike than not alike. This usually works out in my favor, because I totally LOVE her, and not just because I'm required to by law (or nature, or the HIPPA act or something like that).
But there are things about her that I can't help but look at and say "this....THIS...is my future." And then I kind of sigh and shake my head, and then squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose as if the thought of me ageing to be exactly like her is giving me a brain tumor.
For example:
My mom was in a big fancy pants executive meeting the other day, and she was getting sleepy. Hey, we've all been there.
So there she is struggling to take notes as her eyes are closing of their own accord.
She's writing.
She's nodding off.
And suddenly, she snaps to attention, fully aware that she actually fell asleep for half a second.
And if this wasn't bad enough, she looks down at her paper and sees this:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZIp3QEogNO0IgmTu2CKB6sMCNUigc577tQl-ukHa2DPEh2BTdg07Ej0rKHShctyRRdJ0VG9MGq-omhGmdCpYwLW0TR9_EZuY74C9PuVZ3iuqzXV5_hwSvz5mncFC6XutD189e_n45oe6/s400/potato.jpg)
Now, let me walk you through this.
She's writing about some sort of system that provides feedback on ordered drugs on the first three lines.
On the fourth line, she starts to drift off (as you can see by the progressively smaller handwriting). As far as we can tell, this line is comprised of the following words:
"Series of baseline...potato"
...
What?!?!?
If you're guessing at this point that she woke up to see that she had written the word "potato" in her sleep, then you, my friend, would be absolutely right.
Of course, when she saw (to her horror) that she had written the word "potato" while she was supposed to be taking notes, she quickly crossed out the line and went back to writing as if nothing had happened. But needless to say, we are both more than a bit alarmed and confused that her subconscious psyche felt the need to espress itself in the form of a root vegetable.
And, well, yeah, it's pretty fucking hilarious too.
I mean, what does it MEAN?!? What would Freud say? How do we move forward from this point?
So many questions, so few answers...
So apparently, THIS is what I have to look forward to as I get older.
Be concerned people.
Be very, VERY concerned.
15 comments:
roflmbo ummm she could say it was automatic writing adn the spirit world was tryin to get a message to someone there about a time they planted a garden yeah that's it and she didn't stay in her trance long enough to get the full message
Eh...who am I to judge. I often dream of potatoes too.
Why?
Cause really what's better than a nice fried tater?
HAHAHA too funny!!! Well I can't say much though. The other day a coworker came to me with a file that had a wine bottle drawn on it and asked me if I did it. I had no recollection of the doodle, but I'm sure that was my doodle writing and I AM always thinking of wine soooo...
That's funny shit.
Also, I totally want your mom's digits.
Lily, this is what all of us have to look forward to. We cannot avoid it. To some degree. I can already sense my father seeping in through my pores.
At least I know I'll never speak in broken English and talk to random people in the supermarket.
that happened to me once during a spanish exam. I started writing about the architecture of some latin american city, in spanish, but i was sooo exhausted that i drifted off, and 10 minutes later i snap awake, look down, and realize I had been writing in french - about my friends michelle and lee. wtf? obviously, i erased everything and picked up again in spanish, but clearly i was not all present.
Thanks to procrastination, cheap instant iced tea, and a predilection for MTV 120 Minutes, every notebook for every class I took my Sophomore year of college is full of baseline potatoes. And Bill the Cat doodles.
I have definitely dozed off in class and written a straight line across my paper as my hand slid off my desk. But, potato?! Maybe she was thinking about lunch at Wendy's?
I talk like my mom and look like my mom more with each passing year. Just please kill me if I start wearing leopard print one piece swimsuits.
Ha. Kudos for incorporating cougarism and potatoes in one blog. That, my friend, takes work... or insane family members, which, you know, rocks totally hard.
Very funny.
Potatoes... the magic vegetable. Seriously. Mash, potato salad, home fries, skinny fries, hash browns... they're the uber-veg.
What shape was the potato?
That could be Freudian. Did it look like a cigar?
Shopping list? Lunch order? Misspelled tomato? The old, old gangsters called dames 'tomato'
Hmm, leopard-print one-piece swimsuits, you say, Anya? I'm going to start wearing one right now-what a great idea!
Maybe she was channeling Mr. Potato Head, because he does have all the answers. Or at least a handy mustache in his back compartment.
Here's the final joke--I am PROUD to have been ridiculed in this blog. That's how desperate I am for attention.
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