Sarah: Does this count as a seven degree thing?

I dreamed about Kevin Bacon. I know. Don't say a thing. Not even cute, Footloose Kevin Bacon, but older, hollow cheeked, floppy haired Kevin Bacon. Technically the dream wasn't ABOUT Kevin Bacon, but featured more prominently his wife, Kyra Sedgwick, whom I was having lunch with. I have no idea where my apparent fascination with this couple came from. I must have been in some sort of trouble, or at least I was hiding from something, because although we chatted about the new job I was about to start, I wouldn't tell my old buddy Kyra where I would be working. After Kev-y joined us, I left my purse leaning against the leg of the picnic table while I walked up to the hot dog stand counter . Through the thick fog (hey, where did that come from?) three men in dark suits rushed up to the table. One left a note near Kyra and whispered in her ear while another reached down and took my purse before I could reach it. I ran after him, but I could not catch up to the man. He searched my purse as he walked, discarding items that did not provide the information he needed (he threw my phone, wallet, and iPod! How inconsiderate.) until he came upon a globe paperweight. This mysterious thief carefully peeled off the price tag from the bottom of the paperweight, and then left my purse behind. My alarm went of, and I never discovered the following:
1. Why was I friends with Kyra Sedgwick?
2. Why didn't Kevin Bacon help me retreive my purse?
3. What was on the note?
4. Why the paperweight pricetag?

It was a strange and extremely specific dream. At least I didn't kill anyone in one of Lisa's trademark Dreams of Extreme Rage and Violence.