Is Target the poor man’s Pottery Barn? Seriously. I’m not a Target snob – like every other red blooded woman in America, I tithe at Target weekly (went yesterday about 9:30, in fact). But, Target, lay off the stupid furniture. I’m just not going to your store for a “vintage” sideboard. Whatever you do, please don’t work it so that I have to go to the Wal Mart for my sale priced paper towels and Pepsi. I would really rather eat my own face than go to Wal Mart. Just the parking lot terrifies me. (I say all of this knowing that at least two of my blog readers are frequent Wal-Marters). Wal-Mart at about 11:30 at night is like seeing humanity the way we see bugs under a rock. Scccccaaaaaary.
I had a rather disturbing dream last night. At the end, I was walking through Manhattan trying to find a doorman who would call a cab for me so I could get to the airport. I was running away from something unpleasant. I think I’d had a fight with someone. Gene was there, but I don’t think I was mad at him. He wasn’t with me when I was walking at the end, which is also strange. I was very glad to wake up in my toasty warm (and bucket o’ Febreeze-smelling) bed this morning. Sometimes I wonder exactly how people end up living in the streets. I think this was a dream about that. Or else, the 1 AM Taco Bell from last night was just messing with my head.