I had an unexpected call from a buddy of mine last night. It came just as I was getting ready to leave work and it basically went like this.
Me: ‘Hey, what are you doing?’
Him: ‘Calling to see if you want to grab a few beers’
Me; ‘Well, damn, you know the answer to that one’
Him: ‘Of course I do. That’s why I’m standing in the lobby of your building.’
And that was that. Well, for a little while anyway. We started at JJ Foley’s then met two more guys and made our way to The Times on Broad Street, which has renovated a bit and added outside patio seating. Since it was a perfect night out, we grabbed an outdoor table and watched the pretty girls walk by.
A quick note about The Times. It used to have the best nachos in Boston, but they’ve removed them from the menu. However, you can still order them if you want. Don’t ask, I have no idea. It’s also one of the few remaining original bars left in the area. With the Big Dig, most of the other surrounding bars have changed their names and/or completely renovated. It’s coveted real estate in that area now and rightfully so.
The Times have redone things a bit, but it’s still a hole in the wall and their men’s room is one of the nastiest places on earth. Cramped and dirty, they did nothing when they renovated other than adding a urinal right next to the sink. So now when you wash your hands there’s a good chance you’re shoulder to shoulder with someone taking a piss.
All in all, it’s still a pleasant and – more importantly – cheap place to drink in Boston. My night was cut short however when wifey called to report the onset of a migraine. With two loud, crazy boys, I immediately paid up and got my ass home. I’ve never had a migraine, nor do I ever want one. I can only imagine how debilitating it can be.
I do my fatherly duties, get the kids to bed, get the wife to bed and turn all the lights off and close the door, tell the boys to keep it down, then head downstairs to watch the Sox finish off the Diamondbacks. Everyone in my house was sound asleep by 9pm except little old me who was feeling his slight buzz wear off. I flipped around for a bit, showered and went to bed.
This morning I wake to see wifey is not in bed. I get up and find her on the coach in the family room. She’s awake and tells me she took a migraine pill she found in the medicine cabinet and is feeling much better. She then says:
‘I don’t know who you were talking to at the bar last night, but you were having quite the conversation in your sleep with some girl’
I laugh because I have never talked in my sleep (that I know of) my entire life. I say ‘Get the fuck out of here!’
‘No, really, you were saying “You have beautiful hair and a pretty blouse”.’
A few things to address:
- I wasn’t talking to any girls at the bar last night. I was with three other guys who were all married or committed in some way. We chatted with each other and nobody else.
- I never remember my dreams. I mean ever. So I have no recollection of any conversation with any dream girl. Pity.
- Apparently, even while dreaming I’m a complete dork. That’s the best I could come up with? Holy shit, I’m lame.
- There is a good chance this never happened. My wife is notorious for telling me I’ve done things or had conversations with her when I know for a fact that wasn’t what happened at all. One night she woke me out of a sound sleep asking me why I was crying. When I looked confused and asked what she was talking about she mumbled something and went back to sleep. She has also had full conversations with me when I’ve come to bed after she’s been asleep that she never remembers or remembers in a completely different way. Let’s just say that her middle of the night stories tend to be unreliable at best.
- If I have really begun talking in my sleep, there could be potential trouble brewing in the BeachBum household. I don’t have a mistress and I’m not embezzling money or anything like that, but there could be dream like scenarios that even I’m not aware of that might be taken the wrong way. Also, if I happen to mention any specific names from my past, there will be hell to pay.
- Wifey is the type of person that will get angry at me over a dream. She woke up royally pissed because she had a dream I was making out with one of her friends. It was her dream, she knew it was only a dream, yet she still was angry. More confirmation that women are crazy. If she ever decides that she can ask me what I’m dreaming about and I actually answer, things could get ugly. Real ugly. It won’t matter if it is only a dream.
- If I don’t remember my dreams, is there at least a way I can control them? I’m figuring if I can control things so I can only dream about my wife I’ll be golden (if bored). This way if she asks my sleeping self who I’m complimenting I can respond with ‘Why you, honey. You are so beautiful!’. Talk about scoring points.
- Why, all of the sudden, would I start talking in my sleep? I didn’t have a hell of a lot to drink last night. No more than usual anyway. So what triggers this new found talent? Or, like I suspect, was wifey dreaming again and this whole thing never actually took place?
Only time will tell, I guess. If this space goes a long time with no updates, check news in the Boston area for a domestic murder involving a husband hitting on another girl in his sleep.
Today’s distraction: Visit the Dream Dictionary. I could spend all day on this site. Unfortunately, since I don’t remember my dreams, this is also virtually useless. Still, fun way to waste some time.
By the way, I looked up Seduction and here is one possible meaning: “To dream of seduction, is an expression of your sexual desires. Alternatively, you may be feeling lured into doing something you might not otherwise have done. You may be giving up your power of choice.”
Hmmm, like having to leave a guys night out early, perhaps?