I have always been a dreamer. And not just during the day.  My night time dreams are often colorful, deeply textured and a bit, um…bizarre. At one point I kept a dream journal by my bed because I was convinced my dreams could inspire some interesting writing.

Last night’s dream was no exception.

I dreamed that I was dating Demi Moore’s ex-husband, who was not Bruce Willis or Ashton Kutcher, but some random 40-something non-Hollywood dude. He was a tall, dark, hunk of a man. Think Will Smith meets The Rock.

I like dreams.

In my dream, Will-Rock and I were hanging out at his place enjoying take out and..um, some quality time.  And just when things started to get a little, shall we say, yummy…. Demi showed up and just strolled right through the front door.

I scrambled, grabbed my blouse, pulled it over me and stood there dumb-founded. My boyfriend seemed unphased by her presence. He said something to the effect of “What’s up? This is Michele (gesturing toward me).” So there I was standing with a barely buttoned blouse in front of Demi Moore.  She looked me up and down. Then simply pronounced, “I’m a D cup. I’m not afraid to admit it,”  while tearing open her own blouse to show me her unnatural wonders. I was mortified, mostly because my breasts were 1) not a “D” cup and 2) not perfectly crafted by a surgeon.

I remember thinking, “Why is this happening? What is wrong with her? Do all women who have fake breasts show them off eagerly and willingly at the drop of a hat?”  I was confused, horrified and at the same time totally stoked to be sharing a room with (albeit a very topless) Demi Moore. In the dream I was actually crafting my perfect tweet for this occasion.

As if that little dream wasn’t bizarre enough, last night I also dreamed that I witnessed Courtney Cox being eaten alive by birds. They were attacking her face. She was standing on a crowded sidewalk in New York, and out of nowhere a flock of crows descended upon her cheeks and devoured them.  I stood across the street sipping my Starbucks thinking “I will not take a video of this. Nope. Not gonna do it.” So…um…I might have. (Note: This is a dream and my lack of moral judgement during my dream state in no way represents my actual value system. In other words, I would have called 911 before filming).

It’s clear to me that my celebrity dreams were inspired by last night’s NBC special paying tribute to James Burrows, creator of such great shows as Taxi, Cheers and Friends. I only saw about 15 minutes of the show. But in those 15 minutes I couldn’t help take notice of how dramatically different Courtney Cox looked. It appears she has undergone a significant amount of plastic surgery since her Friends days. And I found it a bit disturbing. I will refrain from making any kind of judgement about her attractiveness because I don’t want to be mean. I just found it shocking. And It made me a little sad to think that she felt it necessary to do that to herself.

So, while my dreams were a bit disturbing, I do love that I dreamed about dating Demi Moore’s ex-husband who was a cross between Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and Will Smith.  My daughter and I watched the movie San Andreas the other night, which inspired my recently found crush on The Rock. Look, in the movie he saved his daughter and ex-wife from the demise of California, he flew a helicopter, drove a boat and he had the most amazing arms I’ve ever seen. I don’t care if it was some dumb Hollywood action flick. All I know is this, if I’m stuck in a 9.5 magnitude earthquake, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson is exactly who I want by my side. The man has skills…which he may or may not have demonstrated to me during my dream…hubba.

Did I mention how much I like dreams?

It’s funny how the subconscious works. My dream drew from such things as my secret crush on The Rock, my confusion and bewilderment about plastic surgery and my fear of birds (one was recently trapped in my screened-in porch. I don’t know who was more freaked out, me or my Golden Retriever. OK. My dog was way more freaked out. She’s a precious thing and doesn’t really understand her superior role on the food chain to small animals like birds and squirrels).

I actually find it all kind of hilarious. One 15-minute viewing of a stupid NBC special led to a dream about plastic surgery, celebrities and Hitchcock-like bird attacks.  I refuse to go deep with this analysis. I mean, sure…I could analyze why I dreamed about a boyfriend who had a narcissistic, superficial ex-wife. But I won’t. After all, in my dream The Rock rejected his artificially-enhanced celebrity ex and, in the end, chose me in all my natural glory. So, maybe my dream is an indication that I am hopeful; that I believe the world is not turning into a plastic, superficial, self-centered hell.  Of course, Donald Trump is well on his way to becoming the Republican Presidential nominee and The Kardashians are still on television. Oh dear, I hope I didn’t just inspire some Kim Kardashian, Kanye West meets Donald Trump nightmare.  If I did, I’ll be sure to share the dirty details here. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sweet dreams.