Last night I had a very vivid dream wherein I became rich and famous for, get this, writing a fictionalized account of a friendship with none other than Ricky Martin.  I believe the book was called “My Life with Ricky Martin, A Novel” or “Ricky Martin and Me, A Novel” or something to that effect.  So weird, right? And, like, I knew it was fictional, and so did everyone else, and it was just absolutely genre-pushing.  Ground-breaking even.  I’m talking Today Show appearances, and academics writing about me.  The real deal.

It’s strange because I don’t have particularly strong feelings about Ricky Martin.  I also don’t really have aspirations of being a novelist.  I feel like some people have hot sex dreams with celebrities, and I have obscure literary fantasies with B-listers.  Oh well.

I do sort of think it’s a genius idea though.  Maybe this will be my big break and I’ll be able to say that it literally came to me in a dream.  So back off, bitches.  If any of you steal this idea, I will come after you.  That’s a promise, not a threat.