I woke up at 3:38 a.m. this morning, and I was planning to write all about the deep thoughts that one has at that ungodly hour, but I’m going to save that for my next post. Today – I’m going to write about the crazy-ass dream I had between 5-7 a.m.
I was in New York with friends (none of whom I currently know). We were staying in a hotel and split out into two rooms – mine was #1010 and I was sharing it with a guy. I’m pretty sure it was the fellow who plays Tyrone on Coronation Street. Anyway, I went shopping with the girls and remember buying Fresh products. A girl I was with bought bright orange heels and I think, a matching bag. I’m pretty sure I know this chick in real life and I suspect she might be L2. Anyway, for whatever reason we decide to take a abus back to our hotel. We’re at the bus stop waiting and there are 2-3 black girls with us. One of them starts bothering us. In fact, I’d say the bitch was the equivalent of a bully since at one point she’d thrown me to the ground and was sitting on top of me. She wanted the crap we’d bought. Anyway, while she’s on top of me, her friend grabs my shopping bag and presumably my purse, since I remember worrying they’d have my phone. I don’t remember how we get to the hotel.
I then find myself in the hotel lobby, and it’s filled with people. All I want to do is go to my room but I don’t have a key and I remember thinking that the concierge wouldn’t give you another key but I can’t remember why. So I’m on the couch talking to these girls, presumably about what happened. I think they were nice but I don’t recall. The lobby is pretty full. I then see a tall black man walk past me, as I’m telling the girls about what happened. I think it’s Lionel Ritchie but in addition to that, it also turns out that he’s Whitney Houston’s father. He accuses me of lying about his granddaughter – the thieving bitch. I don’t recall what he was saying but it was enough to piss me right off and my reaction was to ask him if he was on crack too. There was a loud gasp from all the other guests when I said that. I remember thinking that was a cheap shot but whatever – it was a dream and the words just came out. Plus, sarcasm is second nature to me. Anyway, Whitney Houston’s daughter ripped me off.
The girls I was talking tried to calm me down (I think), and they called my room (#1010 – that number seemed to come up a lot) to see if “Tyrone” is back. He is, so he comes down to the lobby. He tells me he got my stuff back, which is questionable because when I look in the bag he gives me, all I see are those fucking orange high heels. “Tyrone” suggests going somewhere but I wanted to go to the room and freshen up first.
I head toward the elevators and see that the doors are open and about to close; there were two guys in there and one of them holds the door open for me. Both guys are smiling and seem pretty friendly. The one that stuck out the most had on a suit, and he had longish blond hair. He stood abnormally close to me for a stranger, and randomly touched me – you know, like someone does when they’re into you? They touch your arm or whatever. Anyway, I don’t particularly recall enjoying that. So we get to my floor and as I’m about to get out, dude grabs me around the waist, pulls me to him and licks my neck repeatedly. What. the. fuck. Whatthefuck!?
I don’t remember what happened between the time that I got off the elevator and this next bit of madness, but I’m with a guy that I went to university with (hi C-W!). We’re walking outside, when we come across a procession or parade that looked strangely, well, strange. It looked like we were in Cairo or some kind of Middle Eastern market. I remember telling Uni-guy that it reminded me of the scene in The Godfather II, when the religious procession is taking place, and Vito kills Fanucci. Anyway, it was really crowded with what seemed to be Arab men, shouting and chanting. Maybe they were praying – who the hell knows. So I look over to my right and I see the procession. I see an elephant. The streets were too crowded for me to really see the full procession and I got distracted by a group of Arab guys shouting at each from other atop the elephants or plantforms they were sitting on. They were all lined up with each other. THEN Russell Peters shows up. I think he was one of the angry men. He leans to his right and reaches his hand out behind him, and from the back of his head he pulls out a bone. I think he had some kind of ornamental action going on back there. He then throws the bone at one of the Arab guys. As the bone sails toward the guy, it elongates and the guy catches it with something that looks like a long, skinny tree trunk. Now that’s not phallic imagery at all, right?
So then it’s night and we’re on an empty street. I tell Uni-guy that I need to go somewhere specific (no clue where). We walk for a bit and get to a corner. One side is East 15th and the other is West 55th. We run across the street and go up W55th.