So, What Does It Mean...

...when you dream you're driving through Europe in a cute little convertible with Clint Eastwood, and you stop at your French grandmother's Italian chalet (because doesn't everyone think "chalet" when they think of Italy??) for the night and he won't sleep with you and and you tell him you know he won't sleep with you because he's scared of you because you're so much younger, but he's hiding behind some excuse and you think letting the age gap keep you from having fun is specious, and you also know that he won't take some movie roll because it's the male lead and he thinks he can't carry it off any more, but he's making some other lame excuse about the script, and he's pissed off because you're right so he goes and sulks in the bathroom all night and you sleep alone, leave together the next day, part ways a little while later, and then your French grandmother calls and bitches you out because you left the bathroom of her Italian Chalet a shambles and she has to replace the heated tile you tore up and you have to explain that you never even saw the bathroom because Clint Eastwood wouldn't let you in because he was having a hissy and you didn't know it was torn up, and who has a chalet in Italy anyway?? and she's all "Well, if it was Clint Eastwood, then..." and you think that sucks because if it was you who'd torn up the bathroom, her head would be spinning around on her neck and she'd be breathing fire?

Someone and I agree is may mean it's inadvisable to eat jalapeno cheese fries before bed. What's your take?

Sorry for the absence - it's Spring, the days are behaving themselves nicely and demanding I go outside and air out my lungs (and fill them with pollen which will have me sneezing, hacking, coughing, and rheumy eyed, and isn't THAT a pretty mental picture?), I've been stressed about some things at Casa de Crazy, and I'm getting ready to set up and run a little booth for a friend at a show next weekend, which partly means I have a ton of sewing to do (among other things) and can't even be bothered to separate my thoughts into real paragraphs but instead am forced to write in run-on sentences.

I'll try not to be so lame next time I write...at this rate that'll be sometime in 2012.