My night was filled with strange dreams. We were at a big party with many celebrities in attendance. I find myself in a room full of straight people that included Portia DeRossi. Her and I seem to be getting along and I tell her that I prefer her current work on Arrested Development to her older work on Allie McBeal. She’s happy about that. Suddenly everyone in the room has decided that they wish to have an orgy. Portia doesn’t want to participate in the larger fray, but instead wants to get me secluded in some corner so I can orally gratify her. C’mon, Portia… I’m gay.
“The best ones always are”, she says before lifting her cream-colored skirt and attempting to make my face her seat. I see she’s wearing an electric blue thong. I chuckle and take my leave.
Out in the main room, the party is in full swing. Banquet and buffet tables overflowing with every sort of culinary delight. Is that Oprah? I make my way over to say hello.
I am intercepted by a slightly overweight, plain-looking man in his late 40’s. He tells me that he needs to buy a book for his 12-year-old son and I suggest A Wrinkle in Time by Madeline Lengal. He seems disinterested and makes a rude comment. I decide to confront him and so I chastise him for his rudeness… an event that seems to obligate him to listen to the reasons behind my book-suggestion. We start walking while I tell the tale of A Wrinkle… and before too long I realize that I am outside… in the suburbs… late at night… with this stranger… I continue telling his the story and at some point I look up to realize that I am witnessing a total eclipse of the sun… at midnight. It seems a dark omen… I lose my place in the story and realize that I too am hopelessly lost.
We arrive at his SUV and he offers to drive me back to the party. I get in and we end up driving to his house. It’s a huge one in a really nice neighborhood. I’m wondering while I’m there. He says that he has to get something and then he’ll drive me back. I look for his address with the intention of calling Chas and having him come and get me… but to no avail… my cell phone is getting no reception… or is it the battery?
We enter his house and he goes onward, presumably to his room and I wait in front of the door. I realize that I am in the house of a strange middle-aged man who is a stranger to me. I’m bothered and am struck with concern for my safety. Maybe he’s a serial-killer? A rapist? A Republican? I test the doorknob… still unlocked… anything happens and I make a run for it.
Suddenly a blond woman wearing nothing but a white open robe walks by yawning… her breasts exposed. Before I can look away she sees me and lets out a yelp. I am, after all, a complete stranger in her house late at night. I apologize, and so does she, but I can see that there is something more in her eyes. I am filled with the impression that her husband has done this before and that she has been in the habit of trying to keep that knowledge out of her white suburban consciousness, but instead of calming her that denial has caused her to be bitter and cold behind her veneer of false warmth. A part of her is dead and I feel sorry for her. She wraps her robe around her and makes her way into the kitchen.
The man returns and apparently has had a few words with his wife and is now ready to take me back to the party. With some trepidation, I get into his vehicle and strap in our seatbelts… when he starts the engine the scene changes and we are in his TV room on his couch… still seat belted, and watching a strange scene on the screen… disembodied heads floating in a large vat of clear liquid, all casually talking to each other as if at a fancy cocktail party. There’s a b-actress I haven’t seen in awhile… and there is one of those strange aliens that reminds me of the Cantina scene in Star Wars. They’re all just lazily sharing stock-tips and golf scores… the price of condos, and who’s-hot-this-year. The man recognizes the film and says it’s a classic work of some obscure director. I start to notice that I am feeling strange… slight visual hallucinations and a fuzzy feeling in my head. Have I been drugged? Then his wife again enters the room, complaining that she can’t sleep and that she has a headache. He goes to get her an aspirin, and I say, “I’m sorry you have a headache.” to which she replies, “You just won’t stop, will you?”
I wake up with a puzzled feeling. The whole psychic vibe was oppressive in a way… foreboding. Lucky for me that feeling didn’t translate to the waking world as it often does with me. Good… ’cause life has actually been pretty kickass good lately and I don’t want to spoil it for no good reason. I have a date tonight and I’m looking forward to it. 🙂