Friday, August 14, 2009

Amateur Dream Analysis



So, I had a dream about Megan Fox.

I can tell what you're thinking. Either, "Oh no, Mark is going to go on at length about a frickin' wet dream of his, which is unbelievably pathetic at his age," or, "All right, Mark is going to show off some of the reader-acclaimed erotic prose that made him a millionaire best-seller of romance novels under the pen name of 'Lori Foster' "

Unfortunately, friends, neither option will take place here today, since the dream wasn't at all romantic in nature. That's right --- only I could have a platonic friendship dream about a woman so absurdly attractive that even the Pope is getting a hard-on over that picture at the top of the page.*

* = That's right, the Pope reads my blog. Babelfish English-to-German translator, whut whut!

The dream: I'm sitting in a living room, yet not my own living room, nor the one at my parents' house, nor any house I've ever set foot in before. It looks a little like this one house I checked out when I was trying to find a place to live last spring, up in the Rogers Road/Caledonia area, except this place didn't have two drunken roommates playing Gran Turismo in the front room. (The girl showing me the extra room was NOT pleased by them, let me tell you.)

Anyway, Dream House seems like a nice enough place --- sort of a lived-in feel, a comfortable living room set, big TV, corridor leading to the front door, and a kitchen in the front of the house. In the dream, I'm lounging on one of the couches, channel-surfing between two programs. One is the series finale of 'My Name Is Earl,' which is kind of odd given that the show was canceled last spring without a proper final episode. I guess maybe in my fantasy, NBC allowed one final concluding special to be made to wrap up loose ends? Boy, NBC is much more generous in my dreams than in real life. The second program I was watching was the final game of the American League Championship Series. I was basically watching Earl, but the game was in the late innings so I wanted to keep an eye just so I could see the pennant-winning celebration after the final out. Now, get your pens ready, since your ol' pal Mark's subconscious mind is about to make its playoff prediction. The game I was watching was Tampa Bay vs. Los Angeles, and the Rays held something like a 7-2 lead over the Angels in the eighth inning, so it was all over but the crying at Tropicana Field. Back-to-back AL pennants for the Rays while the Blue Jays continue to shit all over themselves? Maybe this was a nightmare.

So, where does Megan Fox enter into the picture? Well, she literally entered the picture from the front door of this mystery house, dropping in to see my roommate. He was temporarily out, so she decided to stick around until he returned. You see, in this dream, Megan Fox is dating my roommate. Not my actual current roommate, but in this subconscious alternate reality, I've apparently moved in with some other dude that has the power to attract scorching-hot movie stars.* In real life, apparently Megan Fox is with Brian Austin Green (that's right, the 90210 guy), so could I possibly have been living in his place? The house seemed a bit old-fashioned for a Hollywood star....well, wait, 'star' is perhaps a stretch. Bit old-fashioned for a former star, is what I meant to say. Then again, I once almost rented an apartment from the keyboard player in Honeymoon Suite, so clearly I can be swayed by D-list celebrity.

* = Not that my current roommate's girlfriend isn't quite a catch herself. She brought over a comfy rolling chair from her office that I'm currently sitting in to write this post, so she's great in my books. And Karen, if you're reading this, don't worry --- your boyfriend isn't cheating on you with Megan Fox. If she ever swings by the apartment, I'll let you know. You, and the editors at TMZ.

So the situation is this. Megan Fox and I are alone, sitting on a very comfortable couch, and it's a dream. Looks promising for R.E.M. state Mark, eh? My subconscious alter-ego capitalizes on this tempting scenario by....engaging her in small talk. Sigh. We kind of knew each other from a previous meeting, but it was all very generic "oh, how's things going?" kind of stuff. And the best part is, she wasn't even getting anything close to my full attention. I left at one point since my microwave popcorn was finished, and for most of our chat, I was really keeping one eye on the TV screen rather than focusing on the conversation. In my mind's eye, Megan Fox played second fiddle to the wacky antics of Earl Hickey.


Analysis: I watch way too much TV. That aside, this is actually a pretty positive message that my subconscious is telling me about myself. I'm such a classy guy that even when presented with a literal fantasy girl, I'm still too respectful to pull a dick move like hitting on a roommate's girlfriend. True, I probably could've been a better conversationalist, but at least I offered her some of my popcorn. Well done, self! You deserve a pat on the back for that bit of gentlemanly behaviour. Even in the face of this temptation, I didn't 'transform' into a sleaze. Get it? Because Megan Fox was in the Transformers movies. Pun of the century! What this dream also tells me is that I apparently severely need closure on 'Earl.' I'm following Jaime Pressly and Ethan Suplee on Twitter, maybe I should ask them. My prediction is that either a) Earl finishes his list, and then realizes that he devoted his life to following advice from Carson Daly, thus driving him insane and forcing him to make a new list of future murder victims or b) Earl wakes up in bed with Suzanne Pleshette. Now, Suzanne Pleshette has been dead for two years, so this may be tricky to film. Backup option: Megan Fox. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that Jason Lee would prefer the second option.

"Hey Mark, is including a picture of Megan Fox just a shallow attempt at driving up traffic to your blog?"
"Shut up!"

1 comment:

Mike Hussey said...

Megan fox have two words tattoo on her shoulder and side back with beautiful butterfly tattoo quote.