Dreamy Indiscretion

I am drinking with a guy friend of mine at a party, and he and I end up being the last people up. (This would never happen. This entire dream would never happen. He and I just would...NEVER.) We are continuing to drink and laughing about how it's always us that stays up, you know, because we really want it (I think "it" was referring to having the ultimate party experience or getting really intoxicated). We went out on the balcony and looked down at the rainy night. The bottom balconies were halfway underground, and they had filled to the brim with rainwater. Our neighbor-lady's balcony flowers were drowned in six feet of crystal clear water. The orange street lamps reflected on its still surface. Guy Friend and I sat there and he made some remark about how she was hard to handle and that the rain water'd better brace itself. Then there is some commotion and we are being chased through stairwells. Then we are back in an apartment and we are pouring beers with the same care one would use to defuse a bomb. We are laughing about our skill. We share a laugh and Guy Friend leans over and wraps his arms around me and we laugh more. I can tell he is moving his face closer to mine, and I am suddenly all for it. But we are frozen, clamped to one another in an embrace, and our breath is in each other's face and our lips are barely apart...but we still just embrace. And then I touch his lips lightly and we are back to beer business. But then he moves over and sits by me and puts his arm around me and then we really kiss. And then we start to undress each other amid laughing banter and beer drinking. For some totally inexplicable reason, I notice that he is uncircumcised. We are in full embrace and I wake up.

Totally weird! Never in a million years would this happen or would I want it to, but in the dream I was all like, "Yeah, okay, I'm all right with this!" Ugh.


I didn't mean it, Brendan!

I couldn't tell you circumstances or setting, but at some point, I insulted Brendan Fraser.

I was talking to some people and said something along the lines of, "I know he's supposed to be the next (some actor I forget) but he's just not that hot."

Then, right beside me, Brendan turned around with a sorrowful look in his eyes. "You don't think I'm that attractive?"

I apologized profusely, but he was deeply hurt.


If you want to sing out, sing out

I'm 100-years-old. Crinkled and worn, but with a slight vibrancy.
A freshly scrubbed college student is interviewing me about my life:

Does true love exist?
"True love exists, but sometimes it's messy. I takes over every fiber of your being. It doesn't have to be with a human being, per se. For instance, I love my cat. This tree. I water it everyday." I finger a bottle of Chardonnay at the base of the table.

What is the meaning of life?
"The meaning of life to live each day fully and to learn something new each day. You have to live it fully." Pregnant pause. I take a sip from my chalice. "I spent a large portion of my twenties going around half-assed. Young man, do not go around half-assed. Live it; love it; learn it."

But what if you're unhappy?
"I recommend smoking a little bit of weed everyday. But make sure you mix it with some anti-depressants. I recommend Zoloft. Buddhist chants help as well." I take gulp of Chardonnay. "Live it; love it; learn it."


Something topical, and then complete randomness


We've spotted a menacing funnel cloud close by. We're in some kind of large factory — the paper mill? — and are told to head for the belly of it. We take the winding corridors and finally end up in a portion of the place that looks nothing like a basement, but instead seems to be a wide-open area with a murky yellow sky. I ask if we are actually indoors, and am told yes. Essentially we're in some kind of huge underground warehouse. I look down and my watch has begun glowing in pulses. I realize this means it's go time. Sure enough, we hear a rumble and there are shouts to take cover. I grab some pipes nearby and wince as the storm gobbles up what it can from above. There are two people beside me. I watch in horror as the three of us rise from the ground from the force of the winds. Rise and fall, air and ground.

The storm passes.

2. I'm in some kind of amusement park that is painfully empty. The rides are running on auto-pilot, but there are no people in them, despite the fact that there are a scant few people running around the park. I climb the queue for the park's equivalent of the Old Mill Scream (large boat climbs hill, rushes down hill, splashes water everywhere, the end), thinking I'd like to ride it. I get to the top and watch the boats crest the hill near the platform and then take off without even a pause for a passenger to board. I get spooked and decide I'd rather not jump into a moving boat. Lighthouse Pilot walks up to the platform, wanting to ride the ride as well, but sees the predicament of the moving boats. I caution him not to do it when I sense that he's thinking about jumping into one of the boats. We decide that they must be moving so fast because there's no one here working the ride and literally putting a foot down to slow the boats so people can load. The boats keep cresting the hill and falling rapidly as we watch them, wondering why there's no one there controlling the ride.


I'm at church, and it's packed. It's so packed it feels like a suffocating madhouse. There are people I've never seen before, and lots of children. It's bustling and loud and completely unlike any church I've ever been in. I have to take a seat up front, only to look back and see my family slide into a pew several rows back. My patience with the whole ordeal grows thin, so I grab my bag and slip out. My dad calls out after me, irritated that I would leave.

I navigate my way through the teeming crowd and realize the bustle is because there's some sort of festival going on. A revival-slash-festival of sorts. I don't want to be there and the contempt is bubbling up inside me, so I push my way toward the door until finally I'm outside. It's nearly dark and poorly lit, but there are people everywhere running around and playing. I push my way through the thick darkness, trying to get away from the church, when I hear a FWOOMP and look down next to me.

It's a javelin. A red javelin. I peer into the darkness and realize that there are people out there playing lawn darts with javelins, and launching the giant spears into the crowd with little regard for, uh, safety. And they are gearing up to hurl another one in my general direction. I backtrack and head toward the church again, my eye trained on the horizon. I see a javelin in the air, getting bigger all the time, and carefully plot my next few steps to avoid it. This happens two more times before I'm finally back at the church. I go inside and start telling people, "They've got lawn darts out there!!" but no one seems to understand the urgency.

I'm told my grandmother requires me in one of the rooms of the church, and when I go to find her, I realize I've been duped and my dad just wanted a chance to scold me for leaving.


In retrospect, it wasn't that great ten years ago, either.

I'm watching TV and a commercial for Olive Garden comes on, and it's totally the same style as every Olive Garden commercial you've ever seen, only they're using a cheerful, pop-ish version of "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" as the music. I'm not so much surprised as I am even more disgusted with the Smashing Pumpkins. I clearly think "Bad call, Billy."

Conversations in Bed

Me:I had a really terrible dream last night.

Boyfriend: Oh, I'm sorry.

Me: I cheated on you with Judge Reinhold. I was devastated.

Boyfriend: Didn't you have that dream before? When we were in Memphis?

Me: No? Did I? You're bullshitting me.

Boyfriend: No, you did.

Me: I went to an underground sex club located in a strip mall. Judge Reinhold was there. He was like a sex god. Women and men swarmed around him, wanting to touch his penis. I remember that Judge Reinhold had a really big penis. It was massive.

Boyfriend: That's interesting.

Me: But yeah, I was totally devastated.

Crossposted at Manhattan Project