My friend's idyllic summer rental delivers some wacky nightlife.

The house is nothing short of spectacular. It sits on top of a bluff that looks out on to a pond which feeds into the Atlantic Ocean. It is so quiet, so peaceful and so perfect. You sit on the stone terrace with a drink or book in hand and you just shut down. Cell phones don't work, internet is possible if you sit inside one corner of the house with your back up against the East window, but the house promotes its own serenity, and the draw of the stone terrace and view keep your mind elsewhere.

Total relaxation...unless you account for the one feature of the house that makes you feel like you ate a mushroom.

"Everyone who stays here has wacky dreams at night", my friend reported.

"Wacky, like scary?" I asked.

"You'll see" she promised.

She wasn't kidding. The house delivers big time. I had a dream that I was a hairstylist working in an upscale salon in NYC. I had no previous training but it didn't matter to the owner (think Nathan Lane) because Phoebe Cates was my first client and she was "easy". Phoebe came in and asked for rainbow colors and curls.

"Curls are so yesterday" I blurted out.

"Then just cut it all off" she replied.

Surprisingly, my station had no scissors and I woke up filled with anxiety that I had kept a client waiting.

I made my way to the kitchen, brewed the first pot of coffee and went outside to regain some consciousness. The sunrise was spectacular and all I could think of was:

This is some f**king house.