One man’s trash is … well, you know

I don’t know what’s going on here. The good people at “Live With Regis and Kelly” have sent me a ticket-letter for the February 13 show. I didn’t request it. I must confess that I was going to send away for more tickets, but I didn’t actually get around to doing it yet.
It’s weird. The first time I went (November 13), I won the audience prize. The second time I went (January 9), I received a call later that afternoon telling me they couldn’t accommodate my request for January 11 (which I never requested), so they sent me tickets for another show, on January 23. Of course I went. (Yes, that makes it three times. Loser. Yes. I know.) And now I have the new tickets, which I didn’t request at all. What’s going on here?
Could it be that I’m on some sort of automatic list now? Have I become a “regular”? Will I finally become Kelly Ripa’s best friend in real life, the way I am in my actual dreams — the dreams where we laugh raucously about how we finally came to meet and marvel over how we’re now the closest of gal pals … and then we’re called back to the “All My Children” set for our next scene …?
Uhhh. Yeah. I mean … ahem. I do have those dreams. I hate to admit it, I’m embarrassed to confess it, but I do. I’ve been having them for quite some time. Years ago I used to hobnob with Shanen Doherty and the cast of “Beverly Hills 90210”. Sometimes I hung out with them as their characters, and I was actually a part of the show. But in the dream, of course, we didn’t know we were in a show; it was reality, and the actors were really the characters, not just actors playing the roles. We’d laugh by our overly decorated lockers, talk about our boy problems at the Peach Pit. Our hair was swingy and shiny. Other times I hung out with the cast as themselves, as the actors, and we would all be wonderful and gorgeous and glamorous and wearing fabulous sunglasses.
Lately, though, as I mentioned above, I’ve been Kelly Ripa’s best friend, and the same sort of situations exist, but of course “All My Children” is the show and I’m traipsing around Pine Valley instead of Beverly Hills.
It’s really ridiculous. I mean, it was bad enough when the dreams were about “90210”, but that was ten or so years ago, when I was in my 20s (yeah, true, I was in my late 20s, but still …). Now that I’m somewhat older, I thought the dreams would stop, or at least I’d start dreaming that I was part of the “ER” or “West Wing” casts. (I don’t watch those shows, though, so maybe that’s part of the problem.) Lately I’ve been watching reruns of “Friends” (I know, I know). I suppose it’s only a matter of time before I’m hanging out on a squishy sofa at Central Perk, playfully dabbing mochaccino froth on the noses of Monica and Rachel.
What’s particularly embarrassing is that when I wake up from these dreams and realize that my “friends” still don’t know I exist, I am actually disappointed.
I just had a vision of a poster I taped to the back of my bedroom door, circa 1976. A tabby cat napping in a wastepaper basket on which a lion’s face was pictured. When you dream, dream big, it said. (For your information, yes, I did also have the “Hang In There, Baby!” poster.)
I guess I am taking that poster’s advice, because I must now confess that I recently had a best friend dream about — *gasp!* — Gwyneth Paltrow!!!
So what do you think? When Kelly and I eventually do become the best of friends, and I’m co-hosting on “Live” with her when Regis is out of town, do you think we can have a good laugh about my old dreams? Or do you think I should keep them to myself? And do you think I should tell her about Gwynnie? Girls can be so possessive about their best friends.