The Three Worst Things A Friend Can Ask

I've been thinking a lot about sucking at life. And as much as I suck now, I used to suck more...or at least differently. Because I used to be "OMG Can I Tell You About My Dream?" girl.

I think "OMG Can I Tell You About My Dream?" girl is only slightly worse than "Promise Me You'll Come To My Play?" girl but still a little better than "Can I Borrow Some Money?" girl. Because here's the cold, hard facts I had to come to grips with: no one cares about your dream. Dreams are hard to describe. No one is ever envisioning it the way it happened in your mind. In fact, no one is even listening. I do, however, have some hilarious dreams sometimes, but I've discovered that if the dream must be shared, it must have a punchline, and be under two sentences. Case in point:

Former Allie:
"So last night I had a dream that I was being chased by these chickens. They kept following me everywhere it was SO annoying, and they smelled like poop, and then I realized it was actually ME who smelled like poop, but I hadn't pooped my pants, so I went on this huge journey to figure out why I smelled like poop...(five more minutes of babbling on about nonsense, often involving running late, not being able to find a prom dress, driving off a bridge, or being imprisoned)...and then crazily enough I bumped into John Stamos in a public bathroom, who assured me that sometimes people just smell like poop. But then he also reassured me that it really was the chickens. God, Uncle Jessie is so hot."

New Allie:
"I had a dream last night that chickens chased me until I bumped into John Stamos. He is still so hot. What's he up to these days?"

BAM. THAT is how you share a dream.