I dreamed I was at John Travolta’s house for some reason. I’m not sure why I was there, but I was with Craig Robinson and we were meeting with Travolta for some reason. Presumably it was some kind of planning for a potential movie, though the reason was never really clear. We were in a kind of office with big sofas and wall mounted TVs and a huge desk. I was sitting behind the desk in a massive office chair. Not comically oversized or anything, just very expensive and cushy and large. I was behind the desk, just kind of leaning back and Travolta and Craig were sitting on separate couches. I’m not sure why I was the one behind the desk, considering that it was Travolta’s house, but that’s the way it was.

Kelly Preston shows up and says she needs to talk to John, so he excuses himself and leaves us alone and goes to talk with her in another room. I lean back in the chair and notice that below the desk is this really intense looking safe. I kind of lean forward and touch the spinning dial and notice that it’s not physically attached the metal door of the safe. It’s held in place magnetically, and you can pull the dial off and the door of the safe is smooth underneath.

Craig asks me what I’m doing and I hold the dethatched dial up and show him, shrugging my shoulders. He says something like “Don’t fuck with that. It’s his safe. That’s his private shit.” and I nod and put the dial back. But just for good measure, I give it a couple of spins. Then a light on the front of the safe turns green and the lock disengages and the safe door pops opens a little.

I look at Craig again and he understands what just happens and comes over. I open the door and look inside and there are three metal boxes in the safe. They’re long, safe deposit box style boxes, all stacked on top of each other.

We kind of look at each other and eventually he nods that he wants to see what’s inside. I take the boxes out, one by one, set them on the floor. They were each labeled with masking tape and a name written in black Sharpie. One is labeled John. One is labeled Kelly. One is labeled Jet. I look at Craig and I say “I think this is like, their incriminating shit.” and Craig nods. After a paranoid moment, I say “I want to take it.” Craig looks surprised and then eventually nods again.

We place the boxes into Craig’s gym bag (for some reason he had a black gym back) and close the safe back up again and spin the dial to lock it. By this point it’s been at least fifteen minutes since John left. I get up and go down the hall, following the sound of John and Kelly’s voices. They’re arguing about something. I knock on the door and they’re standing in a kitchen, clearly in the middle of some heavy shit. John said that he was going to be a little bit and Kelly seemed annoyed that I’d interrupted them. I said that Craig and I were going to go do some shit and that we’d come back in an hour or so, and he said that was fine.

Craig and I then left the house with the gym bag and got into his truck, a biggo yellow Escalade. He was driving and we had to go through this security check point thing where a guard in a booth had to wave us through to get off the property. We were sweating that, super paranoid because I knew we had stolen some heavy shit. I’m still not sure why we stole the lock boxes, but it seemed very important to me at the time that we should.

We went to Craig’s apartment and sat on his sofa with the boxes lined up in front of us on his coffee table, 1 2 3. First was John’s box. We opened it up and there was a lot of boring shit in there. A bunch of receipts and deeds and things. Paperwork for some of his jets and planes and cars. A firearms license and licenses for a few specific guns. There was also a video cassette sitting in the bottom of the box. We put it on, watching it on a massive screen in Craig’s living room, through a digital projector.

On the tape was Robin Williams. It had to have been twenty five or thirty years old, because he was quite a bit younger. He was sobbing uncontrollably and trying to speak, but was completely incoherent because of his crying. It was the kind of hyperventilating, snotty, desperate crying that is reserved for the death of a close family member… or the releasing of extreme guilt. I never understood WHY he was crying, but it was intense and disturbing. That was all that was on the video.

Craig and I looked at each other like “What the fuck is this shit?”.

We opened up Kelly’s box. There wasn’t much inside. The only thing I remember seeing was a manila envelope, though I remember that there were other mundane and boring things that I didn’t care about. We opened the envelope and inside was a leaflet of divorce paperwork from some point in the early nineties. It sited irreconcilable differences as the reason. Attached to the divorce papers with a paperclip was a white envelope. The outside of the envelope simply said “Kelly Preston” and a stamp in the corner that I understood (though now I don’t recognize the stamp… I just understood it’s meaning in my dream) that it was from a representative of the Church of Scientology. Inside the envelope was a photocopy of a newspaper clipping about a these two little kids who had drowned in a bathtub accident. The woman who was babysitting the kids was investigated for negligence or possible homicide but the investigation had been inconclusive and no charges were brought against her.

I took that as a threat against Kelly, basically saying that if she tried to leave, they (the Church of Scientology) were going to kill her kids.

We started to open the third box, the one labeled “Jet” and I fucking woke up.

I had to pee. I was so frustrated because I was super curious what was in the third box.

I remember seeing something about George Carlin in one of the boxes, but it was vague and probably not actually related to anything in the dream. I think it might have been a mental association between Robin Williams and Carlin that my brain tried to force in there somehow. I’m not sure though.

Anyway, that was my dream.

I just had the most weirdest, upsetting dream. It was really scattered and didn’t make whole lot of sense, but I’m going to write out what I can remember of it.

When it started out, I was on some kind of reality show. We were at this outdoor festival thing in Sacramento. We, meaning the contestants on this reality show. It was a Survivor kind of thing. But for some reason we all had to gather at this big festival before hand so they could “announce” us. Anyway, so I’m wandering around this festival with some chick who was one of the contestants. Oh shit, no, it was a singing competition but it had Survivor like elements to it.

Anyway, we get to this beer tent place where they were doing karaoke. I ended up singing Mr. Crowley by Ozzy.

Something happened where I ended up getting basically booted off the stage and I got really pissed and upset and tried to ride a motorcycle home. I got lost and eventually ended up on George AFB. Which, like I’ve talked about, is all abandoned and fucked up now. And is also where I grew up.

It was the middle of the night and completely terrifyingly scary there. I found a house where someone was living, and my brother Josh was living there for some reason. I guess he and my mom had fixed up one of the houses so that it was livable and my brother and his wife and kids were living in this shitty house. But they had all of this nice stuff. Big ass TV and stuff. So I stayed at his house for the night.

When I woke up in the morning, suddenly the base was all fixed and back to normal and my brother was gone. I wandered around the base with these two guys (who seemed to know what was going on, but wouldn’t tell me) trying to figure out why everything was fixed and why there were suddenly people living all over the place.

I remember that we were walking down one of the main roads on the base, and I ended up playing vollyball with these black chicks in purple sparkley sports uniforms. After playing volleyball with the chicks, I saw one of their posters that showed the ranking of their team versus other women’s volleyball teams on other bases. From that poster I figured out that I’d traveled back in time somehow in the night, and the it was sometime between 1979 and 1982.

From that point, I was right into it, because I went about my dream how I usually go about dreams like this… figuring out how I can use that to my advantage.

Something to know is that this was a particularly vivid dream. Usually when I dream, even when it’s a vivid, realistic seeming dream, I’m generally aware of the fact that I’m dreaming. But in this one, I had no idea. This was my reality.

So what I ended up doing was reinventing movies and comic books. I took information that I had about future movies and comic books and started designing characters and writing movies that exploited that knowledge.

That part of the dream was pretty jumpy and moved very quickly. I know that it took place over the course of months, even years, of me making these things happen. I know that I somehow created the movie Edward Scissorhands in the early 80s rather than the late 80s and made a bunch of money from that. I did something with Superman though I don’t remember what.

Anyway, my point is that I was having fun with it.

Right at the end of my dream, I was looking through my mail. I ordered a lot of issues of specific comic books that I had influenced, and got a lot of mail from people.

But then I saw a letter from my mom. I opened it, really confused, because, you know, my mom shouldn’t know who I was. Because it was 198soemthing and I was a grown man. But yeah, it was a letter from my mom. She was saying that she saw me on TV and that I reminded her of her son, and that it was really weird that we had the same name.

Then she started telling me that her son, Joey (me) had disappeared. They’d taken him to a parade and he just vanished. And she was begging me for any information that I might have about where he went and if he’s alive. She put a bunch of photos of me and the family in the envelope, and a bunch of my drawings and stuff. I would have been about three or four at the time.

What I figured out was that when I went back in time, it was impossible for there to be two of me in one reality. So, because I’d somehow forced my way into this reality, the other me just disappeared. Ceased to exist. So here I am, dicking around with history and trying to mold the universe to my liking, and I accidently made my 3 year old self disappear. 

The really upsetting thing though was reading that letter from my mom, begging for information about me. I woke up almost crying because it freaked me out so bad.

Anyway, that was my dream.

I was in some weird town that I didn’t recognize. I knew that I had just moved there with my mom and my brothers David and Josh. I was the age that I am now (or, at least, an adult) but my brothers were younger. Still teenagers. Usually when I dream about my siblings, they’re the age that I last spent any real time with them. They’re both now well into their twenties. My brother David is almost thirty. But in the dream they were about maybe sixteen and fourteen. For some reason we were meeting up with my dad (who haven’t seen in about eight or nine years) were trying to establish some sort of amicable relationship. One of the deal breakers of the relationship was that my dad wasn’t allowed to hit any of us. I wasn’t worried about myself (since I was an adult and could totally take my dad now) but the main concern was with his treatment of my brothers.

We were meeting up in a grocery store for some reason.

Before going to the grocery store we went to a comic book store. In the dream, the Watchmen movie was just about to come out and I remember buying a Rorschach action figure. I was waiting in line to pay for it and the owner of the store was talking to the guy in front of me. He (the guy in front of me) was a writer and for some reason the owner of the comic book store was considering hiring him to be a “writer for the store” whatever that means. The issue was that the guy wanted a 25% addition to all comic books trade ins. IE, his own comics that he would sell back to the store. The owner didn’t want to give it to him. Apparently the guy trades in a lot of comic books. I kind of piped in and said “Hey… I’m a writer and I don’t give a shit about trading in comics. I’ll write for a regular old pay check” and the owner said “SWEET. You’re hired” and gave me the job. The other guy got all pissy (understandably I think) and left.

After that we (my brothers and I) went to the grocery store to meet up with my dad. I don’t remember what happened at the store, but the next thing I remember is leaving the store with my brothers and my dad. For some reason my dad got pissed at my brother Josh (who, like I said, was much younger in my dream than he actually is) and grabbed him by his collar and started smacking him in the face. I fucking lost my mind and shoved my dad up against the wall and started screaming in his face. I ended up shoving him towards the door, where he started throwing up. The whole time I’m freaking out and yelling at him to get the fuck out and never come back and he left. Josh was understandably shaken up. My brother David was pissed at me for reacting the way I did. The store manager took us into the store office. I called my mom on her cell phone and she came to pick us up.

The next part is a bit of a blur.

There was one part where I was hanging out with these two dudes and talking about this one kind of classic car that the guy had two of and he was telling me all about how everyone in cars that weren’t this classic car were mindless robots trudging blindly through life and people needed to wake up and realize that they are slaves… all because they don’t recognize how awesome his car is. And I remember being like “Whatever loser”.

After that my mom shows up and she’s taking me and Dave and Josh somewhere and we’re trying to decide what movie we want to see. We decided on Hellboy 2, and I felt like some kind of hero since I was willing to go see it again just so Dave and Josh could see it, since they hadn’t already. I don’t know what was up my ass that made me think that was such a noble gesture, but whatever.

Either way I didn’t end up going because I ended up meeting these two chicks and talking with them. I know that pizza was involved, and I know that I wasn’t the one that brought it to them, but I do know that I wasn’t there (initially) socially. The two chicks were both women that I’d seen on the show Entourage. And they were playing themselves. IE, actresses who had been on Entourage and other things. The actresses were Carla Gugino and Malin Akerman. Carla had played Vinnie’s new agent after they fired Ari for losing the Joey Ramone project and Malin played the girl who was friends with Eric’s girlfriend Sloan and wanted to have a threesome with Eric and Sloan and Eric woke up spooning her and got all weird about it. Carla was also in Sin City and got her boobies out. Malin was in Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle and… got he boobies out.

Here are both girls boobies from their respective boobies getting out roles, thanks to the wonders that is Google Image Search.

I decided (in my dream, and possibly in reality as well) that I wanted Carla to be in my vampire movie, and I was very desperately trying to convince her that this was a good idea. This was difficult though because they were constantly making out with each other.

As you may have guessed, my dream was very abruptly switching gears.

I didn’t really MIND that they were making out. I mean, I wanted to talk to Carla about my movie, but at the same time, I was also being very flirty and witty and cute and awesome and it seemed to be working. And of all the things that they could be doing that were distracting them from my very important conversation, that was pretty much best case scenario. Making out with each other beats like, doing math home work or playing Sims 2.

I ended up following them to their house, which was I completely comfortable with.

What happened next was a bit of a blurry period. Nothing sexual happened (outside of their continued make out session) but I’m pretty sure the movie was discussed. But ultimately what ended up happening was that I was 86′d out of the dream entirely. I became an omniscient observer. What also happened is that they turned out to actually be vampires and the movie aspect of it went away.

What I ended up watching was these two girls who were these super hot chick vampires (and were still making out with each other) and they were at their like, vampire house that they own and hide out in and bring people back to to eat.

Then, who shows up, but fucking Richard Gere of all fucking people.

I know WHY it was Richard Gere. It was Richard Gere because earlier that night (last night) at work someone brought up the movie The Flock and asked me if I’d seen it or heard anything about it. The Flock stars Richard Gere and Claire Danes and apparently has at least one or two pretty brutal rape scenes. I’d had a couple people come back and tell me that they found it really disturbing, and one guy couldn’t even watch it and had to turn it off. I told the customer that asked me about it that I’d had a few people tell me that it was pretty good and a few people tell me that it was really disturbing and apparently had a lot of rapin’s in it. I then said that I hadn’t watched it because it looked disturbing, but not because I find rapin’s in movies upsetting, but because I find Richard Gere in movies upsetting. We LOL’d and that was the end of it.

So now, in the middle of the night while I’m sound asleep, who comes strolling up into my dream but Richard fucking Gere.

He rings the doorbell. The chicks start to fucking freak out. One of them goes up and answers the door. Gere pushes the door open and just walks in. He’s wearing this like, London Fog overcoat thing and is mister smiles mister charming.

Apparently, Richard Gere is some kind of big shot fucking vampire dude.

BTW, he was a character, Richard Gere. It wasn’t like “Oh shit, Richard Gere the actor is here and he’s pissed!” it was just that my brain thought it would be funny to cast Richard Gere as this badass vampire character. It actually surprisingly kind of worked.

Anyway, so Gere muscles his way into the house and starts going off about breaking the rules and disrespect and a bunch of vampire bullshit. The girls are all groveling and apologizing and freaking out.

They’re in their underwear btw. Fancy bras and panties. Just so you know.

So they’re on their knees, pulling at his coat begging for forgiveness and it’s all very fucking weird. Gere grabs them both by the hair, drags them to the stairs, and then fucking throws them UP the stairs, one after the other.

Now, if you can picture this… it’s easy to think about someone being tossed down a flight a stairs. We’ve seen that before in a hundred different movies. But no, he threw them UP the stairs. Asses over elbows. It was very strange looking.

They’re at the top of the stairs, up against the facing wall all crumpled and bloody like rag dolls. He then follows them up the stairs, grabs them by the hair again and drags them to this room.

Inside the room, which he called The Experimentation room, is nothing but a bed in the middle of the room. Apparently (and I didn’t understand this at all) there was some issue with the carpet in the room. Something about that they weren’t supposed to touch the carpet and they had.

Anyway, so he goes into the closet and he pulls out this like, concrete anchor thing. Like a big concrete block with a metal handle on it that you might tie cable to or something on a construction site. He’s carrying this thing around like it’s nothing. So he takes this chain and he ties it around the ankle of Carla (the chick from Sin City) and attaches the other end to this concrete anchor. He then picks the anchor up over his head and throws it at the floor. The anchor breaks through the floor and very quickly drags Carla through the hole and out of sight. The anchor then breaks through the first floor and again, Carla is pulled through the floor and into the basement. Gere grabs the blonde (Malin… I don’t actually know her by name, like I do Carla, so in my dream she was just “the blond threesome chick from Entourage”. I had to look her up on imdb) by the hair, again, and drags her down the stairs and down into the basement, where Carla is on the floor and fucked up and twisted and broken bones and fucking blood and blah. Gere then grabs that weight, and throws it UP through the ceiling of the basement, pulling Carla BACK up through the fucking hole (or, through the new hole that he just made) and she’s now up on the first floor again. It was fucking crazy. And brutal.

That’s when I woke up.

And that was pretty much everything I remember about that dream.

What I didn’t realize until I woke up and looked them both up on IMDB was that both Carla Gugino and Malin Akerman are in The Watchmen. I knew Carla was in The Watchmen, but I had no idea that Malin was. I guess I subconciously knew it, and my brain filled in the rest. I mean, I’ve seen the cast list and I’ve seen the castlist of Entourage and Harold and Kumar, but my brain didn’t consciously associate her with Watchmen. It was weird.

Anyway, yeah, that was the dream. I’m sure there’s some sort of psychological connection between having a dream about my father abusing my family and then moving right into a dream where Richard Gere is beating the shit out of two hot chicks. I don’t really care to try and psychoanalyze that.

The end.

So I’ve been on a new (new to me at least) stop smoking drug called Champix. I think it’s called Chantix in the States. Supposedly it can cause suicidal depression, but I’ve yet to feel that affect, but we’ll see. I don’t anticipate it, given that I’m already on a strict regiment of medication to combat naturally occurring suicidal depression.

Anyway, it’s rocking extra hard. I’m down to smoking about two cigarettes a day, and those are just because some part of me insists that I absolutely must smoke even though I don’t particularly feel the urge to. I’m pretty close to being entirely done though, and I’m not even on the third stage of the drug yet. It’s weird because I honestly just forget to smoke. I don’t get the itching urge every hour or so like I used to. I went four hours at work today and just forgot to go out for a smoke.

The way it works is by (in addition to dicking around with the part of your brain that makes you crave shit. I’m pretty sure that’s the technical description) making your cigarettes taste like bleach and making your incredibly nauseous when you smoke. I can usually get about a third of the way down a cigarette before I feel like I’m going to puke my guts out and I throw it away. It’s a kind of aversion therapy and it seems to be working pretty damned effectively.

Unfortunately, one of the side affects (like most stop-smoking medication, from the Patch to Wellbutrin and everything between) is strange sleep patterns. Basically what’s been happening is that I have a hell of a time getting to sleep, and I spend the majority of the night in a weird half away/half asleep daze. It’s like a whole night of that place you (or, at least, I) end up when you wake up in the morning and see that your alarm isn’t going to go off for another half hour, and you lay there and sleep for another half hour and you don’t REALLY sleep but you sort of sleep. You know what I mean? Where you’re sleeping but you’re totally aware of the fact that you’re sleeping and you can roll over and get up whenever you want because you’re not really asleep you’re just laying there. Then your alarm goes off and you realize that you actually WERE sleeping but not that much.

That sort of in between place.

My entire nights are like that.

Last night I laid there for an hour and a half at least trying to imagine the most horrible thing I could imagine. I made up rules, like obvious shit like excluding people I love being killed and stuff like that. I tried to imagine the most horrible thing that could happen just to me and specific to me.

What I came up with was being teleported into the hot water tank when it was almost full and all the way hot. I imagined what it would be like to be cramped up in there, in the dark, in almost boiling hot water. It wouldn’t be hot enough to kill you right off, but it would be hot enough to burn the shit out of you and probably send you into shock. After a while. But the worst thing would be the fact that you’re burning and you can’t move. That would be the worst for me. Having my arms at my side and not being able to raise them or move them more than a couple of inches. I imagined that the water was up to my chin with just my face and top of my head not under water. Enough that I could breath… for a couple minutes at least, until the oxygen ran out and I suffocated.

Then I imagined if it would be worse to get teleported in with it empty and then have it fill up with cold water which then was heated until you burned to death. But then I figured that you’d run out of air before you burned to death. I thought that maybe if you had the time that starting off empty provided that maybe you’d be able to start rocking the heater back and forth enough that you might be able to break it free from the restraints and knock it over. Probably not but who knows? But then what? You’d break the pipe that feeds the water in. That’d give you air and drain the water out, provided that you were able to roll it along until the opening was towards the bottom. But then what? You’re stuck in a metal tube. There’d be no way out. Even if you got all of the water out you’d still die trapped in a metal tube, which is one of the more awful things I can imagine, being claustrophobic.

What would be even more likely, I imagine, is that you’d knock the water heater over, break the pipe, but be leaning at an angle off of the foundation, the bottom of the heater still connected to the foundation by wires, head first against the floor. Then the water would all run up to your head and you’d drown, because you wouldn’t have room to turn yourself around.

Anyway I can look at it, getting teleported into the hot water heater would be bad fucking news.

That train of thought kept me occupied for at least an hour and a half last night, between 12 and 1:30 or so.

It’s probably not the most horrible thing I could come up with. Not even close if I really set my mind to picking out more and more horrible things. It’s not hard to keep escalating a situation until it becomes the ultimate worst thing. The water heater thing was just the first horrible thing that popped into my head, and it was a pretty damned scary thing to think about.

I also got fixated on my desire to do a movie version of Lord of the Flies where it’s filmed like a reality game show, like Survivor. I kept coming back to the idea of being a kid, being in the water, seeing an adult drowning and being too scared to try and save them. Either because you’re just terrified or because you realize that with the way they’re thrashing about, probably hurt with broken legs or something, that they’d probably drag you both underwater. I kept wondering what they would do to a little kid of nine or so. Probably fuck em up pretty bad. Then I started trying to figure out which kid I would put through that. I think I decided that it would be Roger, the cruelest of the boys. Mostly because this would happen at the start of the book, and since Roger is the one who most easily slips into savagery, I would like to give him at least a little bit of a source beyond just the idea that people are generally capable evil. Even though that theme would certainly be retained in other aspects of the story, I’d want to give Roger a little mental trauma. Not to mention having to actively choose to allow another human (an adult no less) to drown.

It’s in this weird half away half asleep place where I think about all of this stuff. It goes on for hours and hours as I endlessly flop from my back to my side to my stomach to my other side, switching between my two pillows as one heats up and one cools off.

When I do sleep, which comes in sporadic bursts, I dream, and I dream intensely. That’s not to say that the dreams are intense ones, but intensely vivid.

I started writing this post not to tell you about boiling in hot water heaters or Lord of the Flies movies that no one besides me really wants to see. I started writing this to tell you about two weird dreams I had.

I’ll start by telling you a couple of things about my dreams in general. The first is that they usually feature some celebrity of some sort. Even dreams that center around people I actually know will have some famous person in there somewhere. Like this dream I had last year that was about my two brothers and Billy Gibbons from ZZ Top. For instance, the other night I dreamed that I was at a shopping mall with my family and Pierce Brosnan. Most of the dream was about me picking out books that I used to own but no longer know where they are, and would like to own again, at a used book store and then getting to the counter only to realize that, oh shit, Pierce Brosnan has my wallet and then I spent the rest of the dream trying to find him so I could pay for my books, going so far as asking the customer service desk to page "Pierce Brosnan, Joe needs to you bring his wallet to the customer service desk".

The other thing is that I very rarely have sex dreams. Very very rarely. I just never have. I’ve never had a wet dream. I don’t know if it’s because of the exorbitant amount of masturbating I’ve done in my life or if it’s just my ADHD and I can’t focus on one thing long enough to get anywhere with any of the hot ladies that pop up in my dreams. On the rare occasion that I have had sex in my dreams, it’s almost always been with someone that I was previously completely not attracted to. Like, for years I found Hillary Swank totally unattractive until one night in my dreams I was sitting on a bench and she sat on my lap, facing me, took her shirt off and shook her titties in my face. That’s all it took. I woke up the next morning with a boner and the Swank Spank Bank officially opened for business.

Often, the end result isn’t nearly as joyous and mentally healthy as a new found love for a popular actress. Sometimes the result is disturbing and unmentionable. Like waking up with a boner because you dreamed you were getting freaky with Wynonna. Judd that is. And her Elvis sweater wearing dogs were watching you do it.

That’s bad news bears, I tell you what.

Alright, so let me get down to the dreams themselves. I doubt I’ll get incredibly graphic, but if you’re reading this Mom, you may want to cruise on down a little further on your friends page, as this is probably TMI.

Both dreams involved shame to various degrees. Not shame in a sexual way, like, that sex is shameful. Most self conscious embarrassment.

The first dream involved Angela Kinsey. If you’re familiar with the American version of The Office, you’d know her as Angela (go figure) the uptight, cat loving Christian chick who was having a secret affair with Dwight.

Now, the fact that I had a sexual dream about a character from The Office isn’t entirely surprising. I bought Sandra the Season 3 set and have been renting the Season 2 disks. We’ve been watching them quite a bit lately. And I’m highly attracted to Jenna Fischer (though not so much on the show itself, strangely enough) and I think that the chick that plays Jan is pretty hot. And Angela is my favorite character on the show (probably followed closely by Creed and Darryl from the warehouse).

But I’ve never been particularly attracted to Angela Kinsey. I wasn’t NOT attracted to her, but for the most part, I think of her as her character on the show, who I’ve never found attractive. I’ve seen her outside of the show, and she seems to be almost the opposite of her character. Very bubbly and cute and funny and all of the things that Angela on the show isn’t. But still, I never really thought of her in that context.

And even weirder, in the dream I didn’t either.

In my dream I was living at home again. I had a room in my mom’s house. Though it was a different house than my mom lives in now. It was a house I didn’t recognize.

My room was about in the state of disarray that it was when I last had a room of my own, which is to say that it looked like the sorting room at a Goodwill Store. I’ve come a long way over the last ten years or so in regards to household tidiness.

At this point, I should say that it’s now been three or four days since I started writing this post. My memory of these dreams have faded quite a bit, unfortunately.

So for some reason I was friends with Angela from the office. She was some sort of of mixture of her character on the show and my impression of her in real life. She came across as quiet and reserved but not uptight and mean. We were friends, but only barely. We were more acquaintances.

For some reason (there WAS a reason, I just can’t remember it) we’d decided that we were going to become noncommitted sexual partners. I knew that we’d simply just decided to have sex and there was nothing organic or natural about it. It was very clinical.

The plan was that she was going to come to my place (which was my room in my mom’s house) and we were going to have sex. So I went home before hand to try and clean my room. But when I got into my room she was already in there, among the clutter. I knew she hadn’t been in my room before and I was highly embarrassed of how disheveled it was. She was laying on my bed, flat as a board, waiting for me in her underwear. Just a black bra and panties.

So I went over and sat down next to her and she was like "Okay, I guess we should do this" and I was like "okay" and we kissed, but it was like kissing a person who was asleep. It just felt awkward and kind of wrong and completely without passion or sexuality. We did that for a couple of minutes.

She took her bra off and I was like "Uh. Okay, sure" and I started to kind of half assed play with one of her boobs, which were small and hard to do anything with. That didn’t last long and there was a feeling of obligation that made it even more weird and uncomfortable.

The whole experience was awkward and embarrassing and didn’t leave me feeling satisfied or aroused. It only left me feeling bad that she saw my room in that state.

When we were finished we were just laying there, side by side, looking at the ceiling. After a little while she got up and got dressed. She said that we should do it again sometime and I was like "Okay, sure" and that was it. The end.

It was weird.

The other dream was a little more involved.

In this dream I was working at a high end salon in Hollywood. A lot of celebrities got their hair and nails done there. It was a unisex place and I worked at the front counter. I remember that when I got the job, I implied (though never actually said) that I was gay. The believed I was and I did nothing to dissuade them.

Apparently my dreams occasionally plagiarize episodes of King of the Hill.

Mila Kunis from That 70s Show also worked at the Salon.

We both worked at the counter, taking reservations and payments.

The owner was a slightly older woman who looked somewhat like Juliet from Lost. It wasn’t her, but she’s the first person who comes to mind when I try and recall what she looked like. Slightly older than me, authorative and blonde.

Anyway, so I’m up at the counter and it’s pretty busy. Mila gets a call and takes a reservation then tells me that the cast of the show Entourage is coming in for haircuts and she’s super excited because she has this big crush on the guy who plays Turtle.

So she disappears into the back room for like, twenty minutes. We’re getting busy and I’m starting to get pissed off because I need her help. She buzzes up to the front phone and I answer. She tells me that when the Entourage guys get there, to send Turtle to the back because she’s waiting for him there. And I’m like "What the fuck?! Get up here and help me!" and she’s like "I’m on my bath break" and I’m like "WHAT?!" so I go and get our boss and I’m like "Could you get Mila to come up here and do her job because we’re getting swamped" and she’s like "Oh, Mila’s on her bath hour" and I’m like "WHAT?!" and she’s like "yeah, you can take an hour out of every shift for a bath" and I’m like "WHAT?!" and she’s like "yep" and I’m like "Fine then. I’m taking my Bath Break right now then" and she’s like "okay" and I go to the back room. There’s this little tiny room back there with two bath tubs, side by side. Mila’s in the one on the left, sure enough, taking a bath. She’s like "Oh hi" and my first reaction is to by like "OMG AWESOME SHE’S NAKED!" but then I remembered that these people think I’m gay and so I try and be as nonchalant about it as I can be. I’m like "Oh, hi. You’re naked. Whatever! I don’t care because I’m gay!" and I start the other bath.

Then the owner chick comes back and she says that it’s her Bath Break as well. She strips and gets into the tub with Mila, sitting between her legs, facing me.

Then she starts fingering Mila under the water and she’s watching me the whole time. Mila almost instantly (suspiciously quickly I’d say) starts in with the moaning and grinding and gasping and panting like girls are inclined to do when getting fingered. But the owner chick is watching me, presumably gauging my reaction to this.

I try and act nonchalant about it. I take off my clothes and get ready to get into my own bath.

My first reaction is to be self-conscious about my fat gut. But I keep trying to remind myself that they think I’m gay and because there’s theoretically no potential for sexual congress, then they really shouldn’t care what my stomach looks like. So I just go for it and strip. But I’m completely memorized by what’s happening between the two women. I TRY to appear uninterested but I can’t look away. I’m just standing there, naked, next to the tub, watching Mila Kunis getting fingerbanged by this chick.

The owner chick is still watching me and I can’t look away. Then she leans forward and starts blowing me, still looking up, apparently still gauging my reaction.

For some reason, I’m still desperately trying not to become visibly aroused. I’m sitting there with my dick in this woman’s mouth and trying to keep from getting a hard on.

Then I notice that Mila has stopped moaning and groaning and is watching me too. And I’m friggin terrified I’m going to be found out and lose my job.

And that was about it. I don’t remember how it turned out, or if anything more even happened at all. I do remember seeing Adrian Grenier there at some point.

So yeah, that about sums up how my sex dreams go. Almost always with a huge helping of awkward embarrassment and almost never with any real sexual satisfaction.

Last night (or, early this morning, I’m not sure) I scared the shit out of Sandra because I started screaming in my sleep. Not moaning or groaning or talking. Screaming. In terror.

I was screaming because, in my dream, I was hiding in a house. I don’t remember why I was in the house, but I remember for sure that I was hiding and that someone was getting out of their car to come in to find me. I remember seeing him through a window, through a small crack under the blinds.

He came in through the front door, not sure where I was. The door opened up into a kitchen. I was in the kitchen, crouched down behind the counter. He couldn’t see me hiding there, but he would as soon as he walked past the counter. I was fucked. He was walking my way. He had a baseball bat and a flashlight.

My only chance was, because I was couched down on the ground, to kick at his knees as he walked past, hoping he didn’t see me first.

I screamed, in my dream, as I kicked. I woke up then because… well, because I woke myself up with my screaming. And also because Sandra was freaking out going "JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!"

It took me a minute to settle down.

Who was I hiding from in my dream?

Oliver Platt.

I shit you not.

I don’t make the dreams, I just report em.

So I dreamed I was staying at Billy Gibbons’ house. I was staying there because his daughter was dating my brother David. David was, in my dream, a teenager, and went to highschool with Billy Gibbobs’ daughter.

In case you don’t know, Billy Gibbons is the legendary guitar player/singer for ZZ Top and was Jimi Hendrix’s favorite guitar player. He also opened for The Doors in 1967 at a few shows in Texas.

Anyway, so yeah, my teenage brother David is dating his daughter. They have a band. Billy’s daughter played bass. My brother played guitar and sang. They were entering the highschool talent show. Billy wanted to record the show using soundboards and everything, isolating each individual instruments and vocals, but he wanted me to mix it in his studio. Because, you know, I’m the guy who’s qualified to do that rather than the legendary guitar player. They were singing Bat Out of Hell by Meatloaf.

We had to get up super early to drive them to the talent show and get all of the equipment set up. I was sleeping on the couch.

It should be noted that in reality, I actually DID have to get up early this morning to drive Sandra to work and I was sleeping on the couch.

So I get shaken awake by an old man that I didn’t know but who looked like Ernest Borgnine. He’s shaking me awake going “Get up Joe, it’s time to go!” and I’m all disoriented and don’t know what’s going on. It’s like, two hours before I have to get up, but I’m so out of it that I didn’t question it. So he says to me “Give me the keys to your car and I’ll get it started and warming up” so I give him the keys and then he punches me in the face and runs off laughing with my keys.

So then I run outside and he’s taken my car (the Acura) and disappeared with it. Then Billy Gibbons gets up and he’s like “wtf, where is the car?! We have to get to the talent show!” and we end up calling the police and it turns out that he just drove it down the street and left it parked in a parking lot.

I know that there was SOMETHING about some Asian dudes at a store using top secrete satellite technology to find my car, but that it didn’t work.

Then some other shit happened that I don’t remember.

Eventually it got to another point in the dream (or another dream entirely, I’m not sure) where it was my mom’s birthday and I was compiling this really weird bunch of presents for her.

One of the gifts was a personalized birthday card drawn by Berkeley Breathed.

In case you don’t know, Berk Breathed created one of the greatest comic strips in history, Bloom County.

So yeah, Berkeley Breathed was going to draw a birthday card for my mom with Milo and Opus and Steve Dallas and Cutter John and all those characters from Bloom County on it on a big sheet of posterboard… but… he couldn’t remember how to draw them, so he sent me out to go buy some Bloom County collections for him to copy from. This worked out alright because I had to pick up some other presents

One of the presents was some kind of special ice-cream and another present was a can of Genesis-O’s.

Genesis-O’s.

You know how they sometimes have fun shaped Spaghetti-O’s for kids? Like, Scooby-Doo-O’s and Bob the Builder-O’s and shit? Well, this was a can of Genesis-O’s which had little pastas in the shape of like, Phil Collins and shit.

This is something I thought would be a good present for my mom.

I go downtown with my brother Josh, who was also a teenager in my dream.

Whenever my brothers are in my dreams (I dream about my family a lot) they’re always teenagers. I never really thought about it until today though. Why are they always teenagers? I just realized when I was out smoking that it’s because the last time I spent more than a couple hours with either of them they WERE teenagers. They’re both in their mid-twenties now.

So yeah, Josh and I were in the downtown district of some anonymous town. The “downtown” looked like some sort of cross between an old west town and like, New Orleans Square in Disneyland.

We’re looking for bookstores and ice-cream shops. Bookstores to find a Bloom County book and ice-cream parlors to find this specific type of ice cream for my mom. We went to like, five different ice-cream shops, but at every one, we stopped and got ice cream, so it was taking a long time. I remember sitting at these tables outside of one of them with Josh, eating ice-cream in the sun and smoking. We were talking, both of us getting kind of frustrated that we couldn’t find this type of ice-cream and that none of the used book stores we went to had Bloom County books.

This homeless dude walks past and tells us (out of no where I might add) that this thrift store down by the docks had a bunch of Bloom County books. We thanked him and started walking down to the docks.

Now, at some point between this dream and the dream about Ernest Borgnine stealing my car, I saw on the news that the Jewish community in this anonymous town were having a huge protest with thousands of people at the docks.

So Josh and I go down to the docks and sure enough, there are thousands of Jews with signs and chanting chants and all bundled up because it was cold. Josh and I start trying to walk down this peer that led to the thrift store. The protesting Jews were yelling at us and calling us scabs because apparently they were protesting the thrift store.

Josh and I are walking down this like, mile long peer… and that’s when Sandra woke me up to drive her to work.

Current music: ZZ Top – Rough boy

So I had this dream today during my nap before work.

Basically all I remember is that I was living on a space station and had been there for like, five years and was all alone. The only other person on the station was this chick who worked at this like, little storage place. I had to go up to her counter and ask her if I wanted anything. It was kind of funny because I was going crazy on this station all by myself. I had this big beard and was really skinny and had long hair like Howard Hughes, and it was all because I was alone in space. I had the “Space Madness” like Ren from Ren and Stimpy. What was funny was that this chick was up there too, but I apparently didn’t like her very much because when I went up to the counter I was thinking to myself “oh man, don’t talk to me, just gimme my shit and let me go” like she was just some random chick at a store that I didn’t like. It’s like “I’M SO ALONE IN SPACE!!! Oh, except for that one chick… but we don’t like her” and she’s all friendly with me and everything and wants to talk, but I totally blow her off and get my shit and leave real quick before she can get me into a conversation.

Anyway, so after I get my supplies for the day I go into the bathroom, which was like, a public bathroom with a bunch of stalls, which was kind of silly considering that it was just me and this other chick. So I’m standing in front of the mirror and I start wishing that I could just get off this god forsaken space station, and the devil shows up. The devil, in this case, was this kind of plain looking teenage girl. She kind of looked like Jodi Foster in Freaky Friday, but not so dykey.

So The Devil tells me that she’ll get me off the space station, but I have to do something for her. She doesn’t want my soul, she wants me to put my head in two of the three toilets and give myself a swirley, and she wants four of my teeth.

I agree to this, because the toilets are perfectly clean and I could handle knocking out four of my teeth if it meant I could get off the station.

Here’s the interesting part:

This dream was referencing a reoccurring dream that I have.

I have a horrible nightmare at least a couple times a month where my teeth are falling out for no reason. I’m usually in front of a bathroom mirror freaking out because my teeth are either breaking apart in my mouth or falling out.

Now, in the dream I had last night, I thought I was really getting one over on The Devil, because I knew that in my dreams, my teeth come out really easily, so I figure that it’s gonna be no big deal to pull out four of my teeth.

So I go into the bathroom stall to give myself the swirley, and then I hear The Devil start to laugh maniacally as the toilet suddenly backs up and fills with dookie. So I’m all like “DAMNIT!” but I’m still willing to dunk my head in a shitty toilet if it gets me back to earth.

But I figure that I better do my teeth first, because I don’t want to stand in front of a mirror with my mouth hanging open for ten minutes while I pry out my teeth when I’ve got shit dripping down my face.

So I go up to the mirror and open my mouth and sure enough, it only takes a little bit of pushing and prying and pulling to work four of my molars out. My mouth is all bleeding and I can’t talk right because it’s still kind of fucked up to lose four teeth at once without any kind of like, help from a dentist. But I can handle it, because of my other dreams.

So then I go into the stall to dunk my head in the shitty toilet, and I woke up.

That was it.

It was kind of cool to actually have a dream where it was a GOOD thing that my teeth were loose in my head and ready to fall out.