And then last night, I had a dream that I was dating Philip Seymour Hoffman...
and he propsed to me. Only when he put the ring on, he put it on the right hand, not the left.
That's the second time I've had a dream where someone proposed to me and put the ring on the wrong hand.
I called Snow this morning to tell her about it and got confused and said it was the guy from Dead Poets Society and then spent the better part of the morning trying to figure out why I couldn't find this guy on the cast list. Then I remembered it was actually Scent of a Woman.
Hey, both take place at boys schools, easy mistake.
But how strange that my subconscious wanted me to marry Philip Seymour Hoffman when my regular conscious so very badly wants to marry Josh Groban.
Labels: Being a Chic, Dating, dreams, music, my crazy life, My pathetic excuse for a love life
