My name is Self-Appointed Expert, and this is my blog. It is part memoir, mostly fiction, and above all just trying to be funny. Some of is based on stuff that happened to me, some is based on stuff that happened to people I know, and a good deal is just entirely made up. So, if you find yourself offended, just remember - it's a joke. When you give me that look, it's a joke. Consider it my homage to the Secret Life of Walter Mitty, A Million Little Pieces, John Hodgman, and Christopher Guest.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

I had a dream...

...last night, that I was at a carnival where Pam Anderson, Paris Hilton, and Britney Spears all tried to talk to me. Like, literally, I had a dream.

Highlights:
  • Pam Anderson didn't say anything, but she was wearing the dress I'd seen her in on Go Fug Yourself.
  • All Paris Hilton did was turn to me as I was running by (in a sweat suit and leather loafers, for some reason) and say "Hi!" before turning away to giggle with Nicole Richie. I remember thinking to myself, she's just doing it for the cameras. Why the cameras would want to see Paris Hilton saying hello to me, I don't know. (And, no, her nipple wasn't showing, although I'm assuming that my reading this story yesterday is why she ended up in the dream.)
  • The Britney Spears part was by far the most significant scene in the dream. I had been sitting on a picnic blanket with some people eating pancakes (which, in real life, I wanted to have for breakfast the other day, but they weren't serving - I guess I didn't really know how badly I wanted pancakes until they showed up in the dream, I mean, I thought that the omlette I had instead was fine, but I guess I was still existentially disappointed or whatever). Britney comes up to me (and she looks like 15 year old Britney, so not fugly trailor trash but not quite sexy starlet yet either) and says to me, like she's really trying to force herself to have a conversation with a fan, "Looks like you're pretty good with blankets." For some reason, this offends me. I think I thought she thought she was too cool to have a real conversation, so she just looked around, focused on the nearest item she could identify (i.e., my picnic blanket), and tried to turn it into a conversation that was vaguely complimentary. Suffice it to say, I didn't buy it. So, nastily, I retort (and I remember the tone absolutely being one of a slam-dunk comeback), "Actually, my friends and I were just eating pancakes."
Nice try, Britney.

Later on in the dream, I switched from Carnival to some Oscar party in a restaurant with Sarah Jessica Parker and, I think, Kirsten Dunst. I remember being pissed because I was in a fancy dress (that was a little too tight), and they were dressed kind of casually, you know, for celebrating the Oscars. Bitches. Also, I had a silver ring on that could get me into the VIP room, but for some reason I couldn't find the actual room, and Sarah and Kirsten also couldn't (or wouldn't) tell me where it was. So, I just kep ordering drinks until the imaginary bartender cut me off.

In conclusion, I need to spend less time reading blogs about famous people and more time doing...anything else, really. Eat that, Kirsten.

1 Comments:

Blogger Pru said...

With dreams like that, who needs drugs?
It always astounds me, the things my brain fires at me while I sleep.

3:06 PM

 

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