the Dalaverse

Yarrr. How is it possible that a full night's sleep can leave me totally exhausted?

I suspect it has something to do with the nature of my dreams. First, I had a dream that Karen came back to school and we were walking around barefoot in the snow before we went and left a message on Vanessa's computer so we could all go to dinner. Then I had this very elaborate, epic, fun dream in which I was to take part in a sort of gladiator competition. My opponent was this sweet, scared boy and there was another guy who was the MC, but he was trying to defy the system. Eventually during our battles of skill and viciousness, the other guy collapsed and said he wouldn't fight to the death and then all three of us cried and huddled together and seemed to be considering a threesome. Rock on.

Thirdly, I dreamed that at the end of PotC, Barbossa shot Jack and Will and took Elizabeth as his plaything. It was very short, but rather unpleasant.

Since my brain was exceptionally active last night, I've decided that it counts as exercise for the day. I was a gladiator. for heaven's sake.

This is so much fun.


( more of Bewigged, Bothered and Bewildered )

A partial transcription of tonight's dinner with the maternal unit.

First forty-five minutes: perfectly normal. Discussion of family quabbles, nature vs. nurture, sexual orientation, Marlon Brando, and other random topics.

Then came Margarita #2.

Mom: Do I sound like Jack on "Willis and Grace"?
Dala: *facepalm*
Mom: Hehe, that was pretty funny actually...

(okay, yeah, it was. But still...*facepalm*)

figuring out the tip
Mom: I don't want to make a gaffu like Daddy...what's that word?
Dala: Snafu. Or gaffe. Pick one. You can't have both.
Mom: Gaffe, how do you spell that? G-A-U...
Dala: G-A-F-F-E. S-N-A-F-U. D-I-O-S M-I-O.
Mom: Was that Spanish?

Mom: ::orders coffee with three-quarters of second margarita left::
Dala: ::pours cream in the salsa, attempts to take away third basket of tortilla chips, plays Blackjack on cell phone::

exiting the restaurant FINALLY
Mom: I want ice cream. Can we get ice cream?
Dala: I just had sopapillas. I ate them before your coffee even got there.
Mom: You're not nice to your mother.

exiting parking lot
Mom: That is a big-ass truck. Don't hit that old man. Or that little boy and his father. His father's shirt is untucked.
Dala: ::restrains self from driving into oncoming traffic::
Mom: Wheee! You hit a wheelie on that turn!
Dala: ::was going 2 mph::

Mom: ::incessant babbling for ten minutes::
Dala:: WITH A REBEL YELL, SHE CRIED MORE, MORE, MORE! ::fails to drown out chatter even with help of Billy Idol::

Dala: ::drives around traffic circle to park in usual spot on the street::
Mom: Hey, you didn't stop!
Dala: That's right, because I'm making you walk up the hill, because it's funny.
Mom: Look, the door's not closed and you locked it!
Dala: Bump it with your hip.
Mom: I don't have the keys!
Dala: Bump it with your hip.
Mom: ::lifts foot and slams it into door:: There.
The Cheese: ::is mistreated::
Mom: ::walks up hill:: This hurts my shoes.

upon entrance to house, immediate retreat to Fortress of Solitudebedroom.
Mom: ::wanders into room in just sweater and underwear:: Can I have one of your little...::holds up thumb and forefinger three inches apart::
Dala: What?
Mom: Cokes, one of your little Cokes.
Dala: I only have Sprite left.
Mom: ::face falls:: But I don't like 7-Up!
Dala: Sprite.
Mom: But I don't like Sprite!

Mom: ::wanders back in again, still pantsless:: You know, my feet are not ugly, I have very pretty little feet --
Dala: GO AWAY!
Mom: Are you writing to all your friends that your mother is obnoxious?
Dala: Yes
Mom: Haha *thoughtful pause* That's not nice. All your friends think I'm nice. I bet they say that all the time. They say you have a nice mother.
Dala: Of course they do.

Mom: ::wandering in yet again:: Do we have ice cream?
Dala: No.
Mom: Oh. Would you like chocolate chip cookies?
Dala: Sure. If you want.
Mom: But they're frozen. But it says you can make them frozen.
Dala: Okay.
Mom: I don't really want those, though. Do my Fudgesicles have freezer burn?
Dala: Yes.
Mom: Do we have any Popsicles?
Dala: I. Don't. Know.
Mom: I bet we have cherry Popsicles.
Dala: ::shuts door::


Oh sweet blessed silence.