My pal Miss Attitude has a blog piece today which includes her admission that she has indeed had lewd thoughts about Steven Tyler. Now, while he’s not my cup of tea, the concept of lewd thoughts about unconventional figures is something that I’m very familiar with. Especially in my subconscious.
My conscious has its share of unconventional crushes: John Malkovich. James Carville (although after his continued asshatted comments during the DNC, I’m afraid our “break” might go on a little longer). Henry Kissinger.
However, it’s my subconscious that really has some interesting objects of affection...
Imagine if you will a lovely black marble bathroom. Spacious. Sleek and moneyed. The centerpiece: a deep step-down tub. Overflowing with foam and pheromones. I’m in the tub, glass of champagne by my side, candles making my skin look amazing. (Can I stage a sex dream or what...)
As if by a director’s command, the scene pulls back to follow my companion into the room -- he’s wearing a robe and all I can “see” in my dream at the moment is his back. He sheds the robe and climbs into the tub with me. Ahhhh...
Who, you must be asking, is this mysterious gent.
Why it’s Howard Hesseman, aka Dr. Johnny Fever.
I also had a dream back in the early ‘90s involving me, Al Gore, the Oval Office and the sturdiness of the presidential furniture there within. This was back in his uptight stiff dude (no pun intended... promise) phase, long before he evolved into the eco-rock star of today.
And then there was the dream where John Cleese and I were partners on a road rally through New Orleans. I’ve never quite sorted that one out.
Please tell me that I’m not the only one who has dreams like this.
I’m sure there are other tales of sleeptime fantasies that I’ve forgotten, but I think these few are enough to establish that my subconscious is one wacky piece of psychology. I keep waiting for Clooney to appear -- no such luck. Sadly. My subconscious just doesn’t know what it’s missing with that one...
Sweet dreams, y’all!