MAN-YOU-MENTALE.
Sheesh, I'm away from reception for five minutes, and I come back to find Larreh's overtaken my job! Signing in visitors and doing teh late slips. Such a multitasker.
Bad news on the computer front, still. My iTunes library has completely disappeared too. And all Microsoft seem to offer is, 'Have you checked your Recycle Bin?' No shit, Hercule! First place I looked.
All my music, six years worth of a novel, my entire fandom collection and potential stalker material? I medically need these files back.
In better news, another resurgance of our old friend at teh weekend - the celebrity dream!
I was worried that, since meeting Chris B and not seeming to dream about him anymore, the same was going to happen with Robert, but no. Evidently the dream me wants more stagesecks. Friday night saw me in some part of London with Adam buying tickets at quarter to midnight for randomage.
And then Saturday night mysticheaven and myself were watching Robert once again. Except - BACK ROWING and NO NICK! Disgrace. There was some kind of interval, and for whatever reason I was speaking in some loud obnoxious New York accent. Me being me, I was still talking when everyone else stopped so Robert got to hear me bellow "MONU-MEN'AL!". This kind of thing happens all the time.
And he asked me to repeat it. Monumental, lol. Of course, of all the random words my subconscious chooses for this dream, it went with one with 'mental' in it. Apt.
"...Monyer-mentul?" I repeat comically in my own sheepish horrible Northern tones. And for no reason at all, Robert puts his monologue (some strange play, this) on hold whilst I rattle out a few words from his script in my Fake American Voice ("Chee-ree?" I know where that one came from. I had one of those Speaking toy computer things that were all the rage in the 80s and said Cherry and Fox - or 'Fax' - in the funniest American Robot voice possible).
Later, Emma and I were waiting for a taxi (since when?) outside when it slowly dawned on us we should have gone to the bar like last time. I go in anyway only to find the bar's empty save for a couple of people. Throwing up, yah. But far less icky is the fact that Robert is stood waiting alone in the foyer, dressed in a black suit and a red shirt (OMG, see I can remember what he's wearing in this dream and NOT IN REAL LIFE WHEN HE'S STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. Sheesh, memory.) And he's holding a GIANT TUBA, WTF.
Terribly politely, I'm all, "Gosh, sorry for stealing the limelight before..."
He shrugs it off, but you tell he's being a bit of a mardy bastard with me. Subconscious, you've got him so wrong surely. I mean, it was bad enough that Alan Rickman's always been like this with me, but you've *met* Robert, dammit. And he's the loveliest person ever. Update your facts already. He hasn't even mentioned socks here. UNLESS - Ah, I see what you've done. This must be Bobbeh2, our antisocial rebel version. *uses rebel Bobbeh2 icon accordingly* Because, OMG, he's chewing gum in an obnoxious way. He said something about cigarettes, he's probably on the Nicorette or something ("It's hard to talk with a cigarette in your mouth" Well, TAKE IT OUT THEN). This being Bobbeh2, I don't know whether the real Robert still smokes but at least he doesn't pop gum when you're trying to talk to him.
I witter a little bit more before deciding he's not exactly being talkative and go to fetch Ehma in anyway. But not before asking him about the tuba.
Oh look, I've woken up before an answer. I think it was his daughter's. WHICH ONE OF MANY, I don't know.
Bad news on the computer front, still. My iTunes library has completely disappeared too. And all Microsoft seem to offer is, 'Have you checked your Recycle Bin?' No shit, Hercule! First place I looked.
All my music, six years worth of a novel, my entire fandom collection and potential stalker material? I medically need these files back.
In better news, another resurgance of our old friend at teh weekend - the celebrity dream!
I was worried that, since meeting Chris B and not seeming to dream about him anymore, the same was going to happen with Robert, but no. Evidently the dream me wants more stagesecks. Friday night saw me in some part of London with Adam buying tickets at quarter to midnight for randomage.
And then Saturday night mysticheaven and myself were watching Robert once again. Except - BACK ROWING and NO NICK! Disgrace. There was some kind of interval, and for whatever reason I was speaking in some loud obnoxious New York accent. Me being me, I was still talking when everyone else stopped so Robert got to hear me bellow "MONU-MEN'AL!". This kind of thing happens all the time.
And he asked me to repeat it. Monumental, lol. Of course, of all the random words my subconscious chooses for this dream, it went with one with 'mental' in it. Apt.
"...Monyer-mentul?" I repeat comically in my own sheepish horrible Northern tones. And for no reason at all, Robert puts his monologue (some strange play, this) on hold whilst I rattle out a few words from his script in my Fake American Voice ("Chee-ree?" I know where that one came from. I had one of those Speaking toy computer things that were all the rage in the 80s and said Cherry and Fox - or 'Fax' - in the funniest American Robot voice possible).
Later, Emma and I were waiting for a taxi (since when?) outside when it slowly dawned on us we should have gone to the bar like last time. I go in anyway only to find the bar's empty save for a couple of people. Throwing up, yah. But far less icky is the fact that Robert is stood waiting alone in the foyer, dressed in a black suit and a red shirt (OMG, see I can remember what he's wearing in this dream and NOT IN REAL LIFE WHEN HE'S STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. Sheesh, memory.) And he's holding a GIANT TUBA, WTF.
Terribly politely, I'm all, "Gosh, sorry for stealing the limelight before..."
He shrugs it off, but you tell he's being a bit of a mardy bastard with me. Subconscious, you've got him so wrong surely. I mean, it was bad enough that Alan Rickman's always been like this with me, but you've *met* Robert, dammit. And he's the loveliest person ever. Update your facts already. He hasn't even mentioned socks here. UNLESS - Ah, I see what you've done. This must be Bobbeh2, our antisocial rebel version. *uses rebel Bobbeh2 icon accordingly* Because, OMG, he's chewing gum in an obnoxious way. He said something about cigarettes, he's probably on the Nicorette or something ("It's hard to talk with a cigarette in your mouth" Well, TAKE IT OUT THEN). This being Bobbeh2, I don't know whether the real Robert still smokes but at least he doesn't pop gum when you're trying to talk to him.
I witter a little bit more before deciding he's not exactly being talkative and go to fetch Ehma in anyway. But not before asking him about the tuba.
Oh look, I've woken up before an answer. I think it was his daughter's. WHICH ONE OF MANY, I don't know.