It is 3:57 am. I’ve just filled the humidifier because I have one of those dry coughs that isn’t really a cough. I have had two of the most awesome dreams ever. Two dreams in one night? And not those crappy dreams that freak you out, making you think you might actually be a lesbian or you just went somewhere naked, but two freaking awesome, totally fabulous, seemed real at the time dreams. Following is a brief (?) synopsis of both dreams. My inner-freak-out-dialogue is in parentheses.
Dream synopsis #1:
The National Football League has decided to hold special games at local high schools. The Denver Broncos are playing somebody at Aurora Public Schools Stadium at William C. Hinkley High School. (Shut the front door. That is my high school. Where I went for four years.) Yours truly is on a step team/cheer leading squad made up of former alumni. We are in the sweetest Bronco gear ever and we are so bad-ass that no one is watching the game. We even do a step routine that takes us around the whole track. Even the NFL players stop to watch. The Broncos lose (WTF?) but no one cares because we are the most coordinated, hyped-up, epic step team/cheer leading squad ever. At the end of the game, the Broncos even huddled around the coach at the end of the field for their team meeting, just like football games in high school. Only our families are left in the stands because they know we’ve saved the best for last. We do our encore and the Broncos stop to watch us. (Isn’t reminiscing with my sub-conscious fun?)
Dream synopsis #2:
I go into a very busy and weirdly set up salon for a haircut. It is set up, kind of like I would imagine a hair stylist classroom. Imagine lots of stations set up in rows, just like desks in a classroom. My hairstylist is non other than the very famous hairstylist Justin Bieber. (BAHAHAHA! Where does my sub-conscious come up with this?) I tell Mr. Bieber that I need something different and he starts messing with my hair, preparing to cut. The whole time, he is talking to himself, psyching himself up. “Come on. You can do it. It’s just hair. Why does it have to be a cut?” Then I feel bad for him and I tell him, “Don’t worry. It’s easy. I’ve cut my own hair before. I checked out a book from the library.” (That last part is true. How To Cut Your Own Hair (or Anybody Else’s)” by Catherine Heckman, Cathie Obiedo and Claudia Allin) So The Biebs is getting more nervous and just decides to take a whack at it. He cuts a huge, diagonal chunk from my temple to my nose. He immediately starts freaking out and I start trying to calm him down. He calls someone over to look at my hair. Now there are several people staring at the massacre. The waitress (Where did she come from?) asks if I need a drink. She mentions a couple different drinks and roller skates off to fill my order. Another waitress skates up and brings a hamburger and fries. My tummy is growling, but the food is for The Biebs. Justin Bieber is a stress-eater. He starts wolfing down the food while someone else is messing with my hair, trying to figure out how to fix the mess.
After this I woke up either because I was hungry, coughing or just realized that there is no way Justin Bieber would be doing my hair. There is also no way that The Biebs would survive eating a burger and fries in front of me when I’m hungry.
Unfortunately, I was so enthralled with my dreams, that I couldn’t sleep until I shared them. Which means that although I slept well enough to have a couple kick ass dreams, I’ll probably still be a zombie today since I’m up typing this at four in the morning. Go Broncos!!!