I had a dream last night that I was dating Paul Rudd, and we were one of those artsy fartsy couples who would be likely have a public access cable show. He was wearing a macrame or crocheted sweater that looked like it would better serve as a doily and said things like, "I'm so inspired by you. I just want to create because you inspire me so." I have a pretty big crush on Paul Rudd, but after last night, I think he may be ruined for me.
I was an interior designer. I was busy with the final touches for a party my BFF (who was an event planner in the dream) was throwing. There were water features, gauzy curtains, and huge couches with silky jewel tone pillows. All-in-all, a pretty sexy party pad, if I don't say so myself.
BFF was wearing an incredibly revealing gown that I'll have to tell her about later, and she looked like she had gotten a tummy tuck. And I don't mean just that her stomach was flatter than in real life, but that she had one of those fake belly buttons people are left with after such a procedure.
I love my dreams. Most people tell me that they never remember theirs, but I remember probably five dreams a week. This one wins the award for the most interesting dream I've had in a while.
Paul Rudd, you're welcome to redeem yourself tonight.