This is a conversation that happened when I woke up after passing out on a friend's couch recently:

Me: Why are you yelling at me?
Friend: I'm not yelling at you.
Me: Yeah you were, you were yelling at me about Twitter.
Friend: No I wasn't.
Me: Yeah, you said something about me Twittering.
Friend: No, I don't know what Twitter even is or what it does.
Me: OK, then that was just a part of my dream.

That's where we're at, you guys. I'm awakening from Twitter nightmares and am unable to seperate them from reality.

There was a dude I did stand up with in Boston back in college named Pete Brannen and he had some joke about how when you wake up from a realistic nightmare, you wind up walking around your apartment for a half an hour all pissed at your roommate because he killed your unicorn.

...And like, if you're someone who needs to steal jokes or whatever, don't take that one and use it in your "set" because I already feel like a cunt for poorly rehashing someone else's pretty hilarious joke on my blog.

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I was doing a one-woman show on stage at the theater I go to most often. At the end of the show, I was singing a song, and suddenly from the audience, someone joins in singing and clapping with me. A light shines on the persons face and I see it is John Stamos. I say "Ladies and Gentlemen, John Stamos!" I realize that he is ruining the end of my show, but I could care less because it's John Stamos, smiling at the end of my show and feeling moved to the point where he wants to clap his hands and sing along.

At this point, for some reason, I find it appropriate to say "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the man I watched on television when I was ten years old!" and the audience goes wild. Then from the side of the stage I hear "Don't forget about me!" and Candice Cameron walks out on the stage and waves to the crowd. And I'm all, "DJ TANNER, EVERYBODY!"

Then I hear "How you gonna talk about being ten years old without mentioning me!?!?!?" The bathroom on the side of the room bursts open and oddly enough, it's also the light and sound area. Behind the control panel is Jodie Sweetin. She's not real Jodie Sweetin though, she's a Jodie Sweetin from a purer time, right after she got those crazy looking boobs but before she grew out of her face. "STEPHANIE JUDITH TANNER, EVERYONE! GIVE IT UP FOR JODIE SWEETIN!"

The three Full House stars had joined me on stage at that point and a room full of one hundred people were making more noise for the four of us than the gays for Babs on the final night of her fifth farewell tour.

And then I woke up and realized that it was only 2 am and I somehow had to fall back asleep processing everything that had just manifested in my mind.

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My mom and I have to sleep in a room on a double bed that is next to another double bed in some room I've never been in before. When I check into this particular dream, my mom and I are already laying next to each other in bed and about to fall asleep. That's when I realize that in the next bed my ex boyfriend and his friend who happens to be gay are trying to fall asleep, too. It was awkward, but for some reason we either didn't want to or couldn't leave and get our own room or find different beds that were not near these guys.

So, I spend the night in that room and when I wake up (dream within a dream!) my ex boyfriend is giving his friend a handjob. So I look at him and say "[Redacted]! What the fuck are you doing?!?" I'm not upset because it turns out that my ex-boyfriend was probably jacking off his friend the whole time we were seeing each other, but because my poor mother is sleeping next to me and about three feet away from them.

At this point the friends crawls out of bed and runs to the bathroom. I'm left alone with my ex who I'm kind of having a stare down with. He has this genuine look of hurt on his face and he says "God, Molly. I was just doing what I had to do!" Then he stands up with the comforter wrapped around him like a cocoon and starts to walk out the door. Right before he leaves he turns to me and says "Beside, we've been over for awhile."

And I'm left laying there in bed wishing that I could explain that I'm more upset he was getting his friend off in the same room as my sleeping mother than I am about the implication that he was prostituting himself to his gay friend for God knows what.

I honestly have no interest in looking up the interpretation of this dream.

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So everyone who knows me knows that I am a complete mess in the morning or any time I'm waking up. I can't control it, I really can't. I'm not conscious, I don't realize that I'm swearing at everyone and being mean. I've woken up to people not speaking to me because of things I've said in the early stages of waking up and have no memory of. This only really happens when someone has the balls to touch me or try and wake me up... if I am able to wake up on my own with no interruptions, my exit from Dream Land is a lot more graceful.

If you don't understand what I'm talking about, let's break it down: I've punched my own beloved mother for touching me while I'm sleeping. I've told so many people to "fuck off" in my sleep that I've lost count. My go-to is "I fucking hate you. Get out of my life." Do you want to know how many people I've said that to? So would I. I honestly have no recollection of doing any of this most of the time, and in the moment there is absolutely no way to stop me. I wish more than anything there was someone in my life who understood that if they touch me or try and kiss my face when I'm passed out I will cut them. That's the key to having any sort of decent relationship with me. Just let me fucking sleep.

Wagandstuff totally gets it, actually... that's where I originally meant to go with all of this. In the mornings, he leaves me alone until I start moving around, and then once I've made some noises and my eyes open up, he lays on his back next to my face and tries to do some French kisses with me. This morning he actually just wrapped himself around the top of my head and licked my nose repeatedly. When he gets going with the French kisses, it's like he can't stop. He's totally the very best boyfriend I've ever had. He really gets me.

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I should start by saying that I never thought I'd be the kind of person to apologize for not posting in their blog enough ("PARDON ME, BUT I'VE LEFT THE HOUSE TO GO GET A FUCKING LIFE"), but I do feel that I have been seriously neglecting this whole blogging thing these days. It's important to me that everyone know my every move because I am a self-obsessed famewhore, so I'm going to make a better effort to update more during the day.

I have some big things going on in my life right now (all of which I am hesitant to discuss, so use your imagination based off of these two hints: 1) rubber dog nipples, 2) lavender scented bubble bath), but I've decided I will share with you the recent additions to the infamous "Awesome Things That Molly McAleer Loves List"

1) Beverly Hills 90210 -  I wouldn't be surprised if the return of this series has anything to do with my recent obsession with the original, seeing as I am the hub of the Cool Universe. I definitely loved this show as a child (Fun Fact: I learned about rape from 90210 and for many years, thought rape and sex were the exact same thing. This will probably disturb my mother more than anyone else who reads this) but since July I have been all up in it again, devouring the DVD sets like pickled moose fetuses. (Additional Fun Fact: An ex of mine called me as I was writing this and asked what I was doing. When I told him I was watching 90210, he did the whole "OK, I'm going to hang up now" bit. Classic bit. Totally classic. I love men. So. Much.)

2) Lying About a Medical Disorder to Get Your Dog Into the Supermarket - The other day I went into Ralph's to get an iced coffee, and since I was walking Wags at the time, I knew that if I wanted to get him in I'd have to hold him in my arms and act as quickly as possible to get in and out without being asked to leave or tie him up outside (to me this is like tying an 8 month old baby to a leash wrapped around a bike rack. You'd have to be insane to do this, especially if your dog is of Top Model status the way Wagandstuff is.) So, I cradle him in my arms and walk directly to the Coffee Bean section and ordered my iceroonie. Just as I was putting milk in my drink and about to leave, a manager walked up to me and asked me if Wagandstuff is a service dog. I remembered that my friend Jim told me that legally, if you say you have a service dog, no one-- a store manager, the police, ANYONE-- is allowed to ask you what your condition is. I looked him dead in the eye and said "Yes he is. I have had service dogs my entire life" and then he put up his hands as if to apologize and walked away. Hey, System? I've fucking beaten you. I've beaten you so badly that no amount of make up is going to keep your co-workers from worrying about you and your home situation. WIN: MOLLS.

this is his commercial pose

3) The Echoplex - I've been a fan of this venue for awhile, but this week I'm going to see two of my favorite new bands, The French Kicks and M83 there (if you see me at either show, please come say hi. I'll be handing out free fist pounds). Parking is easy to find, the drinks aren't too expensive, the smoking section is huge and the atmosphere is usually very friendly.  Also, it's near the Brite Spot, so you can totally have late night munchies served to you by 80 year old women who somehow manage to hustle all night long. I expect to be dead by 45 from exhaustion, so this is an extremely impressive thing for me to witness. And I love waffles. 

OK, I'm off to bed now to go dream about looking at myself in the mirror.

I LOVE YOU.

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The last thought exiting my mind as I woke up from my dreams this morning was the following sentence:

"Everyone was disgusted with Seamus when they found out he was drawing pictures of dead animals all over the back of the classroom at The Center for Vegans."

I know no one named Seamus, and as far as I could tell, the rest of my dream was about sailing and trash collection, so I don't know where this came from. But is there really a Center for Vegans? If there is and you are an employee or patron of The Center for Vegans, you should check to see if there's pictures of hand drawn dead animals around or something. Maybe all of this means I'm psychic.

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Last night was awesome, for the most part. By the time I got home I was really mad for a few reasons... fuming. Basically, I went to bed drunk and furious, which is a terrible combination. I had a nightmare. A really awful nightmare that has me on the verge of tears still today. I really feel like anything could push me off the edge into Crybaby City and I'm really hoping that my improv class this morning can get rid of this feeling, although I have a sense that it's only going to rub me a little more raw. Basically, I'm looking forward to today.

NOT!

(Yeah, I just wrote "NOT!". I'm bringing it back, don't be a jerk. I'm sensitive today.)

My nightmare is kind of hard to remember at this point, but this is what I know happened for sure: I was back at HBO for some reason, writing kind of the way I did at ThisJustIn, but things were A LOT MORE INTENSE and there was a big board meeting with all kinds of staff. As if it were real life, Dream Molls had literally not left the office for 30 days. I was wearing my BC hoodie and my hair was EVERYWHERE but I was really proud of what I had been able to pull together for this board of people to review. I went in to the meeting and immediately felt judged by these people for my appearance, and as the meeting went on, the kept cutting me off. Finally someone cut me off and I said really loudly, almost screaming "EXCUSE ME?! ARE YOU NOT LISTENING TO ME?!" and everyone in the room was like "GOD, MOLLY! He was finishing his sentence!" and I was all "I was finishing my sentence. Someone finally asked me what I thought about things and HE didn't even let ME finish." Then everyone in the room was all "We're going to have to take this back to New York with us", meaning the angry fit I had was going to be reported to someone of a higher authority than all of us. HBO responded not by firing me, but by having a slanderous article written about me in New York Magazine, with a headline that was something like "Molly McAleer-- HBO's Benedict Arnold"... which is just insane. I woke up shortly after that. I was asleep long enough to see how this outburst completely ruined my life and that's about it. I never saw if things got better or if I got to do a Barbara Walter's interview to clear my name. I mean, whatever. I have no idea what it means, but mentally/emotionally, I'm dying right now.

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yeah, clearly.

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This was on my gchat when I woke up this morning:

click image twice to enlarge

It's so tiny, I'll translate:

"I had a dream last night where you were a crooked LA cop and I was on a ridealong (but for some reason I was driving and your cop car was a convertible) and you pulled a guy over and made him bribe you with press-on nails."

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