I don't want to know.

Between the two of us, I think that by the time our book comes out, Jessica and I will have had every anxiety dream known to man. But I have NO IDEA what the vivid little play that came to me last night is supposed to mean:

I was at a fashion show that took place in a very small room, with chairs in an L shape and only about three rows' worth. Blake Lively was there, and so was Madonna. Off to the left, across from my row of chairs, was another room that was supposed to be backstage, but Katy Perry was sitting in there on a desk, wearing a catsuit, relaxing as if waiting to go on but leaning back and spreading her legs in a scissor position. As if that's really fun. (Well, maybe it is. I don't know her life.) Then Lady Gaga arrived and ran over to say hi to Madonna, and they greeted each other by rubbing each other's elbows with their hands and purring. Gaga, so moved by this introduction, broke into spontaneous performance art that involved writing on the wall. Katy Perry said, "Dude, FUNKY." Then, of course, who should sit next to me but actor Miguel Ferrer (except in my dream he looked like a cross between Real Miguel Ferrer and John Waters), who introduced himself as if we'd met once before and said, "Tell Kevin HE MADE GOOD."

Kevin's response to this was, "Miguel Ferrer is wise." My response is more along the lines of WTF. Miguel Ferrer is George Clooney's cousin, though, so maybe it's...

I don't even know, and maybe it's best if I don't try.

Comments

[Kate F.]

Oh man, do I hear you on anxiety dreams. I've always been the queen of exhausting dreams, and now that I'm pregnant they're getting even weirder. I had a Lady Gaga cameo in one recently, too! It was part of a VERY long and involved dream, but suffice it to say that as I and the crew of Dear Genevieve were waiting in the living room of the house we planned to redo (?), Lady Gaga showed up and demonstrated the musical number (with costumes and lights) she planned to perform while appealing a speeding ticket later that day. When she wasn't singing she barely spoke, only nodded or shook her head. Then we were at a dinner table and a friend of mine who has never lived there was lecturing everyone about how Washington D.C. was the perfect city, which has everything (comparable, somehow, to my small home town. Which makes no sense.), and far better than, specifically, Paris. Gaga and I were in agreement about the fallacy of that statement. We both love Paris. Obviously.