Yay Vlad tanktop!

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Boo Miss Sixty for making a 50 GBP Vlad tanktop!

“This is our night for luh-uv…this is our night.”

I just discovered that The Best of Soul Train  comes on every Saturday at 2 p.m. on Superstation.  This means trouble for the neighbors, and, potentially, my wardrobe.

Dream Log 3

I get arrested by Janitor for DUI while driving around with Paris Hilton, even though I don’t drink and I did NOT run that stop sign. Or hit those pedestrians. Janitor is obviously drunk, I can smell the whiskey on him, yet I’m the one in trouble. (Yes, my brain hijacked the plotline from last night’s episode of Scrubs.) I’m sentenced to 10 weeks in rehab, but Paris and I walk around a craggy park in 80’s-style nightshirts, trying to convince people of our innocence.

The Grudge

Last night in a dream I referenced, verbally and in flashback, a broken promise from a dream I had more than a year ago.

Hahaha….booms.

Dream Log 2

In a carpool on the way home from Dream College (where, as always happens in these dreams, I hadn’t been to Prof. Nightlinger’s class all semester) I noticed that Mele had grown long, white-blond dreadlocks. “You need to take your girlfriend to the vet, Doug, she’s covered in mats!” He laughed. She didn’t.

Scientific Observation

The snow is packed so hard here, that dog poop, when it hits the ground, bounces.

Merkin Idle

Ok, so this year I like Chris Sligh (maybe too much, actually, and despite the fact that he’s really into the Lord)  and Lakesha Jones. I avoided the whole thing last year (And I’m glad I did, because Taylor Hicks and that Daughtry guy make me feel like Amy Poehler’s Aunt Linda.) This time I was “just going to watch the auditions, you know, for the bad ones,” and now look at me. Crap.

Dream Log 1

(Doug and I thought this was worth starting. We’ll see how it goes.)

I was in college and really wanted Seth Rogen to like me. He wrote a long letter about why he couldn’t. Later, when he did,  I wished he didn’t.

I  was on a ship to England. I kept trying to text message Bryan B. to tell him (it would be some feat, for me, the travel, not the texting) but I couldn’t because I kept getting seasick. On an island on the way one could find only cheese in restaurants, and the tide went in and out every five minutes.

In Memoriam

Miss Toady died last night, on the eve of my last day working at the park. Here are some previously unpublished photos, and a drawing I did a couple of years ago while avoiding real work.