Dream: Friends With Nicole Ritchie

258320nicole-richie-posters.jpgI spent several days hanging around with Nichole Ritchie and Paris Hilton. I don’t know if I was part of the crew for A Simple Life, or if I was a reporter, or if I had won some kind of “Spend the Weekend with Nicole and Paris” contest. When the dream began I definitely did not know either one.

It was a long dream, and I spent a lot of time with them, but I can only remember two and a half scenes. In the first, the three of us had gone to some sort of state fair, and we were spending the night in some kind of small tent.

I was standing just outside and Paris, inside, began to change. Just as she disrobed some people came by and whistled and then said something like “Wow, Paris, you’re batting a 1,000,” meaning every time she got naked someone was there to see.

Truth was though, she didn’t mean for anyone to see. She didn’t seem to understand how to shut the tent flap, and was very disturbed that anyone would actually look inside her tent.

Later, fans began shaking the tent and calling Paris all sorts of names. I ran out and tried to stop them, but the damage was done.

The next thing I remember was me and Nicole sitting in someone’s living room. She was sitting on the floor and I began to give her a back massage. During the entire dream I was very helpful like this. I did everything I could to be super sweet and kind to the girls, especially Nicole. She was very appreciative of the rub, letting the tension flow right out of her body. At some point I got to the lower back and she lifted up her shirt.

It was all very nonsexual, and I saw nothing of her front. However, on her back, there were these large blister like cysts. I accidentally rubbed one and she screamed in pain. I asked her what it was, and she gave me a technical name which I did not understand. After a bit she got up and I pulled out a medial book (for who doesn’t have those laying under the couch?) and tried to determine what the blisters were. I found nothing and Nichole returned. She then demanded to give me a head rub which I allowed.

In the last bit that I remember our time together was up, and I pulled Paris over to tell her how much I appreciated her and was sorry I had originally thought she was a terrible person. I now realized that she was really nice and kind and that it was the media and terrible fans who painted her into a corner.

Then I awoke.

Truth is, I’m not a fan of either girl. I watched a little bit of the first Simple Life but gave it up quick. I’m not much for celebrity gossip, where these two tend to find themselves all the time. I really haven’t the slightest idea why I had the dream, but it was fascinating none-the-less.

Dream: Grandma’s House And Nudity (Again)

Amy and I were staying at my uncles house, which used to be my grandma and papas.  There are two bedrooms upstairs and we were sleeping in the one I used to sleep in when I spent the night as a kid.

I woke up the next morning and went down to shower.  The house looked exactly as I remember except for the bathroom.The shower had moved from one wall to another.  There was no tub, but a drain on the floor, camp style.  There was also no shower curtain, so I was showering in the wide open.

After a few minutes my aunt and uncle came in and sat on the toilet.  They weren’t doing anything there, but sitting (fully clothed) quite comfortably too.  In moments my mother also came in and stood by the door.

Nothing seemed odd about this while I showered, until the turned off the water.  Then like Adam and Eve, I suddenly realized I was naked.  I crowched down to hide my naked bits, but then realizing there was nothing to do, I grabbed a towel and dried off.

I put a t-shirt on, but that’s all the clothes I had.  As I started to leave, mom told me to wait.  It seemed there was an Aunt or somebody outside who would be offended by my lack of clothing.

We argued abot this for sometime, and the aunt and uncle pair who were on the toilet joined in.  Eventually, without any other options I left with just the t-shirt on.   I raced upstairs to the bedroom, where I found my wife laying on the floor, half under the bed, totally zonked out.

I tried to wake her and ask why she was on the floor, but all she did was mumble and push me away.

It was here that I awoke.

Another Bob Dylan Dream

I was lying in my real bed, in my real bedroom. Next to me was not my wife, but Bob Dylan. Except Bob Dylan looked a lot like Cat Stevens, and had also converted to the Muslim faith.

Bob was lying on his side, facing me, while I was doing the same facing him. He was humming a song off of his album, New Morning (I now forget the actual tune) while his hands were prostrate in the pose of prayer.

While humming, his prayer hands began to slowly move in a rhythmic fashion. Extending outwards they began to bump me, though Dylan seemed not to notice. His hands then separated and they then attached themselves to my shoulder.

He began to shake me in the same rhythm as before, still humming his song.

At first I asked politely for him to stop, as I tried to pry myself free. His grip was too strong, and he certainly didn’t stop. Louder and more vehement my cries became, yet still he continued.

Finally I shouted as loudly as I could that I just wanted to get some sleep, and shook as violently as possible, but I could not get free.

Then I awoke.

Brewster’s 113th Bob Dylan Dream

Last night, around the midnight hour, just as I was drifting off, in that state in between waking and dream, I heard a harmonica playing. Not just any harmonica, but Bob Dylan’s harmonica playing. I couldn’t quite discern the song, but I knew for sure it was Dylan playing that harp.

I laid there a few more minutes straining to hear before I wondered where it was coming from. The neighbors, down below, sometimes play their music too loud and it comes through the floor, but it is never anything remotely like Dylan. I then marveled at my ability to recognize Dylan at low volume, solely through his harmonica playing.

The process of thinking swished away the dreaming, and now fully awake I listened, hearing nothing. I began to suspect that I was dreaming the whole thing. I mentally made myself remember, so that I could blog the dream in the morning and drifted back off to sleep. Sometime later, I again thought I heard those same sounds, but they were fleeting, and when I stained to hear again, there was nothing.

This morning, while watching the national news, I again heard the strains of Dylan and his harmonica. “Crazy” I thought. I’m going absolutely bonkers. Bob Dylan’s ghost has drove itself into my cranium, and is going to send me to the asylum.

I flipped channels just to ensure the harmonica wasn’t some sort of background music to the commercials now playing, but it persisted through cooking shows, home shopping shows, and a local access program on Clear Channel. Getting up, I went to seek the source of this insistent harmonica, hoping it wasn’t simply inside my very own skull.

Alas I found the source. Lying atop of my very own table, there was my iPod, charging up from the previous days use, yet still on and playing in shuffle mode. With several hundred Bob Dylan songs programmed in, it is no wonder that I kept hearing him play throughout the night.

Dream: Baseball With The Mob

sopranos-20050413-084625.jpgI was playing baseall with against the mob. Actually, I was the son of a mob guy, and was part of the business, I just wasn’t made yet. And that’s the way it was, the sons and underlings of the made guys against the real deal.

It was a tough game too. We were neck and neck the whole time.

For some reason, the made guys had a little kid as their catcher. He was like 13 years old, and not very good. So, I was enlisted to stand behind him and make sure the game ran smoothly – catch anything he missed, keep the ball rolling quickly so the game would keep going, but since I was on the opposite team, it was understood I would not be making any fast throw to get somebody out.

Bottom of the ninth, we were up by one. The made guys are up, this time I’m really catcher. There’s the pitch and somebody tries to steal third. I grab the ball and throw it fast to third and….whoof…it just keeps going. There isn’t a third baseman. I look around and see all of my players not doing anything.

It is then I realize we are making the made guys win. They are in the mob you know, and if they lose, they might get made. Mob guys mad is bad. Very bad.

Game over and we’re all headed out t a meeting. My real dad walks by, and he is one of the top mob gus. He’s helping all these really old mob guys into their cars and asking the “boss” if he wants to go with him.

At this point I think I begin to wake up, so the dream sort of swirls and moves quickly. I remember there was a moment where I was explaining to dad that I didn’t want to be in the mob. And another one talking with my fellow sons of the mob about not being willing to kill.

Worst Dream Ever

I dreamed last night that I was watching TV.  That’s it, no talking, no moving, no action what-so-ever.  I wasn’t even changing channels.

What’s worse is that I was looking at the guide station.  So not only did I dream about watching TV, I dreamed that I was looking to see what was on.  In an almost, slightly interesting tidbit, I remember that House was the only show on.

A Sunday Dream

My alarm was set for 7 in the AM.  After several snoozes I shut it off completely, knowing that this would mean I’d sleep way too late.  I woke up on my own about 8 in the AM but again rolled over decided I would not look at the clock again for I would find it necessary to get up and I just didn’t want to do that.

However, after some more sleep I did look at the clock and found it to be 8:50.  Knowing I had to get up, I patted Amy and told her the time and she got out of bed in a jolt.

Entering into our bathroom we noticed that the light had burned out.  Reaching into the dark tub, Amy lets out a little shriek and picks up a strange object.  Handing it to me I realize it is a part of a brick.

Amy seems to not be bothered by this and again reaches into the tub to find a soaking wet towel which she promptly throws on the floor.  I tell her I’ll toss the brick and get her a flashlight.  Underneath I’m petrified.  There wasn’t half a brick in the tub last night.  Somebody had to have snuck into the house and put it there as some kind of signal.

I dump the brick and begin checking out the house.  Even though conceivably the rest of our lights work, and that it is towards 9 in the morning our house is very dark.  I walk through the blackness expecting to be attacked at any moment.  Sensing that the culprit must be hiding in our second bedroom, which we have made into a study I bust in quickly with a karate kick.  I then attack the closet but find nothing.

Amy, who is now in the shower, yells at me to join her.  Before I do I go back to the bedroom, where our computer is located (in reality it is in the study) I quickly check my e-mail expecting something important, but finding nothing.

I then go to the bathroom to bathe.  I have great trouble taking off my t-shirt and get it stuck above my head.  Comically I struggle with it greatly before finally removing it.  Amazingly I am much skinnier and more fit in reality and I begin to check myself out in the mirror.   Just as I’m doing a heavy flex move I wake up with a jolt.

It is 8:15 in the AM and highly confused I wake Amy up to bathe and get ready.

A Dream

I was in my high school during some sort of break period.  I was with two young men, who I actually did go to school with, Billy Medford and Brett.  We decided to ditch the place and began walking the hallways.  For some reason I was sitting in a big office chair, which I did not leave and in fact rolled through the halls in. 

In reality my high school set in a building that was very close to my junior high building.  The junior high building was in fact connected to the middle school and elementary school building.  In the dream even the high school building was connected to the others via hallways. 

We began slowly walking down the halls to the elementary school.  We looked at the young kids walking by, studied our old lockers and generally reminisced.  Eventually we came to the end of the building and walked outside, me finally leaving the chair. 

It was recess, and there were all kinds of kids running and playing.  Over there was the BigToy, and just in front was a lively game of softball. 

I watched the boys play softball as the batter lobbed a ball directly to the third baseman.  A pudgy kid, the third baseman was, and he promptly dropped the lob, the proceeded to fumble with it off the ground, allowing a man to score.  When he finally got the ball under control the play was over and he tossed it to the pitcher amongst some good ribbings from his teammates. 

At this time an elementary school teacher, Mrs. Buchfink, noticed us and asked what we were doing.  Billy immediately walked over making up a story about it being break time at the high school and we got bored playing a game. 

I, too, walked over and began discussing how long it had been since I was on this side of the school.  I waxed nostalgic with Mrs. Buchfink on how things had changed and how old it all made me feel. 

A current coworker, Monique, appeared and I asked her how long she had been at this school, to which she replied she came last year. 

I began talking about the parking situation with the teacher and then I awoke. 

While this may seem a very bland and boring dream to most, and in fact it is rather dull, there is something I find quite interesting about it.  You see Billy Medford was a real student at this school and one I had an odd relationship with, and have dreamed about before. 

I was very shy in school, and quite unpopular.  Like a lot of kids not on the popular roster, I wanted very much to be there.  I was simply too shy to get anywhere near it.  In order to not be a complete loser and absolutely alone I often hung together with other unpopular kids, even if I didn’t particularly like them.  As if being seen with some jerk was better than being seen alone.

Billy Medford was one such kid.  I never particularly liked him, but for different classes and projects we grouped together.  Mostly we tolerated each other, though sometimes we fought both verbally and even once physically (though the pacifist in those days I deflected most of the punches without throwing my own). 

Since leaving high school for good, I have often dreamed of Billy Medford.  In those dreams he is always the annoyance and tormentor.  In my dream life he is that much more of a jerk and spends his time doing everything to irritate me to my last nerve.  The dreams are never exactly the same, but his role in them is identical.

It is in this most recent dream, which he has taken on a new role.  For the first dream ever, Billy is not tormenting me but rather being nice to me, if not exactly a talkative friend.