I am enlightened, for I have dreamt of Lady Gaga

Seriously. Weirdest, most vivid dream I’ve had in awhile: I’m in this big theatre thing downtown with the intention of going to a Muse concert. However, the tickets are $300 or something, so I’m standing around debating whether or not to do it. I leave the main part of the theatre and go out into the front atrium, where there are a bunch of these video screens.

I stand in the corner watching one of the screens when all of a sudden Lady Gaga walks in with all these bodyguard guys. She books it over to me and hands me two key rings FULL of keys, saying, “these are keys to boats, houses, and cars. I’ll give you all of these if you give me the rights to your MySpace song.” Apparently, in the dream, I had written my MySpace song, and she wanted it badly. So I was all, “okay, cool!” Then she and I got in a limo and went to god knows where and she showed me some of her moves.

Then we went back to her place and I slept on her couch, amidst all of her panties. All I can remember from this part is that I was ridiculously happy, and I wanted to try on her shorts. Ga-ga, ooh-la-la, indeed.


Yeah. I know. What the hell is going on in my subconscious.




Today was “let’s defer our panic over finals with some sushi” day with the psych buddies. Everyone was going back to campus for some theatre thing afterwards, but I just wanted to go home, so I went the opposite way. I was standing at the bus stop waiting for #33 and some dude came and stood beside me. After about five minutes, I saw him look down at my pants and go: “Wow, those are lime green fleece pants!”

No kidding. I’m not colorblind.

Then: “You have more courage than I do to wear those!”

And what’s that supposed to mean, random stranger whom I’ve never before met?

It’s not courage. It’s style. MY style. If I were deliberately trying to make some sort of statement against the norm with my awesome pants, yeah, sure, I’m sure there would be some element of courage involved, but I’m not. Stop insinuating that not wearing the same style as everyone else implies I have courage. I don’t call the majority of Vancouverites cowards because they all wear the same goddamn jacket (seriously, there’s like one style of jacket up here).

I like lime green. I had the volition sometime a few years ago to make some lime green pants. And so I did. Big deal, end of story. Holy crap, you mean you wear it ‘cause you like it? Bingo, Sherlock.

I like color, thus I wear a lot of it. You probably like denim, ‘cause you were wearing way more of it than I thought was humanly possible. Was I about to say this to you? No, because you seemed quite comfortable in your style and I didn’t want to screw with your self-image by telling you that you looked like you fell out of a Levi’s shipment truck.

Can we leave each others’ fashions alone? As long as we’re not exposing obscene amounts of butt/boobs/privates, I don’t see what the problem is.


Today’s song: Launch from the soundtrack to Armageddon

One response

  1. […] night I had a dream about Lady Gaga (not the first time this has happened) in which she gave me a recipe with which to express her song Bad Romance as a batch of […]


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