Dream A Little Dream

I had a dream last night that I was dating Vince Vaughn. (You're money, baby.) Like most dreams, this dream made no sense. (Unless you're Jennifer Aniston, but even then it would be a stretch.) He came to pick me up at my Grandpa's cabin on Whidbey Island. We don't own the cabin anymore, but it was just like it used to be when I was little. There were about six old couches in the upstairs of the cabin and Vince was sitting on one, waiting for me to get ready. He brought me three gifts: two half empty bottles of blueberry scented nail polish, and a container of Lindt white chocolate that you ate off of a brush (it looked like a bottle of Wite Out). I told him I'd save the chocolate for later. (That Vince, he's so generous.)

Then we took off in his car and he told me he had a place on Pioneer. I thought he meant Pioneer Square, but he meant on Pioneer in Oak Harbor. Of course.

So the dream was set in Bizarro World, but it was a happy, good dream and I had a warm fuzzy feeling. However, I was ripped out of my fantasy by the incessent barking of our neighbor's dog. (I hate that dog. I want to flush it down the toilet like Ben Stiller did to the dog in "There's Something About Mary".) Vince Vaughn was gone in a poof. The cold, harsh reality of Monday morning set in. In my sleepy stupor, I felt a large bump on the side of my face. No, God, no! It was a pimple the size of my head! I look like I have two heads! Yesterday I was a normal person, today I'm a conjoined twin.

But at least I don't have to eat chocolate off a Wite Out brush.