10:20 - Saturday, Jul. 05, 2003
Justin to Kelly to Tilda Swinton
Well . . . It's my hundredth entry and it seems like a good place to start to tell you about my dream last night. All of you into dream interpretation, feel free to weigh in here and tell me what you think it means . . .

I am in someone's loft aparment and walk over to a sofa where a close friend from college is sitting. I haven't talked to her in years. She looks up and says, "Are you ready to go?" Her tone is very matter of fact. She seems pleased to see me. There are many others in the room that I went to college with. I don't recall leaving. At one point, another old college friend in the room let me know that the person I went to dinner with a while back (who I met as the former boss of a close friend and who it turned out knew the old college friend from her tiny high school in the South) was a bitch. She laughed heartily.

I'm at a Taco Bell in Irving, Texas. A nice Taco Bell. We walk in and there is a moderate-sized crowd on the left standing in an arc parallel to the service counter to my right. This is no slouchy Taco Bell. Not out of the ordinary. But nice. Like a training facility or something? They would try out the new burritos here. Behind the counter, are Justin and Kelly. Yes. Justin and Kelly from the smash miss film "From Justin to Kelly," which someone recently called "From Justin to Kelly to Video." Kelly is pretty good. Justin however seems completely lost. He takes an order and just kind of walks back to where the prep cooks are. He seems afraid to interrupt them. His curls are bouncy. If it was not a dream I would have been wondering why he didn't have a hair net on. Or at least an "American Idol" bandanna on to keep his hair from my 7-layer burrito and out of the caulked-out guacamole.

Flash to a family vacation of sorts. I am at a cabin or some motel with my parents. I have shaved off my facial hair and am wearing a tight bandanna around my hair that I have dyed red. The fabric is white with huge thick ovals that are a hotpink/organge. I keep looking in the mirror thinking I am Tilda Swinton. I hear a car pull up and its my gay-loving aunt. She comes in through the screen door that seems to bang much more loudly thatn one ever intends it to and wants to talk to me. We had somewhere to go, but she did say (very matter-of-factly), "We can talk about your appearance later." I woke up.

So that's pretty much it. Anyone have any ideas? I feel like dreams are often just clips of what I have been experiencing- remnants of thoughts and jokes and desires from the recent past.

That said. I am back in business. I am desperately trying to get myself organized. There are just piles and piles and piles around me. Help!

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