in which jessica alba gives me a valuable lesson in personal hygene

sigh--J dreamed about me.

I often have dreams about celebrities. They're my second most recurring dream image, and again, I'm sure I could look that up in some fancy analysis, but I'd like to think that it's because all our dreamstates are connected by winding pathways and sometimes we end up in each other's subconscious. When I was a child once, I was sick and sleeping in my mother's bed. We both had a dream with the other one in it and it was the same dream. That's enough proof for me.

I'm usually not this esoteric, but it's a fun thing to believe, especially when you don't believe in much else.

Ms. Alba was the most recent visitor to my curious dreamscape, though unfortunately not in a provacative sense. We had to pick her up from the airport (planes falling from the sky are my third most popular dream topic followed closely by Jesus Christ, who once showed up to a New Year's dream party, but I woke up before I could get into the kitchen to see him)--I think my sister was interviewing the actress for a magazine or something--but whatever her reason Jessica Alba was hanging out with us, and I'm pleased to say she was very pleasant. I was able to get over my fear of women I'm attracted to (and pretty much the entirety of womankind) and speak freely, and I was pretty damn funny, too (a good sign that it was, in fact, a dream). I think we were all watching a movie or something. I was sitting on the floor in front of a bed, and Jessica was lying on the bed on her stomach and under one of my blankets--my Egyptian cotton blanket--and she mentioned that she didn't like the blanket very much. My sister who was sitting on a chair or something, seemed to get upset by the comment, but I wanted to hear her out, since she was being polite about it. She continued to say that the blanket was comfortable enough but it smelled funny, and I needed to take better care of myself. I thanked her because I needed to hear that and I agreed.

So that was it for that dream.

Back off, Alba. I saw him first.

Another recent visitor was none other than international pop star Kylie Minogue, or just plain Kylie depending upon where in the world you are. She played a show at a small club in town that was usually desiginated for the indiest of the indie touring rock bands. I was surprised that such a big name star was not only coming to town but also playing such a small club, so I decided to go check it out. The rest of the audience was the typical hipster types, who were scoffing Kylie and her music. I'm not a fan either, in fact I don't think I've heard more than three of her songs, but I was willing to give her a chance anyway. She took the stage and she started to put on a stellar performance, though I wasn't that into what she was doing, but I was willing to give her a warm reception. The rest of the crowd wasn't so willing, however, and after one and a half songs, Kylie exited the stage, though her backing band played on. I noticed through the window that she had made it out side and was leaning up against a car and looking into club. I ventured outside and started apologizing for the shittiness of the crowd, how they were only not cheering because they thought that was the cool thing to do, and that I thought she sounded really good, though I'm not a fan of her music.

We engaged in a short conversation, and I soon realized that I was kinda hitting on her and that she was kinda digging it. Then, the rest of the hipsters had started streaming out of the club and got in between us and I kinda grudgingly backed off from Kylie. Then there was a drive-by shooting or something like that and I woke up.

Perhaps showing up in my dreams will become some sort of a celebrity fad, like the new Scientology, or perhaps I should stop watching so much television.