How could I not post this? I mean, it was serendipity that I even found it. The Awl has a feature called Amusingly Horrible Things...that people say. Bosses, mothers, and the one I linked, strangers. As I've been amused and bemused lately by such offerings, I thought it only right that I posted it.
I also like when people say 'bemused' and mean 'amused'. I read a piece somewhere a few months ago that essentially said 'there are so many words that people screw up, we should just adjust the meaning and go with it'. I was not amused. When in doubt, go bastard? I think not.
I woke up confused this morning (see how I did that?). I had the strangest dream, and while it wasn't bad, it was odd. It left me a little funky (not smelly, just befuddled); not like the lottery dream, where you wake up and find out you're broke again and have to give back the yacht you just bought and named The Santa Lorraine. My boys actually call it The Lottery Dream. And I know when they've had it, because they come down so, so sad.
I dreamed a had a pack of kids with some guy. They were darling and all swirling around like in The Sound of Music, with all the blondness but without all the singing. Anyone who knows me believes right now I've confused 'dream' with 'nightmare' and you may be right. But there were all these kids and they weren't bothering me at all, which made me - in my dream - try to figure out who the Magic Sperm man was. He kept turning away from me in my dream, but I'd know that butt anywhere. The good news was that waking up to just my original kids was the opposite of The Lottery Dream: relieved to have less. Unless Julie Andrews was part of the deal. Oh! You think it was Christopher Plummer?!
Meetings, meetings, meetings. I'm co-hosting the Canadian Motorcycle Hall of Fame Awards Saturday night with Pat Gonsalves (who is awesome - that is all), and I will need some steel to stand in front of a room full of several hundred bikers and admit I don't have my licence.
Maybe I'll wear my Harley boots under my dress.