Actually, I didn't last night. For some reason, I was smooching with (alleged!) lesbian talk show host Rachel Maddow, who after the Young Turks sign off in a couple of weeks will be the only thing worth listening to on Air America radio. Maybe it was my way of saying thanks. I told Janine about it this morning, and I would have told her it didn't mean anything, but y'know, it probably did. I'll have to look up infidelity with progressive radio hosts in a dream interpretation book.
Meanwhile, we're chilling with Janine's family on the Eastern Shore for the rest of the week. Hope everyone had a great New Year!
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4 comments:
I wouldn't be too embarassed about it. The last quasi-erotic dream I had about a named public figure was so relentlessly dorky, even for me, that if I've had another since the late '90s I've repressed the memory of it on waking.
Oh come on, you have to say who it was! How bad could it be?
And kissing Rachel Maddow wasn't all that bad. Bad for her, I'm sure, but in my dream she faked it pretty well.
Bad enough that I'm not about to write the specifics on my taste in cartoon characters here on this wall. The Internets are forever, you know.
I'm going with Princess Ariel from Thundarr.
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