Home > Cinematically Correct, Pop Culture > My Dreams Were A Wonderland

My Dreams Were A Wonderland

All of my Facebook friends were notified of a surreal dream that I had last night. If you are one of my Facebook friends, I apologize for rehashing it in the blogosphere. Also, if you are one of my Facebook friends…lucky you.

Here is the dream:

I was driving on a highway. It felt like I was on my way to work. I must not have been in too much of a hurry because I stopped off at a Waffle House for coffee. Yes…a Waffle House. I go inside, have a seat at the bar, and order my coffee.

So I’m just chilling out, drinking my coffee, battling second hand smoke, and playing with my iPhone…which apparently cannot even elude my dreams. There is a bit of commotion behind me near the entrance. I turn and in walks John F***ing Mayer. He has some “people” with him and they scurry him in, past an mob of screaming chicks, who are no doubt idiots. The Waffle House is packed (when aren’t they?), except for a lone seat at the bar, right next to yours truly. Mayer walks over and sits down.

We start chatting about something that I can’t remember and unfortunately, we hit it off. This may speak volumes for my personal opinion of myself, considering that Mayer has broken the scale that measures jackassery. Somehow, Mayer learns that I can play guitar. He orders someone out to his bus and they return with two guitars. Mayer asks, “Can you handle the 12-string?” I tell him yes and we set up shop in the corner…of the Waffle House…with John Mayer…and me on 12-string.

We go over some things, chord structures, song progressions, what have you. Next thing I know, I’m playing rhythm guitar at an impromptu (second use of that word today) Waffle House John Mayer performance for truckers and hobos. After every song, I keep telling some woman, “I can’t do anymore, I need to get to work.” Mayer keeps telling me, “Don’t sweat it”, then we bust out a killer rendition of some douchey Mayer song that I truthfully don’t know.

Think the story ends there? Nope, this one is about as long as a live performance of Mayer’s “Gravity”, but probably not as hilarious. I get up to leave, but am whisked off to the Mayer Bus, where God knows how many poor groupie chicks have been violated. In mere moments, we arrive at an arena. I am given what may have been a killer Rickenbacker and I’m about to go on stage with The Mayer.

Then I woke up. Please pray for me.

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  1. jenchic
    March 26, 2010 at 11:55 AM

    If Mrs. Cinematically Correct had the same dream it would have to mean that you have to “kidnap” James Earl Jones & go to your nearest Waffle House.

  2. jenchic
    March 26, 2010 at 11:55 AM

    Or a Red Sox game. Either or.

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