I join a gym and come unprepared to the talent show

The goulash that I am serving up has no theme, just a few slices of unrelated snack products. If y'all want some more tasty morsels, try bringing something to the potluck next time. Otherwise, STFU and enjoy my meager offerings. Now, where was I? Oh, right. Last night's dream. Here goes:

I had joined a low budget gym which turned out to be nothing more than a room with a rubber mat for a floor and a shower/bathroom combo. After finishing up in the rubber mat room, I hit the restroom to pee. It seemed to be semi-busy in there with a bunch of guys milling about in the shower area, and one guy using the urinal on the wall. I waited til the urinal was free, only to find that the guy had simply been pissing on a loose tile, and there was no actual urinal. 

I moved on to the shower area where I discovered that the rest of the guys had used it for a giant urinal and made the floor quite wet. This was no shower, either. Just an area with tiles for a floor and a drain in the middle. I felt justified in relieving myself, but kept glancing out the open door, which was not even blocked by the partial partition of a bathroom stall. 

Girls were tittering and making snide remarks about how I was fouling up the restroom floor with pee. I felt that I needed to explain myself, but to no avail. Apparently, this was a unisex multipurpose type of situation. I don't know what the girls were expecting to do in there, but I was out of bounds with my soiling of the floor.

Next I found myself outside on a pier. But there was no ocean around. This pier was in the middle of wheat fields and farm land. I guess the ocean had been there at one time, but it was a ways off at this point. I saw a man making a wood pile and lighting it up with gasoline. 

I became upset and found the nearest wildlife officer, an older woman with a taut, permanently puckered brow. She seemed to be well-suited for her job of bitching at people for lighting unauthorized fires, so I pointed out the offender to her. She agreed that he needed to be punished, and so I asked her if we'd be hanging or shooting the guilty party. She seemed a little taken aback, but said she'd go and issue him a citation. Good enough, I thought.

From there I went to Sal Mendez's apartment. He's the all purpose guru/hero/big brother type that I worked with at Yuba City Honda. We all suspected he might be secretly gay because he was just a little too macho. That and the fact that he kept trying to kiss the guys and then making jokes about it. But I digress. 

In the dream he was just sitting in his sparsely decorated studio apartment talking with another fellow from work. He was eating fried flour tortillas in a syrupy concoction which looked to be something between maple syrup and candy apple caramel. I envied his ability to snack so decadently, but I refrained from asking for any. 

I used a paper towel to clean my hands and looked around for a trash can. There wasn't one anywhere to be seen. I was about to stuff it in my pocket, but Sal noticed my distress and got up from his seat. He'd been sitting on the trash can. I tossed the paper towel in, relieved. Now all was right again.

I had a talent show to get to, so I left Sal's and walked along the highway. The ocean finally made its appearance, and I am guessing I was in some version of Santa Monica, near PCH. I had been supposedly getting ready for the talent show over at Sal's place, but when I got there, I was just figuring out that I was going to be on next and had done zero preparation. 

Jeff Gross was onstage. I could hear him from outside. He was flubbing all the chords of some song he'd written. Maybe it was a cover song, I don't know. It was pretty pathetic, but I hurried to get inside so he'd see me in the audience supporting him. I was going to need support myself, so I made it a point to catch the last few verses. 

In the meantime, I spoke with Rick Johnson, my former band mate and singer from Malicious Mischief days. I complimented him on the old songs he'd written for the band, and he took the compliment with his usual humble pie approach, "Yeah, I know. I'm awesome, and those were great songs" etc. We finished up reminiscing and I told him I had a gig to get to.

That's about it. I know there is more, but I gotta poop. Thus endeth today's trasmission to Oceania. Listeners in Eastasia can continue listening on these shortwave frequencies: 6110, 5111 and 7150 mhz.