Clareified

Since he was the only one smart enough to bet against a TV addict trying to give up TV, I defer to him as the harbinger of good judgment and I assume that it’s cool to blog dreams again.
So here goes:
I wasn’t feeling well tonight and went to sleep early. I dreamt I was invited to a poker game at Glenn Close’s house. I hadn’t RSVPd, but Karol assured me there was still space. There were eight women there, but Glenn came downstairs and said only two people had RSVpd, so she was canceling the game. I promptly said “okay, game relocated to my house.” I offered four of the women a lift. Glenn was positively livid. “You will do no such thing,” she said, her eyes flickering in positively Dangerous Liaison/that movie where she cooks the rabbit, fashion.
We ignore her and head for the door. I cannot find my car. I keep hitting the red alarm button I use for malls, but nothing. Then I see Glenn sitting in the driver’s seat of a parked car that looks like mine. “You’re not going anywhere, Dawn”
I laugh at her when I realise she thinks she’s won, but since it’s not my car, she’s just B&Ed someone else’s vehicle.
She sees me still looking for my car, leaps out the look alike car and starts chasing me. I run.
But. Dream or no dream, I am still pretty out of shape, so she catches me.
She starts to bitch me out for shangahing her game when I give one of what would Mary Katherine Gallagher’s all-time greatest movie of the week speeches, if Molly Shannon did that inside of craptacular romantic comedies about dogs.
I say “Calm down Glenn..oh my god, I am talking to Glenn Close. I really admire your work by the way.”
She smiles, but her arms are still triumphantly crossed in front of her chest.
“Look, Glenn, I love playing poker. If I’m playing poker, I want to keep playing poker: If I’m not playing poker, I want to find some poker to play. I’ve played Omaha, Stud, Pineapple, Crazy pineapple, Razz, some Kansas City Lowball bullshit that you wouldn’t believe, all because I LOVE playing poker. Now, you have the game, great, I will sit down, buy chips and play right now. If not, I’m getting in my car and having a game at my place.”
(How badass is dream Dawn??)
She gives me a cool stare and says “I’m not having a game for people who didn’t rsvp.”
I say “well, I guess we have an understanding,” and I walk away.
She does not give chase and I imagine that she now wears an expression of begruding admiration.
Anyway, I finally find my car and Barbra Streisand is sitting shotgun!
In that unmistakeable Streisand accent she says “I figured it would be alright.”
I’m all verklempt, but I nod assent.
There is a lot of traffic back to my place, I miss my exit and end up on the wrong road. I spot the car with the other players up ahead and somehow they help me pick my car up and place it on the right road. Shoulder shrug, it’s a dream. What?
Anyway, in the shuffle Meryl Streep — who is in the other car– falls in a pothole and so only the top of her head is sticking out. I reach in, grab her by the shoulders and pull her out. We proceed home for the game.
And then my cellphone woke me up.
What the heck does it mean?

This entry was posted by Dawn Summers on Monday, December 17th, 2007 at 2:13 am and is filed under Wacky. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.