Went to book club a little early. Got to play with the computers in the library a bit, check e-mail, clear out old e-mail. One of the usual writing group people showed up, the mom who has the daycare business. She hung out.

Everyone loved The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, and would all love to hang out with Precious. There was general hilarity.

Afterwards, the other writing group person and I were the only two who were up for dinner, so we did that. We had a new waiter. Orlando came by and flirted some; I wasn't particularly responsive. I managed a riposte that shut him down some -- he's been flirting with the Professora, and tonight she had a date afterwards. Ooo. The date is a veternarian; Orlando is a mere waiter. "A married waiter," I commented.

Bzzooooop. This is the sound of one man's game going dooooooown.

Hee.

There was happy gossip. Kids changing clothes 10 times a morning, silly men, complex relationships, writing. I imitated Darkside's manner with strangers very very cunningly and accurately: I got the deadpan face, the calm voice, the uprightness, and even the finger thing he sometimes does. The other writing group chick was cracking up. "The joke around the household is that they have to make special sticks for him," I added... I got to rehash the entire delightful situation from several years ago that involved Adam and V.: sauce for the goose, sauce for the gander. Poor gander didn't take very well at all to being nearly cuckolded by Mr. Shallow, no...

We finally found the right constructive criticism for the former nurse who used to come to the writing group. She wrote long and rambling pieces that could definitely be improved, and we figured out what it was that would have done that: split each of the ideas of the piece off into separate little stories. If only we'd thought of this while she was still coming to the writing group regularly...

She dropped me off near the bus stop in a close parking lot (since there is no real place to pull in by the bus stop). I ran and caught the Red Line, and was home before eleven.

I was in a place that owed more of its description to Alaska. There were two priestess types, and I was one of them, and we kept being kidnapped by the bad guys and taken to their stronghold (which was cross between a spaceship and FatherSir's blue truck) and each time, my companion was able to read the stars to get the smartass answer she needed, and each time, they were more successful at blocking off the window. After they threatened us, they would release us.

The last time, they captured only me. The window was entirely blocked; I could not see the stars. I tried to reach out for them with my mind; I tried to send a telepathic message through my bond to my other half. (Ro? Do one's partners get used to us going a little weird in dreams?) I didn't get any bounceback, so I didn't know if I'd succeeded.

They released me, or I got out. When I was outside the vehicle, I searched about for an easy means to harmlessly disable it for a while, and ended up pulling a strip of metal out of the front bumper. The bumper fell off. Evidently that was "disabled" enough, because I was fairly sure that they wouldn't go anywhere with the front bumper off. (I think the license plate was on it, IRL, actually, and since you have to have both in Alaska, they couldn't have without risking getting pulled over. So my brain-logic was sound in the dream, though I do remember meta-wondering why I thought that was disabling the vehicle. Now I know.) I tossed the strip of metal in the back. This was, after all, my father's vehicle, and I didn't want to actually harm it (plus, I don't know enough about engines to be able to pull parts out and disable it, though I suppose if I was to be doing that, just annoyingly making things nonfunctional, I could have pulled all the fuses out of the fuse box.)

Saw that Tay-tay's horse was pastured in the Scott Wheat Memorial Soccer Fields. The horse hadn't been ridden much, and looked like a plump grey cat.

There was also weirdness with anime releases and walking on water.

If that's so, then I may as well have a pair of 300 watt bulbs as a bosom. Arizona is hot. The Lunatic is well-hydrated. This fall season is unaccountably damp by Arizona summer standards.

Things that there should be in Arizona: commercially-made bras that are lined with terrycloth. Things I have not found in Arizona: the identical item.

I am making do with washcloths lining my cups, and I find it much more comfortable than the alternative. It is somewhat warmer, and somewhat bulkier, than wearing the bra without lining, but it pays off massively in comfort, stain-free shirts, and a huge reduction in the chafing from damp synthetics.