I dread the day when I start waking up naturally at like five in the morning and am just awake. I’m not sure I’ve blogged about my own personal hell before, but basically it consists of a very humid concrete room with no windows and fluorescent lighting, where birds are flying around everywhere, Amy Grant is constantly singing “Baby Baby,” and I am not allowed to sleep. Oh, and maybe there are cute boys around, but my face is all broken out, and I don’t have any eyeliner. Maybe.

Anyway, for the last several nights, I have had the most restless sleep of my life. I sleep, but it doesn’t feel like it. I wake up to roll over, and the numbers on the clock have changed, but I feel like I was awake the whole time. And then about an hour before my alarm goes off, I finally start snoozing really good…just in time for Bill and Sheri to wake me up playing “Baby Baby” or my other favorite, “Your Body is a Wonderland.”  Thanks guys. ‘Preciate it.

Sigh. Oh how I long for the nights of meerkats and knife-wielding toddlers. Although, I did have a very bizarre one recently in which I had a handlebar mustache, but that didn’t stop Jon Favreau from asking me out in the parking lot of the church.

Anyway, I’m off to bed now. Wish me luck in the sleep department. I could really go for some B-list celebrity action just now. Perhaps (fingers crossed) an Ethan Embry?!?

Ooooo Dream-weaver, I believe you can get me through the ni-hiiiiiiight

I didn’t intend for this to turn into such a dream journal. But then again, I never planned on dreaming about such bizarre things. And they’re just so strange that I have to think that somwhere inside me, there’s a fiction writer just trying to get out. Until she breaks through, though, I guess reporting on the creations of my subconscious will just have to suffice.

Just before I awoke Tuesday morning, I had a dream that I was at work. Now, to give you this visual properly, let me explain how my “office” is set up. It’s in the upstairs of an old house. You go up one set of stairs, and there is a landing with a big window. Then you go up a few more stairs that go in the opposite direction (horizontally) of the first set, and there’s another landing. So the second landing is a little higher than the first, but the railings face each other. And if you’re standing on either landing, you can look down to the first floor and the front door. My “desk” area is on the second landing, so I can see people coming up the stairs.

Alrighty, so in the dream, I was standing by my “desk” talking to someone about some papers I had in my hand. I looked up to see that the whole stairway and first landing were full of people looking at me as though they were an audience and I was doing something entertaining. Or as though they were waiting for me to address them. Well amongst them was a police officer, whom I recognized as a guy I went to high school with. So I said, “How d’you do, officer Collins?” He took off his 1982 CHiPs sunglasses and stuck out his hand as if to introduce himself. I said I was Beth, and then he recognized me, which is a little ridiculous because I really haven’t changed that much since high school. He should have known me. Well then there was somebody else there who went to high school with us (but I don’t remember who the 2nd person was), so we had a wee reunion, and I explained to all the students who were standing around that we knew each other from high school, to which they responded, “Oooooohh.”

The whole time we were standing there on the landing, it was getting progressively darker. We finally decided that it was too dark to stay there, and we all started walking down the stairs so we could exit the building. I was walking and talking with Sophie, who I think was a student in the dream.

When we got out on the street, we were walking towards my car when all of a sudden, I was in a department store of some sort, walking down a very wide aisle with a bunch of girl friends from different stages of my life. And as we neared the door, I could see Matthew Krachey holding it open for us, and over the loud speaker of the store, they were playing (very loudly, might I add) “Ain’t No Woman (Like the One I Got)” by the Four Tops.

Keep the lotion on the knuckles: I’m psychic

As you know, last week, I had a dream that involved Jerry O’Connell. Read about it here to catch up. Well, who pops up in a bar on Ugly Betty last night but Mr. O’Connell himself. That’s when I began to realize that I’m psychic. Whitney says it’s a spiritual gift, but so far, it’s only proven itself useful in matters of pop culture, so I’m not so sure about that.

Anyway, Whitney and I were just enjoying a ridiculously overpriced lunch at a little hole-in-the-wall coffee joint called Gaks when I had to pee, which happens sometimes when my bladder’s full. Now, I’m not sure which is my favorite part of going to the bathroom:
a) a few minutes alone
b) the catharsis of expelling urine from my body
c) washing my hands
d) seeing how my hair’s holding up
But I digress. The point is that the bathroom had lotion by the sink. I don’t really like lotion. For some reason, my palms refuse to absorb it, and then I can’t hold on to anything. It’s all slippery and greasy. But my knuckles have been horribly dry lately, like scaly and crackly, so I put a dab of the lotion on them and was still trying to rub it in using only my knuckles as I returned to the table. Whitney looked at me funny, so I explained to her what I just explained to you. Then we started rapping because “keep the lotion on the knuckles” has such a nice rhythm to it. This reminded me of that part in the song Pump up the Volume that says, “put the needle on the record/ put the needle on the record/ put the needle on the record/ when the drum beats go like this,” so I started rapping that.

Whitney, unfamiliar with this ditty, did not appreciate the reference, and a few minutes later, we paid way too much and left. And when I turned on the car, the new 93.9, Kiss FM (formerly Sunny 93.9), was playing Pump up the Volume!! Are you effing kidding me?!

I called Whitney immediately, and she turned to the station just in time to hear the part I’d just been rapping. It was downright magical.

Blognosis. Like prognosis, but without the doctor.

Alright kids! It’s time for you to decide what’s wrong with me. My personal opinion is that I need a new mattress, but maybe I just really want a TempurPedic. I mean, the thing’s got space-age technology in it. Whoowee! Fly me to the moon.

Anyway, I’m not sleeping well, which as you know, for me, is not only a personal tragedy but a serious illness. The positions I used to sleep comfortably in are no longer comfortable. I wake up to tangled sheets and little pillow structures something akin to the sticks in “The Blair Witch Project.” I wind up sideways in the bed. I wake up in the middle of the night when I don’t even have to pee. And I’m having bizarre and unsettling dreams.

#1: Last weekend, I was hanging out with Kim Sko and Parker Posey at a fair of some sort, and Parker kept talking to Kim in what I assumed was Chinese, and the only thing I could ever understand was when she said “Kim Skowronski.” She always used her whole name. Never called her just Kim.

#2: Then I think I was an Asian woman, though I don’t know what nationality. I just know I was wearing a very skimpy dress and speaking a language I didn’t understand.

#3: And last night, I was being mugged by a family after giving a homeless guy a ride. The family consisted of a mother, a father, and a knife-wielding toddler. I think they wanted to take my car, and I was trying to fight them off, but all I had was a wiffle ball bat that the homeless guy had given me. I kept hitting the mom, which didn’t seem to faze her at all. The dad stood by idly while the toddler slashed at my car with his knife.

Obviously I wake up feeling somewhat less than refreshed and rested, and it’s just not good for business. So I need you, faithful readers, to (a) help me interpret these odd dreams, (b) discern why my sleep is so disrupted of late, and (c) advise me.