A Dahl's House

Yesterday, we dreamt that we paid a visit to Arlene Dahl's charming apartment, circa 1976, in the company of gossip columnist Shirley Eder. In the dream, we are waiting in the apartment (which we dream to be done all in white and Chinese yellow, to best set off Dahl's flaming red tresses) for Arlene to come home; when Arlene finally makes her entrance, Shirley is on the phone, "acting on a tip," so Arlene lavishes her attention on us. We and Arlene mutually exclaim over how gorgeous the other looks, and then giggle as we both admit that everyone always tells us the same thing. "Well, darling," we tell Arlene, "we have three things in common: good genes, good taste, and upkeep." Arlene nods sagely.

Something We Dreamed Last Night

Waiting on the dock with Lucille Ball, boarding the Queen Mary with Eleanor Parker, escorting Joan Crawford to the ladies' lounge, enjoying a glass of absinthe in the bar, and listening to an older gentleman regale us with tales of seeing Nazimova perform as Salome. Really, just business as usual...

We Had the Craziest Dream

It started off, innocently enough (and, frankly, as many of our dreams do), with Miss Arlene Francis...


...who is chatting with Miss Dorothy Kilgallen in the CBS commissary...


...when they spy, sitting a few tables away, Jeanne Crain...


...who is lunching with Eva Bartok...


...except that Jeanne and Eva are dressed as pioneer women. They're whisked away from the commissary by wagon train, through the wildnerness, where they encounter Daniel Boone...


...who, in our dream, is portrayed not by Fess Parker, but Matthew McConnaughey.


Suddenly, we are wandering through the historical home of Daniel Boone, including a room where, a plaque tells us, he consummated an affair with Dorothy Dandridge.


Struck by nature's call, we search the museum for a public restroom, finally finding one and then realizing that we are barefoot! Of course, we don't want to pull a Britney Spears...


...so we leave. In the courtyard of the museum, we realize we left our pink cosmetic case (which we don't actually own in real life!)...


...and our Louis Vuitton Baikal bag (which we do) sitting on a bench.


Frantically, we search them to make sure nothing's missing, and discover a litany of missed calls on our iPhone...


...from our boss, wondering where the hell we are, and why we are late for work.

We blame it all on Arlene Francis, who started the whole bizarre mess.

Speaking of Celebrity Dreams...

...last night, I had a dream about American Ballet Theatre's resident sex god, Jose Manuel Carreno.

My dream also involved, at various times, a poached egg, sandstorms, a banquet hall, a mangled Porsche convertible a la James Dean, my father, laboratory beakers, and a really nasty Dina Lohan lookalike.

Fortunately, such is the beauty and splendor that is Jose Manuel Carreno, he overrides such horrors and I still look back at my dream with fondness.