I wanted to see A Perfect Getaway in the movie theaters when I first saw the preview because I seem to be under some sort of spell that compels me to watch any movie starring Leeloo Multipass, but vdecided against it because it seemed like it would be a teen-percenter on Rotten Tomatoes like Turistas or some other stupid-tourist-torture-porn bullshit like that (though I thought The Ruins was pretty good). I even thought Josh Duhamel was in it, but the vaguely crazy-looking handsome “is he?” dude turned out to be my favorite that-dude-always-plays-a-sociopath, Timothy Olyphant. This movie also stars the always reliably entertaining Steve Zahn who I always believed should be on a different career path than he is on now, but what’s the guy been up to lately? (Speaking of erstwhile Steves, has anyone seen Steve Buscemi?) I have to admit that I was wrong about what I thought the story of the movie was going to be. I’m usually pretty good at being able to determine the plot and the ending from just watching the previews, but with this one I was mostly wrong. It was not about a dumb honeymooning couple who gets waylaid by a lost tribe of cannibalistic Hawaiians and get spit-roasted over a fire like a pig in a luau. And that was a nice surprise. Except I guessed who the killer/s was/were fifteen minutes into the film and the rest of it I just spent waiting to see if I was right. And I was. Booyah.

I may accidentally reveal how the movie ends. I’m terrible that way.

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Once upon a time, in a mansion deep in the heart of the South, a beautiful blond princess borne to a heartless, cold woman and a cold, soulless man, fell illicitly in love with a beautiful blond prince. This beautiful blond prince happens to be the very much younger half-brother of her father, which makes him a dirty uncle, though not quite so dirty, and yet dirty all the same. The parents of the princess who are very religious people are not so happy with this. They disinherit the princess and the uncle and throw them out of the mansion. The princess and the uncle, shamed and utterly humiliated, flee in the dead of night, never to be heard from in polite society ever again.

But fate is seemingly kind to pretty, blond people and the princess called Corinne and the dirty uncle called Christopher, change their last name to Dollaganger, manage to build a happy little life together, in love and utterly ensnared with each other’s remarkable golden blond looks. Genetics be damned, the two pretty pretty people make love like pretty pretty blond monkeys and produce two perfectly beautiful blond and blue eyed children with two arms, two legs, and are luckily intelligent and talented in their own special way. The blond girl-child is named Cathy and the blond boy-child is named Christopher, after their father. The two children are so utterly perfect and doll-like that they are nicknamed the Dresden Dolls. The girl-child is beloved by the father and shows signs of growing up to be one of those creatures seeking a man to marry who will love her the way Daddy had loved her. The boy-child is favored by the mommy. The mother Corrine, unsatisfied with her current lot and practically mocking fate to give her mutant deformed babies, gets pregnant again and has two more perfectly golden blond babies, fraternal twins called Cory and Carrie. Cathy pouts when she discovers she will no longer be the baby of the family and solicits a promise from her daddy that he will not love the new girl-child more than he loves her and as a testament to that promise, Daddy puts on a heart-shaped garnet ring on Cathy’s tiny doll-like finger.

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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)