dream a little dream

**The following was emailed to me this morning by my lovely friend Julia (aka Goolia). I found it so highly amusing, that I'm posting it (subject line included—check "title" of blog entry) for your reading pleasure.**

Ma’am,

I had the craziest dreams last night. Everything was as it is, except not, you know? Like we both lived in the UES, but the UES was all residentially like normal life, not NYC. And we lived down the street…like four houses (opposite sides) from eachother. My place was blue and rundown. Yours was white with red trim. And I visited you, and your Mum was there except that she wasn’t your mum she was your MOM, bc she didn’t have an accent. And you guys were decorating. Your place WAS HUGE. For a studio. I mean, you had a separate room just for sitting that was painted this pinky-coral color and had really nice white wicker furniture in it (I said “Mandy, this wicker is SO nice” and you said “Yeah, like EVERYBODy doesn’t own the same set!”) and beside the furniture you had this long buffet table in the room covered completely with vases of the most beautiful flowers (and I was like “OHHHH, this is the flower room you told me about!”). And I also kept saying, “Mandy, you said this place was small! It’s not small, you should see the dump I live in.” But then I think I had to leave for some reason. It was spring and beautiful outside and we lived in a real neighborhood, with kids riding bikes and everything. But you were like “wait” as I was walking out the door, and you grabbed my arm. “Look, she’s coming back.” And it was your friend Christina (?) who I don’t know at all, but in the dream she was ALSO a neighbor and you told me she was so annoying and always mooched off of you, and you kept saying “look, just look at her…ugh, I hope she doesn’t come over.”

Your place was really nice, though I didn’t get to see the upstairs, where your bedroom was. And your mom left rather quickly in my dream. I think she was going to Duane Reade to buy you stuff.

The End.

**Isn't this email what dreams are made of? Fantastic. Super-fantastic.**