"I'm Don Corleone, Mrs. Cavanaugh's cousin"

Wow. I had a helluva dream last night. It was one of my infamous soundtracked dreams, which included the songs Round and Round by Ratt and Bit by Bit by Stephanie Mills (made famous by the Fletch soundtrack).

So it begins that I'm in high school again, only I'm the age I am right now. For some reason, though, I must still appear to be high school age because no one believes it. I go to a girlfriend's house in this posh mansion, and we are given strict orders not to allow any boys into the bedroom by the grandmother and matriarch of the house. The girl giggles, and I just cringe that I'm stuck in this high school life.

Girl, we'll call her Bunny, gets on her cell phone and calls up the boys who subsequently climb up the giant sycamore tree to rescue us. Her boy is some typical High School Musical sort of chap. Mine? Mine? Eugene Levy. Eugene Levy in character, you know? You've got to be kidding me. So Bunny and Buck start making out in the corner, and Eugene looks at me with hopeful eyes. I tell him we've got some packing to do--we're getting outta here. And I had these pills that I had to find, plus an important letter for the agency I worked for. It then hit me--I was undercover.

We hear steps coming down the hall. The matriarch is coming, so I push Levy under the bed, and B & B head to the shower. "Stupid arses," I mumble. Matriarch says, "We don't have any boys up here, do we?" And I tell her to get out of my way because I don't have time for her silliness. She glares at me, calls me an insolent little wench, and moves about her purposeless day. Then her dog looks at me, and I hand him a trail mix bar and move about my next task.

Levy is overcome with sexual fervor at the thought of my bravada, so he comes out from his hiding spot and plants a giant kiss on me. At first I'm appalled and then I realize that as I make out with him, he turns into Jim Sturgess and so I figure I should just keep making out with him for all humanity's sake. And the music here? The Flame by Cheap Trick.

We jump out the window (cue Quantum Leap type of music) and I hit some sort of wormhole jumping me to my next assignment which is as a teacher's aide in a failing day care center. My job is to sweep, mop, and scoop poop (and yes, they poop like dogs on the floor, these kids). [cue Bit by Bit]. I get the scoop on the director, turn her in for fraud and win approval from my boss who is Orson.

I say my Nannoo Nannoos and head off down the streets of Brooklyn (post another wormhole) headed for my next assignment. I'm wearing cropped editor's pants and tall boots. Lovin this assignment, I stop to look at the newspaper bit, and Round and Round begins playing. I shake my head and laugh.

Dreaming, dreaming everywhere

Ok CRAAAAAZY dreams last night. Crazy.

Dream 1: It was the entire enactment of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner except instead of an albatross, it was a black unicorn. As you can imagine, it was much harder for his neck to lug around.

Dream 2: An opera. Hamlet. I was commissioned to write a comedy version and had to deal with these difficult, heady actors/vocalists. God it was brutal. Anyway, the opera went off well, and I still have it stuck in my head.

Crazy long dreams.

The Funk Strikes Back

Damn, dude. I thought I was getting better, and then yesterday, I was slain by the funk. I slept until noon. Got up, drank some water, tried to check email, fell back asleep until 5pm. Slept until 8 when I watched/slept through A Fish Called Wanda and then crashed by about 11. Those times are rough estimates given the fact that I was so zapped by the funk.

Thing is, I don't feel that bad aside from a few sniffles. I'm just exhausted. Tired to the bone. It's very bizarre. I'm chalking it up to poor nutrition and sleep deprivation. Prolly a little stressed mixed in there, too. Kimday's coming up, and I'm too tired to be excited about it. That should say something.

But the Nyquil induced sleep afforded some interesting dreams, many about the CP which hasn't happened in awhile. One, though, was a dream in numbers during which I took stock of my life.

7--number of cities I've lived in since graduating from college
12--number of jobs I've had since college (some happened concurrently)

Tried to count the number of relationships in my dream, but the computer went to blue screen (in my dream). Lol. We'll just leave it at that.

The computer (which kinda looked like Marvin from Hitchiker) did this whole pie chart of time spent working, schooling, playing. Sad, sad, sad. I need to relax more. Seriously.

Sigh, have to gear up for working on a conference worthy presentation on Tuesday. So tired. Want to sleep.

Sorry for the clip show

Ah, I just don't dream dreams like this anymore.

Dream a little dream

Looking back at old posts, and June 2007 was filled with crazy ass dreams. The van, hippos, the pay pal blues, alien sex.

Crazy.

The rest of the story

And I did complete the marathon in my dream, btw, even though I overslept and had to start an hour after the rest of the runners. Yea me!

Super Snoozeday

Last night I dreamed that I was running another marathon. I'm not sure where it was, but I was staying in a very lavish hotel. I had gone downstairs to sit by the fire and watch the big screened HDTV, when I overheard some guy behind me commenting on whatever I was watching. I commented back, and we continued a nice, light banter back and forth. I stayed focused on the tv until he said something particularly intriguing (I can't remember what), and at that point, I turned around to see Barak Obama, dressed in a nice casual blue and cream button down with a cream shirt underneath. He was sitting at a very ornate writing desk composing some sort of letter. We talked for a few more hours, again with ease and warmth. His wife and kids came by eventually, and we all had a wonderful conversation about Chicago and the south suburbs, and for some reason, I think we talked about organic foods.

Finally, I looked at my watch and decided to rest up for the big day ahead of me. When I got to my room, I opened up the patio doors (I was on the first floor) to see Hillary Clinton driving up or being driven rather. She was in an incredible suit with a necklace and shoes to die for, lips painted like Marlene Dietrich. She stepped out, and I said, "Hello, Senator." She stopped and said hello, holding out an impeccable manicured hand, the other hand embracing a black clutch.

I asked her how things were, and she very candidly said that it was tough being on the road and in the line of fire. She teared up a little, then shook off the tears and mentioned something about giving up, and I said something ridiculous about not giving up on the little girls who one day hope to be president or something sappy like that (I was a much better conversationalist with Obama). Just then, her entourage emerged from the car, and she snapped into a colder personality, telling me that I should get pregnant so that there would be more democrats like me in the world. She turned to her entourage for a laugh, which they gave her, and then she waved me off. I felt dismissed, and decided that I was going to vote for Obama after all when John Edwards' face appeared in the sky. He was leaving to join the pod people, he said, and I muttered, "Figures."

WTF?

Naga-sake?

Ok, so last night I dreamed that I flew to Nagasaki and spent 2 days there with absolutely no sleep and existing entirely on cheetos, beer and sake. All I can remember is wandering around in a stupor, bickering with people and blaming it on my lack of sleep, and swimming in a pool 4 times the size of an Olympic pool.

The best part? As you know, I often have a soundtrack going in my dreams. This soundtrack featured Sin Wagon by the Dixie Chicks and Sittin' on Top of the World by Amanda Marshall.

I woke up to an NPR report about how all Americans are sleep deprived.

oh holy crap

I just realized that I had a dream last night about Praxis' nude Vermont guy. I was walking down the street and under an overpass, and there he was with his ass cheeks all aglow. God. I really need a life so I can have better dreams.

just call me ripley

Last night, I had a sex dream about an alien with long, green, spindly fingers.

Opera Dreams

When I was a kid, I used to love it when Mr. Rogers had his little operas on. There weren't that many, so it was always a surprise when they'd come on. My dreams are similar. Sometimes they just have a soundtrack behind them, like in the Hungry Hippo dream, and other times they are a full on musical, like last night.

I can't remember much about the dream last night except that it involved drunk pastors, me running around trying to find polyethelene, and a bunch of work rubbish, but the entire dream was musically charged. I have two of the songs (Chemistry Pop and The Pay Pal Blues) stuck in my head. Trust me, they're catchy. I assume they'll hit the airwaves soon. Then I'll be famous, and finding money to go on a vacation won't be so difficult.

purple hippos

Though it is not quite the anniversary of the van dream, I did have the weirdest dream about Praxis last night.

We had talked on the phone and had decided to meet up at the airport. He had a layover in Houston, and then we flew together to abq, picked up G's friend, Ig, and then drove to Colorado for Shelly's party. On the plane, Prax had been telling me this whole story about how G wanted us to go to the Butt Cove, which apparently is this little cave of the sea where a giant sea lion lives who sticks it's butt out of the cave hole. I couldn't really understand the fascination with it, but whatever.

So we pick up Ig, and with all of my dreams, somehow morph through the air and reappear in colorado shortly after. That is where we meet up with some other random friends I know from Chicago and my friend, Panchette of purple van fame, and then get into an orange rubber raft and head out to sea. Somehow, there is an ocean in the middle of Colorado, mind you.

Bonniebell is steering us, and Ig is trying to help her, while Prax, Panchette, and I are lazily hanging in the back of the raft, when I suddenly look over and see a gigantic hippo head in the water, and when I say gigantic, I mean that his nostril is 3 times the size of Praxis' head, and he is sniffing Praxis up and down.

Prax mutters out, Um, someone needs to move this raft, and then I look over and see 4 more hippos. We're surrounded, and Bonniebell can't get us out of the situation. Just then, the hippo, starts licking Praxis, covering him in intense goo, and he is freaking the hell out, as he should be. Bonniebell is putting her whole weight into moving the boat, and then she screams, "someone get the motor." So I pull a motor out of nowhere, attach it magically, and then we rev up the raft. Still, we're going nowhere, so Praxis, whose head is now sticking up through the hippos mouth, screams, "pedal to the metal," and out of nowhere, Eye of the Tiger plays, and Bonniebell guns it. We tread up a lot of water, and then we shoot over the top of the hippos and out towards sea.

I woke up after that, so I have no idea if we ever made it to see the sea lion's ass.

Strange as it seems, there's been a run of crazy dreams

and a man [or woman] who can interpret could go far--could become a star [Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat]

So who wants to be a star? Thanks to the Davenport, I had a huge run of vivid dreams last night. Here they are in succinct form:

1. Edgy and I were driving on a back farm road and stopped bc there was a cow in front of us. It wasn't quite dead but had been injured pretty badly. We walked over to the local vet where they put me in a room and hooked me up to IVs and then went to tend to the cow. They rigged some contraption to bring koolaid to the cow and then drew straws to decide who was going to operate on it. In the meantime, they wouldn't give me any status results because they said I couldn't handle it in my weakened condition. Instead, they served me tea in rabbit teacups.
2. I was on Fear Factor and had to go underneath the earth through these sand tunnels. They collapsed one of the sand tunnels and we had to get out through this hole that was covered in spiderwebs. I made it out in 2nd place. First place guy was covered in sand in a way that made him look like Triton.
3. I was on a plane and had to transfer to another plane, but they screwed up my ticket and gave it to someone else, a girl named Charity Williams, young, African American with bows in her hair. They gave me a replacement ticket, but I had to run to the other end of the airport and through this maze of escalators. I finally thought I had made it, but realized that i was on a private jet with Paris Hilton, Nicole Ritchie, and all their emaciated cronies who all complained about being "sooo fat." Nicole snidely told me that she knew I was from Texas because of the way I dressed and talked. They were on their way to Madagascar, and I couldn't figure out how I was going to get back home to Chicago for work the next morning. They didn't seem to care and didn't really understand the concept of work. Paris handed me her cell phone, but she told me that i had to talk to her mom first, who started wailing about how her little dog Fufu was in trouble and dying. I had to console her. Then I woke up.
4. I was in my childhood church with my dad who suddenly went buck crazy and started saying all sorts of "Turretsesque" things. He kept saying his heart was burning and then would blurt out insanities. We had to take him to the ER, but I woke up before I figured it all out.

Thoughts?

Wonka Nightmare!

Picture this: the entire dream is animated in Tim Burton style--dreary colors, bleak, twisted houses begging for a soul...you get the picture. The setting is Victorian London, and I (animated as well with a face like Jane from Disney's Tarzan) am a governness for an orphanage. I'm standing in the dining room preparing to eat the meager lunch set before me, when one of the girls lets out a stifled shriek. The cook, a robust woman with grey straggly hair, one glass eye, and missing teeth, runs out of the kitchen screaming: "I told ya unce if I told ya twice--Rats are a good source of protein." Only, it's not a rat that causes the little waif to cry from her large Anime eyes. Inside her bologna sandwich is a gleaming piece of gold. The cook yells: "Wellahlbebuggered, you won the golden ticket, 'aven't ya?" The little girl with claylike head too big for her skeletal body wipes chocolate strands of hair out of her eyes and whispers: "Yes." I won't bore you with the rest of the dialogue, but suffice it to say that the adult she picks to go on a tour of the Oscar Mayer plant, is me. We arrive at the gates of the meat packing monstrosity, and Willy stands there, the portrait of gluttony--balding head, a cleaver stained with blood, white undershirt exposing a teeming gut. Then we go into the plant. It was awful, like the animated version of The Jungle. What in the hell got into me, I'll never know.