I like weird dreams. Dreams that you can barely even explain…you know the ones. When you say the words out loud, trying desperately to paint the picture of what happened and where you were but it wasn’t there, you feel like a complete fool.
This dream is not quite like that.
It begins here:
I’m sitting at a lunch table in my high school gymnasium. I remember the blue circle seats. I was sitting with someone I knew, but I can’t recall who it truly was. It felt like we were friends.
I glanced over my left shoulder and saw my mother at the head table, near the stage. I saw her from behind. I recognized her twisted bun. A man approached her table and hunkered down to her left her. I gasped. My heart began to beat faster and I stood up. I shot up, actually.
Next thing I know, I’m crouched to my mom’s right side saying ‘Want to introduce me to your friend?’ I have some shit-eating grin on my face as I look to him for the answer and not my mom. My mom was merely the portal.
He smiles and opens his arms as if to say ‘come and sit on my lap.’ I did not sit on his lap.
It’s Eddie. Eddie fucking Vedder.
We proceed to chat for approximately 4 sentences about my high school gym and how great it is.
Blink of the eyes and I’m back in my blue circle lunchtable seat with a co-worker…different person than was initially sitting at my table. She’s gushing and asks me if I gave him one of my business cards. I hadn’t. I felt completely deflated and totally elated at the same time.
The dream lasted mere moments in the 5 minutes I snoozed back to sleep after my alarm went off. Interesting all the things that can transpire in 5 minutes in your brain, isn’t it?
And he is 50! I was never quite certain of Eddie’s age… 50. So great. I’m happily envisioning him kicking back, drinking wine, rosy cheeked, squeezing his kids. I hope he’s savoring some delicious morsels and belly laughing with his best friends.
I sincerely hope that when I’m 50 I’ve inspired some young people. I also hope I’m rosy cheeked and belly laughing. That is happiness.
Thank goodness. I’ve had many sleeps since my last dream with an Eddie appearance.
It began at a show. Not a Pearl Jam show, but a sort of lip sync/air guitar variety show. I was chosen to perform a Tom Petty tune and was pretty stoked to show my skills. I recall having an awfully strange, blonde, Paige boy wig on. Perhaps it was my actual hair. I know not.
As another performer was onstage, I spotted Eddie. I approached him knowing he would respect that I was in the show. He was Eddie… although his face was young, pink and dewy, with no beard or sexy stubble in sight. His curly hair was to his ears and it was so greasy and shiny. Each curl around his face was shorter and more defined. Maybe it was because of there being no beard on his face, but his teeth looked bigger and a little bit buck-toothed.
I approached him and said something to the effect of: Hi Eddie, I just wanted to say that I was at the show in Milwaukee. Great show, thank you.
The look of confusion and disgust on his shiny unfamiliar face sank my warm, adoring heart. I walked away, head hanging low… onto my Tom Petty performance.
On stage, I strummed the first bars of the song on my imaginary guitar and leaned into the microphone to lip the opening line of the song. To my dismay, I lipped the wrong words!! And then my guitar strumming became off beat!! The horror!!
I glanced over at Eddie after my on-stage nose dive. He shook his glistening head in even more disgust at me. I felt pitiful.
Although it wasn’t the dream I dream about… where we become best friends and he brings me on tour to entertain him… I am grateful to have his strangely shiny presence grace my brain.
Holy smokes! The day has finally arrived that Eddie Vedder and friends roll into my town, my turf, my favorite!!
I can barely wait. I’ve been pacing around the house, cleaning, cooking, changing clothes and looking in the mirror over and over again. I’ve turned into a little bit of a girl over this whole thing. Normally, when girls have an exciting event, they go all ga-ga and obsess about what to wear. And normally I find that more than mildly annoying. Why is it that girls are always worried about what to wear? Will I be whisked away backstage because of my new jeans or will Eddie do a shout out to me and my perfectly matched yet unmatched cardigan??
I think not.
But here I am, checking myself out in the mirror over and over like a stupid twenty-something single girl!.
At any rate, I anticipate an evening filled with great people, cocktails, laughter, mind blowing music, and *fingers crossed* several poor choices. I really hope they play Immortality since I didn’t hear it at Wrigley last summer. I hope that there’s no douchebags sitting in our section that thinking they are the epitome of the PJ Superfan and record the whole show on their giant iphone 6. I also hope we’re not next to the annoying concert girls. You know what I’m talking about. They scream. They sing loudly the whole time. They get drunk and spill overpriced beer on you.
But hey, that’s what concerts are all about. The music and the weirdo people that love it! Cheers!
I’ve learned not to babble and to not write annoyingly long ass posts. I’ve learned to keep it simple. I’ve learned that people enjoy pictures. People enjoy simple wit and irony and dogs.
Good Lord, you people love dogs! That’s ok, I do too.
Take a gander through the archives if you desire…sometimes I still giggle at the things I’ve admitted in writing. I still get little pretzel knots in my stomach thinking about how much of my brain I actually share.
Also…I should totally have front row seats to Pearl Jam and a six figure book deal by now. Where are the connections that I’ve dreamed up in my head??
Does she remind you of Tim the Toolman Taylor’s annoying neighbor, Wilson??
Remember how popular that stupid show was? And how everyone did that ridiculous grunting-howling-barking noise?? (I apologize if you are a fan of Tool Time) Do you also remember how all the young girls thought the middle son on the show was oh-so cute and they had posters of him from Teen Beat? What’s his face?? Jonathan Taylor Thomas?
I didn’t like him. I liked Eddie Vedder. Also, no one ever liked the young, whiny, buck-toothed brother in the show…even the older brothers. What an outcast…I wonder where that kid’s career took off to…
My dog is nothing like Wilson. She’s more like Mrs. Doubtfire.