Paranoia, Paranoia, Everybody's Coming to Get Me...
Reasons Not to Go as Brandon's Date to a Wedding
Sweet Dreams Are Made of These
The rambling old mansion had been converted into an apartment, but was still in a state of dilapidation. The white paint on the floor, walls, and ceiling was chipping and the floor boards creaked threateningly with each step. Still, it carried a sense of grandeur and mystery. My Polish relatives owned the building and occupied the third floor (what my Polish relatives were doing in a run-down mansion in Richmond I have yet to figure out). This is where the party was that evening.
I wandered around, greeting folks I haven't seen in years, sipping on my Coca-Cola. Suddenly, out of the swirl of familiar faces (familiar, that is, only in my dream) appeared a man. He was dressed from head to toe in Nazi garb, wearing an eye patch. Tom Cruise, in complete Valkyrie attire, was standing in my relatives' living room, enjoying the party, sipping a glass of wine as his sword swung casually at his side. My jaw dropped in astonishment. "What is Tom Cruise doing here?" I demanded. "Oh, you didn't know?" my sister asked, sounding smug for being in the know. "He's a good friend of the family."
I was lost in a daze when another face popped out at me. Brad Pitt, donning a fedora, a graying goatee, and a sports coat, throwing his head back and laughing jovially at something embarrassing my uncle had just said. "Oh. My. God. What is Brad Pitt doing here?" I gasped. "Yea, he's a friend of the family, too," Mindy informed me with a raised eyebrow, indicating we had been kept out of the loop for much too long.
For some reason, Brad Pitt's presence just blew Tom Cruise out of the water. I'm not even sure why, because I don't think that would be the case in reality. Midway through the party, I could have cared less about Tom (I guess Nazi regalia doesn't really do it for me). All I wanted to do was go to my computer and post a status update on Facebook, to let the world know I was hanging out with Brad Pitt. But what to write? How to say it? I wanted it to be shocking, to make jaws drop as they read their news feed.
As I was lingering by his side, profusely giggling at whatever was being said, trying to catch his attention and at the same time keep an eye on Tom Cruise across the room, inspiration struck. I excused myself to find a computer and post the most perfect status update in the history of Facebook. "Oh, nothing, just hanging out with a bunch of celebrities at my uncle's Halloween party. Excuse me while I go stare at Brad Pitt some more."
It's not the fact that I've had multiple dreams of Brad Pitt that disturbs me. It's the fact that I'm now dreaming in status updates. What is the world coming to?
Sweet Dreams Continued...
It was a dark, gloomy day, with a thick blanket of swirling clouds hovering over the city. Little droplets of rain stained the pavement as I hurried into the apartment I shared with Katie. I haven't lived with the girl for over a year, but in my dreams she's usually still my roommate. But our apartment was newer and cleaner than the ones we've shared in the past. It was open and airy, filled with the gloomy light from outside. Erin J_______ and I had a wedding reception to go to, and we were in a hurry. Katie was also headed somewhere fancy, clad in the same purple, blue, and green striped wrap dress I saw in Jill's closet last weekend (in real life, getting ready for a real wedding reception). Erin and I said goodbye and hurried out the door.
Thirty minutes later I was rushing back to the apartment. I had forgotten something important, like a handbag or a cellphone. I dashed up the brick steps, stumbling in my heels, and swung open the front door. Then I screamed and screamed and screamed... and kept screaming, hearing the strain on my vocal chords even in my dream. Katie was sprawled out along our hallway steps, covered in blood. Her eyes were open and staring blankly at the ceiling. The beautiful wrap dress was in tatters and her high heels were stained red. Her hair was sticky with blood and I could see the stab wounds on her legs...
Paramedics had suddenly filled the hallway and were buzzing around like bees. I was in a daze, staring around wildly, looking at my hands, sticky with blood. "I can't believe it. I can't believe she's dead. I was talking to her half an hour ago," I repeated it over and over like a mantra. Erin stood beside me in her pink dress, consoling me. "I know, I can't believe it either. But we have to go to the wedding reception." "I should be dead, too," I said over and over again. "I was only gone for thirty minutes. I should be dead, too ." The stretcher was being wheeled out the front door, the lights of the police cars out front bouncing off the walls of the stairway like colored ghosts.
The reception was lovely and romantic. Everybody was drinking champagne and having a good time. While the music played softly in the background, I sat staring at the plate of hors d'oeuvres in front of me. "I can't believe this. I can't believe she's dead," I said to anyone who would listen. Erin swooped over to the table, glass of bubbly in hand, flushed and laughing from dancing. "Come on! You have to dance!" I sat rooted to my chair. "I can't. I can't believe this." Erin's smile dropped into a frown. "I know. I'm sad, too. But we have to move on. Katie would want us to have a good time."
I got home that evening just before dark. The hallway was still filled with the same gloomy light it had been a few hours early. I stared at the empty staircase, the carpeted steps now covered in dark brown stains. That's where her body was, I thought. Right there, covered in blood. Her dress was ripped to shreds. A friend (who I had made up in my dream) had come back with me to keep me company. "It's okay," he reassured me, patting my shoulder. "You're safe here now. Whoever did this isn't coming back." I kept staring at the spot where I had found her. "It's not safe here. We have to get out of here. I was only gone for thirty minutes. It's not safe here."
I opened my eyes to a gloomy day and a pounding heart. For a few breathless seconds, I thought it had been real. I got the feeling that always follows, either immense relief or immense disappointment that it was all a dream. That day was immense relief, only to spend the next few hours utterly haunted by what I had imagined in my sleep. The rain outside matched the rain in my dream. I could still see that bloody dress and hear my own horrible screams.
It's my own fault I'm having nightmares like these. In my childish attempts to get into the Halloween spirit, I've been doing really scary things like watching bloody horror movies and reading Helter Skelter while camping in the woods. I also went to Hallowscream at Busch Gardens, where I screamed my vocal chords raw whenever a zombie or vampire sneaked up behind me. I've had this nightmare coming for weeks.
Katie made me feel better when I talked to her that night. She, too, dreamed a friend's gory death. Only rather than being murdered, her friend had been trampled by a herd of moose. "And in my dream, I was just so at peace with how she died, because I love moose so much. You know, I love Daniella, but I love moose more."
By the way, if you've read this far, thank you. To quote Dennis from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, "Dreams are like pictures. They only interest me if I'm in them."
- He will threaten to wear blue jeans.
- He will end up wearing slacks and a button-down shirt, but refuse to wear a tie. He will complain about not getting to wear sneakers, then announce to anyone within earshot that he got his entire outfit from a thrift store.
- He will park three blocks away from your destination then, while you're hobbling down the sidewalk in high heels, tell you to take them off and walk barefoot to speed up the process. He will ask you repeatedly why you wore heels to begin with.
- He will always, always, in his charming excitement of seeing people for the first time in years, forget to introduce you to anyone. He will also squeeze you out of the circle as he distributes his greetings. You will stare at his back until the father of the bride has to duck around him to introduce himself.
- This behavior will continue for the remainder of the day.
- He won't get teary eyed during the ceremony, but will smirk at you when you do.
- When you stop at your sister's apartment to change clothes before the reception, he will yell at her roommate's Shih Tzus to "shut the f*** up."
- When you ask him if you look fat in the dress you're trying on, he will say "no" before he even looks at you.
- At the reception, he will disappear outside to shoot the breeze with old pals over cigarettes and rum and cokes, leaving you to wander the gallery, looking for a guest book to sign or a photo album to leaf through so as not to appear too extremely out of place. Finally, one of his high school friends will take pity on you and strike up a conversation.
- He will leave his mother, after one two many glasses of wine, crying on your shoulder while he eats wedding cake.
- When you refuse to dance, because for some odd reason, you're not in the mood, he will send his friend (whose size and stature can only be described as Jolly Green Giant-esque) to literally sweep you off your feet (while you're enjoying some fresh air and talking to one of the few people you somewhat know), carry you over-the-threshold style back into the gallery, and plant you onto the crowded dance floor into Brandon's waiting arms. Oh, and during this process you'll spill vodka-tonic all down your sister's dress, while your purse and camera are left behind on a bench in the lovely nightime air of downtown Richmond.
- After that, the father of the bride's girlfriend will take pity on you, sensing your misery, and pull you back onto the dance floor.
- After that, the bride will do the same.
- When the belly dancer emerges for her performance, Brandon will become absolutely captivated with the guns tattooed on her hips. By the end of her performance, every person at the reception will know of his admiration for said tattoos.
- You will stay long after the bride and groom have departed for a land far, far away (the Jefferson).
- Of course, of course, of course, the night won't be complete until he picks a fight with the photographer, inspiring such passion that the guy will announce to anyone listening that he hates a particular body part of Brandon's. (Really. Who says that?) Brandon's high school friend will jump in, chuck the photographer against a brick wall, and yell at him, "You're the help! Get back inside!"
- You will be in charge of grabbing Brandon's keys, running down the block to retrieve his car, pulling up like a knight in shining rusted blue. His friends will fall drunkenly into the backseat, celebrating their victory, as you escort everyone peacefully away into the night. (The Jolly Green Giant will be passed out in the passenger seat.)
Sweet Dreams Are Made of These
The rambling old mansion had been converted into an apartment, but was still in a state of dilapidation. The white paint on the floor, walls, and ceiling was chipping and the floor boards creaked threateningly with each step. Still, it carried a sense of grandeur and mystery. My Polish relatives owned the building and occupied the third floor (what my Polish relatives were doing in a run-down mansion in Richmond I have yet to figure out). This is where the party was that evening.
I wandered around, greeting folks I haven't seen in years, sipping on my Coca-Cola. Suddenly, out of the swirl of familiar faces (familiar, that is, only in my dream) appeared a man. He was dressed from head to toe in Nazi garb, wearing an eye patch. Tom Cruise, in complete Valkyrie attire, was standing in my relatives' living room, enjoying the party, sipping a glass of wine as his sword swung casually at his side. My jaw dropped in astonishment. "What is Tom Cruise doing here?" I demanded. "Oh, you didn't know?" my sister asked, sounding smug for being in the know. "He's a good friend of the family."
I was lost in a daze when another face popped out at me. Brad Pitt, donning a fedora, a graying goatee, and a sports coat, throwing his head back and laughing jovially at something embarrassing my uncle had just said. "Oh. My. God. What is Brad Pitt doing here?" I gasped. "Yea, he's a friend of the family, too," Mindy informed me with a raised eyebrow, indicating we had been kept out of the loop for much too long.
For some reason, Brad Pitt's presence just blew Tom Cruise out of the water. I'm not even sure why, because I don't think that would be the case in reality. Midway through the party, I could have cared less about Tom (I guess Nazi regalia doesn't really do it for me). All I wanted to do was go to my computer and post a status update on Facebook, to let the world know I was hanging out with Brad Pitt. But what to write? How to say it? I wanted it to be shocking, to make jaws drop as they read their news feed.
As I was lingering by his side, profusely giggling at whatever was being said, trying to catch his attention and at the same time keep an eye on Tom Cruise across the room, inspiration struck. I excused myself to find a computer and post the most perfect status update in the history of Facebook. "Oh, nothing, just hanging out with a bunch of celebrities at my uncle's Halloween party. Excuse me while I go stare at Brad Pitt some more."
It's not the fact that I've had multiple dreams of Brad Pitt that disturbs me. It's the fact that I'm now dreaming in status updates. What is the world coming to?
Sweet Dreams Continued...
It was a dark, gloomy day, with a thick blanket of swirling clouds hovering over the city. Little droplets of rain stained the pavement as I hurried into the apartment I shared with Katie. I haven't lived with the girl for over a year, but in my dreams she's usually still my roommate. But our apartment was newer and cleaner than the ones we've shared in the past. It was open and airy, filled with the gloomy light from outside. Erin J_______ and I had a wedding reception to go to, and we were in a hurry. Katie was also headed somewhere fancy, clad in the same purple, blue, and green striped wrap dress I saw in Jill's closet last weekend (in real life, getting ready for a real wedding reception). Erin and I said goodbye and hurried out the door.
Thirty minutes later I was rushing back to the apartment. I had forgotten something important, like a handbag or a cellphone. I dashed up the brick steps, stumbling in my heels, and swung open the front door. Then I screamed and screamed and screamed... and kept screaming, hearing the strain on my vocal chords even in my dream. Katie was sprawled out along our hallway steps, covered in blood. Her eyes were open and staring blankly at the ceiling. The beautiful wrap dress was in tatters and her high heels were stained red. Her hair was sticky with blood and I could see the stab wounds on her legs...
Paramedics had suddenly filled the hallway and were buzzing around like bees. I was in a daze, staring around wildly, looking at my hands, sticky with blood. "I can't believe it. I can't believe she's dead. I was talking to her half an hour ago," I repeated it over and over like a mantra. Erin stood beside me in her pink dress, consoling me. "I know, I can't believe it either. But we have to go to the wedding reception." "I should be dead, too," I said over and over again. "I was only gone for thirty minutes. I should be dead, too ." The stretcher was being wheeled out the front door, the lights of the police cars out front bouncing off the walls of the stairway like colored ghosts.
The reception was lovely and romantic. Everybody was drinking champagne and having a good time. While the music played softly in the background, I sat staring at the plate of hors d'oeuvres in front of me. "I can't believe this. I can't believe she's dead," I said to anyone who would listen. Erin swooped over to the table, glass of bubbly in hand, flushed and laughing from dancing. "Come on! You have to dance!" I sat rooted to my chair. "I can't. I can't believe this." Erin's smile dropped into a frown. "I know. I'm sad, too. But we have to move on. Katie would want us to have a good time."
I got home that evening just before dark. The hallway was still filled with the same gloomy light it had been a few hours early. I stared at the empty staircase, the carpeted steps now covered in dark brown stains. That's where her body was, I thought. Right there, covered in blood. Her dress was ripped to shreds. A friend (who I had made up in my dream) had come back with me to keep me company. "It's okay," he reassured me, patting my shoulder. "You're safe here now. Whoever did this isn't coming back." I kept staring at the spot where I had found her. "It's not safe here. We have to get out of here. I was only gone for thirty minutes. It's not safe here."
I opened my eyes to a gloomy day and a pounding heart. For a few breathless seconds, I thought it had been real. I got the feeling that always follows, either immense relief or immense disappointment that it was all a dream. That day was immense relief, only to spend the next few hours utterly haunted by what I had imagined in my sleep. The rain outside matched the rain in my dream. I could still see that bloody dress and hear my own horrible screams.
It's my own fault I'm having nightmares like these. In my childish attempts to get into the Halloween spirit, I've been doing really scary things like watching bloody horror movies and reading Helter Skelter while camping in the woods. I also went to Hallowscream at Busch Gardens, where I screamed my vocal chords raw whenever a zombie or vampire sneaked up behind me. I've had this nightmare coming for weeks.
Katie made me feel better when I talked to her that night. She, too, dreamed a friend's gory death. Only rather than being murdered, her friend had been trampled by a herd of moose. "And in my dream, I was just so at peace with how she died, because I love moose so much. You know, I love Daniella, but I love moose more."
By the way, if you've read this far, thank you. To quote Dennis from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, "Dreams are like pictures. They only interest me if I'm in them."