Mmm. Dreamy.
Jun. 15th, 2009 05:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
impyG'ah. I hate dreams where you wake up, all warm and fuzzy and loved, and know full well you haven't got a chance in hell of going back to that dream anytime soon. HATE IT. In the dream, I'm in a car with some dude who bears a striking resemblance to Jonathan Rhys Meyers [only... not. It's one of those things where your brain picks someone and basically says they'll replace 'im later when they've got the bug worked out.] and two other guys. It's some weird road trip that I didn't exactly sign up for and we're making a stop in some town where everyone else expects to party. Dreamy accent dude is stopping by a friend's place while we're in town and while everyone else is ready to go insane elsewhere, I'm tempted to go with cute accent.
Because, as an American, I am contractually obligated to love the accent. It's true. Look it up.
Anyway, for whatever reason the party goers seem to have hooked up with some supernatural thing [of course?] and... I decide that the combination of too many people, too much partying, and this SN element means I'll definitely be following dream dude. Where, mysteriously, I realize that in the way of dream dudes [he's pretty much ceased to really, truly resemble JRM at this point] we've hooked up before. Nice, nice. It means I'm not just totally wandering around like a lost puppy. I have a shot!
And then, as we sit around the dinner table with his friends and my father [whazzat now?] I realize I. Haven't. Shaved. My. Legs. Imagine a neon sign flashing that and you'll get how panicky I was in the dream. Cuz, well. Yeah. And I don't have a razor with me and it just never fully occurs to me to swipe someone else's. Instead I end up naked, running for the hotel, realize I'm naked, swipe some poor sap's robe [which won't fully close but isn't too bad as far as robes go, and beat on the door of the hotel room where my friends are. I figure, given that I'm half naked, I can con them into buying me what I need. Or something. The door opens and it's like they've crammed an entire club in there. Right, okay. Well, um, friends are at the bar, which they're pretty much manning, although they bear a freakish resemblance to the Sex and the City girls [which is odd, seeing as I didn't watch the show] and I plead my case. I'm so desperate I'm willing to do just about anything and somehow I end up in someone's actual room and they're all there, a little booze is ready, and someone has splurged to have the wax o' pain done. Um, guys, really. Eight bucks for a razor. It'll be awesome and painless!
Luckily my brain skips most of the painful parts and the next thing I know, I've gotten a phone call from dreamy dude. Dreamy wants to know where I am and why I just left. And I feel like an ass telling him that on the off chance I was getting lucky, I wanted to make sure I wasn't furry. So, I sort of dance around it without lying. And he's pissed and hangs up on me and dream me knows this is Bad and ties into something else that's happened before, but I... don't remember what. Frustration.
Time flips by as I call and call and call. And call. We flash to the friends as they're getting more and more ticked off on my behalf. And then! I get through to him, although I still don't really get what this is about [damn you, dream memory!] and start to fully explain and he hangs up. I'm about to throw the damn phone across the room [still haven't found more than that robe] when I realize... there's a cord. This part makes no sense, but I follow the phone cord out of the hotel room, through the big as a club room, down and out of the hotel [all the while confused as pissed], across the street and into a nicer but much smaller hotel. One of the employees there tells me I need to beat it [I don't blame her. Obviously a little out of my mind at this point, plus... just a robe and half-waxed legs] and I tell her that I made it this far and dude, you just don't have someone connect this weird as phone line to your phone if you don't expect to be followed. She gets this look on her face and tells me that maybe I should avoid the crazy unless I want to be found, in pieces, by the maid in the morning. To which I agree and make it to the elevator. Which is less of an elevator and more of one of those baskets you used to drop things down from your tree house. Riiiiight. So, I tell the lady [her name was Olivia] that if I disappear it was nice knowing her and she tried her best. Really. I finally managed to pull myself up to the right floor and I look down at her [why not just use the stairs, genius? It's just the next floor, maybe the one after] and stretch my legs out. "How are my legs? Do they look too weird? They do, don't they? I mean, I tried, but..." Yes. When facing down cute dream guy who will probably cut me into pieces, I stop to ask how the wax went. The answer is apparently not finished because there are strips of pain left on the back of my legs. I know, reality left the dream long ago.
But in terms of making me laugh while dreaming, oh yeah. So, I look down and hobble down the hallway, ripping the sheets off as I go. Yeah. I might've yelped, just a little. I make it to his room and I stand there. Panicking. Do I knock? I should knock, right? I mean, duh, I came all this way, probably flashed some poor unfortunate soul in some way, and oh, the pain I endured. I might as well tell him that he should listen to people before he hangs up... after I called him all freakin' night like a stalker.
Oooh. Not good. Crap. So, I waffle there in the hallway. Somehow I knock over someone's purse [mine? Where the hell did I pick up a purse?] and I start to pick stuff up, give up, and declare that I'm just not man enough to go through with it. The hell with him. I mean, really. Not worth the pain, even for a super awesome accent.
To which I hear someone say something about being glad I'm not man enough.
In a dreamy accent.
So, as I'm leaning over, in a most undignified way, I realize he's standing behind me in the doorway of his room. SHIT!
I stand up, glancing worriedly at my legs one more time, turn around, and try not to melt too fast.
I start to explain, he starts to apologize, there is much mocking of the leg panic, which leads to compliments which leads to skipping right over the best part of the dream. I endure pain in dream form and miss the good stuff? How is that fair?
After-glow in dreams is just a crock when you missed the main event, man. Anyway, apparently by stalking him I missed my ride to the next city or whatever, but we're content to just stay in his city.
Of course, now all I want to do is go back to sleep even though I'm not sleepy at all. Or shave my legs. Whichever.
I need a dreamy accented person to listen to. Even if it's just to hear the accent and there's no real dreamy aspect to it all, aside from the aspect. I miss K who used to work with me. She had a fantastic accent [and was funny and awesome to boot] and it meant that my days were just a little happier. Sigh. Or, y'know, I need someone with a dreamy accent I can make a fool of myself for. Or not with the fool, but you get the idea.
Because, as an American, I am contractually obligated to love the accent. It's true. Look it up.
Anyway, for whatever reason the party goers seem to have hooked up with some supernatural thing [of course?] and... I decide that the combination of too many people, too much partying, and this SN element means I'll definitely be following dream dude. Where, mysteriously, I realize that in the way of dream dudes [he's pretty much ceased to really, truly resemble JRM at this point] we've hooked up before. Nice, nice. It means I'm not just totally wandering around like a lost puppy. I have a shot!
And then, as we sit around the dinner table with his friends and my father [whazzat now?] I realize I. Haven't. Shaved. My. Legs. Imagine a neon sign flashing that and you'll get how panicky I was in the dream. Cuz, well. Yeah. And I don't have a razor with me and it just never fully occurs to me to swipe someone else's. Instead I end up naked, running for the hotel, realize I'm naked, swipe some poor sap's robe [which won't fully close but isn't too bad as far as robes go, and beat on the door of the hotel room where my friends are. I figure, given that I'm half naked, I can con them into buying me what I need. Or something. The door opens and it's like they've crammed an entire club in there. Right, okay. Well, um, friends are at the bar, which they're pretty much manning, although they bear a freakish resemblance to the Sex and the City girls [which is odd, seeing as I didn't watch the show] and I plead my case. I'm so desperate I'm willing to do just about anything and somehow I end up in someone's actual room and they're all there, a little booze is ready, and someone has splurged to have the wax o' pain done. Um, guys, really. Eight bucks for a razor. It'll be awesome and painless!
Luckily my brain skips most of the painful parts and the next thing I know, I've gotten a phone call from dreamy dude. Dreamy wants to know where I am and why I just left. And I feel like an ass telling him that on the off chance I was getting lucky, I wanted to make sure I wasn't furry. So, I sort of dance around it without lying. And he's pissed and hangs up on me and dream me knows this is Bad and ties into something else that's happened before, but I... don't remember what. Frustration.
Time flips by as I call and call and call. And call. We flash to the friends as they're getting more and more ticked off on my behalf. And then! I get through to him, although I still don't really get what this is about [damn you, dream memory!] and start to fully explain and he hangs up. I'm about to throw the damn phone across the room [still haven't found more than that robe] when I realize... there's a cord. This part makes no sense, but I follow the phone cord out of the hotel room, through the big as a club room, down and out of the hotel [all the while confused as pissed], across the street and into a nicer but much smaller hotel. One of the employees there tells me I need to beat it [I don't blame her. Obviously a little out of my mind at this point, plus... just a robe and half-waxed legs] and I tell her that I made it this far and dude, you just don't have someone connect this weird as phone line to your phone if you don't expect to be followed. She gets this look on her face and tells me that maybe I should avoid the crazy unless I want to be found, in pieces, by the maid in the morning. To which I agree and make it to the elevator. Which is less of an elevator and more of one of those baskets you used to drop things down from your tree house. Riiiiight. So, I tell the lady [her name was Olivia] that if I disappear it was nice knowing her and she tried her best. Really. I finally managed to pull myself up to the right floor and I look down at her [why not just use the stairs, genius? It's just the next floor, maybe the one after] and stretch my legs out. "How are my legs? Do they look too weird? They do, don't they? I mean, I tried, but..." Yes. When facing down cute dream guy who will probably cut me into pieces, I stop to ask how the wax went. The answer is apparently not finished because there are strips of pain left on the back of my legs. I know, reality left the dream long ago.
But in terms of making me laugh while dreaming, oh yeah. So, I look down and hobble down the hallway, ripping the sheets off as I go. Yeah. I might've yelped, just a little. I make it to his room and I stand there. Panicking. Do I knock? I should knock, right? I mean, duh, I came all this way, probably flashed some poor unfortunate soul in some way, and oh, the pain I endured. I might as well tell him that he should listen to people before he hangs up... after I called him all freakin' night like a stalker.
Oooh. Not good. Crap. So, I waffle there in the hallway. Somehow I knock over someone's purse [mine? Where the hell did I pick up a purse?] and I start to pick stuff up, give up, and declare that I'm just not man enough to go through with it. The hell with him. I mean, really. Not worth the pain, even for a super awesome accent.
To which I hear someone say something about being glad I'm not man enough.
In a dreamy accent.
So, as I'm leaning over, in a most undignified way, I realize he's standing behind me in the doorway of his room. SHIT!
I stand up, glancing worriedly at my legs one more time, turn around, and try not to melt too fast.
I start to explain, he starts to apologize, there is much mocking of the leg panic, which leads to compliments which leads to skipping right over the best part of the dream. I endure pain in dream form and miss the good stuff? How is that fair?
After-glow in dreams is just a crock when you missed the main event, man. Anyway, apparently by stalking him I missed my ride to the next city or whatever, but we're content to just stay in his city.
Of course, now all I want to do is go back to sleep even though I'm not sleepy at all. Or shave my legs. Whichever.
I need a dreamy accented person to listen to. Even if it's just to hear the accent and there's no real dreamy aspect to it all, aside from the aspect. I miss K who used to work with me. She had a fantastic accent [and was funny and awesome to boot] and it meant that my days were just a little happier. Sigh. Or, y'know, I need someone with a dreamy accent I can make a fool of myself for. Or not with the fool, but you get the idea.
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Date: 2009-06-16 03:54 am (UTC)