Last night I had a naughty dream. I'm sure it's to do with the fact that Love Chunks is currently out of the country at an international weather nerd get-together talk-fest in Chile, but also because Bobby Jon from the current series of 'Survivor' is a rather guilty pleasure.
He's about as intelligent as using scissors to cook spaghetti yet is admired by most for having the utmost determination to try as hard as he can in every single physical challenge. As Dianne Weist's ageing actress character in 'Bullets over Broadway' says to her younger lover, "Don't speak,' this should also be the case with Bobby Jon.
But back to last night during my REM when Bobby Jon emerged from my rather unsubtle unconscious into my dream state. He was dressed like he is here above, so, I was --- um-----I was (phew) ------ errr-------a bit distracted initially as to where we were.
However I still seemed to have some of my conscious, awake-thoughts buzzing through my brain. Have you ever had a dream where, even though you're in it and enjoying yourself; you're also a spectator, thinking "Oh wow, this is going to be a great one!" ??? Or is it just me - I hope to god it's not or this entire blog will just cause you to pray harder for my mother ship to return and take me back to planet Zorkwad.
So there we were, BJ and I - him with his soulful, twinkling brown eyes ready for some naughty night action and me standing next to him ready to comply; yet also thinking as the spectator: "BRILLIANT! I can't believe my exhausted, middle-aged brain is serving up this particular treat to me tonight!"
It was then, alas, that my subconscious reminded me that, even though the guest star was one I liked, the storyline was to be all of it's own directing. Bobby Jon and I were talking with Jeff Probst, the hard-hearted host of the Survivor shows, and he handed us the keys to our own four door ute. He invited us to help ourselves to whatever supplies we wanted, which of course we did - water, food, blankets, tents, a full esky, drinks, firewood, deckchairs - everything but room service, it seemed.
We drove off to a rather romantic, steamy forest and set up a rather comfortable looking camp. To my unbelieving yet grateful eyes, Bobby Jon purposefully advanced toward me, all muscles, sweat and goofy hunkiness, swept me up into his arms and was about to take me back inside the -------- HEY! What are those people doing robbing our campsite? BJ dropped me like a bag of tent pegs and went sprinting out after them. "Come out here and help me!" he hollered.
After what seemed like hours of fighting off hordes of fit, strong and arrogant yanks, we were left with our ute, an esky (that I sat on, hence it was too difficult for anyone to move) and the deckchairs that BJ was swinging around like tennis racquets. 'Man oh man! This was supposed to be a fullblown BJ bonkfest fantasy, not Lord of the Flies', my conscious self bemoaned. If this was a movie, I could leave or demand a refund, but tonight I had to sit it out.
Things suddently got better and back on to the fantasy and fun track. "Aw, never mind about it," Bobby Jon said, gesturing to me, "We've still got all the time in the world to------"
'What now?' Jeff Probst had entered our tent, unzipped the door and was telling us something about doing a mandatory challenge involving jumping from our ute to another ute as they were driving down a road. 'Is a dream night of passion with Bobby Jon worth all of this crap?' I thought to myself.
Clearly, my dreamlike self thought so, as I found myself surfing on the back tray of our ute, with BJ driving with his head out of the window, yelling out to me to "Jump on over, there's a girl - we gotta win this one." I took a deep breath and leaped as far as I could out of the ute. There was no way I was going to make it, I was going to die......
"Aaaarguh!" I screamed in terror and found myself awake in the dark, in my Love Chunks-less bed - something just stuck it's tongue in my ear!! I scrambled out of bed quicker than a teenage boy being sprung by her parents. It was Milly the dog, who had worked out during the night that I was on my own, and her beloved Alpha Male, Love Chunks was not on the scene. It seemed as though she decided to give her bean bag the flick, trot up the hall to my room, jump up on the bed, wriggle underneath the quilt and lie close enough to me to give me a lick if she chose to. She knew she was not meant to, and gave me her best soggy eye look, with her tail thumping softly against the blankets in hope.
Still, at least I'll be able to say to her, "Don't speak."