My conversation with John Hamm this morning: Me: I had the weirdest dreams last night...
Me: Like, in one of them, I was at a stop sign and this guy perpendicular to me was also stopped. He was driving a station wagon. Out of nowhere, the back of the station wagon flew open, a giant dog jumped out, and a baby just walked out and fell over, but not in that creepy way, just in a "I'M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE, BUT I'M A BABY SO I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WALK!!" kind of way.... So I jumped out and saved the baby while the dude driving the station wagon got his dog. And then I went to Jane's.
JH: So, everything in your life came vomiting out of a dream station wagon...
Me: Yeah, but it wasn't even my dog. Or my baby... God, I hope I'm not pregnant... Or that I'm getting a station wagon... I don't know which would be worse.
JH: Well, the baby in your life isn't your baby either. Actually, I think this all means that you're gay.
Me: But who's dog was it?
JH: Wait, what color was the dog?
Me: It was like a Golden-doodle or something...
JH: That amplifies the gayness.
Me: Oh my gosh... Does my subconscious want me to be a suburbian for the rest of my life?!?!?!? Nooooo...
JH: Yup. You've got the White Pickets. ...That really does sound like a disease, doesn't it?
Me: Only in the same way that Shingles sounds harmless, but it's not... which is weird, because you get shingles for your roof... These suburban housing diseases are freaking me out, man.
JH: It's a serious thing.