Having to sleep in the blistering heat lends itself to memorable, bizarre dreams. The constant waking and nodding off keeps you from entering the deepest stages of sleep, allowing you to dream lucidly and remember most of them come morning.
Sometimes, that’s not a good thing. Here’s a peek into what I was dreaming about last night.
I was sitting at a bar that I couldn’t quite recognize. In reality, I seldom go to bars due to the fact that I was raised in them. As an adult, I know that nothing good can come from them but a headache and the sudden loss of all your money. Bars suck, but there I was, sipping brew with my elbows on the rail. I had taken a stool next to two older women who were conversing with each other, pausing every few seconds to look over in my direction. As I shot long glances towards every angle of the dive, desperately trying to figure out where I was or how I got here, I noticed them.
My eyes locked onto one of them, who started talking to me. They launched into this story about how they kept getting constantly harassed by a regular patron. Apparently this person would show up and give them a hard time, drunkenly hitting on them and making everyone feel generally dirty and uncomfortable. Having been raised in a town full of people like that, I understood what they were talking about. I told them I would stick around in case this greeze-ball showed up. Their eyes lit up with glee, and I started to get a little more confident.
Puffing out my chest like a Peacock, I took a deep sip from my bottle of unnamed, dream-beer. I was feeling pretty good about myself, playing the role of bodyguard (Minus Kevin Costner. Rent Tin Cup, it’s great.), and scoring points with the 40-somethings. If I played my cards right, maybe they’d return the favor to me. Like, paying my bills or changing my cat’s litter boxes. I waited patiently for this sexist jackass to show up, so I could show him a thing or two about what it’s like to be a gentleman.
“There he is!”, one of the ladies whispered loudly into my ear. I heard the tavern door squeak open behind me as I slowly turned around, brew in hand, to see who was responsible for bothering these ladies.
In walks my Dad.
Now, if I may step away from the dream for a minute, there’s a few things you need to know about my Dad. We get along the way that a construction worker gets along with a foreman. We’re acquaintances who get along in the same room with each other, share the same sense of humor, and talk about two times a year. Neither of us have too big a problem with this, so it’s no big deal. However, in recent weeks I’ve been having a lot of dreams where I beat him up, so maybe I DO have a problem with it. Time will tell, but until then, let’s get back to my dream.
So in strolls my Dad, and I’m instantly furious. How dare he bother these women? I never would have imagined my own Father for a classless pig, so I could barely contain myself when he took a seat next to me, not even noticing that I was there.
Here’s the twist. Those women were playing me.
Those evil women were playing a mean trick on poor, bright-eyed Ryan. They made the story up, and waited for the next guy to walk into the bar to be the “jerk” in question. I was being set up for an ass-whoopin’, but I had no idea. The double-twist is that they had no idea that the next person to walk in would be my own Dad, who was now also an unwilling participant in their cruel setup. Are you still with me? Good.
Back to the action. I’m staring down my Dad, just waiting for him to make a pass at these women (he never had and he never will, but I don’t know that). My rage was building up, my hands clenched into fists, looking at a person who had turned out to be a liar and a fraud (he wasn’t).
My Dad looked up at the bartender and politely said, “Can I get a beer?”
“That’s it.” I said, slapping my hands to my thighs. “Step outside, I’m gunna kick your ass.”
My Dad looked at me like I was insane. Turns out I was just an idiot. (See what women do to you?) Shrugging his shoulders, he slowly crept to his feet and headed for the door with me following closely behind. This is funny, because this is exactly what my Dad would do. Even though he knows that I’m about to uncork on him, he’ll tag along for the ride. Nothing bothers him (Except maybe child support payments. ZING!). I looked over to the ladies, who were laughing and pointing for some reason. I figured it was because they knew that this pig was finally going to get his.
As the tavern door shut behind the two of us, I knew there was no way that I could beat up my old man. I mean, the guy smokes like the Challenger Space Shuttle and drinks like Dan Rather during the Election, but I still think he could take me. I knew I was in trouble. That’s when I realized that I was still holding my beer bottle.
The second I got out of sight of the ladies, I cracked him on the back of the head.
The bottle didn’t break, and he turned around and looked at me, cocking his head and still wondering what the hell I was up to.
“You better fall down, old man!” I said to him.
He continued to look at me funny.
This time, I broke the bottle clean over his melon, and he went down, presumably because he felt bad for me. I went back into the bar to realize that I had been had by the ladies. I woke up feeling ashamed, used and laughing like crazy.
So, what’s to learn from this?
Is there something I need to work out with my Dad? Am I having trust issues with people? Do I think that most women exist to screw you over? Why am I so violent when I sleep?
It’s the heat, that’s what it is.
And the humidity.
My newest album review will be published in tomorrow’s issue of Core Weekly, check it out if you can.