I’m really pissed off right now. I usually write my best LJ entries when I’m pissed off. I tend to be extremely hilarious.

I’m mostly pissed off because of boys. I find boys to be ridiculous. Every time I let one be my friend, he ends up disappointing me. I know they don’t do it on purpose most of the time, but they always do it and it sucks.

I just try to have a good time, but it hardly ever works out. I met one boy last year who didn’t act so immature and we usually had a good time, but he has inexplicably cut me off and won’t return my calls. We were really good friends.

Some boys disappointed me last night, so I went to bed kind of early. I didn’t care that much. I was tired. I fell asleep reading a Kurt Vonnegut novel.

I had the weirdest dream. I told the dream to some people at lunch today and they seemed to think I should try to turn it into something that makes some sort of sense and post it in my LJ. I’ll try my best. I might be a little distracted. I’m at Mark’s and he just bought a karaoke machine, so… Right. Anyway.

My dream:

I was checking my bank account online and there was over $1000 dollars in there becase Mark Twain (yes, the author)…

Let me try again.

Mark Twain (yes, the author) has been distributing his sperm in pill form to females in order to father children all over the planet. Meanwhile, political activists against unwed parents having children have been trying to stop him.

I open the Bank of America webpage and see that there is over $1600 in my savings account (my house fund). My ex-boyfriend asks me why I have so much money and I explain that Mark Twain has offered me $1000 to take the sperm pill and have one of his children. My ex-boyfriend doesn’t think this is a good idea. He argues with me that I cannot have Mark Twain’s child. He even tries to convince me that the political activists against unwed parents might violently harm me if I were to become pregnant. I try to explain how practical it all seems because I can use the $1000 to put the down payment on a condo in Las Vegas. The condo costs around $100,000 and I read a magazine on an airplane that, “One percent will move you in!”

My ex-boyfriend begs me not to take the pill and even gets down on one knee and promises to buy me a house. I say no and storm out to a bar.

Once I get to the bar, I see my ex-boyfriend’s ex-best friend. He is wearing a navy blue shirt. I go up to him and tap him on the stomach. “Hey (ex-boyfriend’s ex-best friend), how’s the keg?” (We used to call his stomach “the keg” in college.)

“It’s doin’ fine,” he replies.

I look at him for a minute and say, “I really miss you.”

“I know what you mean,” he says.

He leads me out to a dance floor and we start swing dancing. Then we back away because a circle forms and a swing dancing competition begins. A bunch of girls wearing weird red 1920s flapper-looking skirts are doing strange moves all over the place.

My cell phone rings.

I woke up right at that point to find that I had a voice mail on my phone. My phone ringer was off, but apparently it really had just rung. I checked the voice mail and it was two people whose voices I didn’t recognize having a five-minute conversation. I didn’t know the number, either, but I was too tired to call it back.

Anyway, I went back to sleep.

I don’t really think you will find this amusing in any way, but I figured I’d try.

Mark just dedicated “Scotty Doesn’t Know” to Scotty.

By the way, I’m looking for a new boyfriend.