Rick Mercer and I are very good friends. He's really let himself go since the last time I saw him. He's put on some weight. His hair is curly/shaggy, and has some gray in it (he says it's blond). We're walking around the city checking out guys together. At least we have totally different taste, and won't get in each other's way. Of course, we could only compete with each for a guy that likes both guys and girls. I'm having a great time. He makes me laugh so much.

I woke up Sunday morning and saw my skirt. That's when I realized the following was just a dream. I was so happy to have the skirt, that I wore it all day Sunday.

I've left something else somewhere. This time, I notice when I arrive home, drunk and irrational, rather than in the morning, groggy and headachey.

A bag, with a skirt in it. Not my gray pleated skirt, but my short, orange and black plaid skirt (one of my favourites). I left it at Crack Alley.

I got very angry when I found out I could never have the skirt back. Apparently, Drock had tried it on and fell in love with it. {Really, I think it might fit his thigh} I was told to calm down. I yelled a bit. I was told that even if he gave it back, I wouldn't want it; it wouldn't fit; he'd stretched it. It's not really the kind of material that could fit, but Drock wanted it so badly, he made it work.

Then, I pictured how cute he'd be and figured I could live without it. After all, I only paid a few dollars for it at Value Village.

Again?
 
Will this ever stop?

Evacuated building.
Took the wrong box.
Met a guy, twice, and switched boxes.
He turned into a girl.

I want to stay in my dream world forever. Sometimes the dreams are bad, like the other night when I was running from something, only to end up in the middle of a riot in front of the Marquee, but the bad ones make things more interesting.

I like to dream too much.

I dreamt of aliens and crust punks.