I had the strangest dream. Ewan McGregor was driving me through the woods as I was giving him an interview for the Flagstaff paper (don't ask). It was fun, because we got lost and the only thing we had for music was this old box of tapes that had nothing good in it and instead of interviewing him like a good little journalist, I got him to admit which songs he knew. He even sang for me. Then we came across this cemetary (yeah, right in the middle of nowhere-go figure) and we got out and snuck into the caretakers house and raided his music collection. Which, surprisingly, was pretty kick ass.

Ewan was the perfect gentlemen, of course. Unfortunately.

I wish one of these days I could tell you I'd been ravished by one of the men I dream about.

My luck, I'll have a dream about Orson Wells or Jack Black or George Bush or something.

Ewww.. squick.

PS. Does it crack anyone else up that my current mood is 'bootylicious'?!

heheh.