in which I dabble in the Albanian underworld

Well. After yesterday's extremely mundane dream, last night I had a pretty wild one. Following a bit of conversation about the Balkans yesterday, I dreamed that I was in Albania. Not only was I in Albania, but I was--wait for it--dealing drugs.

I'm not sure how I came to be in Albania, but I had our (real-life) old Jaguar with me (this will come up again later). Despite having transportation, though, I was stuck because I didn't have enough money to leave the country. So, logically, I turned to dealing drugs to make a quick buck (or lek, as the case may be).

I don't know how I made the acquaintance of the local underworld figures, but I had ended up as sort of a freelancer, only dealing with them in an off-hand way. I think I was obligated to turn over some kind of "tax" to ensure that they wouldn't meddle in my affairs. I also got my drugs from them. Of course they fit the exact mental image you'd have of a small-time Albanian Bad Guy: greasy hair, gold necklaces, track suits, unfortunate choice of headwear.

At one point I was in the lair of my drug provider to get re-supplied. There were several young women/girls in various states of intoxication and undress--it was obvious that they were working in a state of semi slavery, serving both as prostitutes, sex slaves, and drug customers. One of the gangsters was beating one of them up*, and I was trying to think of a way to get these girls out of the situation, while realizing that most of them were too addicted to participate in any way in their extrication.

During this same visit, while the guy I was dealing with was otherwise occupied, I started idly examining some of the wares on the table. I wasn't sure what it all was, not having any experience in that area myself. There was a pink package with some pink plastic objects resembling short pens (the labeling and packaging style was very Feminine Hygiene Product**). They had a little hole near one end, which I deduced was supposed to be sucked on or inhaled to get a hit. I tried it once, and got enough of an indefinable sensation to remind myself that rule number one was always that a successful dealer didn't consume the goods.

One of the most noticeable things about the dream was the feeling of being in a dangerous situation but of being tough and "bad-ass" enough to not be worried about the gangsters trying to mess with me (where this came from, I don't know, since I'm not exactly a toughie in real life). The scariest moments were two encounters, while in or near my car, with a group of young knife-wielding Roma boys intent on carjacking my car (I put that down to a stereotype about them favoring Mercedes and Jaguars). They were significantly scarier than the grown-up gangsters, but I managed to evade them both times.

In the end, the dream wound down in a fairly tiresome way. I had met up with some random young-ish American(-ish?) dream acquaintances, and we were all hanging around waiting for something undefined. I think we were waiting to be able to leave the country, although I don't know what specific event was going to allow us to leave. I finally got tired of them and their uninteresting and stupid conversation and went off by myself.

So there's another one to add to my collection of dreams dealing with unsavory themes. In my defense, I don't actually remember selling any drugs to anyone, and I remember having a philosophy of not introducing new users to drugs.


*In an interesting twist, I'm positive that this brutalization was inspired by that recent video of the guy stomping on the moveon.org protester's head. He used the exact same foot action.
**I was surprised to note a manufacturer's name and address in China; I hadn't thought that a manufacturer of illegal drugs (in my mind, this was some new exotic form of crack) would label their products as if they were, say, something you'd buy at Wal-Mart.

prostitution, partying, and megastores

Guess who had another group-trip dream? This one was to Italy (or an Italy-like country). In the first part, I was walking around an old city square. It wasn't as idyllic as it sounds, though. There were various construction things around (those wooden sidewalk-cover tunnels, mostly), and a fair amount of trash. There were also a lot of youngish men loitering and walking around*. They were invariably small, kind of greasy, tackily dressed (tracksuits, gold chains, and curly mullets figured prominently), and they were all, in various languages, propositioning me for favors. The most common was "how much for the night?" I found that I understood perfectly what they were all saying, and a tiny part of me was exulting at my perfect understanding of languages I didn't really speak. I didn't take the propositioning too seriously; it was kind of annoying and unsettling, but I figured that it was a cultural thing and that they weren't targeting me in particular, just any female in a certain age range.

After that I was with my dad in a gigantic semi-outdoor home/garden/decoration megastore. My eye was caught by a display of wrapping paper on sale--there was a really beautiful Art Nouveau-ish design with red poppies, and some colorful Josef-Frank-esque botanical designs. I was trying to decide on a couple to buy, since I don't use that much wrapping paper. The more I looked, the more confused I got. I saw some very cute designs that were very original and would be really good for wrapping kids' gifts--but then I remembered that I don't give that many kids gifts. I finally decided I should just go with the two I had seen at first, since I had been there so long (my dad was being extremely indulgent, pretending to root around and be genuinely interested in the wrapping paper while waiting for me). Once I decided on that course of action, though, I could no longer find any that I wanted, let alone the two I had seen before. All I could see were disappointingly unoriginal designs that looked pretty lackluster up close.

I decided to give up on the wrapping paper and accompany my dad to look for some item he was looking for (which had been the original purpose of the trip). I commented on how gigantic the store was, and recalled that Curly Sue had told me of being on a business trip to Houston (??!) and killing time in a similar store.

After that, I was with a larger group (still in a vaguely Italian place) including my husband and some assorted acquaintances from college. It was in the evening, and activity plans were being negotiated. Several of us were lounging on a huge couch/bed thing, and suddenly a girl I had known in college threw herself down next to me/on me John-and-Yoko style. I was a bit taken aback at this sudden incursion into my personal space, but didn't try to make her move because I was cold. There was a lot of tedious back-and-forth in the group about where we would go and what we would do, and it became clear that the group members were all very !Party!Party! types. I found myself agreeing to go out and "party" with them. Not being much of a partier in real life, I was surprised at myself, and even more surprised to realize that although it was getting late I wasn't tired at all. Of course I woke up tired after that.


*An eerily true-to-life detail, from my limited experience in Italy.