…and don’t go anywhere near my car.

I don’t tend to remember my dreams often. I might have one morning a month where I wake up with a vivid image still in my mind. And when I do, the dreams tend to be pretty abstract. I rarely dream about people I know or can easily identify from a magazine or television screen.

As such, I want a dream refund after last night. Because if I am going to dream about anyone, Jason Mraz certainly isn’t at the top of my wish list.

I’ve been laughing and rolling my eyes in equal part the last few weeks, as references to Mraz have popped up with surprising regularity. Just as I start to smile and settle back into a world without his wide-eyed dopey expression is visible, BAM. Whether it’s a cover of a free music monthly (delivered to me with a snicker by my dear roommate), a video on Perez Hilton, an ad in a magazine or television commercial, he’s just there.

And here’s the thing: I’ve already had my Jason Mraz phase (a long phase that proved ever-amusing*). I loved the tunes, went to the shows, had the funny little encounters, half-jokingly yelled through a phone at him and heard him laugh in response (long story). I mourned the shift in musical direction, then focused on the work I liked.

For all I’d known up until recently, the guy who goes by Mraz these days has just been perpetually practicing yoga in a grove of avocado trees while making Perez Hilton drool and writing meandering blog posts about being one with the earth. And hey, whatever makes him happy, I suppose. Thanks for the tunes.

So I’ve been able to just smile (OK, you got me, smirk) my way through the references during my waking hours. But last night, the guy stepped into my dreaming world. Nosiree! Restricted area! Cue the sirens! Please step away from the line and go back to singing, dancing, and stealing things!

To quote the 6ths song I love so much, give me back my dreams. And call over John Krasinski. He’s on the guest list.

*The post available via that link includes three Mraz anecdotes.