The nocturnally elusive Jennifer Aniston

Last night after work, my friends and I sojourned into Burbank for a night of margaritas, bar-hopping and karaoke.

My friend James used to be a server at Dalts, a now-defunct restaurant located within walking distance from the Warner Bros. lot. When I mentioned drunkenly that I'd had a dream about Jennifer Aniston, he claimed to have had a similar dream (ie a dream in which he met Jennifer Aniston).

The very next day after his dream, he waited on Jennifer at Dalts. And she was lovely, and she gave him an autographed picture.

So last night, on a stomach with no food and plenty of liquor, I had my second consecutive dream about Jennifer. Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Aniston.

Jennifer Aniston.

In this dream, we were at a birthday party in someone's basement, and I was running around like Ty Pennington on crack trying to find a camera so I could blog about my encounter (even in my dreams, dear readers, I am eternally loyal to you).

I don't remember if we took our picture. I do remember that she once again asked for my e-mail address and phone number. And then she was gone.

So God, look, if James can have a dream about Jennifer Aniston and then meet her the next day, why can't I?

With my luck, I'll probably end up waiting on Team Simpson tonight. Oh, the heartache.