night3

So I've been having these epic and celebrity-laden dreams for the last week. First there was the period piece, starring George Washington, complete with fabulous costumes, then there were the three Sopranos dreams and now, this one.

I'm going back to high school to take a couple of classes I am apparently missing. I'm talking to my brother, who's in junior high, and a man who I think was my dad, and suddenly it hits me that it's possibly the first day of school. But I'm not sure, so I call information to get the number to Narbonne High School to find out. The operator is really dimwitted, and it takes her a good half-hour to find the right number, and by that time it's like 7:45 and I still haven't showered. I tell her my situation, and she says, "Oh, you should have just asked-- it IS the first day of school today!" Great, I think. I'm already behind, and it's *high school* for crying out loud. I think about it some more and realize I don't really need to make up those classes, and wouldn't I feel weird being the oldest one there? And what would I have to talk to the kids about, anyway? So I decide not to go. I feel like a quitter for a second, but I know it's best for me.

Cut to: some awards show. I'm sitting at the back, which is elevated. There is a girl to my left and a guy to my right. We're not facing the stage, but just kind of doing our own thing. There are no seats in our little section; just red carpet and a red velvet rope, and a car. A black Audi TT, I think. It's a big area for just three people and a car. I realize the guy is George Clooney, and that he's been seeing the girl sitting to my left. She's been telling me about him for the last couple of days. She and I are acquaintances, like work friends, but we don't share much of an emotional bond. He looks up at me and is almost tearfully trying to figure out what's going on with their relationship. Something's gone wrong between them. I tell him very gently what she's said. It seems to be just a misunderstanding; they've been reading each other wrong. I call him honey and hug him. He's holding onto me, and I am rocking him. He's REALLY hot, but I'm not letting myself think about it much because now we're so intimate in this other way and I don't want to ruin it. I feel honored that he's trusting me so much-- you know how in dreams you can be just overwhelmed with how amazing a person is? At one point he looks at me very earnestly and I zero in on his eyes. They look kind of like cat eyes, and it occurs to me that for a moment he has morphed into Ian Ziering -- why, yes, that's right, Steve from "90210." Whom I think James Hetfield sometimes looks like (much to my dismay), so that's not as bizarre as it sounds. Though still bizarre. But I digress.

He turns back into George, and we go sit in the front row. Oprah is hosting the show. George and I are talking and laughing. I am trying to figure out what the awards are for. Can it be the Oscars? No, because we went to Lenny's house to watch the Oscars. Wait, I think, has it been a year since then? I decide that can't be it; this must be some other awards show for films. But I can't seem to recall what show is this crucial to films other than the Oscars. Whatever. We're watching arrivals, and Matt Damon walks in with his date (who I think was his ex-girlfriend Skylar, who's now married to Lars Ulrich), and being that Matt bugs me during waking hours, I'm about to say something rude about him. I turn to realize that George has morphed into Ben Affleck. Yikes! I hold my tongue. Then he goes to sit in the back row, where we were before. I'm planning to stay in the front row for the duration of the show, and then I think, what am I doing? This beautiful man is up there, wants me to hang out with him, and my family is up there too (because suddenly they are). Who cares about being in the front row at this stupid show, anyway? So I go back, and I'm trying not to be too disruptive, because the show has started, but I don't really care too much. I find George talking to my brother, who's still in junior high and is enthralled, thinks George is the coolest guy ever, and George is having a great time entertaining the kid. I sit with them, and I'm deeply happy. The end.

In case you wondered, George Clooney doesn't look forty up close and personal. Not according to my dream.

In other news, is Ralphie on The Sopranos going to die soon? Because he needs to go. No, really. He's disgusting. I couldn't believe what he said to Tracee before he killed her. Ugh. Carmela needs to not let him around AJ. That just worries me.

Know what annoys me? People with websites who don't answer email. It's so rude to just not reply. One of these people who has never replied to my emails also ignored the questions of a friend of mine, who was buying the merchandise offered on her site and wanted to know if she'd ever be getting them, because it had been a month! Unbelievable. For the record, I reply to every single Miss Lulu email I get. And if I don't want to link to your page, I will politely thank you and decline. But only if it's really offensive. I will not ignore your questions and requests like the three women whose pages I used to frequent.

PREVIOUSLY, IN NIGHT AND DAY