"Every night in my dreams, I see you..."

That's the first line to that Titanic song, in case you didn't catch that. See me being clever?

Ok you guys, this is the deal and it's not good. I had a dream with Celine Dion in it the other night. I am not going to regale you with the details of the dream, as people always try and explain their dreams and they are never as riveting to other people as they are to the dreamer. Unless you're IN the dream, then you want to hear all about it. Am I right? And since I am doubting that any of you reading this is Celine Dion, I'm not getting into it.

So, a couple of days went by after this dream, and although I was mildly disturbed that Celine had showed up in my subconscious, I didn't really think about it too much. I am, after all, the Pop Culture Librarian. Pop culture figures run through my brain all the time. Yes, I would have preferred to have Cary Grant show up in my head while I'm asleep, but whatever. Celine can traipse through if she wants. But then, two nights ago, it happened AGAIN. Celine! Get out of here! She wasn't doing anything menacing (unless her very Celine-ness can be counted as menacing, which, actually, it was). So then, it bothered me a bit more. I don't even remember the last time Celine Dion has entered my waking consciousness. I haven't heard her big voice lately. I haven't seen her stick body either. Neighbor J and I haven't had a laugh over the fact that Neighbor B once called her "Cilantro Diaz." Will this continue? Will I awake each morning, freaked out like that kid in the Sixth Sense, whispering "I see anorexic people"?

So yesterday, I showed up to work, and as I was sitting at the reference desk, my eye strayed to the display shelf across the way from where I sit. It's a display shelf of oversize coffee table books. Here's what I see.







This is right across the desk from me, people. As I type on the reference desk computer each day, Celine is staring at me over the top of my screen. Even when I am not looking at her, she is in my peripheral vision. All day. And right next to her is this.








So, I've got the two of them. Two pairs of glassy stares, burning a hole in my forehead. Eight hours a day, every day. Celine with that baby that she's clutching like a football, and Julia with that gigantic hair. Staring. Stop it! Stop staring at me! Freaky cyborg ladies!

So this morning, when I go in, I am going to switch up the coffee table books. If I want to see Celine, I'll get my ass to Vegas.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl