This morning I awoke from a vivid dream where I was attending a charity fundraiser wherein I ran into cute and darling celeb, Reese Witherspoon. Being super smooth, I told her she looked fabulous (She did; white dress, tan skin, perfect, shiny blonde hair: in other words - Reese) and was prepared to walk away when I saw she was really upset. So I asked her if she was alright, and she directed me to the ladies room (one of those really posh affairs where there's an actual living room before you get to the actual water closet) and proceeded to tell me that she was pregnant and she couldn't get hold of Jake (Gyllenhall, I'm guessing), and that she didn't know what to do about the baby.
I gave her what I thought was really sound advice about keeping the baby, and she got Jake on my cell, and mission accomplished for Carrie, I left the party and went home.
This means Carrie is which of the following:
reading entirely too much Perez Hilton
writing entirely too much fan fiction
getting subliminal messages from Rose that she isn't being scened enough
needs to cut it back to only 1 glass of red wine before bed
needs to kick her subconscious for leaving the party before she met Jake Gyllenhall
Oooh, look! A ticky box!
Is fine. This wasn't strange at all.