What Was I Smoking Last Night?

Saturday, April 07, 2007
I don’t normally remember my dreams but when I do they’re awfully strange. I’ve had some truly weird dreams in my time, a few of which are recurring nightmares. The one with the Gremlin attached to the screen door staring at me through the window like some psychotic Ontario black squirrel demanding his daily ration of peanuts is a good example. One that I had last night though took the cake. While not a nightmare, it certainly falls into the realm of the truly bizarre.

Once again I ended up in England, apparently allowed back in the country after the previous misunderstanding at the airport. It was January, my birthday, and a bunch of bloggers had arranged to meet up at a pub in London. There was Red, *Asterisk, Alun, Barbara B (who flew over with me), and Martin who decided to pop over from Sweden for a quick drink. However, our pub wasn’t a pub after all; it was a club full of 20-somethings hopped up on ecstasy or whatever it is kids get whacked out on these days. Regardless we decided to stay and try to show these youngsters how to kick it old style (these are the actual words spoken by *Asterisk in my dream…). Rather than a mix of house music and electronica (I’m assuming they’re two different things), they only played one song over and over – the Flash Gordon remix by Mista Lawnge. As I love me some Flash (Quarterback, New York Jets … see the movie), I had to dance. The only one of our group who would dance with me was Martin. That Swedish boy certainly knew how to shake his money maker. I think the reluctance of the rest of you was due to the completely empty dance floor.

As luck would have it, it was also the weekly dance contest at this particular club. The prize we won (not surprising as we were the only ones dancing) was tickets for the entire group to see Tom Jones in concert that night. Can you say “died and gone to heaven”? We jumped into a cab and headed to the theatre, taking our seats just as the lights went down and TJ hit the stage. He went through a number of hits: It’s Not Unusual, Never Gonna Fall in Love, What’s New Pussycat, etc. Taking a bit of a breather, he started to chat with some audience members. Suddenly he stops and points up at our group. “What’s that sign say?” he asks. “’It’s her birthday…she came all the way from Canada to see you’”. I turned to my left and Red is standing there smiling (while still looking blurry as she and *A do in all their photos) holding a big sign over her head. Next thing I know, two big burly security guards are hustling me down to the main floor and onto the stage.

Giddy with excitement and tears rolling down my face, I threw myself on the stage floor and wrapped my arms around his legs. Chuckling to himself and wiping his face with some granny’s panties, he unwrapped me from his legs, put his arm around me and asked me what my favourite song was. As he’d already sung most of my faves and I was so stunned I could barely think, all I could squeak out was “SEX BOMB”. Our group exploded with laughter. Gyrating against me, his hand on my ass, TJ gave me my own personal rendition of Sex Bomb. It was awesome (except for the sweaty chest hair which was right at eye level for me). Returning to my seat, everyone showed me the great pictures and even a video of the performance they had managed to take.

The show finished and we were getting ready to leave when Alun suddenly disappeared. We eventually found him backstage chatting away with Tom. We were all a bit stunned. It turned out they were related in some distant way – something about his mother’s cousin’s third husband’s next door neighbour who had once crashed into Tom’s aunt’s milkman’s son’s Fiat. Welshmen…go figure. However, he managed to get us invited to hang out with TJ at a pub nearby (and yes, it was an actual PUB this time). We spent a few hours downing pints and having a good laugh. However, it was soon time to leave as Martin had to get back to Sweden, Red, *Asterisk, and Alun all had long drives back home, and Barb and I had a long flight back to Canada.

We were getting into the car (somehow we managed to end up with a tiny red hatchback instead of taking a cab) when Tom called me back into the pub. Leaning in close he whispered that it was a shame for me to come all this way for just the concert. I heard a zipper. When I stepped back, I saw that Tom Jones was standing in front of me, naked from the waist down (FYI, those rumors about him? All true…yes indeed). All I could do was stare, I was so shocked. “What do you say?” he winked. With extreme willpower, I pulled my gaze away from his nether regions and looked at his face. Walking up to him, I kissed his cheek and said “Sorry, but you’re just too much man for me” and headed back to the car. Realizing the opportunity I had just given up (don’t worry, I would NEVER take advantage of it…he’s married and god knows how many women he’s been with…ick), I told everyone to wait one more sec and ran back into the pub. I managed to catch him just as he was about to pull up his trousers. Seeing I had come back, he let them fall once more and smiled. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, I reached into my purse, pulled out my camera and took the million dollar shot. I ran back to the car, hopped in and we drove off to the airport.

As we headed towards Heathrow, we stopped at a traffic light beside a car with Moby inside. He asked us for some French’s Mustard which was awfully strange; giggling, we asked "Don't you mean Grey Poupon?". Nope, he said. Dijon is too poncey.

I woke up.

The first thing I did? I jumped out of bed and ran to check both my cameras to see if it really was a dream. It was. Nuts.

6 comments:

* (asterisk) said...

How very bizarre! For one thing, I'm sure I would have said "kick it old school". For another thing, you're obsessed with Tom Jones, woman! Very funny dream, though!

Beth said...

You had a dream involving international travel, drugs, Tom Jones, dirty dancing, your birthday, mustard, Moby, nudity and a thwarted tryst. That has to be one of the best dreams ever.

Barbara Bruederlin said...

Normally when someone tells you their dream, it's a pretty awful experience, but that was beyond hilarious! I was actually shocked, shocked I tell you, at old TJ's leacherous behaviour! Glad you had such am astounding dream birthday.

I can't believe you and I didn't head up to Oxford to visit Radiohead though. Maybe next time we fly to Britain together.

Gardenia said...

I'm sorry - but I'm laughing so hard. I truly wish I had a film clip of all this wild stuff! My dreams are sort of Marc Chagall kinda stuff, never a story to tell, so I envy you! This is a real keeper!!!!!

Martin said...

That was so not a dream. "That Swedish boy certainly knew how to shake his money maker." Sheer reality. I was kind of miffed that TJ got all your attention in the end. (-;

Red said...

How sweet it is to be dreamed by you!

And because we're buddies, I returned the compliment a couple of nights ago, where we were swimming in a river in a big city. I was diving from a bridge, then you kindly told me there was a stone staircase off the side of the bridge, so we could ease ourselves into the water, without jumping from a dangerously great height. It was fun, but the river got a bit dirty eventually...

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