I just had a trippy dream. I have never had one like it before. My dreams are usually something I can understand, like fantasy dreams. Last night, I had a dream Chris Pine and I were sitting at this cafe in Venice Beach sharing an ice cream cone. It was strawberry cheesecake. When I woke up, I had a mad craving for strawberry cheesecake ice cream and actually contemplated driving to VONS at 3 AM in the morning. Or the one before I had the night before that: Marc and I were riding around in hot pink beach cruisers on the boardwalk in Balboa Island and everything was merry and gay when all of a sudden there were zombies and we had to hide and wait it out in a taco shop. See? Simple. But this one I just had was a major trip. And I actually felt compelled to write about it as soon as I woke up. I don’t have a dream journal, so here it is.

I was watching this interview with Lawrence Krauss and Richard Dawkins in the living room while lying on the couch (Marc was on floor, lounging on a bunch of pillows and playing with the cat). I had lit up a sandalwood incense, so that sweet, minty thing scent hung in the air. At one point, I turned on my side and promptly fell asleep.

I dreamt I was in the Philippines at my grandfather’s house in Olongapo City, hanging out in front of the convenience store we owned, drinking from a bottle of Coke. For some reason, I began looking for my mother and sisters whom I couldn’t find. This old-timey rotary phone rings and I pick it up: it’s my mother wanting me to pick her up at this house just a few blocks away. She was playing mah-jong with some friends (my mother, as far as I know, has never played a game of mah-jong in her life) and didn’t want to walk home. I hop on my old BMX bike, but somehow as I am riding it, it turns into the crappy car I have now. The roads change too; there are suddenly stop signs and traffic lights (and there ain’t no stop signs and traffic lights in Olongapo; people just drive around however they feel like it). In my mind, the house my mother was talking about is just a few blocks away. Just cross Magsaysay Drive and it’s right past Saint Columban Church. All of a sudden I am driving on Manzanitas Road (which I think is in San Diego somewhere) and panicking slightly because how the eff was I going to get to my mother? I’m driving and driving (it was a really long road) and I’m passing graveyards and beaches and foresty landscapes and I’m pretty sure I’m lost. I turn on this one street so I could double-back around and there’s this snow embankment that pops up in front of me (it doesn’t and has never ever snowed in the Philippines). There is another car there, too. It is an older red Toyota Camry and it’s stuck in the snow. I stop and get out of the car. A middle-aged white guy wearing a gray pull-over sweater and jeans comes out and wants to know if he can get a ride back to the city. This tall blond lady come out after him and she’s wearing a pair of jeans she says the hotel let her borrow and a white peasant blouse. We all go into my car and I start driving again when I realize I’m looking right at the blond lady (she’s sitting in the back seat) and I can’t see where I’m going because the driver’s seat seem to be facing her. I pull over the car again and the middle-aged white guy help me adjust the seats so that they are facing forward again. We get back into the car and on we go.

And then I wake up. It sounds mundane now that I’ve written it all out and read it back to myself, but I swear to God, when I first woke up on that couch, I was scared to death and very close to freaking out. My neck was shrieking in pain, my mouth was dry, and when I swallowed, it felt like there were razor blades in my throat. Marc had fallen asleep on the floor and I shook him awake so I could tell him my dream, but after I finished, he didn’t say anything, so I called out his name a couple of times before realizing he had fallen back asleep while I was telling him about my dream. I got pissed, so I left him in the living room, went to the bathroom to pop an Aleve, then hopped onto bed and fired up my laptop. Twittered about it. And now here I am.

Seriously, wtf was that? Why was I so scared when I first woke up? I mean, my heart was pounding, my shirt was drenched with sweat, and I had this compulsion to hide. And I never dream about people I have never before seen in real life and I had never seen those people before. Ever. I swear to God, I am never taking Benadryl before watching Richard Dawkins ever again. Stress hives be damned.

This entirely original, exclusive, free-to-you story has been brought to you by… me! Play on, playaz…

WARNING: There is dirty naked sex within. Please do not proceed if you will be offended by graphic descriptions of sexual situations. Just kidding. It’s Rated R at best. I don’t even know if I used the word “cock” except in this instance.

Please read chapters one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, and twelve if you haven’t already.

After five years, Daisy Sawyer has finally come home. Not that she’s too happy about it. She had a great life in LA: rubbing elbows with celebrities, hopping from one exclusive bar to the other, and best of all, she didn’t have to answer to anyone. But when a drunken night of partying lands her in jail, the only person she can count on is her estranged brother, Alec, the leader of a powerful were-leopard clan. Forced to choose between a prison sentence or face the life she abandoned years ago, Daisy returns… but she doesn’t have to like it…

Christian LeBeau owes Alec Sawyer his life. He will do anything for the man, even babysit his bratty baby sister. But Christian never imagined that Daisy could grow up to be so beautiful… and forbidden in more ways than one. His mind tells him she is the one woman he can never have, but his body refuses to listen. All he has to do is take care of Daisy until Alec finds her a proper were-leopard to marry, then Chris could wash his hands of her and get on with his life… but fate seems to have other plans.

And now, I present to you… Chasing Daisy…

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It’s been a while since I’ve posted one of these and that doesn’t mean that I’ve quit objectifying pretty boys like the beautiful wicked slabs of beef they are, but I haven’t come across one worthy of a post until recently. It wasn’t until the fifteenth time that I watched Star Trek: Muppet Babies that it occurred to me, “Hot diggity, that Kirk guy is a panty-dropper!”

Oh, Chris Pine, be my husband and the father of my children. Or… have a one-night stand with me and sneak out at four in the morning and never call me again and delete me from your facebook and say things like, “If you don’t stop hanging out at my front yard everyday waiting for me to come out, I’m going to call the cops!” and change your number five times, I don’t care. Either will be fine. Just… call me, ok?

(hey, pssst… there you are with the crotch grabbing again. If it’s so damned heavy, why don’t you take a load off and let me carry it for a while?)

(and looking oddly enough like HRG. Oh, I think my pants just exploded in starbursts of happiness)

I’m really not sure how to review this book. Lisa Kleypas is an auto-buy for me (though I haven’t yet tried her contemporary stuff) and I normally enjoy her tortured, damaged, will-do-anything-to-have-heroine heroes, but there was something about this particular hero that made me go, “whoa, buddy, say what?” Immediately after finishing this book, my first reaction was that I liked it. Upon further contemplation, however, my opinion began to waver. This is the 3rd book in the Hathaway series (the first one is about the eldest sister marrying Cam Rohan from The Devil in Winter and the second one is about the 2nd sister getting together with another one of Lisa Kleypas’ signature heroes: barely civilized, big as an ox, a little nuts, and all the way nuts about the heroine) and I was really looking forward to reading about Poppy, who was socially inept, could talk the ear off of a deaf man, and adorably self-conscious about her awkwardness. Poppy is everything I like in a heroine: she doesn’t rush head-first stupidly into dangerous situations, speaks her mind but knows when it’s smarter to shut up, and intelligent without being precocious. Harry Rutledge, her romantic counterpart, was at first very yummy. When I read that he likes to tinker and make little mechanical things (and weapons!) and that his enormous hotel boasts a bunch of secret passages, I immediately thought, “Batman!” I was all set and ready to love this hero. He’s tortured, mysterious, reclusive, a genius… hey, he’s even starting to sound like a Jayne Ann Krentz hero, but then he had to go and get a little stalker on me. And while reading the book, I couldn’t shake this niggling feeling that poor, little Poppy was bamboozled and manipulated to marrying her stalker…

Spoilers and stuff below, btw.

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I’m always finding ways to circumvent actually working out, while trying to attain rock-hard abs like whoa. The only exercise I’ve ever enjoyed that still make my abs and thighs work like a mother is hula. Like “Pearly shell… on the ocean…” and shit. But even that’s too much work. So then I found this:

Daaaamn. I might have to borrow Doc Brown’s Delorean so I could get ahold of one of these beauties. A hui hou!