Sunday, July 1

variety pack

I hope there's nothing psychologically relevant in one's dreams. You'll know why I hope this in a moment.

The first scene I can clearly recall from last night's dream was the following: a retired spanish soap actor in a wheel chair--still dressed in his over-the-top stage apparel (sorry, that was a redundant description because spanish soaps and over-the-top are synonymous)--was trying to convince me to marry his son (who looked suspiciously like Enrique Iglesius) instead of Conlin. I refused. He tried using his wheel-chair reduced life to guilt me into succumbing. I still refused. He finally accepted my answer but said that, if this was my final decision, the least I could do to ease his pain was do a photo shoot with my mother for one of his friends. I don't remember agreeing but the next thing I knew I was in a Ferrari with my mother, posing obnoxiously while a fan blew our hair back. I was told the photo shoot was a gift for a pop star; the pop star turned out to be Marlo, a gangster from the show The Wire. I guess he decided he was more suited to a life of auto-tune than selling cocaine on the corners. That's his prerogative.
Anyway...Marlo decided our clothing was too modest and asked that we change into daisy dukes. My mother and I unanimously agreed this was a bad idea, and left the set. Marlo sent his thugs (whom he still had pull with) to "persuade us otherwise." After the gangsters showed up on our porch, the scene miraculously transitioned to me walking into a hotel. Not sure how the previous plot ended.
As it turned out, this was the same hotel the Heat and the Thunder were staying at during the playoffs. I saw Lebron and the rest of his crew pile into old, forest-green Suburbans. I remember being surprised they didn't travel in something fancier. Next I saw Kevin Durant and some of his teammates sitting in the back of a car (make unclear). Their window was rolled down and I yelled something obnoxious like, "Go Thunder!" Durant gave me a weird look and suddenly I realized this was not Durant, but Kevin Garnett. I was instantly humiliated because, yo, I know my NBA teams. Once inside the hotel lobby I ran into Tony Parker. He was wearing a Maverick's jersey which confused me. I helped him with his physical therapy (made necessary by the eye injury he incurred while at a bar with Chris Brown). We mostly worked on his balance. He only seemed mildly grateful for my assistance, but whatever.

Then I woke up.

Also, my picture has nothing to do with my dream, but aren't we all shocked I didn't turn out to be a fashion designer?

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