Today, two dreams for your perusal — one from my childhood and one from last night. What do they mean? Do they mean anything? And if so, what?!?!?!?

Dream #1: As longtime readers may recall, before my mother married shit for brains Old Boy she and I lived with my grandmother. At the time, I still hadn’t started school so I wasn’t too aware of the fact that most kids (at that time) lived in 2 parent households. In fact, I don’t even remember if I realized I should have a male parent to complete the set.

During the time we lived there, I used to have this recurring dream which I can still see as vividly as if I had just awoken from it. To get the full image, you have to first understand that my grandmother’s house was laid out rather strangely. Instead of a square-ish living room, she had a long rectangular one (which made it damn near impossible to rearrange furniture), with the kitchen located off one end and the bedrooms off the other.

In my dream, I would wake up and go the hallway, compelled to look into the living room. A low hanging fog covered the length of the floor and at the far end would be the figure of a man. I could not make out any features, just the lines of his dark form as illuminated by the dim light from the street lamps filtering through the pulled curtains, but somehow I know he is in his late 30s/early 40s. I would stand there, staring at him and he at me, neither of us speaking. I don’t know how, but I instinctively knew he held no ill will toward anyone in the house; he was there to see me. We never moved any closer to one another, and the dream never varied. I remember having this dream until I was about 10 and never again since then.

Dream #2: I’m making out with a man on my bed. It starts to get hot and heavy and we peel each other’s shirts off. That’s when I realize I am making out with Clive Owen.

So what do I say to get this smokin’ cinematic stud even more in the mood?

“You know, your skin isn’t that bad up close…and your mouth doesn’t look as tiny in person.”

Cue Clive putting his shirt back on and leaving.

(Yeah, I’m fucking Rico Suave even in my dream life.)

Let the dream interpretations begin…