Khloe Kardashian

The last few nights, my dreams have been one big lump of scattered, unintelligible messes. It usually goes like this when I'm tired, stressed, or about to start my period. Since all the foregoing are true in my case this week, I am never surprised when I wake up knowing I just dreamed about a giraffe, eating spaghetti, and my father, in no particular sequence, and in no way related to each other, and shrug before inhaling sipping my morning cup of coffee. I just seem to skip between one grouping of jumbled images in my head after another, wake up, groggily wonder why Darling Husband looks like Dracula when he's sleeping, and then go back to sleep.

I think it's my brain's nonchalant, casual way of shrugging it's shoulders (do brains have shoulders?) and saying, Oh, and by the way? YOU ARE A NUT JOB.

A week or so ago, there is one dream I very vividly remember having about Khloe Kardashian. Yes, as in, that girl from the E! channel show. (It is at this point that I would try to shamelessly deny ever having watched it, that I would never not even for a million dollars be caught dead being so deliciously enthralled with a couple of bobble-head brunettes' meaningless lives, but *sigh upon sigh* I'll just be lying to myself.) I dreamed I was shopping with Khloe (who, even though I've never seen this show in my life, mind you, is the most intelligent and sophisticated of the three sisters, and whom, though I couldn't care a hoot about the subject, I would LOVE *squee* to make my shopping buddy any day of the week). We were going in and out of these designer stores in some sophisticated sounding city, like New York, or LA, and all of a sudden, I am confronted with a choice - stay with her and continue spending what little was left of my millions, wait, I have millions all of a sudden?; OR go to a baseball game.

I'm contemplating this choice, looking at Khloe for some kind of support, while she ignores me while texting on her phone, because, hey, she's Khloe Kardashian, and the fact that I even know how to spell her name, with a K instead of a C, really gives away just what a complete total loserterd I am, and who in the heck are they always texting anyways? I mean, do they really have something THAT important to say to someone that often during the day, and if so, why don't they call them instead of always sending their LOL's and ROFLMAO's? Are they pretending to text that much so that people will think they're cool and important, and young people everywhere will start imitating their textual rudeness so that soon every teenager in the greater United States will be simultaneously face-down in some glowing screen instead of learning how to save the world one green-friendly grocery bag at a time???

Clearly, I had much to digest mentally in my dream!

OR. Do I ditch KK (we're best friends, me and Khloe, so of course that's what BFF's do - LOL together and give each other nicknames) (not saying what mine is)? Or! Do I go to a exciting! baseball! game!

The decisions, I tell you, are monumental.

Next thing I know, in my dream, I'm sitting watching the game. No KK to serenade me with her tales of the latest stupid thing Kim has done on the Internet. I'm watching a baseball game as if it's the most natural thing in the world to be shopping Dolce&Gabbana and in the next second be eating a hotdog in the 4th inning.

Then, I woke up.