Last Night I Slayed Some Vampires

And by “last night” I actually mean “last night in my dreams.” Very strange, very vivid. And I haven’t even been watching any vampire movies lately. Actually, the last round of Netflix to cycle through our house included If Lucy Fell, The Maltese Falcon, and Fishing With John. There’s nary a bloodsucker to be found in any of those films.

Details, details. Not for the faint of heart, mind you. Although it’s fairly unclear as to whether I was actually a vampire in the dream, almost everyone else around me was. Their little fangy grin, slicked-back hair, and I-wear-my-sunglasses-at-night-so-I-can-so-I-can-see total rock star wardrobe always seems to give them away, you know? 

There were definitely two warring factions of vampires who had arranged a sort of summit (of sorts) at the top of a very high skyscraper to, I suppose, “try to talk things through.” Now we’ve all seen enough movies to know that the only possible scenario that can occur from a setup such as this is an inevitable big, nasty fight scene. Warring factions are warring for a reason more often than not, even if that reason is as flimsy as, say, a star-crossed-lovers-type situation 3,000 years ago when vampires ruled the Earth like gods and you could buy a castle for a few loaves of bread and a horse. That being said, they never seem too apt to give up their warmongering, so as we entered the elevator, I just had that sinking (while actually rising) feeling that trouble was on the way.

Unfortunately, my discernment skills are as keen in my dreams as they are outside of my dreams. The Capulet-pires had successfully rigged our particular elevator car to send us blistering past the 60th floor penthouse, catapulting our merry Montague-pire crew like a hefty missle into the moonlit night sky at a rate of speed that can only be acheived by an elevator car full of leather-clad vampires in someone’s dream. Not to be outdone by this feat of imagination, we actually survived the landing. The elevator landed miles down the interstate, albeit at the end of a Michael Bay-ish path of explosions and flying wreckage. (Ding! Ground floor. Death, destruction, and mayhem. Menswear). 

Then we proceeded to return, with haste, to the scene of the crime by flying a bulldozer bucket through the air. Confused yet?

Quick cut to the hotel bar (because my dreams always seem to have non-linear cuts to other scenes) and friendly drinks with a pair of Capulet-pires. (Huh?) Quick cut to the penthouse (motion sickness) and being forced to kill our drinking buddies by shooting them in the head with garlic bullets (yes… garlic… bullets). Quick cut to the NYC subway, as we look smarmy/surly and return to our painfully hip, modern adobes.


WHAT the heck? Dreams confuse me.