I have short-term memory dreams now. Nothing vivid or grandeous and the plot is usually whatever happened within the last 72-hour period. So, I may be doing a Norma Rae at the office, or dreaming I met a nice, single emotionally adjusted guy at happy hour.
Now my dreams are going in scary, different directions. Last night, Jon Favreau, a writer/actor from Swingers, was the main character in my dream.
I was in Ralph’s getting my weekly supply of produce and whatnot when my Kenneth Cole bronze wedges hydroplaned on something and I fell into an end-cap tomato can pyramid. I got up, collected myself and looked around to see who saw my graceful move. Nobody, except Jon, half-way down the aisle.
But I didn’t know it was him because he gained some weight and had less hair. I assumed he was single (basket vs. cart), so I strolled up to him. He was contemplating getting the Italian-style whole tomatoes with basil.
“Those are great,” I said.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yeah, I just tried about three dozen of them at the end of the aisle,” I replied.
We both laughed and he asked if I was ok. The small talk continued and he handed me his card and asked me to call him. Oh my god, it’s Jon Favreau. Without hesitating, I turned his card over and wrote my name and number on the back.
“Why don’t you call me? And don’t wait three days,” I said walking away.
I woke up recalling the whole dream and just laughed at myself. Jon wouldn’t shop at the dirty Ralph’s on Lake in Pasadena. He seems like a Gelson’s or Whole Foods kind of guy to me. But I was excited to have my first grocery store pick-up. Too bad he’s married, and it was a dream.