The Nirvana Chronicles – Day Two

Martinis at the beach at sunset.

A chiseled Hawaiian dressed only in a sarong and tribal tattoos lights torches along the sand.

Another martini [or two] under the stars.

We stagger back to our room and fall into bed.

I  dreamed about a little girl who wanted to sing me a song she’d written. The lyrics made me cry and I wondered how on earth such a young girl could be so soulful. I vowed to remember the words when I woke up.

But I can’t.

A woman told me how easily I tan.

I don’t… but I believed her anyway.

The rest of the dream was fractured and strange yet oddly beautiful.  There was something about a wedding. The bride was spectacular and her entourage was dressed in full Victorian garb and they were running in super slow-motion through a lush grove of trees.

I told them they shouldn’t be in such a hurry.


Wake Up And Go To Sleep!

I’m concerned about my state of mind.

And I have last night’s dreams to prove it.

I don’t think even The Dream Dictionary has a description for this shit.

Normally, my dreams are just plain weird.  I’m often flying around like a superhero or trying to put my fractured teeth back in my mouth or traipsing naked through Rite-Aid or some such nonsense. 

But things took a turn last night.

I’ll start with the first ghastly vision.  It jolted me awake where I found myself in a tangled, sweaty mess of sheets with my heart pounding out of my chest.

Here goes:

I’m at my parent’s house.  

I went out back to lounge in the sun and saw the next door neighbor; a large menacing dude that scared me back into the house. When I looked out the window at said menacing dude, he was busting up my lounge chair with a ridiculously long shotgun.  When I tried to call 911, he answered.  Of course!!  Who else would be at the other end of a 911 call in the middle of a nightmare, right?  (At least I had clothes on and my teeth were still securely attached to my gums).

And then he shows up in the house with another menacing duded:  his twin brother.  Yes, that’s right, a twin. 

Identical, not fraternal.  Oh, joy!  Double happiness!

And I was kidnapped at gunpoint by the genetic clones.   They marched me down the street which was the same street my parents still live on and the same street where I rode my groovy metallic green stingray bike every day of my young life…without a helmet!!

Shit, you’d think it would have been some deserted stretch of desolate road rather than a place where I had such fond memories. I will never feel safe on that street again, I can tell you that!!

My husband had to negotiate my release. 

It appears he was successful because I’m here to write about it.

And then I fell asleep again where things went back to a relative norm:

After washing a load of goose poo off of my 1950s vintage sedan, I attended a Keith Richards concert with some people I didn’t know at a small tavern located adjacent to an airport.  After the concert, my friends left in search of Keith and his entourage and my gynecologist flew me home in her miniscule 2-seat airplane that landed like a helicopter but looked like a Smart Car with wings.  After we landed, I told her I had no car so she lent me her MG Midget.  I picked up my husband somewhere in the Simi Valley and we started to drive home with the Midget never going overa bout 40 which irritated the living hell out of husband who – even in my dreams – has ADD.  We didn’t get very very far when a giant meteor hit the earth creating an enormous cloud of toxic dust.  We ditched the Midget and made a run for it.  But not before I pulled safely out of traffic which was absurd since a cloud of toxic dust was descending upon us. But…..dreams always seem to afford the dreamer lots of time to dawdle in the face of impending doom. 

Funny thing, though.  While we were running for  our lives, my husband decided to hide from me as a joke.  That’s a fine how-d0-you-do after he went to s0 much trouble negotiating  my release.

Whew!  I’m glad I worked through that. 

Now I can stop worrying.

The Dream Gods Must Be Crazy

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking:  “Holy shit!  Another post about this woman’s f-ed up dreams!”

But this one takes the cake.

Cast of characters: 

Jerry Paris who played Jerry the Dentist on the old Dick Van Dyke Show.

Ed Asner (yeah, Lou Grant but it’s not as crazy as Jerry from The Dick Van Dyke Show, right?)

My dog Kobe who inexplicably became BFFs with the neighborhood cat.  I can’t tell you how out of character this would be if it were real.

And last but not least, Zsa Zsa Gabor.   This is not a joke.  (Uh…is she still alive?)

Zsa Zsa was telling me what a great writer I was and how much money I was going to make.  I swear she said something about a million dollars for something I’d written.  I can’t place what it was but, damn, it must have been good.   I mean, if Zsa Zsa said it, it must have been good, right?  RIGHT? 

I remember in my dream thinking I better wake up and write this down.  Then I dreamed that I woke up and wrote it down, which I didn’t.  I had to wait until I actually woke up to piece it together which is no easy task since dream memory takes on a Swiss cheese quality once you get too far from it. 

Since the dream took place on a movie set, I suppose this motley crew kind of made sense but I still find it a bit disturbing.  I’ve struggled with it this morning.   I need to figure it out on my own since I’m certain this is waaaaay outside the expertise of the dream dictionary.

Ed Asner…okay…as long as it wasn’t weird.  Jerry Paris….right, he’s the director.  I can accept that.

Why Zsa Zsa?  Why her? 

Well, here’s my answer to that:  Last night I was watching a trailer for the new Celebrity Apprentice and Joan Rivers is one of them.  Holy cow, does she look awful.  Maybe I replaced Joan with Zsa Zsa in my dream?  If I remember correctly, Zsa Zsa didn’t look as awful as Joan. 

The mind has a way of protecting us in an odd way, doesn’t it?

Liza With Some ZZZZs

I have always been a vivid dreamer. 

I can even remember certain dreams I had when I was a kid.  Oh….and I was a sleepwalker.  I’d end up in really crazy places around the house and often went outside.  I remember one particular night in the dead of winter when my really helpful older sister opened the door for me so I wouldn’t accidentally bump my head on it.  Wasn’t that sweet?   Thankfully, my dad caught me before I started across the frozen tundra that was our back yard which was a good thing since I wasn’t wearing my jammies with the feet in them.  I think I was dreaming about getting to school on time.

As an adult, a recurring subject in my dreamworld has to do with plane….disasters.  I don’t want to actually type the word c-r-a-s-h even though that’s what they are.  Funny thing is, they always end up with everyone safe and sound even though we always seem to shave off an entire layer of pristine forest or tear up a stretch of urban freeway both scenarios of which would normally end up as a true disaster.  To spice things up, I am often outside the plane clinging to some little flap or piece of metal on the wing.  OoooooWeeeee!  I’m here to tell ‘ya, that’s one wild ride. 

But last night was different.

It wasn’t a plane c-r-a-s-h.  It was Liza Minnelli.

And yes, she was in her full-on Cabaret garb strutting around my dream like a demented flapper trying to re-capture some glorified past.  I think I tried to be a good audience but it was interrupted by an interloping Robert Redford who put a stop to her vaudevillian nonsense in a very director-like this-just-ain’t-workin’ sorta of way.  

I felt sorry for her. 

I’m just happy Joel Grey didn’t show up in that creepy lipstick dropping coins down his pants. 

I feel safer in “aviation” dreamland.