This is what it looks like when I meet Matthew Thiessen:

I also have a vague memory of Stephen Colbert being in the dream somehow. Here's what it would look like if I met Stephen Colbert:


include here from lack of narrative and lack of uh not being lazy. In it, my mom owns some Winchester House-esque ghost story place for tourists. In this dream, she has updated the place to be somewhat like the Haunted Mansion ride. You sit in a car and are transported through the house with spooky music playing. Except it had a Sweeney Todd theme, complete with really fake bright red blood on stuff. I arrived to celebrat
e the grand opening, and my mom was super excited because John McCain said he would come. (She wouldn't necessarily be thrilled in real life, n'inquiete pas!) The whole time she kept asking if he was here yet and if I thought he would really come. I was trying to calm her down and truthfully thought it would be weird if he did come. I would not have anything particularly pleasant to say to him.
, I had some epic dream that involved several boys, boats, and lots of adventures. Unfortunately I can't remember any of it now. I just know it started out with Jason, a co-tutorer of mine, and I possibly doing something Indiana Jones-y. Then, I ended up running into Bob from the Hush Sound. He kept talking about how amazing Greta is, and I was like yea, she seemed cool. But he assured me she was way more than cool. So I said I think she's gorgeous (which I do) and then he was all "what do you mean by that?" So I told him uh nothing in particular, I just happen to think that. So he relaxed and went on to further extol her virtues. That's about it. Here's Julia and me with Bob and Greta.


took of the buffet, and there was also an additional normal continental buffet. The second buffet was free, but the first one cost money which no one realized, including George Eads. He began to yell at the people who worked there saying it was unfair. I didn't really want to pay, but felt guilty. I had the same strange obligation to turn my money into singles and hand over my butter knives.





Thursday night: 
(it was more hotel, and less hospital). We went in and despite Nancy's pleading, locked her in the closet, and set up a time-release bomb. I screamed to her and anyone else that might have wiretapped the former First Lady's room, that I had nothing to do with it, that I was being held hostage and that I loved her. This was more to comfort her last few moments alive and less to express actual feelings. I actually think she's somewhat of a nutcase. So then Frank grabbed me and we ran out of there and escaped in time to watch it blow up from a safe distance. I was really pissed that Frank Sinatra made me a party to his evil machinations. All of these events were planned by some underground American terrorist group who had decided to destroy whatever existing system we had. Frank was not the head, merely a player.
I dreamed a dream of time gone by...