Sunday, September 12, 2004

Sweet Dreams Are Made of These

Sweet Dreams Are Made of These

My dreams have been deranged, to say the least.

I have always been known to my friends, to have the strangest dreams ever known to man. In the past, I have dreamt of being sexually attacked by Kid Rock and Pam Anderson, chased by Joey Fatone and a huge tuna sandwhich (with carrot dices in it), and to have had a threesome with NKOTB members. Sometimes they involve celebrities, sometimes they involve everyday people.
But, usually, it's the celebrity dreams that are as whacked out as they wanna be.

Last night's consisted of me going shopping. Everywhere I went, there was Britney Smears and her boyfriend Kevin Tenderloin were there. Giggling, groping, and gaffawing. In Walmart, in Kmart, in malls.
I went to a grocery store because I was sickened by them being in every isle I was in, only to see them again, sharing peaches. Kevin Tenderloin would let Britney bite a piece of his peach, and let the juice drip down her chin, and then I would see a close up of her pimpled skin with peach juice dripping all over it. He would then wipe it for her and he had a hick accent and would say "lemme get that there peach juice, dahling...."
It was disturbing. It was scary. I woke up wanting to be held.

The night before consisted of Scott Peterson knocking at my door. I opened it, he told me his name was my husband's name, and I said "no, you're not him, you are not my husband..." he tried to make me get into a car with him and I wouldn't. He then dragged me out of the house and made me wait with him at a bus stop. Some reason, I couldn't get away from him, and he made me get on this Greyhound bus with him and he took me to a hotel, where he said he would hurt me if I tried to escape. He fell asleep... and then I went out on the ledge of the brick hotel building, only to be seen by a little hispanic boy eating mangos on his mother's fire escape and he screamed "Hey Es-Scott... that pregnant lady is on the ledge, she is trying to escape!"
Scott woke up and got mad at me and told me to just go home, that I had ruined his fun, and he was sickened by me. So I went home, on another Greyhound bus, surrounded by little old Jewish women knitting me blanket and booties for the baby.

A few weeks ago, I dreamt that Jake Gyllenhaal (one of my man/boy lust desires) told me that this baby was his, and he took me out to get ice cream. We were in a very unfamiliar place, and I told him it was time to take me home, he said "whatever... I have to leave, bye." and he left me there alone. I waited for a trolley to take me back home and I got attacked by Kirsten Dunst coming at me with a wooden stake screaming about how I stoled her boyfriend.

Yea, I know. My dreams are on crack. Crack or LSD.

If anyone knows wtf these things may mean, please inform me. But, I actually think, that if a dream analyst would try to dissect these things, they would run off with clumps of hair in their hands, screaming, crying and laughing, all at the same time.


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