Created by Darleen Glick, Protein Wisdom
I remember hearing stories during the ’90’s, about women who dreamed and fantasized about Bill Clinton. In fact, in 1994, there was a book written about this not uncommon phenomenon, called Dreams of Bill, which also coincided, I believe, with the the the emergence of the abbreviation, TMI.
Here’s a typical entry:
The dream took place in another city, but I don’t know which. I was dressed provocatively and I was waiting for the President with a male Clinton staffer. The staffer indicated for me to open the door which led to a private bedroom where President Clinton was awaiting me. I don’t remember any introductions or niceties. We immediately embraced and consummated the most erotic encounter.
After the fireworks, he quickly departed, leaving me feeling quite cheap. I also somehow knew in my dream that these rendezvous were arranged almost nightly with a different woman each time. I wondered how they kept it from the press, and especially from the First Lady.
— Carmen , Housewife and Mother of Three
Age: 36
Dallas, Texas
That almost reads like a true story.
15 years later, and liberal women are at it again, as chronicled by Judith Warner of The New York Times, who shared her own experience:
The other night I dreamt of Barack Obama. He was taking a shower right when I needed to get into the bathroom to shave my legs, and then he was being yelled at by my husband, Max, for smoking in the house. It was not clear whether Max was feeling protective of the president’s health or jealous because of the cigarette.
She launched an email inquiry to see if other (liberal) women were “likewise obsessed” with the Obamas. Of course, of course…
Many women — not too surprisingly — were dreaming about sex with the president. In these dreams, the women replaced Michelle with greater or lesser guilt or, in the case of a 62-year-old woman in North Florida, whose dream was reported to me by her daughter, found a fully above-board solution: “Michelle had divorced Barack because he had become ‘too much of a star.’ He then married my mother, who was oh so proud to be the first lady,” the daughter wrote me.
There was some daydreaming too, much of it a collective fantasy about the still-hot Obama marriage. “Barack and Michelle Obama look like they have sex. They look like they like having sex,” a Los Angeles woman wrote to me, summing up the comments of many. “Often. With each other. These days when the sexless marriage is such a big celebrity in America (and when first couples are icons of rigid propriety), that’s one interesting mental drama.”
Then there are the women who don’t confine their fantasies to their dreams, but have waking fantasies, and even act on them…
Warning: Those of you with strong gag reflexes, please proceed with caution:
He spoke for about 10 minutes, then took questions from the audience. Without notes or a teleprompter, he answered them eloquently and with genuine emotion. If I hadn’t been an Obama Mama before, I was now. I was completely enraptured and captivated. Someone called out, “I love you, Obama!” and he replied, “I love y’all, too,” chuckling as he said it. He used the entire stage, moving like a sleek lion, looking into the eyes of 3,000 people, resting on one, then another’s face, his hand frequently stretched out as if to try and touch us, or the future.
And then he closed it down, put a stamp on it and mailed it to the world. We were on our feet, screaming for him, and I realized when he stepped down that he was going to walk around the perimeter of green fence rails surrounding the podium to shake hands and press some California flesh.
He started on the far side, away from me. The crowd caught on and the air in the building became thin and frantic. I began to panic a little; people were starting to rush forward, and I was right up front, but the Secret Service was ON it, looking over and ordering people to back up (nobody f***s with the Secret Service).
Denis, the gentleman who’d unknowingly saved me a seat, had my camera in his hand. I’d been telling him how much I wanted a picture with the President. Denis kept saying, “Just wait until I tell you. Stay right there and turn this way …” For a few moments, I caught glimpses of the President coming down the line, people everywhere, all over and around him, like when you pour gravy on rice ~ he was saturated with hands, arms, bodies, the Secret Service like a safety net around his back and to the sides.
I looked up into the eyes of the President, and he looked down into mine. I laid my left hand on his bare right arm, thrust my right hand into his, and said, “I’ve been waiting for you since I was 12 years old. Thank you, Mr. President.” I stood as tall as my 5′ could reach (he’s 6 feet 90 or something), raised my head and leaned in, and he leaned down towards me. Suddenly, I kissed him on the cheek. I don’t know why, I had nothing else to say that wouldn’t take 20 minutes, I kissed him, and he didn’t pull away. There was one of those kinda-sorta-almost shoulder hugs, not really touching, almost there, so I kissed him again, and again he didn’t pull away. And damn, if I didn’t kiss him again! He smiled down at me ~ he looked directly into my eyes ~ and said, simply, “Thank you.”
Why did conservative women not behave that way during Bush’s Presidency? Bush is not unattractive…he was relatively young and virile when he was elected in 2000. I could admire his many fine qualities, but good Lord…it ended there. Obama isn’t that attractive to me, frankly. He has a nice smile, to be sure, but when he’s not flashing his pearly whites, his face has a dour, even menacing quality. And he’s scrawny.
Is it possible that conservative women are not as governed by their baser instincts as liberal women are?
The following is a recent example of the type of dream a conservative woman has:
The Rush Limbaugh Show, April 1, 2009:
RUSH: Oh, I love these kind of calls. Do you know how exciting it is for a guy to have a woman tell him that she dreamed about him? I can’t wait to hear this. What was the dream?
CALLER: I wish it were exciting. But we were living in a post-Obama America. I’m not sure that we were all the way communist yet, but we were certainly some sort of socialist nation.
RUSH: Wait a minute. Keep going. Just I’m a little shocked here. Keep going.
CALLER: I will. We were in some sort of seminar that we were required to take, and I was sitting at a table, and you sat next to me. A man in another part of the classroom stood up and yelled over, “Rush! I heard O’Reilly pulled the plug on his show today and that you’re next.” And I of course said, “Absolutely not, Rush would not leave us, we need him now,” and I turned to look at you, and you had a very sympathetic, sad look on your face, and you nodded yes, to which I immediately burst in tears and said, “No, no, you can’t.”
RUSH: This is not a dream.
CALLER: I swear, I swear.
RUSH: No, no. This is a nightmare.
CALLER: It was. It was very sad. I was crying.
RUSH: I mean I was expecting to hear stories of an island in the Caribbean, some —
CALLER: (laughing) I wish.
RUSH: — pina coladas, a nice isolated suite with a ceiling fan.
CALLER: I do wish that was the dream, but here’s how you comforted me. There was no paper around, there was nothing for you to give me, and you took off your shoe, and on it you wrote, “Don’t fear,” and you signed your name. I think you intended it to be my security blanket through the tribulations to come.
RUSH: I want to assure you that those aspects of your dream will not come to pass.
CALLER: I pray they won’t.
RUSH: O’Reilly giving up his show, well, that might happen. But the other aspects of it, this will not happen. This is a sign of the fear, that people are dreaming about Obama camps, reeducation camps. All right, Ann, thanks much.
Rush is right, this woman’s dream is indicative of the angst and fear so many of us are feeling as Obama’s insane policies take us all over the cliff. What’s next? When is the other shoe going to drop? I wonder how many other conservative women are having doomsday nightmares about Obama? How many conservative women have dreams about Rush?
The Anchoress had a vivid “adventure dream” (that’s what I call the sort of fun dream she describes) starring El Rushbo. Have you ever had a dream like that, that seems to have been directed by Steven Spielberg, and you don’t want it to end? She shared her dream on her site, and one of her readers even made a movie poster for her.
Everybody dreams….often about famous people…but what’s with all the slobbering sexual fantasies? To me that signifies an unhealthy degree of devotion, or something. I rarely remember my dreams…I know I had an interesting one last night, and I remembered it for a few minutes this morning, but then I completely lost it. Maybe I need a dream journal.
UPDATE:
CindyM shares a dream she had about Obama:
I had a dream about Obama but in my dream, we were driving down a highway (I was driving) and we were arguing. I remember being really mad and finally saying, “No, it won’t work!” Then, I woke up. True story.
I’d love to hear more of these.
Hi there Anchoress readers! Come on now, don’t be shy!
More:
From Erika:
I dreamed about Obama, before the election.
His head, without a body attached to it, chased me down a road and I ran away screaming.
It seems that conservative dreams of Obama take the form of nightmares.
A couple more – one about Rush, and one about Obama:
Kortnee:
I was a rushbaby and this is actually a dream I had in high school. In the dream, I was older and I’d won some kind of writing award and Rush was the person to present it. Flash to later in the evening and we were arguing over cocktails. Friendly banter over something inconsequential. Yep, that’s the dream. I got to argue over cocktails with el Rushbo.
Z:
I had a dream about O before the Democratic Convention, actually.
In the dream, I was walking down a corridor in a hotel with O and his campaign manager. I, being myself, said something snarky and less than complementary to O. As we reached the doorway to a corner stairway, the manager put his hand on the knob to the door and, turning to me, said “Be careful, you don’t know that he isn’t a witch.”
[I should noted that “witch” in the dream did not mean pagan, wiccan, or most of the self-identified witches of contemporary parlance. It meant more “evil, malicious user of evil, malicious powers”]
I rolled my eyes, replying “Well, if he is, I haven’t seen anything remotely impressive in that area.”
This seemed to irritate O, and he turned to glare into my eyes, and I felt him trying to do something, trying to impose his will on my own (as, my dream self knew, he had done to so many others). In response, I. . . sorta. . . puffed myself up, like an angry cat, in a psychic way, sending the message “You really don’t want to mess with me!”
People’s heads popped out of doorways, seemingly amazed that anyone was challenging this man as I was.
O snarled, and stalked off with his campaign manager, down the stairs, as I stood in the doorway, watching them go. In the dream, I slipped into trance, and saw a brief vision of a street in a large american city (New York or Chicago would be my guess), literally running with a river of blood. In my trance, I spoke aloud the following: “If that man is given The Office, the streets shall be covered in blood.”
I then came out of my trance, people looking at me like I had three heads, and even I was pretty weirded out, wondering what the hell had happened.
[I pretty much cuta nd pasted from my LJ since it had been a while]. Anyway, that’s what I once dreamed about him.
The Prez has flown to England and there’s only one thing to do while he’s gone: Let’s get our country back. Okay, it’s not going to be easy, there are a lot of hurdles. I’m pretty sure I can take Harry Reid, Chris Dodd, Chuck Schumer, Maxine Waters, and that puffball press secretary Gibbs. Multiple adversary bash-a-thon!!! Hai-Yah!!
Barney Frank I ain’t touchin’… I’m not a homophobe; I simply suffer from an irrational childhood fear of Elmer Fudd.And Nancy Pelosi? I’m sending my friend Andrew Breitbart in to cross-check her hard into the glass. (I know he’s been dyin’ to get the go-ahead.) I am certain that if I confronted her, she would hit me with that death ray from those Neutronium eyeballs of hers…the same ones that hypnotize the Washington press corps into not busting up every time she opens her mouth.
Nice Deb 