Another slap in the face from Chris Brown

It is currently 11 o'clock in the morning. I just got into the office. I was supposed to be here at 9. Was the metro delayed, you ask? No. No, it was not. Am I not feeling well? No worse than usual. Did I have another early morning training session? LOLZ, Christ no. The truth of the mater is that I am two hours late to work because I was having a really intense dream about Chris Brown and I wanted to see how it ended. That's it. Just sheer curiosity. The level of apathy I feel towards my job is starting to genuinely concern me. Because my job is literally to show up on time, open the door, sit here and take it like a bitch. That's the ballgame. It couldn't be easier. And yet apparently, an intense dream about Chris Brown is all that stands between me and being able to do that. I used to say that I worked just hard enough not to get fired, but I don't think that's a completely truthful statement anymore. I think I work just hard enough to not be deemed legally dead.

In my defense, it was a good dream. I dreamt that MTV gave me a show where I take celebrities to their hometowns and we reminisce and giggle and LOL about the way we were. And I know exactly where this part of the dream came from. For some ungodly reason, I randomly remembered yesterday that Ol' Dirty Bastard is dead. Obviously, I began musing to myself about my favorite ODB memories and thought of the time he took MTV back to his old Brooklyn 'hood and tried to cash a welfare check and use food stamps for shits and giggles and it totally worked. Dirt McGirt. God took one angel too many...ANYWAY! So I was filming an episode of my hit MTV show, which I have retrospectively named Misty Water-Colored Meggles, and spent the first half of the show with Lady Gaga at her old Elementary school. The only thing I remember from this part is that I went into the bathroom and there were newspaper clippings all over the walls about how everyone was so proud that the town butcher's daughter is now a big star and people come from miles around to get a cut of Lady Gaga's father's famous meats. I also distinctively remember making a mental note to swing by his shop after my interview to grab a few T-bones for the road. So, there's that. And that is fat.

After I loaded up on Mr. Gaga's fine meats, I headed into the city to hook up with Jay-Z. Interestingly enough, I wasn't actually there to interview Jay. I was there to interview Chris Brown but didn't feel comfortable being alone with him and demanded that MTV send Jay-Z with Chris to chaperone. This is hilarious on multiple levels, specifically because I enjoy the massive dream balls I must have had to refuse an interview with Chris Brown unless Jay-Z physically places his body over mine in the event that Chris Brown gets slap-happy. Either way, both Jay-Z and Chris Brown were obviously so desperate to be on Misty Water-Colored Meggles that they agreed to my terms and away we went in Jay-Z's shiny, red Cadillac to explore Chris Brown's old 'hood.

Flash to me sitting shotgun and Chris Brown in the back seat, tweaking out of his fucking mind. He couldn't stay still. He was bouncing off the walls, talking a mile a minute, shouting, twitching, scratching and demanding that Jay-Z "give him a hit." "I KNOW YOU HAVE IT!!!!" Chris shouted at Jay. "You don't need anymore, man," Jay yelled to the back seat. "Jay-Z, what the fuck is going on??" I asked. Jay leaned over and whispered into my ear, "Nobody knows this, but Chris Brown is a crack addict. Honestly Meg, he can barely function. He's been out of his mind for years. He's a sick, sick man." The gears in my head started turning and it felt like everything was finally falling into place. "OHHHHHH!" I thought to myself. "He's a crack addict! This explains so much! I've seen Intervention! Addiction is a sick disease that makes you do horrible things! It was the crack that beat up Rihanna, not Chris Brown!" I grabbed Jay-Z by the scruff and pulled him in, "Jay, you don't understand. If the world knows that Chris Brown is a crack addict, they'll totally understand and forgive him for what he did to Rihanna. THE WORLD HAS TO KNOW, JAY! THEY HAVE TO KNOW!!!"

And that's when I realized my alarm clock was going off. It was 7:45. My alarm had been set for 6:30. This means that I had been sleeping through my alarm (which sounds like robots raping you in the ears, by the way) for well over an hour. Instead of being like, "Oh shit! I should have been in the shower 15 minutes ago, better get up," I turned off my alarm, rolled over and was like, "NOPE. Gotta see how this ends," and went directly back to sleep. Now, I took AP Psych with the best of 'em. I'm well aware that you can't hop back into a dream once you've woken up. However, if there was ever a time to try—it was now. Chris Brown's public image was on the line and Jay-Z and I were this close to clearing his name. Except instead of going back into my dream and saving him, I just peacefully slept until 9:50, woke up and realized what I had just done. Namely, compromised my job to see if I could save Chris Brown from wife-beater status in my dreams and only in my dreams.

I sat up in bed, took a long, hard look in the mirror, shook my head in disappointment and sent a text to my boss saying that I was at a follow-up dentist appointment and I can't talk because they're replacing a filling and I'm going to be late because they kept me waiting forever but we don't have an appointment until 2 and ohmygosh! I'm just so sorry! Now I have to keep up this dental charade all day and it's like a god damn improv workshop in here because I keep overacting and clutching my invisible filling in "pain" every five minutes (as I drink hot coffee and eat a granola bar) and it's just entirely pathetic. What's even more pathetic is that this isn't even the first time I've consciously ignored real-world responsibilities to stay in a celebrity dream. The following is an actual excerpt from my emo college Live Journal from an entry dated November 27, 2005:

Danielle and I are trying to find a 2-bedroom apartment, but not in The Berks because a 2-bedroom is astronomically expensive here. We're trying to stay in the area though, because as my parents pointed out, "We're worried if you move too far off campus, you'll stop going to class." "What?! I always go to class!" "Meghan, you just told us that you didn't go to your morning class Tuesday because you had a quote, 'really intense dream about Mo Rocca'." ".........Touché."

...At least I'm consistent in the ways I choose to fuck-up my life.

Chris Brown. I'm still rooting for you.