Dreams are strange

Dreams are strange

I have mentioned that I have strange dreams, right?

Last night’s was one of rarer type that wasn’t nightmare-fueled chaos. I think I had a few of those as well, but I tend to not remember any but the really bad ones.

Thing is — I never had the hots for Debbie Harry growing up. I mean, I wouldn’t throw her out of bed for eating crackers (although that might be the only reason she was in my theoretical bed), but I didn’t have googly eyes for her as went from thinking girls were cootie factories to something warm and cuddly either. My eyes were more set on Pat Benatar, and quickly migrated to Siouxsie, as far as famous folks one has crushes on go. I thought she was attractive, but something didn’t sit right with me — probably the bottle-blonde hair (unlike the rest of the country, Minnesota has a ton of natural blondes, so darker hair was largely more attractive to me). And seeing as I was a fan of monster movies, Siouxsie won out over Pat. So it goes.

It was a sweet thing for dream-Debbie to do, all things considered. It wasn’t that great of a scene — a party in my sisters bedroom from when we were kids that measured something like 8-ft X 20-ft, a long, narrow affair with half the ceiling sloped window-side. Why there? I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you even if you offered to wipe away my student debt.

And why she was wearing a Sandman shirt, I couldn’t begin to decipher for you.

Wayne Hussey (from the Mission) showing up at a dream party was a bit of a shocker. I’ve met Wayne and he’s a man with a large heart, although I think he tries to be more “cool” than he needs to be based on the 30 minutes I spent with the band. I have a feeling he and I could be great friends, if there was an opportunity for it and we could get past the whole fan/star relationship. Him wanting to plant a kiss on me is entirely within his character and chances are he’d try to make lip contact instead of a cheek peck if the dream had progressed beyond my “WTF” and waking up. I don’t think he’s gay, but I the real Wayne just doesn’t give a shit.

The rest of the party attendees (was there really room for more?) consisted mostly of high school upperclassmen from that program similar to what is now known as STEM. We used to sober-party all the time, but I can’t imagine why they were there. I reconnected with a few on Facebook before I went on a FB detox, and we all mostly got along, but I was still the young interloper for the most part (with a few very notable suggestions). But I can’t imagine why my subconscious needed them to attend a party with Debbie Harry and Wayne Hussey. All that was missing was the Police — but I’m not sure I could have dealt with Sting.

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