legionnaire

OK, after a few somewhat serious journal entries, I figured I'd lighten up the mood a tad.

So for those of you who wonder just what, exactly goes on in the mind of a scientist, I offer you this.

Last night I had a truly bizarre dream. Let me preface it by saying that I have never seen the Fox TV show "The Simple Life," though I guess I would have had to be living in a nuclear bomb shelter for the last six months to not at least be aware of its existence and basic premise. That being said....

My dream centered on the fact that for some reason, I was sharing a house with Paris Hilton. Just exactly where the house was is debatable, as at times it was the house where I grew up in Pennsylvania (a decidedly '70's split level in the proverbial middle of nowhere) and other times it a huge, modern house that is probably a combination of other places I've been and seen.

Regardless, I found myself laying on the carpet in the hallway, doing sit ups. Go me. Paris Hilton walked by me and went somewhere. I sort of stopped doing sit ups and turned around, to myself looking into the bathroom mirror (the door had been left open) and seeing her just about to squat on the toilet. I was embarrassed, so I looked away and started doing sit-ups again, but she freaked out, and came out of the bathroom and started yelling at me. I told her she was nuts and the last thing I wanted to do was watch her go to the bathroom (which is, in fact, true.) This didn't do much to placate her.

Then the dream fast forwarded about an hour to when I was lounging around on the couch with a guy who I've seen in a bunch of movies (you'd recognize him, he's got kind of a big nose and always plays the 'skater dude') and some other people. We were talking about going to see a movie, I don't remember which movie but we all knew it was going to be really, really bad. That didn't deter us, however, as we decided that it would be lots of fun to smoke a bunch of pot and then go watch the bad movie, in full knowledge of its crappiness. This seemed to me to be a great idea.

Just as they were starting to pass around the bong, Paris Hilton came into the room and said she wanted to talk to me. I said fine and left. We went back to my room, and I remembered that I had left on my computer and that I had an internet explorer window with SG open right on the screen (I'm not making this up, seriously.) I groaned as I foresaw the coming conversation, which indeed materialized as expected.

I spent the next minutes debating the definition of erotica versus pornography (a debate that I don't think many of you would find unusual) and how I like SG for other stuff besides cute naked girls. She wasn't buying it, and for some reason this really bothered me.

At this point, skater/movie guy comes back and tells me that they're leaving to go to the movie, and am I coming? I ask if they're still smoking and he says no, they've run out of pot. This really bothers me, as the only way I'm ever going to enjoy watching this movie is if I'm really stoned. I spend the next minute or so debating whether I want to go to the movie or not.

Then the dream fast forwards again to one of those MTV "The real world" type scenes where I'm now interviewing Paris Hilton and her little friend from the show (I don't know her name) about their thoughts on sharing a house with me. I can't remember what they were saying, but at one point I asked them how old they thought I was, and they both immediately responded "18 or 19." When I told them I'm 26, they both looked shocked and amazed, and didn't believe me.

That's the end of the dream. No, I didn't make anything up or embellish it, I guess I'm just weird. Why can't I dream about Al or someone else like that? Oh well.