We Can Dance If We Want To

Remember that one time Finn told me his pecs were getting to be about the size of my boobs, but like sort of hesitated halfway through his sentence because he realized the look that was forming on my face was one that is just before the one I give when I want to stab? He was in the middle of working out (shirtless, because that's how I like him) and he said, "This right here," grabs his chest. "It's getting close to . . . the size of. . . " he knows he's going to probably not get made out with after this but can't stop himself because that would be even more acknowledgement that he meant - Hey! I'm a boy but could wear a bigger bra size! And not in a man-boob way, but in a muscle-y sort of a way.

Ok, so it was a dream, but it felt real.

I'm not the only person in the world to wake up pissed at someone because of a dream that had absolutely no truth in reality. One of my ex-boyfriend's wouldn't talk to me for an entire day because I called him fat in his dream and then made out with Albert Einstein right in front of him. Didn't matter that Albert Einstein had been dead for about fifty years - it seemed real in the dream, thus, I must secretly want to make out with Albert Einstein instead of him. (I did, but how would he know that?!)

Anyway, since I was dream-pissed at Finn, it didn't really bother me that he only had one line in this week's Glee, and no songs. Serves him right for having gigantic, muscular chest muscles, that do a little dance to Wanna Be Starting Something when he's trying to show off. Plus it left room for two of the greatest things on TV.

1. Jane Lynch and Neil Patrick Harris discussing how they're going to have Anger Sex.

and

2. The little lesson that love can cure paralysis. (Well, duh.)

(ok, again, this turns out to just be a dream, but that doesn't mean it didn't feel real to Artie.)