Dream logic

Last nights dream was one of those I can't seem to get out of, even by waking up. I kept drifting out of the this dream to wakefulness, and then, yawn, I was back in it.

I was at a Navy airbase, allegedly to get refresher training in an airplane that the Coast Guard (whom I work for, but am not IN) never flew, and even the Navy has retired (an A-7 Corsair II if you want to know, nickname "SLUF" ("Short Little Ugly Fucker")). It was all a big mistake, and then it was "resolved": I was to "transition" to this airplane. Fine, but as I pointed out, I'm a Private Pilot, with NO jet experience, not even any "complex" experience (retractable gear, etc). I was mildly terrified of having to carrier qualify an airplane with no conceivable use in my service. A REAL Coast Guard Officer shows up; I explain my problem, and we take a physics test with a bunch of Navy guys, and smoke their asses; we were done with perfect scores before the Squids had their pencils sharpened. I tell the Coast Guard Officer I want to go over to his side of the base and quit wasting the government's time, "I'll just wash airplanes or something."

I woke up for the final time, and went to work. In my tuxedo - it was the office Christmas party today, and I am the Master of Ceremonies For Life for the Gift Exchange/Back Stabbing, in my James Bond/Jack Sparrow/Dorothy Parker hybrid personality. The party was held in the Terrace Room of a resident hotel for gay and lesbian senior citizens - I am NOT kidding you (the food was excellent, BTW). I got out of there with a 2 foot long christmas themed penguin pen, which I consider a minor indignity compared to some of the gifs - certain scented candles and a nasty plastic snack set have been "re-gifted" 5-6 years in a row. At least a ball point pen the size and shape of a blue dildo will be easy to find on the mess my desk has become.

It only seems like I live in a Pynchon novel.