Mister.

I'm married to Danny Glover and any attempts at marital intimacy are thwarted by a little girl running into our bedroom and yelling about ghosts in her closet. I am very frustrated.

I didn't mean it, Brendan!

I couldn't tell you circumstances or setting, but at some point, I insulted Brendan Fraser.

I was talking to some people and said something along the lines of, "I know he's supposed to be the next (some actor I forget) but he's just not that hot."

Then, right beside me, Brendan turned around with a sorrowful look in his eyes. "You don't think I'm that attractive?"

I apologized profusely, but he was deeply hurt.

In retrospect, it wasn't that great ten years ago, either.

I'm watching TV and a commercial for Olive Garden comes on, and it's totally the same style as every Olive Garden commercial you've ever seen, only they're using a cheerful, pop-ish version of "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" as the music. I'm not so much surprised as I am even more disgusted with the Smashing Pumpkins. I clearly think "Bad call, Billy."

Conversations in Bed

Me:I had a really terrible dream last night.

Boyfriend: Oh, I'm sorry.

Me: I cheated on you with Judge Reinhold. I was devastated.

Boyfriend: Didn't you have that dream before? When we were in Memphis?

Me: No? Did I? You're bullshitting me.

Boyfriend: No, you did.

Me: I went to an underground sex club located in a strip mall. Judge Reinhold was there. He was like a sex god. Women and men swarmed around him, wanting to touch his penis. I remember that Judge Reinhold had a really big penis. It was massive.

Boyfriend: That's interesting.

Me: But yeah, I was totally devastated.

Crossposted at Manhattan Project

Red Candy Apples

Prince Harry and Prince William delivered an impassioned speech on land mines at my alma mater, Page High School.

They stood in the parking lot with little oil-caked tykes bobbing around them with their arms outstretched. The children looked like little skeletons dripped in wax. You know, the sort made famous in those damned Sally Struthers infomercials at 2 o' clock in the morning.

Anyhoo, I didn't give two shits from a gnat's behind about Prince William. Of course, I wanted to prod Prince Harry's red candy apples. Always have. But I chomped my lips at the bit, instead.

My Mom drove over to Prince Harry and asked if she could make a donation.

"That's be great," Prince Harry said.

So my Mum swung open the driver side door. In the process, she smacked a little oil-caked tyke in the back of his head.

Prince Harry didn't seem to notice.

I'm just not this frisky.

Without going into a lot of small detail and TMI, I've recently had a crop of vivid sex dreams, mainly starring people I am not attracted to/don't even know. Most notably, Bret Michaels. The night that I encountered the Rock of Love itself was also a night fraught with sleep paralysis and nightmares, though I have to admit that, surprisingly, Bret wasn't too shabby of a dream-partner. Other people who have shown up lately include but are not limited to: ex-coworkers, members of bands I like, and even a politician. I have no idea what any of this means. I've never had so many of this type of dream, so close together. (It should also be noted that there is little-to-no pleasure with these dreams, during or after. They're just fuckin' weird.)

The Asslicking Bandits

Criminal Activity

Unknown suspects have been breaking into houses in Williamson County. The suspects have been trussing victims up like a Christmas turkey and performing acts of anal penetration on said victims. The time of occurrence for the majority of these crimes has taken place between lunch and dinner hours. One of the suspects has been described by the victim "TvontheFritz" as an Asian-American woman in her mid-40s who bears an uncanny resemblance to Margaret Cho.

My name is Lindsey, and I have an inferiority complex

I am at Amber's place, only it's unlike any actual place she's ever lived in. It's more like a dorm or compound of sorts, where lots of people live crammed into a small space. There's sleeping bags and living accoutrement everywhere. I make my way to a small space behind a curtain — a dressing area perhaps — and hey, there's Chan Marshall (Cat Power), wearing all black. She sees me take a pair of green striped workout pants from my bag, and she gestures to them as if she recognizes them. I tell her they're my ex's.

A flicker of recognition passes over her face. "You're Lindsey," she says, as I realize she somehow knows Phil. She has some kind of muddled nearly British accent, which is weird, because she really doesn't.

"Who do you love now?" she asks me. A hundred thoughts flash through my head, but I tell her that I can't possibly get into that. It's too complicated.

The group — Chan, Amber, and a couple of unidentifiable people my brain sorta made up — heads out for a night on the town. I shove some piece of important paper into my back pocket, throw my purse over my shoulder, and hurry out the door. I feel rushed and unsure. We walk a few blocks (it feels like we are in the city, presumably New York, but what part, I have no idea; later it feels like we're back on Long Island) and get to this outdoor concert space where, apparently, Led Zeppelin is playing. We can't actually see the band, but we can hear them and we can see the lights reflecting off the partial walls around us. Wow, they sound just like they do on the albums I have. Hmm.

The concert venue is oddly shaped — there are big rectangular slabs of slate interrupting the flow of the place. I feel like I need to draw exactly what it looked like to accurately describe it. It doesn't really seem like a music venue at all, but more like a public park art sculpture. Occasionally, and to our subdued amusement, we will see the guitar player — Jimmy Page, presumably — walk on the slate walls for an extended length of time, and the round a corner out of our sight. Ordinarily, people walking on walls would creep me out, but it was a rock show, so it was awesome.

I realize that I don't think I locked my car. I just imagine random passersby trying the handle and being delighted when it opens. I fumble around in my enormous and noisy purse for my keys, and manage to accidentally dislodge the important paper in my back pocket. I quickly hit the lock button on my remote, in the hopes that I'm still within remote range. And then I see the piece of paper skitter along the ground toward a giant fountain. I run away from the group, which has more or less been ignoring me anyway (we don't know each other very well) and chase the piece of paper. Every time I grab at it, it lunges toward the fountain a little quicker. I just know the damn thing is going to end up in the fountain and I'm going to lose whatever essential info was on it. I can feel people watching me and silently judging my stupid ass. I make one final leap and nearly go careening into the fountain, but I catch myself and the note, and for one triumphant second, I don't care what people think.

But then I come back to reality and realize that I am a mess. I feel frazzled and disorganized and uncool and frumpy and unattractive and unworthy of hanging out with these new people (this is a feeling I often have in real life, yay). So I take off walking around this harbor/marina-type thing, gazing off into the misty distance, at the boats and the gulls and the ropes. It's beautiful, and I just sort of take it all in. I feel someone behind me, and turn to see it's Amber, who's come to check on me. She's following close behind me, mimicking my steps, trying to make me laugh.