So I dreamed at was

So I dreamed at was at this restaurant down the street called Xavier’s (which reminds me of the Happy Hooker. Yeah, I know that was Xaviera, but the whole HH thing had a deep impact on me as a child.) with this chick that looked just like Bjork, only her name is Andrea. (I swear this isn’t because of this Andrea, even though I’m pretending she’s my friend.** Rather it’s because of this Andrea, who I just saw last night.) And we’re laughing about the time her mom, who calls her Andy, rang up and asked for her. Which wouldn’t be funny except her mom sounds just like Andy Kaufman, so she’s calling up saying “heloo, my I speak with Andeee” and I hit her right back with my best “heloo, my name is Andee”, except she doesn’t get it because she’s Icelandic and doesn’t have the best command of English, much less our stupid American in-jokes.

**For the sake of clarity, let it be said that I am pretending she likes me, not that I like her. As far as I know, she doesn’t know I exist. I cry about it sometimes. Let it be further said that I am not sexually attracted to her, even though she’s cute. Because I know that’s what you were thinking.

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