Friday, January 21, 2011

Freaky Friday

I've been having some strange dreams lately. For instance, Tuesday night I dreamed that 6 guys were playing touch football in my kitchen while I was trying to clean. Camera crews were everywhere...because it was the Superbowl.

Wednesday night I dreamed that as I was parking, my car wouldn't come to a complete stop. I was going less than a mile an hour and it bumped into the car across from my parking spot. I finally got my car to stop, but not before the other car was completely demolished. A girl ran out screaming at me and I told her I'd pay for it and she said, "damn right you will...that's a Land Rover." To which I said, "Umm...I drive a Land Rover, too. Don't be a snob." Then, my roommate Michael's car also got demolished. So he pulled a gun out of his pocket and shot another car...with a missile.


But Friday takes the cake. Last Friday, I had the strangest dream sequence I have ever experienced. I won't even try to interpret what it means, but by all means...if you know, please tell me.

I'm at my mother's house. I'm really, really thirsty. I grab the orange juice out of the fridge. I pour a big glass and down it. Still thirsty. I pour another glass and hear a "plop". I immediately throw my glass of orange juice onto the carpet. There's a rat. There was a rat in my orange juice. The kicker? It's alive. It starts chasing me and biting my arms and legs. I finally get away, get in my car and drive to Brad's. I'm panting. I'm crying. I'm trying to tell him about my awful experience. I notice there's a bloody rock on the porch. I ask Brad what happened. He says he needs my help. Then I notice Lindsay Lohan's body. Yep, he killed her. Brad killed Lindsay Lohan. As cars are driving by, he's trying to cover up the fact that we are stuffing her body into a box. I stop him and say "Brad. You just murdered someone. This is not a joke." To which he looks deeply in my eyes and sternly says, "No, we murdered someone." I freak out and leave. Next thing I know, I'm at a football game. But as a spectator, I'm not in the stands...I'm standing in the endzone. The only player I recognize is Rob Gronkowski. He keeps looking at the girl standing next to me. Then I notice she's wearing a homemade "I <3 Rob Gronkowski" shirt. She is also yelling things like, "Way to go Rob!" and "Let's go Gronkowski!" I ask her, "Is Rob your boyfriend?" She says, "No, but I follow him around a lot." I realize she's a stalker. Then, some Flava Flav looking rapper guy comes up and starts hitting on me. I say, "I know you're a famous rapper and all, but can this wait? I'm trying to watch the game." But it's not a game. These players, in their uniforms and helmets, are doing a dance routine. The rapper won't leave me alone so I go to the back of the endzone where there are chairs set up. I notice Danny DeVito is sitting in one. He's also passing out goody bags to everyone who comes up to talk to him. I go up to him and tell him that I love It's Always Sunny. He thanks me and hands me a goody bag. I open it. It is full of condoms and packets of ketchup. Then I wake up.


So yeah. That's what happens in my dreams.

3 comments:

  1. If Lindsay Lohan mysteriously turns up dead and I'm a suspect because of your blog post I will make sure to at least ruin your credit score by stealing your identity.

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  2. Yikes. That does not sound restful at all!

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  3. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha I can't stop laughing. This just made my day. Your dreams are crazy! Mine are too!

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