I have extremely vivid dreams, that are super weird, all the time. This is a short story based on a dream I had so that we can analyze what they mean and how that will help me in a journey for a more successful life. Every dream means something important, I’m sure. I also read an article that connects vivid dreams to mental illness. Names have been changed, except for two that I think are important (one is me).
It was a Friday night in Los Angeles, dark enough to know it was showtime but warm enough to forget a jacket. I was dressed in a leather vest, with a white v-neck underneath and a gold star badge on the vest. Sheriff Nevi had arrived. I walked up to the venue on Santa Monica Boulevard, an awesome venue I had wanted to work at for a long time. I walked up to the venue and it was FULL of people! The inside of the room looked cooler than anything I had ever seen, extremely inconvenient for comedy but super awesome looking. The stage was basically an island in the middle of the room but it had a wall in the middle so there was essentially two sides of stage. If you were performing on one side the other side of the room couldn’t see you. However, there were TV screens on either side. Both sides of the stage were slanted and full of people in the seats and sitting on the floor.
There were three bars inside and one that was outside of the venue on a porch area. I walked up to the outdoor bar and no one was there. So I did what anyone would do just started making my own drink. Using any of the equipment that was unnecessary. There were two different containers full of ice, one was crushed and the other was in these little cute thimble shapes. I put some of the crushed ice into the silver tin thing, added orange juice, champagne and vodka. I shook it up accordingly and strained it into a glass. As I poured it out of the tin the amount that went in the glass was less than you could drown in. Confused and frustrated I began to pour the same ingredients but triple.
As I poured a sufficient drink amount into my glass my best friend Barbara came out of the venue, he hugged me and without asking any questions of why I was behind a bar I did not work at, asked to have one of whatever I was having. I began to pour the orange juice, champagne and vodka into the tin as his face began to show low levels of disgust. “Here” I said “I call it the Rich Stepmom.” Although I felt like the true rich step mom needed some sprinkles of Xanax and cigarette ash, I handed it over and started into the venue to find the show producer.
“Hey, Rich! Place looks packed, do you have an order for the performers, so I know when I am up.”
“This is just what we do, you know that” Rich said “there is no list but there will be.”
Rich didn’t make eye contact with me the whole time he spoke to me and then he walked away into the blue and purple lights of the packed house. I looked up and the show was starting. Having no idea when I was on I went outside to try and find a hat to go with my rural Sheriff’s outfit, hoping to run into the other performers that could tell me more of what was happening. The performers were wearing costumes but no one in the audience was so it couldn’t have been Halloween. I was looking through buckets of costume accessories, trying to find something that would work. Another lady was doing the same thing and found a hat that would be perfect. I looked at her as she put it on. Two weird things happened at that moment, we looked at each other long enough for me to realize she was Last Man on Earth‘s Kristen Schaal and then we realized we were dressed as the same character, only she had a ballet tutu on. She smiled at me condescendingly and introduced herself. She didn’t seem to like me but we were “wearing the same dress.”
I ripped off my badge as I walked away toward the outdoor bar. What was I going to be now? I needed another Stepmom. As I approached the bar I realized Barbara was now behind the bar making everyone drinks. Selling Rich Stepmoms left and right. I walked up to the entry way of the tending area but as I began to pass the break in the bar a conveyor belt took its place and began to rotate breakfast foods around the bar. Mostly pancakes at this point but soon enough hash browns and sausages would follow. Confused and flustered I told Barb I would be back to which he didn’t respond because he had a line and was now also serving breakfast. I went back over to where Last Man on Earth‘s Kristen Schaal was in order to find something else to wear. She was still there and as I approached she reached down into a bucket to pull out a new outfit idea for me. Or so I thought. Next thing I knew something sticky hit me in my face and in my hair. Last Man on Earth‘s Kristen Schaal had thrown a syrupy pancake at me. I wipe as much off as I could and Last Man on Earth‘s Kristen Schaal looked at me and said “I love you” with a big smile. She did like me after all and even more lucky there was a bucket of syrup with some pancaked in it right next to me. I reached in and we started a best friends pancake throwing war. We laughed and giggled and finally she said she knew where more of the costumes were and we should easily be able to turn my outfit into a pirate. I wish this was the end but it is not.
NOT THE END
We entered the venue and went into a greenroom area that was full of buckets of costumes and we started to vigorously look for some pirate gear. As I was looking we noticed the performance list had finally been posted. There were two performers, Last Man on Earth‘s Kristen Schaal and then it would be my turn. I went to watch some of the acts on stage to see how the oddly configured room would work for performance. The TVs showing the opposite side of the stage worked well, so if that performer wasn’t on your side you could still see them. The crowd was awesome, the side watching the TVs was just as enthralled as the side with the performer on it. I turned back to look into the buckets and become a pirate. Right as I turned around I heard “your next comedian is blah blah blah she is the greatest blah blah… Monica Nevi” I looked up from the bucket completely shocked, grabbed a Mariners baseball hat I brought with me put it over my syrupy hair and ran to the stage. I got up on one side and realized it was the wrong side, so I around to the other side and I was still in the wrong place. “Monica, where are you, we’re over here” I heard over the speakers. Furious at this point I ran to the back of the venue where there was more seating and an alcove that had the host, another comic and a two corn hole boards set up, ready to play. “What the fuck is going one right now!” I thought to myself.
I finally made it over to where I am “supposed to be” and stand next to what I assumed was my side of the corn hole game. I am ready to swear up a storm and really throw out some low blows during this game. I fucking love corn hole! Giggle all you want. Quick recap, now I am ready to play this game against some nondescript white male beard in front of a ton of people under blue and purple lights where I thought I would be doing comedy 20 minutes from that time. Right as I look at my opponent in the eyes and am ready to yell out whatever obscenity comes to mind my high school health teacher, Ms. Blocker, leans forward to say she finally came to a show and that her husband and their two VERY young children were there with them. Full family leans forward and waves to me as I try to keep the horror inside my head off of my face, I wave back. Immediately I start to reevaluate what I was going to say and then my whole life. There are kids here, I can’t run around with my syrupy hair yelling swear words! Or can I?
I win corn hole, by a lot, grab that wireless microphone from the host and start running around this oddly shaped venue, in my syrupy Mariners hat, high-fiving anyone and yelling inappropriate things into the microphone.
Best set I have ever had. Mic Drop.
Although the meaning of all of this is still lost on me and any ideas you have would be helpful. I think the moral of this dream is always have a wireless mic.