No Taming This Shrew


Butterscotch Stallion

In case you don't know, this is what some of those celebrity blog sites like Defamer and Gawker call Owen Wilson. The Butterscotch Stallion. I bring it up because, well, I think it's a strangely compelling name, and also because I dreamt about him last night.

Neither my roommate nor I slept last night. This never happens. I'm wondering if the power lines were humming or something strange and X-Filesy was afoot. I was crashed out in bed at 10 pm after my students made me lose my will to live, but then at 12:30 I was up up up up! Up until 4 and then tossing around until 6. Like up and watching Family Guy on Adult Swim. Thank god for the Cartoon Network. It was the episode when the boys all take ipecac and bet who can go the longest without throwing up. ("Peter! Hold my ears!") I had to put a pillow over my mouth so I wouldn't wake the roomie with my cackling. Whoo that's good stuff.

But back to Owen. I've always had a thing for this actor, even though "his nose looks like a penis," in the sage words of my friend TM. I just think he's delicious. Anyway, I had a dream that we met at a bar in DC while I was waiting for a date, and we ended up hanging out rather a lot in Baltimore, my future residence. We had a blast. We drank the same kind of beer. He was much smarter than he looks, which is a plus, because he looks like he's dumber than a bucketful of hair (exhibit A: see this article in Slate about his work on the Wes Anderson films - I'm determined to make him something other than a mimbo). But throughout the dream, the phrase "butterscotch stallion" kept running through my brain. It's weird, but really hot at the same time.

But maybe that's the three hours of sleep talking. I'm off to put cucumbers on my eyes and maybe hit the gym before going to work. Pity my date tonight. He's in for some rough Megarita time, god love him.