Dreams of a Dreamy Dream

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In our “Hell in a Handbag” post below, corespondent Debs commented “medicine for bone cancer also gives one very vivid, livid dreams….” Amazing, since the one side effect of my AIDS medicine I didn’t mention is the onset of immensely amusing dreams, totally different from my previous unconscious, very realistic with internally consistent plots and effects. Plus I can direct them at will during the dream itself. If I don’t like the way things are turning out, I’m aware of it and can re-channel the action into more pleasurable directions. I’m wild for them.
Saturday night I had one where I was a house guest at Martha Stewart’s place, along with our dear, dear chum Glenn Close. Of course, since it was Martha, the house was a beautiful series of Paladian pavilions, pretentious bitch. I couldn’t really pay the proper attention to Martha or her goddam dogs since I was terribly busy as a high fashion model in the middle of a photo shoot. I had to calm the overwrought Italian photographer by telling him “Shut up, I know what I’m doing” in flawless Italian (“Stai zitto, io so quello che sto facendo,” in case you were wondering, and thank you Google’s translation thingy.) It’s possible he was so nervous because I was wearing a gold suit with a gold tie set with gemstone. And I don’t mean it was gold colored, I mean it was gold metal, but I was able to pull it off with my best vogueing. I know what I’m doing.




Real Italian models. Not mrpeenee. I know what I’m doing.

And then last night, probably overly influenced by my own blog, I dreamed I was sexing it up with the Night is Half Gone Aries guy. We were in a beautiful room paved in sea glass tiles and I was driving him wild by sucking, gently, on his horns. The ones on his head, silly. There was a little red knob on the end of each one, like a Jujube. I was so sorry to wake up.


In other mrpeenee news, Super Agent Fred and I are winging it off to Los Angeles tomorrow for a few days in order for me to escape from the kitchen renovation. I figure if I can’t have a kitchen, I might as well do so in a nice hotel. Felix in Hollywood encourages us to come out on one of his fabulous sounding tours, overriding my puking whine about the heat. I know it’s California and whinging about the heat here is nothing to endear us to readers suffering along where the temps are serious, but I’m delicate darling. Delicate.

We certainly hope this is included on dear Felix’s tour. We would hate to ask for our money back.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

9 responses »

  1. Wow.
    Seriously….you should offer tours of your dreams! Better than Hollywood, they are.

    But do please give Felix my best!

    I'm totally jealous….of everything in this post, I think….especially of that jujube horn sucking.

    Like

  2. complete with riding boots and a whip, he directs his own dreams….cecil b. depeenee, we'll make our greatest picture yet!

    (hope you were able to get that first
    B&W photo onto the casting couch.)

    Like

  3. …but it's a Dry heat darling.

    If you stop by “Rent-A-Houseboy” and bring along a couple of nubile types with fans and a platter of freshly peeled grapes to aid in your comfort, please remember, they must purchase tickets as well.

    Like

  4. Don't give me delicate as I sweat in 100 plus heat for the I-don't-know-how-many-straight-days-in-a-row hell that is Texas right now.

    Jason, are you with me? NoLa can't be much better.

    And I wish, so wish, I were with you and Fred. And not because of the weather.

    Like

  5. Ummmm, you didn't leave Saki alone with the remodelers, did you??? After all, you really didn't want to come home to a bunch of workmen with their throats torn out, did you? Or to phone messages about a starving cat using your MasterDiscoVisAmExCard to charge plane tickets, then caviar at Fortnum & Mason's???

    Oh, shit, everyone, I think Mr. P. may have done so. Better pass the hat for his bail money.

    Like

  6. I had a Martha Stewart dream once. It was right before she went to jail. In my dream, I figured that she was somebody who never got any hugs, so I hugged her! And I would do it even now.

    Like

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