It's a dirty story of a dirty man...

On the way to Easter lunch at the (non-crazy) aunt's house, "Paperback Writer" comes on the radio.

Dad: "You want to be a paperback writer?  You could write trashy romance novels."
Me: "Erm..."
Dad: "You could do it right now!"
Me: "Ahaha. Ha. Ha."

Shame the truth would probably give him a heart attack.  I mean, okay, these apocalyptic visions I have of what would happen if my family found out about my writing are probaby greatly exaggerated.  I wouldn't be disowned, and I probably wouldn't be shipped off to some type of reprogramming camp.  Probably.  Still doesn't mean I want to find out.

Anyway, in Odd Coincidences Nobody Cares About News, I had a long, elaborate dream about an old friend (actually, daughter of parents' friends) dying and our whole family going to her funeral.  Unusual, because I rarely remember my dreams with much detail and I haven't thought about this girl in years.  Anyway, one of the first things my dad said to me this morning was that he had just gotten an e-mail from this girl's father -- and she's pregnant with twins.  Not that it means anything, it's just... really weird timing.