Everything is better with baby turtles.

Last night I dreamt that I stumbled upon the gates to Hell, and they were surrounded by gorillas. Big, mean gorillas. I was kind of worried, but I didn't stick around long because I knew I had an appointment to get to at 6 p.m. It was already 5:26, so I had to hurry. I couldn't remember what the appointment was, though, so I looked in my day planner. It read:

Oralogist
5:30 p.m.

Oralogist is, obviously, dreamspeak for "dentist." I worried about being late to my appointment, and felt stupid for remembering the time incorrectly, but I HAD to go to the dentist. So I hopped in my car and drove to the "dentist's office," which was actually an office hallway that led to a dirty, hectic kitchen.

Once inside, I adopted two baby turtles. The dentist examined both turtles, deemed them healthy and then dropped them into a fish bowl filled with orange juice. The two turtles became one, the fishbowl became an aquarium, and the orange juice slowly transformed into water. I was excited to take the turtle(s) home, but wasn't sure how I'd carry the aquarium back to my car.


Whatever that means, it made for a very topsy-turvy morning for my brain when I finally woke up. I forgot to put on eyeliner, and then I left my cell phone at home.

But, man, those baby turtles were cute.

Tell it to Tupac.

It's apparent I'm not awake yet. The lights are on but no one's home. I've been at work about 20 minutes, and within the past two I've seemingly been misreading everything.

Looking over some lists of performers with new events coming up:

Frank Sinatra, Jr. was truncated in my mind to Frank Sinatra.
Bill Cosby transfigured into Bing Crosby.

And my mind screamed, DEAD MEN CAN'T MAKE MUSIC!

But tell that to Tupac and Biggie, right?