Just Another Sunday Morning Sex Dream Analysis

Last night I dreamed that Adam Savage and I tested a myth together.


As complete geeks go, they don't get much hotter
than Adam Savage.

Um...this is where it gets tricky to write about. You see, the myth was, uh, personal in nature and involved getting drunk and, uh.... I don't want to go any further because I totally don't want to give anyone the impression that I had a sex dream about Adam Savage.



Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts.

 Anyway, I told Beloved Spouse about my dream this morning, hoping he would be aghast, but apparently he was only amused. He offered me an on the spot dream analysis, which is a service he is always willing to provide because he loves to point out how ridiculous my dreams are.


His dreams usually involve saving the world from Genghis Khan
with his personal army of Fembots.

I listened to his point-by-point dissection of the imagery and psychological significance of my dream until I got creeped out by the fact that he was obviously starting to make up new stuff that was never in my head. He does that. Because he's a dude and there is soft-core porn movie music running in his head at all times.


A man can look at two librarians and a card catalogue
and see a sorority lesbian jello-shot orgy waiting to happen.
Although I must admit, I find the Dewey Decimal System
pretty sexy, myself.

 Anyway, his analysis (which I'm not going to detail here because it was totally unflattering to my psyche and also pretty accurate) left out one salient point: Why Adam Savage, of all people?

His answer, and I am not making this up: "Because your subconscious knows you couldn't get Jamie Hyneman."

Oooo...burn.

 Harrumph.

I would be so pissed off. Except he's probably right.

Apropos of nothing,
Moltar and Jamie - separated at birth?

And this is a totally normal Sunday morning conversation at the Baudelaire house.

Welcome to my world.