soapboxdiner

Sam tried to kiss me

So I had another dream last night. Don't ask me what's up with all the dreaming lately. I haven't been a "dreamer" since I was a kid. But no, now all of a sudden every night its dream dream dream.

So there I was walking with Samuel L. Jackson into the bedroom I had in highschool. I was cool - hip. I was hanging with a mega movie star in my bedroom. Did I wow with with my senior pictures and avon cologne bottle collection? (Yeah, so? You never collected anything?) No, of course not. We just hopped up on the only seating surface in the room, which in case it isn't painfully obvious happened to be my full-sized (but that doesn't really matter because it was a Roman orgy of stuffed animals lounging on throw pillows) bed.

Yup. Just me, Samuel, and freaking Fraggle Rock. Thankfully Sam was cool with hanging in a high school girl's room and saw nothing wrong with jumping on the bed and hugging a nice fluffy teddy bear. So we were chillin. You know. Talking about nothing in particular and sitting really close to each other. He and I soon found our cuddly little heads on the same pillow, foreheads touching and looking deeply into each other's eyes. We were bonding, man. THEN, he leaned in for a kiss.

But Sam, see, he's one smooth cat. He didn't just fumble and grope like a high school boy with it. Oh no. He suavely took my glasses off my face, set then down on the night stand and leaned in to take my face in his hands. Now some women out there, they'd be cool about having Samuel L. Jackson kissing them. But not I, my friend. Oh no - I came down with a freak eyeball condition. I couldn't seem to open my right eye. Like you know how when your face is smushed against a pillow and you close the bottom eye? Yeah, it was closed like that. It was locked shut and would not open. So I calmly mentioned to Sam, who was gazing longingly and lovingly into my (one) eye, "Samuel, I can't seem to open my other eye."

Because I'm smooth like that. Did I just close the other eye to play if off? Oh no. Because I may be smooth, but apparently not that smooth.

Not to worry, we talked it through. He leaned in again and all I could think about in that moment of sheer movie star bliss was, "I need to depilitate my unibrow."

It was boding well.

Ah hell though. It wasn't like he was looking like Arnold. I could have probably worked with a Sam that was looking all beefy and yummy good.

He didn't even look like Tyrece. If Sam had looked like Tyrece, I certainly could have forgotten about a spasmotic eyeball and my unibrow.

But no. Unfortunately on closer inspection, Samuel L. Jackson, the consumate cool cat, looked remarkedly and disturbingly just like Morgan Freeman. And that's just, well, Ewww. For Cripes sake, I was in high school! I couldn't be kissing a grandpa!

The funniest part of the whole thing was that when I got up this morning to a darkened house and came to the computer to tell you all about this, I was loathe to find I was walking about with what?

A spasmotic eyeball.

I think I'd better go check on the unibrow.

5:40 am - 10.21.02
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