Secondly, I know how intolerably boring "dream stories" are...but I cannot keep this one to myself, it is just beyond crazy. It's bat shit crazy (is bat shit crazy? is this going to be like bats in hell? what's with the bats? what's so crazy about their excrement? Everybody poops, or so the book would indicate...although, I'm still pretty sure that Victoria Beckham just sneezes out her calorie intake once a week and is good to go). Okay, so my dream:
I'm sitting at a card table with two guys I went to college with who did lots of blow back in the day (and by "in the day" I mean, probably last night, since it was a Thursday) and a couple of small children. The guys start blowing lines off of the picnic table. I join them for one and then take the remaining into my parents' basement and do the rest by myself. My dad finds me in the bathroom and flips out because he knows I'm super effed up, but reneges his anger and replaces it with disappointment and an "I hope this is just an isolated incident" speech. Boy is there, upset that I'm in this state, but then joins me in obliteration by doing some himself. We then head outside, where it is raining and I get very excited about the falling water and splash around, splashing a well-dressed older woman, who calls over the police. "The police" are simply one officer, who is Jimmy Fallon, dressed (including facial hair) as his character from "Almost Famous", who accuses us of "handing off Russian narcotics" and then a reporter comes up to us, carrying a large flatscreen with an image of Boy as Lady Gaga, in full tranny form.
In dream conclusion, today's theme song is "Cocaine" by Eric Clapton, and I am apparently dating a fierce KGB tranny...or something. No, seriously, why am I dreaming about doing copious amounts of drugs and the one bad actor in "Almost Famous"? (Sorry, I have plenty of love for Jimmy, but he can't act).
Okay, so there were a few other things that I wanted to write about today, but now they seem rather uninteresting. So I'll just end with this, if you can provide any of the following services, I will pay you in homemade sandwiches and beer: 1) Explaining what the hell that dream means 2) Buying a leather couch and taking it out of my apartment 3) Helping me paint my new apartment and/or carry boxes of miscellaneous apartment stuff down two flights of stairs and up five next week and/or press "skip" on my ipod when one of The Smiths' songs come on that I don't want to listen to while I'm painting the walls of my new apartment wearing men's boxer shorts and a bra and sweating like a whore in church (note: I get that expression, if I were a whore and if I went to church, I'd sweat too) or 4) Listening to and giving feedback on my "in development" stand-up comedy routine.<---this really might be the most difficult of the four.
Happy Friday folks, and if you're free tonight don't bother coming to my play, because it's sold out!
A
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