Dreams are strange

I have mentioned that I have strange dreams, right?

Last night’s was one of rarer type that wasn’t nightmare-fueled chaos. I think I had a few of those as well, but I tend to not remember any but the really bad ones.

Thing is — I never had the hots for Debbie Harry growing up. I mean, I wouldn’t throw her out of bed for eating crackers (although that might be the only reason she was in my theoretical bed), but I didn’t have googly eyes for her as went from thinking girls were cootie factories to something warm and cuddly either. My eyes were more set on Pat Benatar, and quickly migrated to Siouxsie, as far as famous folks one has crushes on go. I thought she was attractive, but something didn’t sit right with me — probably the bottle-blonde hair (unlike the rest of the country, Minnesota has a ton of natural blondes, so darker hair was largely more attractive to me). And seeing as I was a fan of monster movies, Siouxsie won out over Pat. So it goes.

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