Dream creep

Last night, my dream featured my current boss showing up and crashing/shutting down a wine-cooler-fueled Pabst fest I was throwing at my mom's house in high school.

Dreams are a hoot. Writing about them on blogs is probably the cross-stitch equivalent of artistic expression, but hey, that dream was blog inspired. See post from July 4. I should know how to link, but cripes, just scroll down.

An ugly sky, thick, wet air and forecasts of storms kept me elliptical-machine bound, going nowhere fast, reading GQ and dancing around like a video backup dancer to break up the cardio. My bike stayed parked this a.m. I'm a wuss.

It hasn't rained yet. Argh.
I haven't ridden the bike since I started this blog. Maybe I should start a blog about being a smart-ass and eating too many Twizzlers.
I could call it the Twist. Or digest this: