Dreams From February 27th, 2011

Dreams might be the most annoying thing to hear a person recite.

“None of this story is real and it lacks any insight into lifes' many values and meanings! This story hardly affects me. Your dream is like an inside joke between you and yourself.”

Which is why dreams are the subject of my blog. Blogs are one of the most egotistical but inspiring creations since Michelangelo's "David". Mankind might be the point of the universe or maybe we're not. Either way, the "David" and blogs are signs that humanism still makes blood hot. Man is still the center of his universe. The "David" was a depiction of man at his finest. Every blog is just another attempt.

Dreams are only important to the dreamer. Unless the dreamer explains to you why they're important.

Which is why I'll tie each of my dreams to a subtle narrative so that some truth will come out of each tale. My dreams will often, and obligatorily, involve my friends and acquaintances. So I’ll tag you next to the title of each dream if you’re part of it.

If you want to tell me what happened in your dream recently put it in the comment section. I think sometimes people don't want to share they're dream because they think no one cares. Well, I care.

For the record, 99% of what I write did happen (in my head).

Dreams during the night of February 27, 2011

Returning to the Emerald Isle in Search for the Happiest Time of Life

Starring Anna Miller

I was looking up flights for Ireland. I studied abroad in Dublin a year ago and I desperately wanted to return. I think about my times there often: my friends, the girls, simple walks through the city. I research the cost—the biggest indicator that I’ve totally bought into this dream and believe it is reality. Nothing is more real, sad and grey than frugality. I have a whole $1,500 saved in my bank account. I want to go that night, right now, immediately, get me out of here! But I decide to wait till the next day till I can confer with the parentals. If my parents say my reckless endeavors are OK, I’m off to the emerald isle.

(The whole trip will cost about $300. This is not bad at all. Dream economy is always fluctuating.)

I can't wait any longer. I go. I’m in Ireland and the clouds are shining. I am immediately at my old school, Dublin City University with it’s unique red brick paths and red brick buildings. The center of the school is highlighted with a bright streak of green grass. I approach this strip when suddenly, a surge of panic hits me. I would need to be accepted to the university first, or else this trip is pointless—a complete waste of life. What the hell was I doing? But then in a moment of dues ex machina I realize I am just dreaming. Problem solved. This isn’t real. This is fun!. I have my constant practice of self reflection in the real world to thank for this mental miracle. I've trained my mind to operate like a post-modern detector, for better or worse.

Lately, I’ve had a myriad of self reflective dreams where I realize I’m dreaming. Sadly, this does not allow me to do whatever I want. It’s the same as realizing that I’m living in the real world. Realizing you’re alive does not allow me or anyone else to do whatever they wish. All the time we tell ourselves,

"I'm only alive once! I'm going to make the most of it!"

But then we make a repeatedly bad decision. We sit on Facebook and zone. We do hard drugs that let us sit and not feel. Or we tell ourselves we have to go to work, make money and continue with our conventional lifestyle. But is this living? It seems there are certain obligations we press upon ourselves no matter where our self conscious takes us. So I continue on my dream as if I'm on a roller coaster ride that guides me through the ups and downs.

So I think, alright let’s see who I can see during this dream. Maybe I can catch up with the dream version of old friends and girlfriends. Maybe my old roommate Michael, the Irishman. Or the charming Italian, Francesca. I walk past a small café. There are a congregation of cheerful Irish students eating funnel cakes for breakfast.

(Before I went to bed last night my friend Anna and I agreed to engage in a dream experiment. As we fell asleep we would think about breakfast snacks with all our might. Then, we would see if breakfast came up in our dreams. I am pretty psyched at the apparition of funnel cakes.)

I travel to the top floor of the university’s main building. Inside is a radio station center for DCU’s media society. I browse the selection of music and movies aimlessly. A disc jockey then appears. I exit slowly and sheepishly so as to not arouse suspicion that I am stealing anything from his dream world recoding studio. I exit down a very long and never-ending flight of stars. A nerdy red headed kid walks in front of me. I realize this is his first time studying abroad. Is he me? With red hair? He is new and alone and probably in pursuit of companionship. I want to help him. I trail him in a spiral motion downward, and further downward. He comes upon a group of girls. Girls from Italy, Turkey, Ireland and France. They sit leisurely and gracefully on the stair path. He introduces himself, shakes their hands, then continues. I slow down and listen in to what the girls say behind his back.

“He’s cute,” one girl giggles.

“Yeah, he’s OK,” another girl somewhat agrees.

Nerdy red head walks past another group of girls and introduces himself again. I listen in, again. They say nothing about him.

“We’re just a bunch of girls sitting on the stairs that boys have to pass and talk to,” they strangely admit. That’s what I thought, too. . .

I approach him after this second encounter and tell him what was said. He is appreciative. There might be hope for you yet nerdy red headed girl seeker. . .

Mitch Moran’s Birthday Party at Disneyland

Starring Mitch Moran, Chris Guerrero, Katie Q, Theresa Morgan, Caitlin Petersen, Trisha Weinberg, Molly Zive, Michelle Murphy Zive and David.

I arrive at Disneyland for Mitch’s birthday party. Katie Q didn’t tell me to get there until like 10 pm. I’m pretty pissed because I realize Disneyland will be closing in two hours and it costs $70 to get inside (Frugality! I must be unaware of my dream.).

I meet up with Chris Guerrero, he's the only other one who has arrived at the poorly planned start time. I have to go to bathroom and I shoot toward a stall and sit down. The stalls are suspiciously short but I ignore the lack of privacy. I’m minding my own business and then this guy comes over and looks down at me from outside my stall!

“Hey, occupied!” I tell the guy.

He leaves and I get back to it. I keep and eye on him. He’s wearing a purple floppy hat and a brown over coat. He circles the busy bathroom looking for an open hole to piss. His circular walk path brings him back to my stall. Te pervert looks in again! Then he runs out out. I finish up and go out to the main lobby of Disneyland to tell one of Mickey’s legion there is a pervert in their midst. Probably a common complain, I imagine. I spot the man talking to a liaison but he’s taken off his floppy hat. Can I still accurately identify my culprit to the authorities? I approach the two but he flees. I turn around and I see him again. Then I look toward where I originally saw him and I see him again! I realize: HE HAS A TWIN BROTHER! I’m pretty freaked out now. I decide that the pervert(s?) has(ve?) won this round and I continue on my way up a flight of stairs.

(As I retell this story I wonder if maybe the pervert didn’t look at me twice but maybe it was only his twin brother the second time around peeking at my pee . Maybe they are just a pair of unconscientiously nosey siblings haunting my dreams.)

I climb the stairs. There is a long line of people behind me. I get to the top and it’s a dead end. The stairs just end. At the top there is solid wall that reaches only my waist. Below is a busy alleyway. A Disney employee comes up to help me. She shows me how to climb over the wall.

"Hold on to this," she says and smiles.

She hands me a spring like rope. I hold on tight and jump toward the ground. Instead of fall hard and fast, I float gracefully with the assistance of my springy rope. This is without a doubt the best part of dreams, until. . .

In a moment of love at first sight, a hot girl in a green tank top approaches me and presses her hot body against me.

“Oh, sorry,” she says. She slyly smiles. She's not sorry.

“Uhhh, don’t worry about,” I clumsily reply.

I’m surprised and taken back. I want to talk to this girl. Where is she from? Can we hang out? But before I can continue our courtship she leaves. Disappears. No dream sex this dream.

But then my friends approach! Mitch, Molly, Chris, Katie Q., Teresa, Caitlin, Trisha, Michelle Murphy Zive and David are all there. We discuss Disneyland and it's looming closure. Katie Q. doesn’t take responsibility for telling us to get there at 10 PM. I concede. It was Mitch’s party, he should have told us. Teresa and I say hi and catch up. I tell her what happened with the hot girl. She’s not impressed and gives me a look like I’m a cock.

We decide it is time to go back to San Diego. I ride with Molly, Michelle and David. Michelle takes us through parts of San Diego I have never seen before. We cross a mile stretch of road that is paved as one giant skinny wooden dock. We are surrounded by really old trains, cars and clipper ships. Michelle is on the phone the whole time which worries me, but only a tiny it. The car seems a lot wider than the road but she maneuvers gracefully.

I Almost Quit My Job at Miguel’s

Starring Adam Williams and Jared Callahan

I’m at Miguel’s Cocina, but Miguel’s is now in Anaheim. I am bar tending tonight. Two men sit down at my bar.

“This guy right here,” shorter man say pointing to the taller man, “This guy is the Man of Anaheim!”

“Oh, wow,” I say. Big tipper, I think. (I must be unaware that I’m dreaming.)

“Get me a fuesashahala,” orders the Man of Anaheim.

“Yeah, absolutely,” I say. What the fuck is that? I think.

“And a shrimp cocktail,” he adds. “I’ll drink my fuesashahala while I wait.”

“For sure. I’ll bring you chips and salsa, too.”

I turn around and I see that most of my alcohol is gone. My bar is missing tons of ingredients.

“Uhm, you know I don’t know where all my alcohol has gone. Can I just interest you in one of the few bottles you see here?”

The Man of Anaheim is perturbed.

“Awh, naw, I’d really just like a fuesashahala,” he's gruff about it.

“Yeah, of course. Can you tell me what’s in it exactly? I want to make sure I get it right.”

“Awgh, geese,” he says annoyed. “Uhm, Triple sec, coffee liqueur, there’s whip cream on top, a few other things.”

“Right, OK, I’ll get on that and order your shrimp cocktail, right away.”

“Thanks,” he says.

I go to the kitchen and begin to order a shrimp cocktail on the computer. Do we even have shrimp cocktail? Now I’m frustrated. My manager Adam and another bartender, Jared, come up to me.

“Hey guys, this guy just ordered a really confusing drink. Do you know what a fuesashahala?” I ask.

“Yeah, that guy comes in all the time, bro,” Jared says. He pulls out a scratch piece of paper with undecipherable recipes.

“Alright, cool, well we’re missing a lot of alcohol, too,” I say, still confused.

“I’m on it!” Adam says enthusiastically and runs off toward our other bar.

Now Jared’s gone, too. I’m left holding a mysterious bottle of coffee liqueur. I’m completely jaded by the whole situation and I leave Miguel’s.

I exit the building and I realize it’s in a huge high rise with many other shops and restaurants. I reach the bottom of the building and walk out into the dark and chilly evening. I head toward a bar across the street and across a freeway. I pass dark alley ways with shadowy figures. One alley way is blocked by a ten story high chain linked fence. I cross the deep canyon of rigid streets and alcoves. I climb another giant building. I reach a door and open it. Inside is a tiny and cheap motel room with a bathtub to my right and a bed to my left. Everything is well lit. I stand there for a moment and I ask myself why I’m there. I leave the motel room and I walk further past the creeps and feigns till I reach my destination, the other bar. There is an older couple working there. They look like junkies.

“This guy came in and ordered a really confusing drink. I was frustrated, so I left,” I tell them.

“You should go back. You shouldn’t just leave everyone there. Plus, you’re holding onto their coffee liqueur. Isn’t that one of the main ingredients in the fuesashahala?” they ask.

The junky bartenders are right. I realize I have been gone for 15 minutes. The customer is probably gone. Adam is probably pissed. I’m probably in trouble. I start to run. I get lost in the alleyways and hit many dead ends, including the 10-story high chain linked fence. Why is it so big? I’m on the ledge of the wrong building. The giant canyon alleyways separates me and Miguel's building. A shadowy someone on a motorcycle with a baby carriage on the back zooms past me. Then, this person turns around. They're following me now.

I run faster. From my ledge, I slide down steep concrete inclines, one after another. I am fearful for my safety but I reach the bottom and run into the first door I see. It is the kitchen of an Asian restaurant-not Miguel’s. I run up another stairway. I reach an Irish restaurant-not Miguel's. It’s Hooleys. There are many Irish people just sitting with Guinness’s and they’re watching the television. It is noon and they all wait patiently for Hooleys to start serving lunch. Why aren’t they at Miguel’s, I wonder. And then I realize: It’s St. Patrick’s day.

I run pass the Irish and I get to Miguel’s and I have a speech ready for Adam. I’m going to tell him that I just wanted to get away from everything. It was stressful and frustrating. The order was confusing. My alcohol wasn’t there. And where the hell was the shrimp cocktail button?

“I deserved some peace and quiet to myself,” I say to him.

But as I tell him this I realize they were the casualty of my freak out. I’d bailed on him, Jared and the customer. I’d left them out to dry so I could wallow in my struggle. Were they worried? Were they stressed? At the very least I could have said where I’d gone of to, explained myself. I should have told them I couldn't handle it. They're my co-workers, my friends. They would have helped me. I especially shouldn't have have taken one of the ingredients, the mysterious coffee liqueur, with me. I’m sorry, I think. I don’t have enough time to process how I should feel.

That’s when I wake up.