Weird Celebrity Dreams

A longtime lurker of the SDMB, I find myself wide awake at 4:30am composing my first-ever thread. I rang in the new year with another one of my crazy celebrity dreams that I felt I had to share.

I have had a fair many dreams that involve celebrities (one time I dreamt I was seduced by Morgan Freeman! But who could resist God? :D)

I’ll share some of my weird celebrity dreams if you share yours! I can’t be the only one that has these…

First Celebrity Dream of 2010:

So I am at a concert with a friend of mine that is a collaboration of 4 random country singers (none I recognize) headlined by Elton John. My friend and I have front row seats and during the concert Elton leans in to my friend and asks her to book a hotel room for him for that evening at the best hotel in the city. Of course she says sure thing and then one of Elton’s enterage starts handing out backstage passes to some of us.

Next thing that happens is that my friend and I are in Elton John’s hotel room with all the other folks that got backstage passes and there’s this huge party going on. I go to leave and somehow get four of my fingers stuck in the door. It’s pretty bad, I’ve actually dislocated my index finger and it hurts! The pain was very vivid. (A few weeks earlier I really did get an index finger caught in a door)

The dream ends with the hotel staff trying to brush off the incident trying to escort me out of the hotel while I ask my friend if I should get a lawyer…

Not as weird as some of my others but still odd. I’ve got plenty more I could post…anyone else?

Another celebrity dream I’ve had:

I dreamed I was a lady of the evening at this turn of the century bordello and Lady Di was the Madam of the household. Don’t remember much else except that Lady Di was just as kind and gracious in my dream as she seemed in real life through the media.

Just last night, I dreamed that I was an extra in the last scene of Postcards from the Edge with Meryl Streep. I was dancing with the crowd while she sang the closing song. I have NO idea what prompted such a dream–I haven’t even seen the movie in years!

This is the only celebrity dream I remember having, and it was several years ago.

I’m in the studio apartment I lived in, back in the 70s. Elizabeth Taylor is also there. Someone is trying to get into the locked door, to take her away against her will. He breaks in, and he turns out to be Eddie Fisher (Taylor’s 4th husband). He had a gun, and so did I, and this huge gunfight ensued. Other people joined in, some on his side, others on mine. It became a huge brawl, with furniture thrown and overturned, and lots of gunfire. Then Taylor got up from behind me, called a truce, and left with Fisher.

I had a dream years ago where I was at a crowded party in an ordinary house. I looked over and saw David Cassidy (70’s version) was across the room. (Okay, I was a big ol’ Partridge Family nut in my callow youth. I’m much better now.) At first I was sadly excited about it and then I realized that my brother would be sure to show up and absolutely mortify me so I fled the room.

There was the usual weird dream sort of stuff where I went into an impossible number of rooms for a house that size, seeing assorted odd things (including cows that were either dancing or jumping) that seemed normal in the dream, and suddenly we’re all at this huge table and I’m sitting next to Tom Cruise.

Surprisingly, we’re actually having a really good time talking and laughing. Then he tells me he has something for me, pulls out a piece of paper, and writes “I’m batshit crazy! Tom Cruise”.


Celebrities regularly make cameo appearances in my dreams. Sometimes they’re fun, like the ones where I’m drinking buddies with Johnny Depp, or we’re teenagers body surfing together. Or I’m having a deep conversation with David Bowie.

Others are perplexing, like the recurring dreams that I work for Martha Stewart.

I still can’t forget a dream I had about 25 years ago, where I was taking a shower, and Frank Sinatra climbed into the tub and sang “Mack the Knife” to me as he crouched down and bit my ankles.

The first celeb dream I remember, and certainly the most intense, as I recall it 40 years later, was about Mark Lindsayof Paul Revere and the Raiders. It was nothing weirder than the two of us kissing, but since I wasn’t a ga-ga-drooling fan of that group, it came out of nowhere. No idea why it evoked such an intense reaction from me, either. Musta been them teenage hormones.

Chicken Fingers, your Sinatra dream cracked me up!!!

Oh my, I’ve definitely had some inexplicable celebrity dream cameos.
I recall having sex with Mel Gibson on top of a schoolbus on the Golden Gate Bridge many years ago (thankfully before he revealed himself as a bigoted Xtian extremist).

Here’s another that I am thankful I wrote down:

I have an appointment to begin my new job as drummer for Nirvana. We will be filming a clip for a new video today, a new song called “Loose Beans”. It’s about spare change, a humorous tune. I am practicing the percussion as Kurt, Dave & Crist are doing their bit for the video cameras. They are wearing their standard grunge-wear (i.e. striped t-shirts & corduroys), and are standing near a campfire in a green room throwing a handful of dirt each into the fire, crouched down like they’re skipping stones or throwing dice in a Broadway musical.

Suddenly, I’m at Doris’ house, a new house…It’s really big & spacious, but she’s got it so crammed full of ugly, clunky, country-style furniture it looks like an Ethan Allen for hillbillies. There are little tables set for four with ugly orange crocheted place mats wedged between brown couches with crocheted doilies on the headrests. Lamps with Americana shades, with the Declaration of Independence printed on them. Apparently it’s Thanksgiving & I’m the first to arrive. I take a walk as best I can through all of this stuff, trying not to feel ungrateful for the invitation & wondering how soon I can leave.

Pretty soon I’m outside,  trying to figure out the best way to hang something like a sign off of a long, protruding limb that’s pretty far up a large tree.  It’s between me & some really tall guy to do the hanging, and someone remarks that I’d probably better not do it, because if I fall & hurt myself, the CEO of the bookstore I work at will be upset.

CHUH, as if. Now I know it’s a dream!

Yes, I have very strange and colorful dreams almost every night. Great free entertainment - if only they served popcorn in my head!

To the best of my memory I’ve not really had any until a few weeks ago when I had a very vivid dream in which I was having some fantastic sex with Amber Benson.

And I think it was a dream that cropped up out of nowhere after another, not-so-satisfying dream.

I’ve only ever had one celebrity dream that I can recall, and it was pretty weird.

To begin with, I started the dream with my own backstory: I worked for the government in some top secret division or somesuch. I had knowledge of very sensitive and very sought-after information. This is why some sort of mercenary team had broken into the building and captured me. They had me sequestered in a small office, wherein they had set up a device I was locked into. I knew what this device did. I helped design it. It was an … extractor of sorts. It extracted one’s essence, the core of one’s being that contained the sum total of one’s knowledge. I suppose you could refer to it as your soul if you’re of that sort of bend. Nonetheless it rendered you immaterial – or mostly so anyway; you still had energy of sorts that could interact with the environment. You retained all of your consciousness and knowledge, you could still see, hear – in fact, you were really no worse for wear after the process save that you had no physical body. The idea of this device was that so freed of its mortal coil, your essence could be sifted through and your knowledge extracted easily using other equipment.

The machine powered up with me inside it. Its whine rose in pitch to nearly deafening until there was a snap, a flash of white, and suddenly, I was free, floating above the extraction chamber, looking down at myself in much the same way near-death experiences are described. But I wasn’t going toward any light. I wasn’t supposed to be outside the chamber. Something went wrong. This was my chance to escape. I flew up, knocking open a ceiling tile and making my way along and through the pipes and beams. Below, a commotion was brewing. They found my body, but not me. Orders were barked with the stern missive to find and capture me at any costs. The hunt was on.

I made my way out to a glass-enclosed sky bridge that connected my office building to a very large, multilevel mall across a wide, bustling city street. There was no hiding here; no ceiling tiles I could fly above. It was a straight, line-of-sight jaunt to the mall, and though I was invisible, they had devices that could track and capture me with ease. I flew down to the bridge and took a quick look back. A team of black-suited, beweaponed mercs were hot on my trail, led by a mean-looking Michael Ironside. (This was the early 90s, and I’d recently seen Total Recall and was at the time reading the book) He was pointing the tracker at me and barking orders; “Go, go, go!” I turned around and flew as fast as I could into the mall.

Beyond the doors was a positively massive and spacious mall; I was on the 3rd floor. The glass ceiling was a good 50 feet up at least, and the floors wound around a large open area that overlooked the floors below, all bordered by glass with metal railings. Somehow, in all the years I worked in that office building, I’d never been to this mall. It was quite a sight; clean, sparkling, very open and very large.

But I didn’t have time to gawk. The mercs were closing fast. I flew down the escalators and made my way to the ground level. Shoppers were milling everywhere. I weaved my way through the crowd looking for some place to hide. Michael and his crew weren’t far behind. I hid briefly behind one of the potted ferns that bracketed a mental bench. The mercs arrived in the middle of the lower floor. There, for no comprehensible reason, was a small haunted house, painted all black with spooky imagery of ghosts and skulls. Michael swept his scanner around, looking for me, but found nothing. He pointed two gloved fingers at the haunted house and ordered his crew to check inside, with him following behind, searching all the while.

I took that opportunity to bolt. I saw a wide open storefront. Painted white, and with very bright lighting, it was completely empty. There was a door on the left, and a large bay window with a one-foot ledge at its base spanning the rest of its width – except there was no glass. I flew in and slunk down below the ledge. I found that the ledge angled inward so I schooched in as far as I could – and straight into a spider’s web. Spider webs freak me out when I run into them, so I dutifully freaked … and woke up.

And that was that. It was quite vivid and surreal, but very memorable and pretty cool in its own way. I feel like I could almost write a book on it.

Thanks everyone for sharing your celebrity dreams. Nice to know I’m not the only one….

Chicken Fingers: Your dream about Frank Sinatra nomming your ankles totally made me :eek:

Gorgon Heap: nice dream, I think sex with Amber Benson would be fantastic… :smiley:

Mindfield, orderfire: I love having those cool, movie-like dreams too….perhaps one day we will be able to hook up some wires from our heads to the TV and watch them……popcorn and all. :slight_smile:

The closest thing to a celebrity dream I’ve ever had: I dreamed I read in the paper that Howard Stern had been killed in a car crash.

I’ve had two oddball celebrity dreams. Here they are:

May 8, 1997 I dreamed that my cousin (who lived in my neighborhood) drove home from my house to discover that B.B. King was at his house. He drove back over to tell me, and I rode with my cousin back to his house to see him. While we were driving, we saw B.B. walking up the road. My cousin told him to get in, but he didn’t. He just leaned in the window and held on. He eventually climbed in.

In another dream (I forget the date), I was in a room with a bunch of other people, and Norman Fell (Mr. Roper) had a gun and was holding everyone hostage. I had a baseball bat and managed to catch him off-guard. THWACK! Down he goes, then someone says “Norman fell.” Then the dream ended.

The other night I dreamed my parents were trying to marry me off to Nikita Kruschev.

I was not thrilled with the prospect.


Time to lay off the Russian food before bedtime …

(Plus there is that whole “dead for almost 40 years” thing that wouldn’t be a desirable quality in a marriage partner … )

WSD#! - Joe Montana came over to my house to help me build wooden shelves in my basement. I don’t build shelves. I enjoy football games but not really into stats/players/culture. Joe was actually a down-to-earth guy and pretty darn good with a hammer.

WSD#2 - Derek Trucks (Famous Blues guitarist known for Allman Bros/ Eric Clapton work) went with me and a gang of friends on a camp out and float trip. We drove home in his big green pickup truck and had Ding Dongs for breakfast at my buddy’s house. Afterward I tried to stop Derek’s Truck from rolling downhill but couldn’t control it and it ran into a tree.

WSD#3 - Had a date with Jennifer Aniston. Wasn’t at all thrilled about it because I didn’t want to put up with the media or her acting like a Diva. It also occurred to me a few minutes into the date that my wife wouldn’t be too thrilled about me being Jennifer’s boyfriend.

The other night I dreamed that I was at some kind of slumber party where the NFL was the entertainment. Terry Bradshaw was catapulted from the other side of the room / field and into a pool behind me where he did a cannonball and covered the crowd with water like when you sit in the front row at SeaWorld. Not sure how much of a celebrity he’s considered to be.

A few years ago I dreamt that George Bush <jr> and I were in our mid-20’s and dating. We knew it couldn’t really go anywhere, 'cause we were just so VERY different people, but we ended it amicably and fairly fondly.

I woke up mentally screaming ‘WTF!!!’ because I can’t stand either of the Bush’s policies, attitude, anything at all about them.

And I woke up from a dream knowing what it was like to ‘know’ Bush as a person…and you just really can’t hate anyone you have felt even a little bit fondly for.



I still feel like I need a shower.
<Sorry, Georgie-weorgie!>


This is a sign from Og that you should have picked Derek Trucks in the Celebrity Death Pool (I have no idea if you have or not, btw, but this seems clear to me that he’ll die soon!)

Didn’t even remember your wife until after you started dating Jen, eh?

Suuuuuuuure. :wink: