Dreamland

Pregnancy does strange and wonderful things to your dreams. My old therapist told me once that a colleague of hers claimed she would pay extra for the therapy available during pregnancy - because your subconcious brings such delicious things to the surface that stay hidden at other times. I can absolutely attest to that.

Though I can't say that last night's episode of DC Celine's Dreams brings anything interesting to light, but it certainly was an amusing combination of my obsession with reality shows (style ones, in particular), tweeting, and probably some things H really doesn't want to hear about.

While I can't remember the "storyline," here's what I do remember, 6 hours afterwards...
A runway show for an up-and-coming Asian-faced designer. The line was somewhat reminiscent of Patrick McDonald and Roberto's line from "Launch My Line" (yes, I watch that crap - the self-destruct mechanisms on it are effin' brilliant): trashy red and black lingerie-"inspired" pieces with much see-throughness going on.

I was trying to tweet the show, but all I remember is that somehow I got "stuck" tweeting, and started texting the message on my (gasp! I'm horribly '00 about my personal technology) cell, but never managed to send a single tweet. Something about the gorgeous man sitting next to me and with whom I think I was canoodling. (Honestly, H won't care in the least about that. I'm a lucky girl.) He was tall, lithe, and muscular, with a very closely cropped (not quite shaved) head of hair - a fashioned-up version of a Marine, perhaps (there go those CIA/renegade patriot novels I keep reading. Or maybe a long-harbored memory about the 16-year-old Georg with whom I swam - raced, mind you - on my exchange year in Austria). The designer was, like I said, an Asian-faced woman (can't remember enough to even remotely attempt a guess at actual nationality), thin, raggedy bob-like 'do...hmmm...not unlike Erwin's new coif (which, btw, suits him much better, IMHO, than his previous long, shaggy cut). I think she was rather mean, but that could be something my psyche attached after I woke up.

After the "oh no, must tweet! It's my fashion responsibility as a blogger!" crisis, I don't remember much else. I think there was more to the dream, maybe a hostel with other young (hee hee, as if I still qualify for that adjective) people.

Anywho...speculate away at the state of my psyche. It's one week before the absolute definitive day of arrival for Bean #2 (long story short, it could decide to arrive on it's own before then, but...). Who knows where my brain, concious or otherwise, will be in a week. I promise a quick update post-arrival.