Set goals. Follow your dreams.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I heard the pitter-patter of little feet running to my room. There was a knock on the door, followed by, “Daddy??” Knowing what she was after, I met her at the door. My 6-year-old had a nightmare.

I followed her back to her room to comfort her and hopefully get her back to sleep. As I sat next to her bed, stroking her hair, she rolls over. “Daddy? Why do they make bad guys in movies?” I went into an explanation that they need the bad guys to give the good guys something to beat. Seemingly accepting my explanation, she rolled back over.

A few minutes later, she rolled over again. “Daddy? Why do they sometimes make bad guys scary?” I didn’t really have a good explanation for this one. I went into some nonsensical explanation that was basically, “The good guys always win, so there is nothing to worry about.” Again, she accepted my answer and rolled back over.

Another few minutes passed. “Daddy? Why did they make Maleficent scary?” Knowing this was the source of her nightmare and knowing that I had to give a convincing answer that would answer her question, but also comfort her enough that she could go back to sleep, I went a little deeper. This time, it involved explaining that in the movie, Maleficent wasn’t really the bad guy. She was bad out of a necessity to protect her friends. (If you’ve seen the movie, my explanation made perfect sense.) She accepted this answer, too, and rolled back over.

It had been a decent amount of time at this point, and I was ready to go back to sleep myself. I knew that she would fall back to sleep pretty quickly even if I left. As I got up to leave, she rolled over and asked where I was going. I told her I was going back to bed. “Aw, man. I am trying to reach my goal of dreaming about penguins.”

This was just too cute. I couldn’t leave yet. I sat for a few more minutes stroking her hair and whispering, “Penguins.” I’m hoping she achieved her goals.

The cookout

I fell asleep on the couch last night while my wife was watching Bravo’s Shahs of Sunset. I believe they were planning some sort of party or something. I don’t know. I was asleep. I can only piece together what I know from what ensued below and scenes I groggily heard as I awoke and stumbled out of the room.

We were having a cookout at work. My boss’ boss’ boss had enlisted my help to get everything ready. We were searching for 3 grills. The charcoal kind. Because a gas grill would be too easy. In our futuristic high-rise, we ran from floor to floor frantically searching for grills.

As luck would have it, Nathan Lane was there to help. Not only did he know where we could find the grills, he helped them get set up. Then Monsieur Nathaniel Lane, as you referred to him, in a French accent, of course, stuck around to grill hotdogs and hamburgers.

As we were cooking the hotdogs and hamburgers, I was also chopping salad. Chef Lane calls up some friends of his to help with the salad preparation. (I believe it was Billy Crystal who announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mister Nathan Lane…” and then stuck around to help with chopping tomatoes.) This seemingly simple task was obviously too much for a commoner such as myself to tackle alone.

I woke up wondering what exactly was going on before I realized what had happened and wandered up to bed.

I don’t know what this dream means besides don’t fall asleep on the couch while your wife is clearing out her shows that are queued up on the DVR. Bravo will mess with your mind.

Abort! Abort! We’ve been discovered

I was dreaming last night, as I frequently do. Only, this time, I was having déjà vu. In my dream.

I was working with Sherlock Holmes, of all people. Sherlock Holmes as played by the one and only Robert Downey, Jr. In this dream, we were looking for some nondescript villain. I can remember no specific details about the villain. And he’s not really important to the story. The important thing is that I got to hang out with Robert Downey, Jr. How many of you have done that?

During my dream, my dream self realized that things seem very familiar. “I’ve been here,” I say. Everyone in the dream dismisses me. “Ok, buddy. If you insist. Whatever you say.” I demand they listen. “No. I know exactly how this ends.” I continue, “We end up on hovercrafts. One blue. One yellow. Sherlock Holmes comes back injured. The villain gets away.”

Then things get a little squirrely. The script changes. (Were this The Matrix, this is where the black cat would walk across the lobby.) Finally, your brain is like, “Dammit. We screwed up. We’ve played a rerun. Quick switch gears. But do it subtly.”

I go down the dead-end I knew I was going to go down. Two guys come out of the warehouse to help. This is new. I back down the alley. Amongst the piles of stuff on the sides of the alley, I see a bunch of Star Wars stuff. There were a few Millennium Falcons. I dug through the piles for a while, nostalgic for my childhood. I found a mint condition Stormtrooper helmet. The guy with you (I’m not sure who he was. Or who the girl was that was with us.) takes it. I found another helmet. This one had a pig nose. I don’t know why. It was funny, so I put it on. I’m not really sure what this had to do with anything, or what I thought this would accomplish on my mission.

As we are looking through stuff, we keep finding stuff to keep. Something catches my eye. As I go to look, I hear the guys who had just helped us start to walk around. That’s when I realize this isn’t just junk. They are selling all this stuff. Out of a back alley. By a warehouse. Or something. My “friends” hide.

My focus isn’t on the men anymore. I’ve moved on. Something has caught my eye. My “cover” is a diorama on a desk covered in stuff. I know this diorama. It’s like I’ve seen it before. The desk even looks familiar. I keep looking at it. Trying to figure out how I know it. Finally, I pick it up. I look at the bottom. There is a name. It was made by my brother. Not just in my dream. My actual brother. And I actually recognize it.

Then my brain is like, “Dammit! We screwed up again! Who is working the dream section tonight? Seriously.” And they jolt me awake, hoping I don’t feverishly type this all down before I forget the details.

I’m not sure what all was going on in there, but I think someone is losing their job over this.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this

I was driving to some event. I have no idea what type of event it was. The parking lot at the venue was under construction. I’m talking a huge dirt patch. Exactly what you imagine when you think of a construction site.

As I rounded a corner, I saw it, but it was too late. I drove into a huge hole. It was about 20 feet deep. Probably 30 or forty feet wide. Somehow, when I landed at the bottom, there was no damage to the Pilot. (As made by Honda. Not the type that flies planes. Or is used to pitch a tv show. The pilot shall henceforth be referred to as “the truck.”) Luckily, there were no injuries, either. I hopped out of the truck to survey the predicament.

I was stuck trying to figure out how to get the truck out of the crevasse. I hopped out of the hole easily. No idea how I made it out so easily. But the truck was still stuck. Fortunately, it was slanted coming out. A ramp for whatever equipment made the hole, no doubt. It was rather steep, though. And the ramp was only maybe 10-15 feet wide. If one were to get slightly off course, they would find themselves abruptly at the bottom.

I dropped the truck into 4 wheel drive and hit the gas. Hard. The truck started up the incline slowly. I nervously drove up the ramp, careful not to get close to the edge. Dirt and gravel were flying everywhere from under the wheels. The extra steep portion at the top of the ramp concerned me.

After a nerve-wracking climb, the truck made it up the ramp. I got to the top just as the hood flew open. As it slammed against the windshield, my eyes popped open. I looked at the clock. It was after 7:30. I should be on my way to work about now.

There’s no way it’s going to be a good day.

Worst roadtrip ever

It was a bright, sunny day. I was driving along a highway in the country. Out of nowhere, a semi was stopped in the middle of the road. Apparently, there was some sort of traffic jam. I slammed on my brakes. Knowing there was no way I could stop in time, I swerved into the other lane. There was a local news truck, Channel 10, to be exact, stopped in that lane. I pushed harder on my brakes.

I wasn’t able to stop in time. I braced myself for impact. I tapped their bumper. A pretty solid tap. Before I could register what had happened, a big red pickup slammed into the back of my car. Hard. It was a flashback to the accident I had a couple of years ago. There was surprisingly little damage for the severity of the impact I had felt. We all exited our vehicles to take a look at the extent of the damage.

It was at this point I noticed the semi was nowhere to be found.

A loud “Pop! Pop! Pop!” rang out. Instinctively, we all ducked. We immediately recognized it as gunfire. Crouching as we ran for cover behind our cars, we looked at the hill behind us. (I’m talking a head-height mound here. Similar to the sand dunes you see at the beach.) I don’t remember this hill being there before. And the cars were all now parallel to the mysterious hill. I’m not sure how or when any of this happened.

The policeman who had pulled up at some point climbed out of his car, which was also parallel to the hill. He drew his gun. I ran over to the hill and ascended it slowly. I was feeling heroic, I guess. As I peered over the top, I saw two men standing there firing towards us. Target practice. Literally. There was an archery style target on the hill. I don’t think shooting at us was intentional. I don’t think they knew we were just on the other side of the dune.

Realizing I had put myself in harm’s way, I climbed back down the hill. I didn’t know what caliber guns they were using, and I was afraid somehow the bullets might penetrate the hill. Near the top, they seemed to be coming almost all the way through the soft earth. My heroicness briefly subsided. We all took cover again.

The sound of the gunfire changed. It was louder. Bigger guns, we thought. Next thing I know, a rocket comes flying over the hill. The large, burly man who had been driving the red pickup picked up the rocket, flames still shooting out the back. He spun it over his head, much the way a wrestler would helicopter spin an opponent. I’m not sure exactly what he had hoped to gain by this, but it made sense in the moment.

He stopped spinning the rocket and hurled it back towards the hill, hoping to send it back from whence it came. I’m not sure if his intent was to kill our assailants or merely to warn them there were people on this side. But that didn’t seem important. He was saving us.

The rocket flailed towards the hill. It didn’t make it over the top. It hit the side of the hill and tumbled back down on our side, landing a few feet from where I was crouching. I stood up and started to run. In the excitement, I don’t know if I was running towards it or away from it. I just knew I had to run.

Suddenly, my eyes popped open and I sat up in bed,sweating and panting.

What does it all mean? Where was I going? Why was the cop standing by idly, merely a spectator? Why was the news crew not at least broadcasting my heroic deeds? Where did the semi go? Why is it always so hot in my bedroom?

Look at me. Yo soy Russell Brand.

I was shopping in a hat store last night. I’m always on the lookout for new hats. The sales lady was helpful. Mostly

Of course, I can’t be normal while, well, doing anything. That’s not my style. So I was walking around speaking in accents. At one point I said, “Look at me. I sound just like Russell Brand.” I don’t know how you could tell from looking at me. It’s not like I was walking around in super tight pants or anything. (Not that I don’t own any. PeachJello bought me a pair. I tried them on. Once. They’re going back. I need a little more room…downstairs. And, apparently, they do nothing for my butt. Or lack thereof.)

At one point, the sales lady walked up to me as I was trying on a hat. She called me out on my accent. She said I wasn’t fooling anyone. And I should drop the Mexican accent.

I walked out of the store with the sales lady following me. She was still going on about my fake Mexican accent. She didn’t stop even as I was greeting my cousins who were outside waiting for me. In folding lawn chairs. My family is weird.

I couldn’t have been more embarrassed. For her. Mexican? How could she not tell the difference? All of my accents are spot on. Naturally.

And then I woke up. On the floor. In Punkers’ room. And I couldn’t move. The floor is so hard in there. But, Mexican? Come on, now.

I understand the significance of the sticks*

The last thing I read last night was the following tweet:

@ericstonestreet Eric Stonestreet

thank you for all the happy birthday wishes. im 40 now and really enjoying it. and remember, sept 21st modern family returns.

So the following makes sense.  Kind of.  Not really.

I was hanging out with Eric.  Obviously, it was his birthday.  Or something.  We were doing…I don’t remember, exactly.  But, what was implied in his tweet, in case you missed it, is that he likes to break sticks.  With shovels.  And that’s how he wants to spend his birthday.  Or so my brain interpreted.

Eric and I hung out.  With our shovels.  And broken sticks.  The next thing I knew, I was standing with the gay couple from Brothers and Sisters.  (It’s a natural progression if you really think about it.)  We were talking to their niece about college.  Where she wanted to go.  What she wanted to study.  It seemed to be going well.  (I’m not exactly sure what happened to Eric, though.  He must have had something else to do at the time.)

This is when I woke up.  Which is odd.  That show normally puts me right to sleep.

So I got up and went to the bathroom.  Because, you know, that’s what you do after hanging with Eric Stonestreet and the gay couple from Brothers and Sisters.

And then I went back to bed.  As I started drifting off…You guessed it.  I was breaking sticks.  With a shovel.  Don’t ask me.  It’s Eric’s birthday wish.  Not mine.  (This is the first time the breaking sticks with shovels actually appeared in my dream.  That I remember.  I just assume that it is what Mr. Stonestreet and I had been doing previously.  It only makes sense, right?)

After this night of craziness, the morning erupted into similar insanity.  I thought I had plenty of time to finish everything and get out the door on time.  And then all the minutes disappeared.  It was time for Bean to leave for the bus.  Right then.  So I threw her lunch together and we rushed out the door.

Her bus stop is right around the corner.  In that short drive, I realized I had forgotten my coffee cup.  I dropped Bean off at her stop.  Then I ran home for my cup.  I raced back to the bus stop to make sure Bean got picked up.

On the way back to the bus stop, that whole 20 second drive, I felt my pocket.  I thought, “Where’s my phone?”  I may or may not have said this aloud.  I honestly can’t recall.  And it wouldn’t surprise me at all.  And it may or may not have been followed by a profanity.  I honestly can’t recall.  And it wouldn’t surprise me at all.

As soon as Bean got on the bus, I whipped the car back around and headed to the house.  Again.  For my forgotten phone, sitting on the corner where I left it while throwing the lunch together.

All I can say is, “Damn you, Eric Stonestreet.  Damn you and your breaking sticks with shovels birthday wish.”

*I do not understand the significance of the sticks.  Or the shovel.

Where did I put that?

I had another odd dream last night. This seems to be my motif lately. I have a weird dream. I post it here. We all share a good laugh.

I knew it was a good one, so I wrote it down as soon as I woke up. I didn’t want to forget any important details. It’s the least I could do. My problem is that I can’t find the paper upon which I wrote every detail of said dream.

I wrote it down as soon as I awoke. But, you see, I wasn’t actually awake. I was dreaming about sleeping apparently. And in my dream slumber, I was having a lucid dream. The details of this dream are the ones I had hoped to share. Another motif. A dream meme, if you will.

I know there was a bar. The kind where you drink. Not like a pole. Or a bunch of lawyers. And lots of people. We were doing something. Probably having some drinks. And then something happened. Most likely followed by something else. Then I woke up and wrote it all down and put it on my nightstand. And then woke up for real.

So here we are at an impasse. A dead end. I am at a loss of my dream…within a dream. (Mawwiage…) I really don’t know what to say. I have no excuse for myself.

What say we all pretend I gave you the details and we all share a good laugh. Deal? Cool.

Hahahaha! I know, right?

Snakes and planes

So we had a bunch of people over.  Like a family reunion.  Everyone was having a great time.  We were swimming in the pool.  Some were even swimming in the small pond.  (I’m not exactly sure why.  There was plenty of room in the pool.  But to each his own.)

All of a sudden, there is panic.  Everyone is evacuating the pool and pond.  Snakes!  There are snakes everywhere!  Tons of them!  Many poisonous!  Amidst the scurrying about, we call someone to come get rid of them!

The fright did not stop there.  Since it was World War II time, we had to scramble our planes.  Small, one person planes that, apparently, can fit into a room in my house.  Again, I’m not exactly sure why, as there were no other planes in the sky, and no obvious sign that this was needed.  And these planes had no armaments to protect us.

As we tried to get them airborne, we found that two of the four planes would not start, despite our best efforts.  We kept trying.  It seemed urgent.

But there were snakes!  And we were running around trying to keep the smaller children out of harms reach.  Why were they still in the pond?  And where did these snakes come from?

The planes still won’t start!  We have to take to the skies!  Why won’t they start?  (Why is it World War II time?!?)  As we hurry about, escaping the snakes, a neighbor steals one of the planes.  They pushed it down the street to their house.  We didn’t notice until they were almost home.  We launched one of the working planes to chase them down.  It would have been easier to run down there, but there was no time for such rational thought!

We started gathering the snakes, as the working plane chased down the thieving neighbor.  It was all happening at once.

Then there was a kick to my side.  Followed by an elbow.  It was finally the thud of Punker’s head landing on my stomach that awoke me from the insanity.

I’m just glad I ordered the beef sliders for dinner last night.  Can you imagine if I had ordered the bison?

I dont know what that means

Punkers decided to wake up at an ungodly hour.  To keep from having to clean up an all too familiar mess, I took her downstairs and attempted to get her to go back to sleep.

My efforts were in vain.  She dozed off a bit, but never achieved the deep sleep I hoped for, leaving me tossing and turning in the recliner with her tossing and turning in my lap.  Each time I thought she was asleep, I would try to carry her upstairs to return her to her bed.  Each time, I was greeted with a sleepy entreaty.  “Daddy!”  How could I resist?

So I stayed with her.  All morning.  I moved her to the couch and tried to get comfortable in the arm-chair.  Not an easy feat.  I faded in and out of a pseudo sleep.

As I was lying in the chair, I had a dream of me standing at the top of the steps.  I remember saying to someone, “And tomorrow I’ll hold your ostrich. I don’t know what that means.”  I’m not sure to whom I was speaking.  And I, indeed, did not know what that meant.  The next thing I knew, two people led an actual ostrich out the front door.  I don’t know who the two strangers were.  Or why they had an ostrich in my house.  Or who was going to clean up after this same flightless bird.

Then things got all Inception on me.  As they led the ostrich out the front door, I saw my dream self picturing himself (myself?) riding the ostrich.  I was holding a lance as we rode around the yard. Like real life Joust. You know, the old Atari game.  It was quite a sight.  And it made me nostalgic for my childhood.  I used to imagine that very scene.  Riding the ostrich with a lance.  Not the two strangers escorting said ostrich out of my house.

Then my dream self stopped picturing the odd situation in the front yard.  And then I woke from my not-quite-slumber.  All very peculiar.

I now have to watch Inception.  I’m hoping this scene made it to the movie.  If not, I’ll wait for the directors cut.

And I still don’t know what that all meant.