Ring.  RING RING.

Ziz:
Hel—

Self:
ZIZ!  Good. Awake.  Help!

Ziz:
NO!  Dammit, what now?  It’s three thirty...

Self:
…in the morning.  Yeah, blah blah blah.  
HELP.   Help, help,
HELP.

Ziz:
FINE.  WHAT.

Self:
I had a bad dream.

Ziz:
You…okay.  What did you dream?

Self:
I can’t TELL you.

Ziz:
Wh—what? Wait.  You called me to tell me
you had a bad dream…

Self:
Correct.

Ziz:
And yet, you cannot TELL me what the dream was?

Self:
Also correct.

Ziz:
Hmm.  Okay.  Why.

Self:
Because if I tell you, it will come true.

Ziz:
What?  No, it won’t.  Where the hell did you hear that?

Self:
El Dukay.

Ziz:
Well, he MADE THAT UP, you idiot.

Self:
But what if he didn’t?  What if it DOES come true
and Clay Ai…oops.

Ziz:
WAIT.  Did I hear you say…Clay Ai?

Self:
…ken.  Yes.  

Ziz:
Clay Aiken.

Self:
Um.  Yes.

Ziz:
You…had a DREAM.  About Clay Aiken.

Self:
yes.

Ziz:
Okay.  Hee.  

Self:
STOP LAUGHING.

Ziz:
Hee!  Hold on.  (Hee hee hee.  Ha.  Hee.)

Self:
You know, I can still hear you, even when you’re in parenthesis
like that.

Ziz:
(Hee.)  Okay.  Sorry.  And what…what was
he
doing in your dream?

Self:
What was he…?  Oh.  Brngnmetst.

Ziz:
You know, I’m sorry.  I think you’re going to have
to speak up.  

Self:
Brngnmetst.

Ziz:
Still can’t catch it.  

Self:
BRINGING ME TOAST, OKAY?  I DREAMT THAT
CLAY AIKEN BROUGHT ME SOME TOAST.

Ziz:
Oh.  Well, that was…nice of him?

Self:
With cinnamon on it.

Ziz:
Even…nicer, I guess.  Okay, so I totally thought
you were going to say you had a sex dream about
Clay Aiken.

Self:
Um.

Ziz:
Wait a minute, “bringing me toast” isn’t some sort of
euphemism, is it?

Self:
NO.  There was actual toast.  But.

Ziz:
“But” WHAT?

Self:
He kind of…well, he kind of…well.   He licked my ear
when he put it next to me.

Ziz:
GAH!  You DREAMT that CLAY AIKEN LICKED
your EAR?!?

Self:
Keep it DOWN, for God’s sake!  Do you think I
want the WORLD to know about this?

Ziz:
Yes.  Because you will absolutely write about this
on your site.

Self:
Will not.  Liar.   Anyway, I’m a little traumatized by this.

Ziz:
As you should be.  Isn’t he, like, sixteen or something?

Self:
Oh, I have no idea.  That’s not really what’s
traumatizing me.

Ziz:
Well, that would traumatize me.  What’s the problem, then?

Self:
Ziz, Clay Aiken is in my subconscious.

Ziz:
With some toast, apparently.

Self:
Cinnamon toast.

Ziz:
Right.  Of course.  Well, that’s not so…strange.

Self:
What’s he DOING there?

Ziz:
I don’t…

Self:
I don’t WANT Clay Aiken in my subconscious!  What if he
fondles my id or something?

Ziz:
Well, that is…understandable.  Look, it could be worse.  I once
had a dream where Crispin Glover mowed my lawn.

Self:
Hmm.  And would “mowed my lawn” be a euphemism
for anything?

Ziz:
No, you idiot.  I mean, he had a lawn mower, and he
was just pushing it and cutting the grass.  

Self:
So, obviously you’re a freak.  But what does it all mean?

Ziz:
I have no earthly idea.

Self:
Maybe we could get your Crispin Glover to take my
Clay Aiken out for drinks or something.

Ziz:
Sure.  I’ll send him right over. Can I go back to bed now?

Self:
No.  Tell me what my dream means first.

Ziz:
Hmm.  Well.  Okay, it means…it means you’re
clinically insane.

Self:
Okay.

Ziz:
And you should not operate…machinery.  Heavy
or non.

Self:
Okay.

Ziz:
Including the telephone.

Self:
The telephone?

Ziz:
Especially the telephone.  Dangerous.  To you.

Self:
YOU’RE MAKING THAT UP.

Ziz:
I never.  I am a psychology minor.  I take your dementia
very seriously.

Self:
You hate me.

Ziz:
Okay, I’m picking up some feelings of anger.  
And some sort of strange sexual repression, involving
your ear.

Self:
My ear is NOT sexually repressed.  My ear gets
more action that YOUR ear.

Ziz:
I’d really…rather not think about that, actually.

Self:
Actually, neither would I.  

Ziz:
Okay. Are we done now?

Self:
No.  Because now that I’ve told you about the
dream, it’s going to come
true.   And what am I
gonna do when Clay Aiken shows up with cinnamon toast?

Ziz:
Keep him away from your ear, would be
my recommendation.

Self:
Fine.  Sigh.  You can go to bed now.  

Ziz:
THANK you.

Self:
Yeah, whatever.  Say hello to Crispin for me.  Freak.

My Poor
Sister.  
The Freak.

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About

Old Dogs

New Tricks

Speak!

Where is rest of dog?  Who take this picture?  Why only take
picture of wag?  Someone sick in the head.

Special love box!

The following people are the
coolest.  For varying reasons.

My
AB don't mess around,
because she loves me so, and
this I know fo sho.

Lauren don't want to hear me,
she just wants to DANCE.

Coleen knows what's cooler than
cool--ICE COLD!

Allison don't want to meet your
DADdy.

Hannah Beth just wants you in
her CADdy.

Amy don't want to meet your
MOMma.

And Miss
Sarah B. is shaking it
like a polaroid picture RIGHT
NOW.

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Y'all!  Don't you want to join my shiny
new Notify?  Why not?  Is it because you
like making me cry?

Everybody go check out Amy and
Lauren's
soap opera.  I won't give
anything away, but can I just say that I
am a VERY IMPORTANT PLOT POINT?
 And I know that I linked to this above,
also, but I am so unreasonably proud of
my Hey Ya! love box, that I will not
change it for anything.  "My AB don't
mess around."  Y'all, that is GENIUS.

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