Is Neil Gaiman good in bed?

It was an okay weekend. Friday night didn't start out so great, with a struggle to pay rent. That was the first time I ever feared having money in the bank that I couldn't access, and Brian with a check he couldn't cash. It all ended up working out, but not without panic setting in.

I slept in and missed tai chi on Saturday morning. Well, I probably could've made it, but I was still a bit stressed out.

But after that, my weekend took back it's normal vibe, with grocery shopping, a bit of sewing, not as much cleaning as I should've done, and lots of time with Brian. We're still playing Titan. The last game lasted forever, but it's been nice to spend time together. I think the board game phase is still on. Brian's got a game stored in a baggie that we plan to play tonight, and then we'll start another game of Titan. I've also been getting the Monopoly itch, while I can tell that Brian's been eyeing Risk.

I did have a rather unusual but rather pleasant dream last night:

I was staying in a room at a house. On the outside, the house looked like my mom and stepdad's and resided in their neighborhood, but on the inside it was my grandma stroups house. I was staying in what was her sewing room, except there was no wall between it and the bedroom next to it, so it was one large room.

Across the hall, but millions of miles away, lived Neil Gaiman. I never saw him, because he lived millions of miles away, but I knew he lived there. (The sort of thing that can only happen in dreams.)

I went outside to do something with my car, and I was invited to participate in a ball game with a bunch of neighbors. They were all around college aged, and we were just passing a ball around, like preschoolers might. There was no objective, and it wasn't any sort of special ball. Some people tried to make the game more complicated, but most of us were happy keeping it simple.

Then we switched to some type of rough, nobby, flat frisbee. The same thing happened, most of us were happy just throwing it around, while others wanted to make up more rules. Several of the group were friends of Neil Gaiman, and he was hanging out, mostly just watching and conversing. He kept coming over to talk to me, and I had to keep talking myself down, saying he was just being polite and making the rounds.

Then most of the people had gone and it was getting dark, and he was still talking to me. I mentioned that I should be getting to bed, and he asked if I was going to stay up late sewing again. I was astonded that he had been paying attention to my goings on across the hall and even knew I existed before this night. I answered that yes, I probably was. He asked what my room was like, and I apologized for it being messy, and he answered that was fine. And then I realized that Neil Gaiman was flirting with me!

I went up to my room and cleaned up a little, with the expectation that he would be following soon after. I knew what he would want to do, and I liked the thought, but I was married. I decided I'd let him know I was married and try to dissuade him, but if he wanted to go on, I couldn't say no.

So, do I find Neil Gaiman hot? I respect him as a writer, and I read his blog regularly. He sounds like the kind of person I'd love to just hang out and chat with. He's living the dream that many of us gave up in high school; he is the essence of cool. But is he hot? Hm... yeah, I'd certainly call him attractive. And he's got a lovely voice. If that dream played out for real, I probably wouldn't be able to say no. But, that's not what I think of when I think of him.

I don't normally analyze my own dreams, but I think I've got part of this one nailed down. Right here is my upstairs room on the internet. It's a little messy, a little creative (sewing room), and a lot my personal space. It's not that much different from Neil Gaiman's, except that his is better written, updated more often, has more readers, and is just more interesting in general.

And heck, obviously I'm a bit influenced by him, I've got two of his characters at the top of my page.