The Skillz Report

June 30, 2014

 

Slumber starts with me attending the opening of a new freeway in my hometown of Vallejo—or rather, a small stub of freeway about 1/3 mile long connecting two (fictional) parallel freeways to one another in an "H" shape. I'm determined to photograph it from every angle but attempting to cross freeway traffic proves a lot more difficult than it did when I attempted it IRL 15 years ago. True story.

 

Eventually I'm watching Ann Coulter on TV, an event about as likely to take place IRL as me somersaulting off the parallel bars at the Olympics. Translation: like much of the world, I hate this dragon-whore. 

 

Anyway, in this TV appearance she is unlike the real Ann Coulter in that she's actually attractive. She appears to be a healthy weight and is actually isn't dressed like a corpse for once. The interview presents a (fictional, as far as I know) lesbian porn tape she made when she was younger. This is about the only circumstance in which Ann Coulter could ever turn me on. I immediately decide to...uh..."take advantage" of the video. End vision.

 

Dealing with 90-degree heat IRL, I took an afternoon nap. Sandman placed me at my first elementary school, Vallejo's Highland Elementary. I'm parked outside and cannot decide to walk back to the 1250—less than 10 minutes away on foot IRL—or just drive. The risk of sweating makes me want to drive; the risk of losing a good space makes me want to walk. (It isn't clear why I need to keep a space outside the school.)

 

In true wishy-washy fashion I literally get in and out of the vehicle half-a-dozen times, starting it, stopping it, unable to commit to a decision. It's a sight to see—kind of like a Benny Hill video without the horde of hotties squirreling around.

 

 

June 29, 2014

 

Finally, an interesting block of visions!

I've rejoined Taco Bell, where I worked long ago IRL. Throughout the years I've often dreamed of returning, only to be overwhelmed by the change in menu and quit mid-shift. All Taco Bell dreams follow this theme; in one, I got so fed up I actually removed my uniform and underwear before departing!

 

This time, a guy wants a Nacho Supreme with everything, and a Nacho Bel Grande with no sour cream. As the orders pile up, I twice I screw his NBG up by squirting sour cream on it—and simply walk out in frustration. My manager, oblivious to my resignation and thinking I simply reached the end of my shift, offers me a huge pat on the back as I hop in my SUV.

 

You heard right—my SUV. I own some poor-running old Tahoe that struggles to even start. Mysteriously, I'm also in possession of an idiot golden retriever. After stopping home and feeding the animal (by simply dumping wet dog food directly on the carpet), I head to my friend Nate's house trying to borrow a phone book. He instead loans me a dictionary. (Don't ask me to explain any of that.)

 

Needless to say, I do not find the phone number for the Humane Society in the dictionary. As I try unsuccessfully to start the Tahoe, some guys show up setting up a table for poker. It isn't until they're all set up right next to the Tahoe that it decides to loudly start (and blow exhaust in their faces.)

 

Night has fallen. As I'm driving around with this dog I don't want, I actually contemplate dumping it on the street somewhere. (As much as I dislike dogs IRL, not even I am capable of such heinousness) Ultimately, by the time I reach a fuel station the sun has re-emerged—and the dog has vanished. Entering the "Food Mart", I ask the cashier if there is a $0.35 ATM fee. His exact response: "The fee isn't $0.35. You are WRONG." He never tells me the actual fee...and I awaken to a hungry kid.

 

 

June 28, 2014

 

Back at the 1250, a horrible announcement on the TV news: JFK Jr. has died. And apparently so have three other Kennedys, including "James". With four funerals pending, a panel is discussing what can be done to prevent more Kennedy deaths. And they're dead serious.

 

Later, as I'm on my way somewhere (not sure where, but I have exactly 15 minutes to arrive), my uncle hails me on foot, needing a ride somewhere. Checking my clock, I see I now have a full hour to reach my destination...so we go. He brings up other people trying to tell him what to do. I "counsel" him: "Can't nobody tell you how to live. You can't change unless you want to change! If I told you right now to quit smoking cigarettes, would you?"

 

He quickly denies that he would. I awaken before reaching our destination—and confirm the year is 2014, not 1999 as my first vision would lead one to believe.

 

 

June 25, 2014

 

Things begin with me driving down Tennessee Street in my native Vallejo. Construction is everywhere, and at the Colusa Street intersection stands traffic signal poles with those green street signs suspended from them—but no signals. One sign reads Colusa Street; the opposite one reads something like H1N1. For some reason I feel Walgreen's is responsible and head there to inform them.

 

Instead, I stumble into what carries traces of a major league baseball game, except a teenage girl is pitching (no doubt that Tampa Bay Rays batting practice chick triggered this segment.) Standing behind a podium, she throws a few pitches then removes herself from the stage. That's right, the stage. More oddities took place, but I placed too much confidence in my ability to recall it from memory.

 

Finally, I'm on Facebook. IRL, a few days ago I wrote a heartfelt FB message to a friend who ditched me for no apparent reason. She didn't respond...until now, in my vision. She was happy and inundated me with emoticons and the like. Just as I realized this seemed too good to be true...I woke up.

 

 

June 22-24, 2014

 

My recollection of the past three trips to Dreamland could best be described as "jumpy" and/or "blurry", but I'll synopsize as best I can:

 

June 22: back at the 1250. My cousin, a 46-year-old man, has pushed me too far. I throw him out of the house—first verbally, then physically. He, a soap opera fan IRL, thinks this is a big joke and does his best "Young and Restless" tumble down the stairs for dramatic effect. I have to toss him one or two more times before the ejection sticks.

 

June 23 places me in high school—more specifically, "stretching class". I sit like a good solder until I realize how dumb the class is, and simply walk out without a word.

 

June 24: I am out "in the cuts", traveling some unfinished road behind a shopping center. I think I'm trying to find a cluster of empty parking spaces to stop and enjoy lunch, but instead I end up at the mall's back entrance where my ex is waiting for me. She wonders why I haven't bought the shoes (for our kid) she asked me to, but quickly apologizes upon realizing I'm carrying them—which I didn't know I was until a strange man interjected in my defense.

 

Wow...I spend an hour with the ex IRL and she's right back in my subconscious. Oh well, at least it was civil.

 

 

June 21, 2014

 

Kind of scattered. What I can recall: I am cuddling with an actress from General Hospital, and assuring her I'll pay child support for the kid we made together. The problem is. she cannot remember which of her many kids is mine (IRL, both the actress and the character she plays are pregnant every other year, at least.)

 

This coincides with my viewing of a Blue Jays World Series win. Amongst a crowd, I state how the win could only have been sweeter if John Olerud and Paul Molitor—two stars from their last championship team 20 years ago—were still around. Instead of agreement, all I get are confused stares. All I hear is silence. Embarrassing, to put it mildly.

 

Things wrap up with me repeatedly rewinding a (fictional) NewsRadio scene in which the sexy Beth collapses on top of the even sexier Lisa. You can figure out why I kept rewinding the scene. If only it existed IRL...consarn it.

 

Off-topic: why do I dream about television so much when, aside from sports, I hardly watch it anymore?

 

 

June 20, 2014

 

Off the bat, it's an episode of Married...With Children, where Al is complaining to Kelly about her excessive leg hair. (???) He proceeds to distract the notoriously ditzy girl with news that their current dog is not the same dog they used to have, before Jefferson enters with a story.

 

The story is of Al's ill-fated two-hour journey to buy an expensive TV at a cut-rate deal—only to accidentally destroy the boob tube in transit. Apparently Al was so distraught he sat at the scene of the crash...for three days.

 

Later, I am a personal driver for some glitzy company, and I'm sent to deliver Beyonce to her concert at "The Amphitheatre" just outside of Walnut Creek. (Which does not exist IRL, I might add.) First, I detour to use a public restroom which turns out to be a restroom in some soccer mom's house. She is a fan of mine, for some reason, and allows me her facilities.

 

Back on the road, I see the highway leading to the amphitheatre is under construction—mostly in the wooden stage. Something motivates me to proceed on foot along the two-deck structure until finally reaching the right exit. Now I know how to access the amphitheatre, but I have no car, no Beyonce, and limited time. What to do???

 

At this point I must have realized I was dreaming, because by simply disengaging from "reality", I was able to place myself back in my car driving Beyonce to her show with no explanation as to how any of it happened. Fans were happy, I kept my job, and we all lived happily ever after.

 

 

June 19, 2014

 

Things began with me watching an A's/Twins game played on a diamond which appeared to have been built in the parking lot of a shopping center (a mountain served as the home plate backdrop.) Rather than the uniform donned by his teammates, Josh Donaldson sported a red cut-off tee better suited for a motorcycle gang than a MLB team. I don't remember any specific game details, unless recalling the brief A's career of Todd Walker counts.

 

Eventually, Scrubs came on. For a good year toward the end of its network run, I was into this show—but I haven't seen a full epi in about three years, so how it entered my subconscious is beyond me. Anyway, Turk is knocking boots with some girl (not Carla) who reveals she is pregnant; he is less than thrilled and lectures her about her "behavior". Later, he and JD are counseling a pair of couples for reasons that now escape me; what I do recollect is the two guys, fed up with their women, decide to just marry each other.

 

JD and Turk (I think Elliot was there, but not positive) spearhead the wedding, and the two jilted ex-lovers even participate. I, of course, can't watch this silliness and flip through...3rd Rock From The Sun?? Do any stations even carry that show anymore?

Things end with me and an unidentified female roomie hosting another friend, who's just finished exercising and wants us to smell her. My roomie indulges; I politely refuse.

 

 

June 18, 2014

 

It finally came back to me!

I am at my aunt's apartment with several other family members, including my late grandmother. Somehow I become aware of a demon roaming the premises. 

 

Entering a room occupied only by my grandma, the demon manifests itself through her body, flailing and snarling at me. I quickly fetch a cousin to witness the occurence but the demon has either exited my grandma's body or gone dormant, because by the time my cousin sees her, she's her usual docile self—and I'm left looking idiotic. I continually look for clues in my other family members but the demon never resurfaces. Then a skip...

 

Either as a hostage or part of a work assignment—is there truly a difference?—I'm in North Korea bumping elbows with President (?) Kim Jong Un. Knowing what a tyrant he is and not wanting to end up on his bad side, I unofficially set out to befriend him. It works—soon we are laughing like old buds reunited, while my colleagues (co-hostages?) murmur about Joe the KissAss.

 

Our friendship quickly ends when Un's secretary delivers bad news, and he promptly punches her in the face repeatedly and leaves her small body laid out on the sidewalk (though she does eventually sit up, bleeding and broken.) At that point I decide to high-tail it out of town, colleagues be damned. How I intended to get back to the U.S. in a car remains a mystery; the vision ended with me circling the dark streets of North Korea in desperate search of an escape avenue. 

 

 

June 17, 2014

 

My late Uncle Bubba visited me tonight, driving me to a convenience store. The line takes painfully long, probably double-digits in minutes. When I get to the counter, my three items cost $3 more than they should and I get into an argument with the angry accented cashier. Finally, I agree to pay $7 instead of the $9 he's demanding and exit—my uncle dutifully waiting for me outside.

 

Skip to the 1250; my family is reunited and redecorating in spite of the "For Sale" sign outfront. Eventually I go outdoors and see my car has been stolen/borrowed—can't be sure. So rather than file a police report or inquire with my family, I decide to clean the backyard, stopping when I somehow become convinced dead animals lie around the bend. My next move: a jog down the street. A man is following me a lot closer than necessary, and soon my missing car has joined him (I knew my car was plotting to kill me!) 

Before my inevitable gutting can take place, Josie again wakes me to go potty.

 

 

June 16, 2014

 

Most random, puzzling, fantastic dream I've had in weeks. Things begin with a couple of black chicks (hookers? They were dressed the part) hitching a ride with me to San Jose. Noticing my outside mirrors are missing—and suspecting the gals—nevertheless, we proceed.

 

We patron a greasy spoon where, for unknown reasons, I charge our food plus the food of three random Mexican workers to my credit card with the explicit expectation of cash payment. The hos pay me; the men can't. I warn them that if they do not come up with the cash (about $30) in 30 minutes, I will beat the hell out of all of them. They offer me porn, but I refuse on the grounds that "I ALREADY GOT PORN!!" The whole restaruant is aware of the situation.

 

As I pass the time with friends who happened to be at the same locale (including my buddy Nate who officially declares himself 27% awake), the manager calls me over. Her tone suggests she wants peace and might comp the unpaid meal—but instead she urges me to "leave the bodies outside."

 

I'm not sure how the men are supposed to produce funds while stuck in the restaurant—calling a friend, maybe—but I refuse to let them leave and when the time expires, I do indeed begin beating them. Hard. During the bloodying, skip to Jack Tripper's living room from Three's Company, where Larry urges me to let up. I instruct him to go upstairs and send "Tom and Harry" down for backup, whoever the hell they are.

 

Nothing further takes place, and I soon wake up with a pretty intense wave of adrenaline.

 

 

June 15, 2014

 

I have met the Seinfeld cast (presumably because IRL Josie has just wrapped up watching Bee Movie, starring Mr. Jerry Seinfeld himself.) Then I turn up at my aunt's house, having issues opening a simple door. The knob won't turn; it changes positions, I just can't make a simple entrance. When I do, my cousin is inquiring about the cremation of our grandmother (which occured five years ago IRL.) I remind him of this and we go on about our business.

 

I made a note about "right-field throws" immediately after waking up, but can't remember a thing about it now. I'd love to believe that the insane Yoenis Cespedes catch days earlier IRL inspired the subconscious me to throw out three runners at home in a World Series game, but let's face it—more likely, it was me trespassing onto an MLB field throwing a tantrum.

 

 

June 14, 2014

 

I am in some strange apartment complex where I'm tasked with following my mother somewhere in our respective cars. Upon entering, I try controlling my car but I can't, as it turns out I'm in the car with my mother. Back out I go. On the way to wherever my car is, a maintenance man confronts me about styrofoam left in the dumpster. After explaining that A) I don't live here, and B) even if I did, styrofoam isn't illegal to dump in any municipality I've ever roamed, he barks something and hurries off.

 

Skip to wherever I was to follow my mother to. Josie has appeared; she and I cross the threshold where my late uncle Bubba stands. I introduce—technically, re-introduce, as Josie was six months old IRL when Bubba passed—the two, and both immediately beam. End vision.

 

 

June 12, 2014

 

I'm apparently a San Francisco Giant, in the locker room reliving the good ol' days of the late 2000's—namely how great our teammates were and turned what should have been a miserable time because of all the losing to a fun time. Things shift, and I'm back with my old IRL baseball league from 2005-09.

 

We are trying to get things going again (to my knowledge, the league ended play in 2011 after a decade) but don't have the participation. I assure my friends/teammates that I'll do whatever I can to get the league back up and running. Given all the K-12 graduations going on around me IRL, this should be the part where things skip to me giving a valedictorian speech in the nude or something...but my visions have been abnormally dull as of late. My bad.

 

 

June 11, 2014

 

Not a particularly bizarre SnoreVision this time; just a series of events taking place at...where else? My old childhood home. I arrive there to find Josie asleep in the back of my cousin's car. Bringing her inside, I discover a recently-married friend IRL, along with her husband, have moved in. (The husband, who I've never met IRL, never shows himself.) I go about trying to find some, uh...alone time, but relatives keep popping into the computer room.

 

Drawing a blank on further details but will post tonight if they return.

 

 

June 10, 2014

 

I'm again a football star: this time for my Niners, who are playing the Super Bowl in my very own living room. They overcome sniping coaches to eventually win thanks to my kick-returning skillz. Afterward, my cousins and I celebrate the victory by...doing nothing.

 

 

June 9, 2014

 

I'm a noodle-armed QB whose throws go about half as far as the previous one. My own teammates simply laugh at me until I'm converted to wide receiver. No team, league, or even single game is mentioned—we must be talkin' about practice.

 

Eventually, things shift to my high school classroom with cameos from several former classmates IRL. After giving John Freeman relationship advice, I make Tina Lewis and Kim Keith laugh as tests are being handed out. Later I attempt to impress some nutty blonde girl with my intelligence by sharing (phony) tree facts. The same blonde soon finds herself in hot water for falling and somehow busting up a tunnel while doing so.

IRL friend Dwaine cameos as the mysterious Master Raps; throughout class I'm anxious to fill my cousin in on the discovery but wake up before being able to do so.

 

(Also, as the old Jerry O'Connell series Sliders was the last thing I watched before nodding off, naturally he found his way into my subconscious—by discovering a drownee in his flooded driveway with his pants down on some movie shown to the students.)

 

 

June 8, 2014

 

Things began with me ordering at Wingstop about five minutes before closing. A small Asian woman sidles up next to me attempting to cut. I quickly put a stop to that which leads her to literally lean against me. Twice. After the second instance I simply step to the side, allowing her a fast trip to the ground. She is outraged; I give as good as I get before receiving my order and departing.

 

Outside, I leave my food in my (locked) vehicle in order to go down the block for mystery purposes. When I return, my food is gone—the driver of a donation pick-up vehicle somehow assumed it was a donation bag even though it was locked inside my car. The driver gives my food back, and I decide to take her vehicle home (and apparently leave my own ride alone indefinitely.)

 

Unfortunately, her route takes me away from my destination so I ditch her at the top of the hill and enter a random bedroom window, hoping to use the "elevator". However, it is only a mirage, and I'm forced to trek downhill on my own. The descent is nowhere near as difficult as initially perceived, and when I reach the ground, I pull my car from my pocket and blow it up like a beach ball, heading home...easy peasy.

 

En route, I pass a large sign on a building warning of a credit card theft—with my mother's name and information posted next to it. Assuming the worst, I dial her immediately but struggle to do so while driving and wake up before connecting the call...

 

 

June 6, 2014

 

I find myself watching a (fictional) episode of some Living Single or Girlfriends-type program—certanly not something I've got a habit of IRL. A guy was on a date with one of the female stars. After apparently failing to pay for her meal or tip the waiter, the male gets even by simply taking over the woman's house—simply bulldozing past her and her roomie when "dropping her off."

 

Skip to a softball diamond, where I've apparently signed up to play in some men's league. Rather than a dugout, my team is watching the proceedings from foul territory (where I attempt to catch a foul ball as if the out would have counted.) The softball turns out to be a tennis ball; still an opposing player nearly drives it over the fence in right field. I can't extract much more from this particular segment—other than my teammates all seemed overly macho, llike they wanted to fight more than play ball.

 

 

June 5, 2014

 

This is a garbled mess, but I do remember: being angry over a particular (fictional) Simpsons episode being rerun, as well as: playing both for and against the Indiana Pacers in the same game. Apparently I began on the other (unnamed) team, but was tasked with "keeping the game close" by the officials. So I'd go from swatting a Paul George layup one moment to feeding him for an open 3 the next.

 

 

June 4, 2014

 

Finally, a night with no General Hospital. Things begin with my reuniting with ex-NFL star Shaun Alexander (why a f*****g Seahawk? Seriously??) and lamenting that we never won a title while we had a chance because one of our stars was hurt (I don't recall the mid-2000's Seahawks very well, so not sure how factual that is.)

 

I talk with some other ex-players, including one who once suffered a broken leg (the clip of which keeps replaying on the JumboTron) and is now into coaching—probably triggered by my reading a book on Billy Martin earlier in the day. Even though it was mostly injuring other people, not himself, that led to Martin's transition from player to coach.

 

Alexander and I go about reuniting "the old gang", which ends up being New Edition rather than the Seahawks. We struggle but eventually gather all six of us for an impromptu performance of "My Prerogative"—which, except for the singing itself, goes terrible. Members somehow wander off stage accidentally, and what was supposed to be the climax—all of us gulping a vodka on the rocks simultaneously—turns out to be a disaster.

 

 

Since the last TV I watched before nodding off was a JFK assassination program, he briefly appears  trying to treat his own fatal gunshot wound while Lyndon Johnson actively heads the investigation. (Lyndon Johnson, as in the succeeding President.) Clues point to a woman I used to know INV who works in an above building. I am saddened at how her life has turned—even moreso upon finding out from Alexander that she has died.

 

 

June 1, 2014

 

My mom has opened a thrift shop out of her apartment, and recruited me to work for her. My first job: acquiring merchandise. I am not given any instructions on how to go about this. Do I burgle? Do I dumpster-dive? Not knowing where to go I drive to a conventional thrift shop hunting for bargains.

 

There I run into a friend from waaaaaay back, Sally, who I haven't seen IRL since high school (but do interact with via Facebook.) She is set up near the counter, apparently also working. Her husband, who I've never met, is also there, and I am so overjoyed to meet him that he all but runs from me. Can't blame him. Sally and I swap business cards; hers is just her image and a phone number. No address, no service, no nothing. It's little more than a Polaroid.

 

Pressing for details, I finally get her to reveal she is a fortune teller. I ask for mine, but instead she gives me counseling and calls me out for being so weird. It now makes sense why the business card is so vague...

 

The dream shifts to One Life To Live, where lead character Bo Buchanan (sixty-something) shares a kiss with the thirty-something son of his late enemy, Will. (Neither actor or character swings that way IRL, for the record...only in my mind.)

 

But wait, there's more! I am me again, at the 1250 bringing our dumpster to the curb for pickup. A 25-ish chick who borders on hoodrat status passes. I say hello. She starts to walk away before asking for money. I obviously refuse her. She argues, until some Puerto Rican chick emerges on my steps and helps shoo her away finally.

 

At first I'm grateful for the assist, but then it dawns on me: how did the second chick get on my steps? The only way was to have come from the front door. Intruders! She runs back inside as I yell that anyone inside has the count of ten to get out before violence ensues. I cannot find the bat I keep in my trunk so I grab the next closest thing I can find: a disassembled drawer. (If you grew up in my household, you know these were not uncommon to find lying around.)

 

Weapon in hand, I find a dude at my uncle's computer. I surprise myself by giving him a solid wallop across the head, KO'ing him. Next, I find another interloper in a nearby bathroom. It's too small for me to enter and give him "treatment"; he knows this and remains inside, taunting me. Somehow I get him to take a step outside (idiot) and then I absolutely cream him with several shots to the dome before Josie wakes me up to feed her.

 

Break into my house? To quote Cedric The Entertainer, "I wish a muthaf---- would..."

 

 

 

Return To Top