The Interior Designer.

I had quite an interesting dream last night.

I confided home in a small but nifty apartment. It was a while since I've graduated from art school, I lived in Queens with a loyal canine named Abe. I was unemployed and lonesome.

For some reason, in the dream, I got this call from someone who apparently was my good friend (his name was Seymour, nicknamed Y) to meet up with him at Tom's Restaurant to catch up with the good times, the same old things.

No, Y does not exist. Maybe as Yorick Brown in Y: The Last Man, but apart from that, he surely doesn't own a birth certificate.

And so we did meet up at Tom's Restaurant, and he called because he meant to tell me as he was withdrawing money from the ATM, he happened to bump into James Jean

(who in the dream was a teacher at the art school from which I graduated from).

Seymo--Y... started talking to him, and he said JJ asked about me, about how I've been doing since graduation, stating that I was so tied to comics and cartoons, asking if I actually got anywhere.

Apparently, in the dream, JJ also requested my number, of which Y was willing to give, but there was an odd catch.

Y, knowing I've liked James Jean for years and also knowing I'm still unemployed and probably thinking JJ might lose interest in me if ever he found out I was unemployed, gave him the impression that I was

an interior designer.

I was ever-so close to wringing Y's neck, but before I did so, my friend Annetta (who in real life is a very good friend of mine) called me from her phone saying she was smacked on the head by a golf ball as she was trying to call me, and she asked for assistance in going to the hospital.

In the hospital, Annetta narrated to Y and I the story of the golf ball that 'nicked her head. She wanted to call me to ask what I wanted for Christmas (absolutely awesome of her), but as she did so, this nutball clonks her on the head with a golf ball that just shot out of nowhere.

As Y and I leave the hospital, Y receives a message from our friend Toby (who is again a friend just in the dream). Toby was in a limousine with Tiger Woods and borrowed Y's golf balls. Y, not trusting Toby to take proper care of such golf balls, attached sensors and small trackers in them, and when they stated beeping they alarmed Woods, and he started flinging all the golf balls out the window.

So we found out how Annetta got hurt in the first place.

Moments later, I am talking with James Jean, narrating on my obviously-not-true career as an interior designer in my small apartment, the dog is off in the kitchen cooking (that little man is super!), and I'm sipping Pepsi while James gnaws on a candy cane. I tell him the false tale of when I was commissioned to design the interior of a rocket, but the paint started flowing out of their buckets in mid-air due to lack of gravity.

Suddenly, we notice an ambulance outside the under-construction building. I yell to them asking what the trouble was.

The interior designer of the building was apparently allergic to peanuts which were accidentally offered to him. He had not even started on the designing of the building yet, and suddenly he ended up sick, and nearly dead.

James then hollered, "Oh, she's an interior designer."

And then they kept calling me to go downstairs and design everything, and it generated this huge crowd begging me to act as interior designer of some building that happened to be the future apartment of John F. Kennedy Jr. (yes, I know he's already dead, but for some reason, he was still alive in my dream).

I remained my composure, resisting to act, until a riot started and came banging onto my door.

"DESIGN IT!" "FIX IT!" "JFK JR.'S GOING TO LIVE IN IT BECAUSE OF YOU!"

My dog started growling and snarling, and James gave me this gentle look and said,

"Design the apartment, Ally..."

And he squeezed my shoulder and said,

"For me?"

That did it.

I ordered my dog to stop barking, took my toolbox filled with tools, paint, brushes, pencils, and came out saying,

"Ally Publico lives--for she has designed John F. Kennedy Jr. a home!"

And so with a hammer, a chainsaw, a sketch pad, a set of colored pencils, and a dream,

I make my move.

I have no team of designers to assist me, so I ring up a few random friends.

Quite interestingly, some of my favorite home designers on TV come to help. Martha Stewart helped provide textiles, Ty Pennington and his crew ran bamboozling the place with energy, David Bromstad provided advice on colours, Niecy Nash, Trish Suhr, Mark Brunetz, and that other guy practically made an entire episode on the whole thing, and JJ played a major part in design also.

Well the apartment was ready for living in the time expansion of just a day, and everyone ended up tired and exhausted.

After saying goodbye to everyone, my dog came up to me, nuzzled me in the knee.

"Hello, Abe." I said. "Let's go home."

Before we headed across the street back to my apartment, JJ went to me and said, "You did it!" And gave me a huge hug, tears streaming down both our faces.

That was when I said, "I have to tell you something... I'm not an interior designer."

Surprisingly, the exact opposite of what I expected happened.

He said, "Seymour made it up, didn't he?"

"Exactly."

Arm in arm, and Abe following behind us, we set out into the moonlight,

laughing and looking for somewhere to eat.

--

EDIT:

...this dream sounds so much like the Seinfeld episode,
The Marine Biologist,
now, does it?