christinex1001: (Default)
Wow, I spelled that right on the first try!

So...Gunther is totaled. Bye-bye, Gunther. It saddens me, because although we had our issues with the car, we always got it working, and Erik poured a lot of love and sweat into making sure it stayed running. Gunther was part of the family. So I'm feeling sadder than I probably should be, because really, it's just a car, and the important thing is that Erik's OK (we think...he's still having some neck pain, so he got in to see his doctor today and went and had some X-rays taken).

Friday we'll meet with our adjuster and get the check for the payout on the vehicle. Erik still wants to go to Loscon, so I guess we'll try car shopping on Sunday. We can't take too long about it, because there's a limit to how long the insurance will pay for us to have a rental after we've gotten our settlement.

No word count bar today, because with all the hullabaloo and the emails and the phone calls on the car situation, I couldn't concentrate for squat and only squeezed out a measly 500 words. At this point I really don't know how much farther I'm going to get over this long weekend, which promises to be pretty busy. Good thing I already made my 50K.

Also, very bizarre dreams last night. I can't remember everything, but at one point I was sitting at a table with Nora Roberts and a bunch of other women authors discussing how we should create our own co-op online bookstore, and then further on I was at a barbecue at a house in (of all places) Minnesota, where these three old men pulled up in a Winnebago to drink a beer with us. Only it turned out they were the Devil and a couple of his henchmen (I guess the Devil got tired of walking the earth and traded up for an RV). Then at the same party I walked into the family room, where a bunch of people were sitting in front of the fireplace and drinking beer, and one of them turned around and was General Veers (I say that because it was Julian Glover, but in Imperial uniform). He gave me a hug, and I remember thinking how nice it felt to have that warm wool uniform against my cheek as he hugged me.

Maybe this means I need to write General Veers porn. Hmm.

Half hour to go. Man, these days before a holiday drag on forever.
christinex1001: (Default)
Last night I dreamed that I threw a cup of coffee in Bill O'Reilly's face, called him a cocksucker, and flounced out of the room.



Jun. 21st, 2007 06:44 am
christinex1001: (Default)
It must be the hot weather, but I've been having the strangest dreams lately.

The first really sort of scary one involved me standing in the bathroom and curling my hair. Except as I looked in the mirror, my hair started to turn lighter, moving from the crown downward, and all of a sudden I had completely platinum blonde hair. (IRL it's very dark brown.) I have never, ever wanted to be blonde, although I still toy with the idea of going flame-red from time to time. But blonde! In the dream I started to freak out, and then when I looked back in the mirror, it was back to brown again. Strange.

But the one that followed after that was even more bizarre, although it would probably make a funny book if I could figure out the details. After all, who wouldn't want to read a novel about a group of middle-aged book club members (all female) taking on a bunch of suspicious characters running a resort who turn out to be cross-dressing werewolves?

My brain scares me sometimes.
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I think I drove my car to the closest it's ever run out of gas today. But I did manage to limp it into the Arco by work...only to have the #$@!! machine reject my ATM card. Thank God I actually had cash on me for once. (And no, the balance in my account had nothing to do with it...the stupid thing was just being ticky for some reason.) Normally I wouldn't have cared over-much, except that I had been hoarding my cash to go out tonight, and now I have to find an ATM somewhere around here before I head over to my friend Kim's for the evening.

It rained this morning...I love lying in bed and hearing the rain dripping off the eaves. Unfortunately this lovely cool weather is going to be replaced soon by nasty hot dry Santa Ana-ness, but I'm enjoying myself while it lasts. I was actually able to wear boots this morning. I never thought I'd get sick of seeing my toes, but I'm very tired of sandals. I want to wear REAL clothes again.

Strange dream last night. I went to see [personal profile] logospilgrim, whom I've actually never met, but she was out running an errand or something, so  her father and I started chatting about something or other. I thought I'd help out by doing some of the dishes (like I don't do enough in real life!), but then her father wanted to ask my advice on something and took me to a room in the back of the house where all these people were congregated. Turns out her father was a voice teacher, and he told me I'd been neglecting my voice for far too long and stuck me up on a little platform/stage with a karaoke machine and told me to have at it with some Phantom of the Opera music! Guess this is what happens when you go to bed w/o eating anything except a piece of bread because your stomach is acting up....

The funny thing is, I actually was researching karaoke machines on Ebay yesterday because I want one for my Harry Potter party. We really wanted to do karaoke at Worldcon, but oddly enough there are NO karaoke bars near the Anaheim Resort. Fascists. Renting the equipment is quite expensive, so I figured I'd just buy a halfway decent unit and start stocking up on some fun music. Come on, who doesn't want to see Professor Snape singing "Do You Think I'm Sexy?"?

Inner debate. Do I put an author photo on the back cover of No Return or not? This is tough for me because every freakin' photo I have of me is in costume. My friend Darren thinks I should use this one:

...but I think that's a bit much. It was taken ten years ago, and besides, how much of a Christine fangirl do I really want to look like? (Although I have to admit that's about my favorite picture I've ever had taken.)

Gack. One hour and I'm out of here.

Fic Mixing

Jul. 1st, 2006 06:43 am
christinex1001: (Default)
Or, why it's not a good idea to finish reading (for the second time) Half-Blood Prince right before bedtime (especially when you're obsessing over two of the fics you're writing).

So, funky dream. Don't remember all of it, but basic setup was that I was running around someplace that looked sort of like Hogwarts, only scarier. Except it wasn't me, it was Sarah from my LOTR fic, accompanied by Gorendil (Lord of the Nazgûl from the same fic), and basically we were trying to find Harry because we had to help him defeat Voldemort. In the process we ran up against some Death Eaters, whom Gorendil neatly dispatched with his flaming sword. Then somehow we got separated, and I'm running down these dark attic-y corridors trying to find him, when I bump in to Draco Malfoy, who promptly starts flinging hexes at my head. Then follows the usual verbal badinage, with me saying we're going to kick their asses, and Malfoy sneering (and he looked just like Tom Felton from the films...pretty funny) and saying that the Dark Lord is going to show up soon and turn all of us into hamburger meat. The weird thing was, I couldn't really tell who he meant when he said "Dark Lord." Was it Voldemort? Was it Sauron?

I somehow manage to get away, with Draco in hot pursuit, but I'm freaking out because I know now that the "Dark Lord" (whichever one Draco meant) is on to Gorendil and that he's going to go after him because he's a traitor. That's about where I woke up, unfortunately.

So this begs the question: Could the Lord of the Nazgûl defeat Voldemort in a straight-out fight? I'm thinking probably. Lord of the Nazgûl vs. Sauron? Gets a lot muddier, doesn't it? Then add in the whole "he knows you're a traitor and you're going to get it" and mix it with my current Snape fixation, and it gets decidedly weird. I think the one thing I can state with any certainty is that I'm a leetle bit worried about my boys.

Oh, well. If nothing else, at least I finally got more than five hours of sleep!
christinex1001: (Default)
Man, I don't know what I ate last night....

OK, so take some sort of doomsday device, human guinea pigs, Harlan Ellison, and me, mix them up, and what do you get?

The funkiest dream I've had in a long time.

Setting: Some huge dark warehouse-looking thing set out in some dry, dusty hills. Possibly out near Santa Clarita, or between Simi Valley and Chatsworth.

A group of us have been assembled to inspect some sort of massive anti-matter device...or something of that ilk. (Hey, it's a dream; I don't have to be scientifically accurate.) You know that line from Ghostbusters where Egon says "imagine all matter reversing itself and then exploding outward at the speed of light"? Total protonic reversal! Yeah, that.

So anyway, with this group is esteemed science fiction writer and gadfly, Harlan Ellison. I happen to love Harlan, although I know he rubs some people...OK, a lot of people...the wrong way. I assume he's been invited to inspect the thing because he's going to write a column about it in Omni or something. (Does Omni even exist anymore? Hmm....)

Of course everything goes horribly wrong, since the scientist running the project has convinced himself that we all need to die (don't ask me's a dream). So we're all trapped in this warehouse place, and I'm imagining what it would feel like to have your flesh instantly atomized by a doomsday machine. During this mild freak-out Harlan walks up to me and basically lands one of the best kisses I've ever had on my mouth -- you know, the wonderful kind where the guy sort of cups your face in his hands and holds you while he kisses you. I'm a little shocked at first, but it's a really good kiss, so I tell him, "You know, if you kiss me like that when the bomb goes off I won't even notice that I'm dying." So we make a mutual pact to do the liplock if the crazy scientist really does set off the device.

(Aside: As science fiction writers go, Mr. Ellison isn't bad-looking...or at least he wasn't the way I saw him in the dream, which was probably based on photos from book jackets in my collection. Unfortunately, those photos are probably at least thirty years old. What I'm saying is the guy has a few years on more than 30. Anyway.)

The remainder of the dream seemed to center on us trying to get a hold of the control device for the doomsday machine. I recall a lot of running around on catwalks and that sort of thing -- sort of like the climax to Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. I don't think we ever got blown up, fortunately.

But why I would dream of Harlan Ellison at all, let alone giving me a kiss for the ages...I have no idea. It sure ain't sexual frustration, as my husband can attest. ;-)


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