Ah, Dreams

I love the fantastically outrageous and nonsensical dreams that I get during midday naps. In this past one, so far as I can recall, it started out with a genealogical investigation into the past of a war buddy (why did I have one of those at all?) which determined that as a newborn he was black (son of an African-American father and Euro-American mother), but was adopted by a pair of racists who gave the infant cosmetic surgery to make him white, and so he never knew about his real heritage until now. What the heck is up with that? (I think this bit ended with him either inheriting something, winning a prize, or returning home, and I'm pretty sure he was depressed, but I really hope it wasn't because of the race thing. That's just wrong, subconscious.) In the next scenario - one I have no idea how to connect with this first, if that even matters - I believe I must have been involved in some weird time travel experiment, because I'm pretty sure I was dating my great-great-great-grandmother Catherine Nagle... who for some reason in the dream was British? And I took her with me to a party hosted by my extremely dear friend, the Queen of England. It was... a golf party? I don't quite understand that. So I formally introduced the two of them (while the Queen was on a throne... by the sink... with a grand spiral staircase on the other side of the sink? why?), and Catherine was somewhat overawed to meet the Queen. The Queen remarked about how that's normal for other people, to which I responded in a faux-English accent, "Only if they're citizens of the Empire", to which the Queen laughed hysterically. (Apparently dream-queens have low standards for humor.) About that time the Queen's daughter (or daughter-in-law; this was fuzzy even in the dream) appeared and remarked (also in a delightful English accent) that her grandfather was a Rhode, and had had very large testicles. Evidently at this point my dream failed to remember the precise intricacies of my family tree, because the young woman with me suddenly proclaimed, "Hey, our Rhodeses have big balls too!" The Queen was taken aback by the vulgarity (though ultimately charmed by the woman's frankness), and I whispered to [Catherine?] that although I was thinking the same thing, she ought to know better than to use such language in the presence of the Queen.

Around there is where I woke up. Obviously I can detect the influence of my genealogical obsession, and the unfortunate impact of a ridiculously stupid song I heard at karaoke last night, but the rest just seems like... brain potpourri. Weirdest dreams during naps...