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I Am George Clooney

I had the saddest dream the other night.

It started with me at a holiday party. The major details are hazy. I don’t know whose party it was or the location. I do know I am on the lower level of a restaurant. I immediately decide to go upstairs. I see people I know but they don’t see me.

Upstairs, I walk by a mini bar and towards the front of the room. On my way there, I see them, sitting towards the right. Jared Leto and George Clooney. Jared looks adorable and George looks older than I thought.

After I spot them, I look ahead and that is when I see my friend Susanna, surrounded by a group of girls I don’t know. I am SO excited to see Jared Leto and George Clooney but I don’t want to be a crazy stalker fan girl so all I do is mouth “OMG” to Susanna. She too wants to stay classy and so she mouths “I KNOW!” back. Our eyes look wild with excitement over the celebrities grazing near us.

It is at this point that I realize Vinny is not with me. I have to contact him and let him know of my celebrity sighting and also to see where he is. I take out my phone and attempt to text him. I’m having trouble pressing the numbers (because for some reason I can’t text in my dreams) and so I decide to try to get George Clooney’s attention instead. Not in a creepy way but more of a “Omg, George looked in my direction and now he knows I exist” kind of way.

I approach the bar that is 5 five feet away. George is now being his charming self and is flirting with the bartender. I make a comment about their flirtation, hoping he will pay attention to me. Does he? No. No he doesn’t.

I try again but it’s as if I’m not even there.  He doesn’t even look past me. Nothing. Nada. Zilch attention from George.  I am offended.

Dejected, I walk back to Susanna and think about how I’m going to get home. Suddenly, I know I am on the Upper East Side. I think about York Street (Is that where I am?!) and wonder how much an Uber would cost to get home. I think about how much I don’t want to take the train at this hour. All logical thinking.

Then I wake. The first thought I have is about how ok I am with George dissing me. It’s not like we’d have much to talk about anyway. He is about to marry a smart lady, one that I could never compete with, not even in my dreams.

How fucking unfair is that?

I have a status call with my boss first thing in the AM. I tell her about how George Clooney dissed me and  how distraught I am about it. She feels bad for me and mentions Carl Jung, former professional dream interpreter. This Jung fella believes that we are all characters in our dreams. In other words,  I AM GEORGE CLOONEY.

I wonder why bougie me (George) doesn’t like peasant me (Me)? Then I wonder why my subconscious won’t leave me alone. Then I wonder why I can’t just be normal and have dreams that are more like this?

Amy Poehler George Clooney

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