Sometimes, your dreams have a way of reminding you that it might be time to stop watching reruns at 2am before bed and consider alternate means of entertainment. Especially when your dream involves Bret Michaels.
Last night, I had a dream wherein I was sitting in the front row of a Bret Michaels concert, waiting for him to perform and announce who he’d chosen to win Rock of Love Bus. But I screwed up his entire concert when I called him out for playing “Pour Some Sugar On Me.”
“That’s not even your song,” I yelled. “That’s not your song, Bret!”
Bret then had to take a thirty minute break to pull himself together. Apparently, my outburst, a fellow audience member informed me, had “set off his ‘beetus.”
To summarize: last night, I ruined a Bret Michaels concert by sending him into diabetic shock after yelling at him about singing a song about pouring sugar on himself. I am not making this up, which makes this even more embarrassing: my brain is putting together bits of Bret Michaels’ life while I’m sleeping, which means I should probably stop watching Rock of Love Bus before bed. Or ever, really.
When I woke up, I was both amused and horrified. The dream also included a weird labyrinthine home of Bret’s, which had doors that could only be opened via a secret combination, which I did not have. I was trapped in Bret’s house, with no way out, which is how I often feel while watching Rock of Love Bus: I want to look away, but I can’t.
Does pop culture ever work its way into your subconscious? And if so, does it produce dreams or nightmares?