The Time I Met My Soulmate on a Plane and Ran from Generic Nefarious Characters

Last night I dreamt that I was flying somewhere on a plane. I sat next to this hot guy who I swear I saw on TV in real life, and we really hit it off. Next we met on our return flight. (I don't remember as much about the beginning of the dream.) Something happened, and we decided not to get back on the plane after a layover. We were running, running, running through the airport, which looked more like a Tokyo shopping mall because there were blinking, flashing red and yellow neon signs everywhere.

Finally we escaped the airport. Someone was chasing us. We were running, running, running up and down hills in a high-end beachfront Southern California neighborhood. I was so tired that I was starting to wheeze and my legs and feet screamed with every step. The hot guy and I found some college students who were sympathetic to our cause (whatever it was), and they agreed to carry us on their backs. The guy had a couple of these college guys link arms and carry him together. I had a woman carrying me, and we got so far behind the guy that we lost him.

The woman carrying me was so tired that my friend Brooke showed up to carry me piggyback. Since the bad guys were going to catch us anyways, I told Brooke to carry me to my house so at least I could rest before I was captured/arrested.
My house turned out to be a gigantic McMansion with crazy-bright 1970s yellow-patterned wallpaper. I started to rest, but then that hot guy from the plane showed up even though I never told him my last name or where I lived. He had doubled back when he realized he'd lost me (proving the power of love at least in dream situations). Then the bad guys showed up in a big black SUV and a lot of creepy scar-faced dudes in black leather piled out. Hot guy told me to hide, so I did. He was shot to death off stage. Hot guy's brother suddenly appeared and helped me escape to Mexico after lots more running.

Next I was floating down either a river or the Gulf of California in a black life-vest. The idea was that if the bad guys thought I was on a boat, they would look for me down the river days before I actually floated down there and give up. I finally got out of the water, remarkably unpruny, at a Mexican resort town for Americans. A little Mexican girl helped me get some clothes and food, though I still looked pretty bedraggled in a blue t-shirt, black puffy vest that was magically also a life-vest, and jean shorts. My hair was all tangled and my skin was super leathery tan. Magically I also started to speak Spanish with a convincing Mexican accent.
I went into the resort complex to get supplies. It was a big modern white structure with lots of blue ambient lights and fish tanks and soft techno music around restaurants and overpriced shops. Around nighttime, I saw the creepy scar-faced guy and his minions at the resort, but I hid behind a pillar so they didn't see me. I guess since I was rich in my dream, they thought I was a guest at the resort and not sleeping on the beach in a tent. I ran out of the building to hide under a white-painted deck and overheard them telling the Mexican authorities that I was a criminal looking for some papers. One of the minions dropped a couple copies of the papers, and the wind carried them to me. One was a pamphlet of HP printer instructions and the other was a small receipt with random words written on the back of it. I wanted to immediately jump back in the gulf and travel farther downstream, but I was afraid that the bad guys would see me from the picture windows in the resort that faced the beautiful beach.

I went back inside the resort to find a good place to hide until they left, but once I got inside I saw they'd left the deck. So they were someplace in the resort, and I could run into them or they could run into me at any minute. Panic! I checked the fancy Asian-fusion restaurant—they weren't there. I thought, Crap! Am I looking for them or running from them?

Then suddenly I ran into hot dead guy's brother. He tried to help me by showing me a way out of the resort where I definitely wouldn't run into anyone. I was glad that none of the bad guys had found me yet, though I knew it was only a matter of time.
In fact, just as I got out of the kitchen door, one of scar-face's minions caught my arm. He looked kind of like Wash on Firefly except scary—blond, Hawaiian shirt, sunburnt, muscular. He thought he was super charming, except he was disgusting. He said he wouldn't give me up to his boss immediately because I was obviously succumbing to his charms and would eventually have sex with him. I wrenched myself away and came to a small circular concrete pool filled with agitated green water. (It was nighttime, but there were enough artificial lights around to see it.) "This water is confusing," I told scary-Wash, "it disorients you." I kind of wanted to jump in and swim through the culvert to the gulf from which the water was piped, but I was afraid I would panic and run out of air.

Then the surreal dream part really got going: I jump in. I don't jump in. Brother talking to me again. Hot guy didn't die, but he faked his death so I wouldn't know he was alive. I could still find him! And then I woke up.