No kitty, no.

Last night I had a dream that these cats asked me to adopt their kitten because they couldn't feed it anymore. They had told me the kitten was five weeks old but when I went to the vet, they said it was only a week old, at best. Liar cats. Then I was in a room overlooking an angry ocean. I dream about angry oceans on a fairly regular basis. All it takes is that one big wave...

Is that hot?

Last week, I dreamt that I was making out with Paris Hilton. I'm not sure why Paris Hilton but I will tell you that in my dream she was taller that I thought she would be and that in real life, I would have been way more scared of syphillis than I was in my dream. I am not a fan of hers. Or at least, that's what I thought.

Anyway, so we were making out in my room from when I was a kid in Los Angeles. Paris kept hearing car doors slamming from the street outside and she was complete paranoid that people were spying on us. I was like, "Baby, nobody can see us. Calm down and take your shirt off." Ok, I didn't literally say that but you know, when you're making out... 

Then, I heard something clatter on the floor of the room. It was a Sharpie pen. I looked out the window and there was a group of like twelve kids, ages nine to fourteen and they were hucking pens through the open windows. They were giggling and having a great time. "Well, ok. They may have seen us," I admitted. Make-out session over. 

A boy with the group outside started yelling at his friends. "You idiots. If you hadn't been so stupid with your throwing things, we could have kept watching them." I mean, this kid was ever soooooo pissed at his friends for ruining this opportunity. He was red-faced pissed and just unable to control the rage. It was hilarious. Usually, my dreams are so ridiculously symbolic that they're barely in need of analysis but this one... what the hell is this dream about?

Trois

Believe it or not, I went back to acupuncture today, despite "the incident". I didn't mention it to the woman who stuck me with needles this time because it was a different woman than last time. However, I became very nervous when she looked me over for needles with the exact same look on her face that Jane had when she did the same scan. I asked again, "You got them all, right?" She said, "I hope so. We charge extra for the ones you take home." Yes, ha ha. I love a sense of humor.

This Thursday, October 23rd at Thee Parkside: The Heated has their first paying gig! That's right, get your five dollars ready and make your way to the Potrero Hill area of San Francisco with Whitey On The Moon (oh, I'm going to ask them about that band name, you can be damn sure of that) and B And Not B. The 22 line stops directly in front of the club. It will be way past my bedtime but I promise to rock regardless. I will rock as if it was my job, which it is, because you will have paid good money. I will be playing a solo show without Gee on Monday at Blondie's too, if you're in that area, which is 16th and Valencia... It will most likely be a shortish set but may whet your appetite for Thursday's show.

This was not my dream: but my wife told me today that she had a dream that we had a three-way with Jan from the television program The Office. But apparently, Jan is really high maintenance and brought along three alarm clocks to make sure she woke up in the morning.

"She spent the night?" I asked my wife. It would seem that after that kind of thing, one should put their clothes back on and leave as quickly as possible. Apparently, it wasn't that great either and so we plotted to wake up early and have a make-up session, sans Jan. So, I'm not the only one with weird dreams. I had really lame stress dreams that I woke up crying from. Twice. Damn it. I might need more than acupuncture.

Hand's what's for dinner

My dream journal is still kicking. I thought I'd share one I had a few weeks ago.

Here is the dream: My right hand has been cloned and I am eating it for dinner. It has been served up on a plate and I am amused by it. I smack this fake hand across my thigh. I am wearing jeans. My wife also has her hand on a plate (the left one as she is left handed) but doesn't seem amused or interested. We were not given knives, only forks so the only part I'm able to eat is the palm. Finally, I am provided with a knife but by that point, I'm over the whole thing and am only able to eat the top joint of my pinkie before I become thoroughly un-appetized.

What does that mean?

Also, my guitar has been fixed and The Heated is about to make a big, happy announcement. Soon. Not today. Curious?

Zzzzzzs

I've had a hard time falling asleep this week, which is unusual. Normally if I'm going to have insomnia, it will be the type where I wake up in the middle of the night and have anxious thoughts until I fall back asleep. But this week it's been all about lying awake for hours until my body finally gives up. The reason why may be the dorkiest reason ever. I've finally done something that I've been telling myself (and everyone else around me) I should do for a long time. I created a dream journal and I've been excited to get new material.

There's been an element of self-mocking whenever I speak of this dream journal but the embarrassing truth is that this isn't even my first one. I'm a big writer but I wouldn't call them journals. I would call them disjointed thoughts written down for possible song use. But years ago, I used to keep a dream journal. I'm far better at recording events than making sense of them and dreams kind of make sense of events for you so when I read back through this journal, more than any other, I have a sense of who I was at that age and what I was going through.

Recently my wife brought home a small blank journal that she received as a free gift from a vendor. She'd had a choice between a journal and a tote bag. She choose wisely as we have twenty tote bags. I already have a regular journal going but it's hard to not write in a fresh one when it's just sitting there, the blank pages giving me that look like, "come be all crazy here." I realized that if I made this my dream journal I could start writing in it right away so I slapped a cover on it last Sunday, when I was dorking out with many creative projects (such as a wooden moustache) and decided to start recording what my brain thinks about when I sleep.

When I wake up in the middle of the night it is not because of anxiety. Sure, I have anxious thoughts but I have them every waking second so that's not noteworthy. I think the reason I wake up is because of Vina, the rottweiler. You see, Vina used to wake up randomly and bark her thunderous bark for no reason at about three or four in the morning. Eight years of waking up every night kind of made it a habit. She also used to wake me up with her disgusting, obsessive bed licking. Since she was deaf, it wasn't like I could just yell at her to stop. Instead I'd smack her with my pillow then make rude hand gestures. But she didn't sleep on my side of the bed so I'd have to lean over my wife and do this sweeping, pillow smack so that everyone in the room could be awake. I like sharing.