So last night I dreamed that Dean Wareham of Luna was my boyfriend, but when I asked him if he wanted to make out (those were my exact words in the dream--"Wanna make out?"--very smooth) he said he was kind of busy and maybe later, and then I WOKE UP, crushed.
Point of fact: I almost never make it to first base in my sex dreams. It's pathetic.
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Sunday night I went with L&S to see The Ring. They have a weekly Scary Movie event at their house, renting a video and having folks over, but yesterday they decided to take a field trip to the Ballard theater.
Now, I am a scary movie wuss. That part in Sense and Sensibility where Willoughby rides in on his horse, and the horse rears--woo! Scary! I have to leave the room.
The Ring is actually not very scary at all, nor does it make any sense. But the popcorn girl told us on the way in that it was the scariest movie she'd ever seen, and so I was rigid with fear throughout the entire film because I was consistently convinced that we must be on the cusp of the REALLY scary part, and I wanted to be prepared.
Being the fraidy-cat that I am, I chose an exceptionally tense moment in the film to go pee. They were playing kind of spooky music in the bathroom (well, it seemed that way at the time), and I was half expecting a little drowned girl to reach up through the toilet and drag me back into it (don't ask). I had just finished peeing when suddenly I heard a horrible retching, wheezing, screaming noise right behind me, and I screamed right back.
It was the self-flushing toilet.
Luckily, no one else was in the bathroom at the time, so I was alone with my shame.
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