Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These

I had a dream last night, in which I was directing a movie about my friends… starring family and friends.

We all lived in this huge, run down, southern style mansion. My brother and his wife played… my brother and his wife. I played myself. My romantic interest was an ex who I haven’t seen or heard from in about 4-5 years (nice girl, though). My sisters were back-up singers (thinking about it, I have no idea why back-up singers would be needed in a non-musical), few co-workers were the crew, and my parents ran the catering truck…

Did I mention that the entire “movie” was shot in the middle of a massive hurricane?

Anyway, we are shooting the movie, and of course… the usual problems arise. The cameras run out of film… My brother cannot grasp the fact that you cannot look directly into the camera… My sisters are horrible singers… My ex is felatting every male within a 5 mile radius (she was very friendly)… My parent’s catering truck got swept up by the hurricane, with them inside of it (which sucks because it was Burrito Day)… You know, the basics.

While shoot a crucial, heart-wrenching scene, in which my brother tells his wife that he must go on the road to follow John Tesh during his latest world tour, a homeless man (who looked a lot like my 5th grade gym teacher) walks in and decides that he must hold everyone hostage, until he gets the one thing he has been trying to find for the past couple … a pink kazoo. After 30 minutes of pleading for our lives, it took 5 minutes with my ex (I knew she was good for something) for him to let us go. I was so grateful, I cast him as Todd Tinkerly, a man who held up the family for a pink kazoo (I am nothing, if not original).

I honestly woke up when I yelled out, “Cut!”. You know you had a weird dream when the thing you think or say when you wake up is, “What the…?”