Wow, I just slept for 12 hours and had some of the most fucked up dreams. I expereienced a lot of sex and death last night with famous people. It really is kind of nice remembering my dreams since it's something that happens so rarely. Ok, here's what I remember.
Dream Sequence One:
I'm in a church and there are a lot of people gathered for a funeral. Apparently, the wife of Michael J Fox has died (I for the life of me can't remember her name, now, but I used to think she was hot when she played his girflriend on Family Ties). I guess I know him because I am there to offer my condolences. I'm absurdly under-dressed in only boxer shorts and a T-shirt. They are really flimsy boxer shorts, too, the kind where the livestock likes to poke it's head out of the barn door, if ya get my drift. Anyway, he's standing beside a support column, kind of leaning against it. I approach him from behind on his right side and put my arm around his shoulder in a friendly gesture to offer comfort. He has his right hand to his mouth nibbling on a thumbnail nervouly. Since I've kind of surprised him creeping up on him from behind, the right hand swngs down unexpectedly and he grabs my package accidentally. The next few minutes are spent awkwardly speaking to each other trying to ignore the fact that he just manhandled my Marty McFly.
So the service starts and apparently this house of worship is the childhood church of the former Mrs. Fox and as a sweet gesture in her memory, Michael has had the entire floor of the chapel pinted with lyrics to an insprirational song that was a favorite of hers. On his request, the people who have gathered here to honor her memory are to start at one end of the chapel and walk it's length, backwards, singing this song. If this isn't hokey enough, there are two problems: 1) The words are written in a very light, lavender paint and covered with a gloss finish. The lighting is not good due to the somber tone of the occasion so it makes it very difficult to read, so I begin shining a flashlight, which doesn't help much because it glares on the gloss, and 2) I don't recall what the song actually was, but apparently it lent itself to being sung rather raucously, like a drinking song and things got out of hand. That's all I remember about getting felt up by Michael J Fox at his wife's funeral.
Dream Sequence Two:
I had very very hot sex with my friend Stephanie.
Dream Sequence Three:
It's my birthday! And plans are being made for it. For some reaosn I have this swimsuit-model style girlie calendar hanging in my bedroom that I make notes on various days of the month of things to do so I won't forget them. On the day for my birthday, I have written "Go out with Liz Jackson". I don't know that Liz Jackson is a real person or not. I do know that this is only a code for what is really going to transpire, an evil plot. I am living at home, so I must be young: teenager-ish to young adult. My best friend is Josh Hartnett. And not, Pearl Harbor pussy-Josh, but more like, cool, ink-pen drug-pusher The Faculty, Josh. Birthday festivites go on all day long, culminating in a big, clunky scrapbook my dad makes with pictures and things written in it as a keepsake for me to remember the day. He, in an attempt to be all inclusive, adds to it the cryptic "Go out with Liz Jackson' from my calendar, since he assumes I am have some big date planned for my birthday in the evening. Everything winds down and my parents apparently have some sort of plans for the night, so they leave. Now Josh and I have the house to ourselves. In my bedroom, there is a trapdoor which leads into the crawlspace under the house and out a small door to the yard. For some reason we find this a much more desirable point of entry/exit for the house than conventioanl doors and use this throughout the dream. Anyway, we have constructed a pentagram made from tree limbs and have crucified 5 people on it, with their feet nailed to the points and their heads/arms oriented toward the center. I think they're already dead as I recall, but we put this pentagram in my neighbor's backyard and set it on fire. There is some reason for doing this to my neighbor to make some sort of "statement" but I don't recall what it is. Josh and I are cleaning up by the trapdoor in the yard, transporting things back under the house and into my room when a lady walks into the yard from the street, apparently to see what's burning. She's plump, but not fat and wearing a godawful polyster dress with flowered print. Panicking, Josh hacks her up pretty good with a machete (don't ask me why Josh has a machete, I don't know!) One of her arms goes rolling through the yard: it kind of looks like a plump, polyester ham, only it's twitching and a lot more bloody. Josh goes to retrieve it, but notices that my neighbor on the other side (not the one with the burnign pentagram) sees him through the window. I point this out to Josh but he claims she didn't see anything incriminating, it's dark. She probably thinks we are just eating watermelon or have been painting is his deduction, making reference to the red stains on our clothing. We get into an argument of how many times criminals are caught because some nosey busy-body connects the dots after the fact. So, I win the argument and she must die, too. And so ends my killing spree dream with Josh Hartnett.