The other night I had a dream that Steve Martin was making a special appearance at Home Depot. He wasn’t there to sign books or anything, he was just a guest. So there was a long line of people formed to meet him, and when it was finally my turn I knew exactly what I was going to say: I’d ask him where a certain type of spray adhesive was, as if he were just another Home Depot employee, and he’s think this was eternally hilarious and crack up. So when it was finally my turn, I used this gag, but he didn’t think it was that funny. He just kind of smiled confusedly. My big Steve Martin moment had backfired.

Later, though (still in the dream), I was talking to Jason about it. Turns out Jason had also been at the HD for Steve Martin’s appearance, except his meeting with the man had gone much better. “What did you say to him?” I asked. “Oh, I just mentioned that I went to school in Grinnell, Iowa,” Jason said. “Because, you know, he owns and maintains several Victorian houses there.” I smacked my head, amazed at my own stupidity. Of course! How could I have forgotten about all the fine Victorian houses Steve Martin had bought and restored in Grinnell?

Yesterday over lunch I went across the street to the Gap and was sold pants by an excessively helpful man named Jesus. Finally, I can say that I was able to turn to Jesus for guidance. And that Jesus was undoubtedly gay.

Today at work there was cake for everyone. I opted out. I felt like Elaine in that one episode of Seinfeld.