The little voice in my head has come down with a nasty cough, so I'm all cozy in my Calvin Klein sweatpants (9.99 at Ross), relaxing with my laptop. It's been awhile. Today I'm gonna talk about dreams. The kind you have while you sleep, that is. I have a very vivid dream life, but sometimes when I'm under-exercised and over-stressed, I can't remember them. Which was happening to me until about the time I went on spring break when...

A few weeks back I woke up from a nightmare, shaking and crying. The basic context of the dream was that I had unintentionally caused my new friend physical harm which would have a lasting effect. Even after I woke up from it, I was a wee bit crazed and weeping, and it took me a while to fall back to sleep. For several days later, I would almost flashback to it, and I realized that the feelings I had in my dream and freshly waking from it would not go away. I could not bear the thought of hurting him in any way. I would even compare the feeling to the way I get whenever the little voice in my head is in pain that I can't alleviate.

Which is whoaaaa. Right? I mean, I already knew from an illness he suffered a couple months ago that I wanted to play nurse (and not even naughty nurse, although that has merit - I mean that I wanted to make him chicken noodle soup and bring him cool rags for his forehead). But this goes even beyond that, I think.

The next dream I had was last week. I often have dreams of my maternal grandmother (deceased since I was 17) and always in her trailer. Sometimes it's just me in her trailer sorting through her things after her death, or just sleeping there. Other times it's me, her, family members, other relatives who've died, and we're all just having a ball. Her trailer has a lot of significance for me. It's a symbol of comfort and security, because it was the only place during my childhood (aside from Disneyland) where I felt safe and completely like a child. So in this last dream, she was there with my Daddy Ed (her longtime love) and I was there with my new friend, and we were preparing for a sleepover and a family gathering the next day. And it was awesome. I almost felt like they actually met. Plus, she really liked him. So that was good.

Then last night I dreamed that Matthew Perry was trying to get me (in a sexual way, that is). This is the second time I've been chased by him in my sleep. Which is weird in itself. I'm don't find him all that attractive. He's quirky and funny, but...Anyway, he totally disappointed me. There was no spark at all, and nothing sexually satisfying in any way, and I woke up thinking, "He's no Denver, yo." Then today I was so sexed up at work (end of my monthly Inquisition makes me even more feisty than usual) that I caught myself fantasizing about the next time one of us gets off the plane instead of reading the contract in front of me. It must have been a full ten, fifteen minutes (long enough to finish, wink-wink).

So I've been going from concerned to tender to comfortable to passionate. And man, he makes me laugh so hard. There's this new riff he's got about my sad lack of comfortable bedding that...well, I could go on and on.

This whole thing might be construed as passive-aggressive, because I know he's going to read this - I knew it before I warned him today that I was going to write about him. But this is how I work things out. I write them down. And all this stuff has been going through my head over and over, so I thought this was the place to write it.

Watch this first.

Now watch this.


Beyonce and Justin Timberlake SNL Skit (11/15/08)


I really don't have anything else to say.

Okay. It's taken me a couple of hours to stop being a whiny bitch (with the help of some Vanity Fair behind-the-scenes videos of comedians getting their pictures taken, as well as an emailed video of a cat and dog taking care of baby chicks [soooooo cuuuuuuuute]).

One of my other points to be made is this: I would rather have my eyes pinched and prodded by baby monkeys than to be stuck with the wrong man for any amount of time, even in exchange for a fateful 911 call. I've known several wrong men for long enough durations of time to be VERY sure of that. So. All whining aside, I'm cool. I'll just avoid ski slopes and racquetballs. (this fear of racquetballs stems from the fact that i love playing racquetball but i'm super skittish about being injured by one - we hit hard and they go very fast!)

I'm very upset about Natasha Richardson.

I wasn't best friends with her and she wasn't my favorite actress or anything, but I'm still upset. I'm sad she died young, but more than that I'm upset about how she died. Last week, I was talking to the SSLP about injuries. She teases me about being a wuss about trying new sports and outdoor activities, but I epiphanied that I'm TERRIFIED of injury. Phobic. Even of minor injuries, because I can't afford to miss one day of work, let alone 6 to 8 weeks for recovery.

And then this happens. She died. She died of something that should have been an anecdote to tell her husband at the end of the day. "Oh, honey, you should have seen me trying to ski today...a spongecake would have been more coordinated..."

My sister tried to comfort me by saying that Liam was holding her hand the whole time. But that didn't comfort me right away. It just reminded me that I have no Liam. If anything happens to me, who will call 911? The little voice in my head? I don't need anyone to coddle me while I die. That's not the point. The point is that little voice in my head being left alone while I bleed to death from a rogue racquetball to the head.

I don't usually think about the worst possible scenarios. Today I have wicked PMS and bad stuff happens every day. To everyone and anyone.

So let's talk about Ralph Fiennes and his indisputable hotness (there's a story behind this which I will probably never tell). The thing that scorches me about him is his gaze. In his films, he has this way of looking at a woman that just tears her clothes off, loves her five times and then proposes marriage with an 8 million dollar engagement ring.

Here is a list of films in which he is HAWT:

Strange Days
The English Patient*
Oscar and Lucinda**
Maid in Manhattan*
The Constant Gardener**
Sunshine***

*I don't necessarily like these films, I just liked him in them.

**I did not see these films, but he was hot enough in the trailers that I knew I would like him in them.

***I could only survive the first twenty minutes of this film, because he was so hot in it, I had to turn it off because I was deep in abstinence and couldn't take it. I later found out (to my embarrassment) that this movie is about the Holocaust.

I'm on Spring Break. So here's what's up:

Stephanie Plum Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day Yet more Eddie Izzard Laundry Robert Hass, Praise Tattoos (just thinking about some new ones, is all) "I Will Possess Your Heart" Bach, Violinkonzerte Merlot Polishing my resume (just thinking about things, is all) Tropic Thunder Lowering my sugar intake without completely cutting out treats Carbombs, St. Patrick's Day, and Nine Fine Irishmen

As for a little more dish about that fella, you know that one guy? He's five years younger than me. *GASP* Now, I know that in a past entry I professed a special tingle for older man-younger woman type dalliances, however. I have also stated quite frequently and honestly that I have no type. There all kinds of tingles in this life, my friends. So. Call me Maggie May, call me Mrs. Robinson, call me whatever you will - I have a great big smile on my face.

Also, a fun fact about some advice I got from my latest male doctor (I tend to avoid the male versions of doctors because they've treated me despicably in the recent past): he told me I'm not having enough sex. I think that is the BEST NEWS EVER. I was tempted to have him write me a prescription, and I'll just fill it at my own discretion with the pharmacist of my choosing.

The second one-word concept I decide to explore via Google (one of my top ten list of dream employers) is passion. I thought about it for a moment before I hit enter and decided to google images only, because I was pretty sure I'd just get some fun porn and dating sites from the general web search (which I did later when my curiosity won). Some beautiful and interesting images:

this is a poster, untitled

this is a work entitled "Tender Passion" by Talantbek Chekirov

this is one of my main passions and a work of art by mnoo, entitled simply "Passion"

and this is a quirky little cartoon with a philosophy i'm not sure i agree with, but sure made me smile. (artist signature in the corner)

I have a lot of my mind, but I only have a little bit of time tonight. So I'll give each topic a different day.

Today's topic: Men's Fashion.

Why?

Because I don't know a damn thing about it.

I was realizing this because my new male friend, although casual in his personal life, enjoys looking the businessman at work. Suits, ties, belts, J Crew, you know. But I don't. And I'm concerned that I will be called upon to give advice or opinions, so I must educate myself to be available for such services.

As I was pondering all this, I stumbled upon a couple of links. This one, and this one. I thought these were a good start. Gotta ease into it.

I also busted into this article on a similar topic.

Okay, I was also thinking about my new friend's wonderful face, and how I could possibly describe it. So here's what I came up with:

Add this guy



Plus that guy down there



Subtract about 15 years, multiply by the blondest hair you can imagine (but not white), and what does that equal?

One fine-lookin' fella.

Tasty? YES.

I should be focusing exclusively on my paralegal studies, but, true to my eclectic attention span and ranging tastes in brain fodder, I am distracted. However, exclusive focus on one subject could result only in my inevitable spiral into insanity via stagnancy. So, hello to my distractions:

I started this novel on my way to Denver, and just finished it today (I had to put it down to do some homework). This was a re-read. I am more a re-reader than a reader - the first time I read a novel I get through it quickly to find out what happens. Then I re-read (usually again and again) to get the finer points and the technical stuff. I don't know if I'm such a fan of the technical stuff in this novel; I'm always left with questions, but it's such a complex story I can never really figure out or remember what my questions are. However, she wrote a great love story here. I mean, sooo good. I believe this love, to the extent that it leaves me weeping and broken by the end. Read it. It's worth it.

My distractions often lead to other distractions. This novel led me to a fresh new obssession with Rainer Maria Rilke, because of an excerpt from the Duino Elegies as follows:

Angel!: If there were a place that we didn't know of, and there,
on some unsayable carpet, lovers displayed
what they could never bring to mastery here - the bold
exploits of their high-flying hearts,
their towers of pleasure, their ladders
that have long since been standing where there was no ground,
leaning
just on each other, trembling, - and could master all this,
before the surrounding spectators, the innumerable soundless dead:
Would these, then, throw down their final, forever saved-up,
forever hidden, unknown to us, eternally valid
coins of happiness before the at last
genuinely smiling pair on the gratified
carpet?

I'm not sure what all that means, but I know I like it.

My third and final distraction for this entry is this fellow:

He's a terribly funny fellow - long-lost member of Monty Python, indeed. I keep falling asleep though, because I watch late at night and he has a soothing storyteller-type delivery. Combined with a smoother British accent, it's like sleeping powder in my teacup.