I think Socrates said it best when he said, "yo, what the hell did I just drink?"

For me a slow night in dreamland is when I basically recreate the previous days events, except everything is bigger, badder, faster, and more grandiose. Or as I like to say, more gay.

Last night was one of those dream sequences, except one part stuck out in my mind and amused me (versus the one part about Lowenstein going on and on about how the cat treats had too much protein, which wasn't as exciting but still stuck in my memory). In real-life, I came home, ate dinner, left to go to a birthday party for DP, where I spent a fair-sized chunk processing Louche's bday party with Loosethread (among some other choice topics). In my dream, this happened as well, except in the course of the conversation I learned where loosethread which was basically as a famous designer for some other big-name famous line of designer clothes. I don't remember the name, or I vaguely do but this person doesn't exist in real-life, though it was somewhere along the lines of Calvin Klein. So I spent some parts of the rest of my dream going up to people and saying, "hey, did you know that [loosethread] is THE [loosethread] and works for [insert big name designer here]?" And everyone responded with a "um, yeah, I know that, why are you so slow?" Then at one point I made the connection that the livejournal name "loosethread" must have something to with designing clothes.

Oh, my subconsious. You always know how to amuse me in the night.

I'm not sure if this dream came before or after a 3 am call from the Village of Wilmette police department who called trying to locate a "Candace ____" who's listed as a casino keyholder. I couldn't stumble out of bed fast enough to pick up the phone, so I star-sixty-nined the number, and when the police answered, I totally stumbled on my words. I mean 1) I was nervous to know why the police were calling my house in the middle of the night because it's never with good news and 2) it also blew my plan to chew the person out for calling in the middle of the night and I couldn't lie and say "sorry wrong number" because it's the police and they can track that isht. I muttered something about "did someone just call here? I think one of us has the wrong number" then I informed them that there's no Candace here. Now I want to check the news to find out if there was a casino robbery. And maybe I'll go rent Ocean's 11 to watch tonight. I love that flick.

Is it funny ha-ha or funny strange that both wearemany and my therapist sent me the same New York Times article on the growing phenomenon of DJ's in restaurants?