Lemon Meringue.

Hah, that was a bad joke, eh? It was one of her favorite songs, with a full stop. She didn't really care for meringue or lemons or the fact that she could clearly remember the album art when it came out and got really turned off by the fact that the woman on the front had huge French tips on her nails. It kept her away from the whole offering for something like five years, it was a long time. Still, still. It was her favorite now, and now was more important than then.
And just then it was important to the rest of the ambiance of the evening. The evening involving dim lights, half a pint of Ben and Jerry's and more bubbles than anyone would know what to do with (and an open door, just in case the cat wanted to wander in and check to see if there were any ice cream dregs for him ..or, more likely, that she'd drown).
The small speaker poured the music out from the sink counter top in her bathroom, and sure enough, eventually there was a little fluffy head nuzzling in against Dor's hand as she half sang-hummed along. "Hey, you," the water sloshed as she'd come over closer to the edge of the bath, leaning her arm down, half covered in suds and water drops, "you making sure I'm still around to feed you in the morning," she grinned as Joe tried to lick away some of the water from her fingers, his nose and got all around flustered and disgusted with the idea that she couldn't just not go into the big watery thing. -- common occurrence. The ice cream hadn't softened up at all, but she tried to wedge a sliverish kind of spoonful out, licking the end herself, she slipped the rest of it into the carton lid, which seemed to appease the cat.
"Because this is how every Saturday night should be, huh" her question going largely unanswered for the fact that he was busying himself with the ice cream. She pulled herself back into the hot water and sank into the bubbles, blowing a few off of the mountain by her shoulder -- There's got to be a way to make it sweeter, a little more like...

hey pretty.

Dor's dreams were always vivid, was the thing. She didn't dream in regular color, it was always brighter, something like out of the first technicolor musicals, where they used the colors because nobody'd seen them before, not that loud, not that bright and big before. And everyone knew the words to all the songs (because of course, there were songs - what did you take her subconscious for).
These last sets of dreams, that's exactly what they felt like. Sets for a greater story, which was kind of neat, actually. Even though it wasn't anything she'd ever tell anyone out loud. Hey, do you guys ever dream in like, episodes? I dream in episodes, sometimes. That would probably lead to a very quick trip to see somebody with lots of certificates on the wall and while it was an interesting profession and all, there wasn't anything pointedly wrong with her. Just, sometimes she was a little episodic in her dream time. But it made sense, as she'd rationalized it out one day over her break - it was more daring than her day to day. Not that her day to day wasn't hectic in it's own, brilliant, bustling right - it was, but it was just, maybe it felt just a little more.
TAnd maybe this night's dreamlessness was due to the fact that she'd had such a rough morning, ate ice cream before she started to feel drowsy, maybe she didn't watch the right thing to fall asleep to. It could have been any of those things, really. -- not that the colors were different, not really. But it felt like it was just out of reach, all the words and other people, the actions felt like a soft, irritating tickle that traveled from the base of her brain, down her spine and into her fingertips. Dor wanted to grab for the feeling and hold it down until it started to unfold and sing in her dreams, like it always had. But this time, this time it just stayed two arms lengths away. It didn't help, it didn't call out to her. It didn't want any of those things, this was not hers, not tonight.

hello, hello.
Just about every morning was an early morning for her - and now that the weekend was well and truly over, it was fine. Where she understood everybody's problem with Mondays, for the most part, going back to the early 60's, she'd guessed, where people started to schlep their dread and hate and cold with them through the rest of the week. But truthfully, she didn't mind Mondays (although she did find herself humming the contradictory titled song by the Boomtown Rats every so often). This Monday though, this one was colder than she'd liked it. Bundled all up in her left over dreams, a heavy scarf and fleece leggings under her slacks. There were people to talk to, face time needed in three different kind of conference calls, somebody had to get down to pick up a new suit (she was the somebody) but then.
"The heck is this," not generally being someone who knocked at or hit anything like a phone or a tv or ..there was that one time she smacked her Nintendo system, but that was when she was 14, and this was not one of those instances. -- her phone, dying in mid conversation about two blocks away from where she needed to be. The stupid thing flashed and death rattled, it had three hiccups in it before the whole thing went black. And by the looks of everyone else around her, it wasn't a just her type situation. Various curses from all corners of the street for five or so minutes and maybe a few inwardly irritated remarks (she just had to get a new phone after Halloween, why was this happening - of course, it could be worse, there could be rabid lizards or something. Can Lizards even go rabid???) she'd resolved that she was going to have to teach everyone to use 9 to dial out after she got back into the office.
And when she did, it was a very, very long day with a lot of angry and confused people coupled with interns making end of the world jokes. Because that was ever useful or helpful, or that it was something to be taken so lightly all things considered. The problem was that she liked those guys. But sheesh, too soon. Eventually after trying to MacGyver a few things herself, things were running - not smoothly, but they were running.
The evening was set about trying to call several people over touch tone phones and maybe quietly wishing that there were at least one or two payphones she knew about - not that she still kept the right change in her wallet or in her shoe, but maybe? Who knew, really. Stranger things were obviously happening. At the end of the trek home, Dor found herself carrying in half a pizza and a bottle of Cherry Coke, kicking her boots off and nearly slipping and falling on her backside as the door slid shut -- her cat perched on the back of the couch just watching.
"Joe, this is not the time to judge me," he always felt like he needed to put his two cents in. Dorean moved around on the hard floor in her socked feet, gently putting the pizza on the coffee table to untangle herself from her jacket, her bag, her glasses and her hair. She slumped hard into the sofa cushions, curling her legs up into the seat she looked over at the cat, who was looking at her just as expectantly. With a heavy sigh, she'd reached over, grabbing a slice of the pizza from the box and tore off a small, small nibble of the still warm and gooey cheese to put in front of the cat, "I know pizza isn't a one person food - and you don't count, but I'm not sure I'm good for company right now - " the cat licking and snuffling at the cheese, following it down off the back of the sofa onto the seats of the couch where it almost got stuck to a claw, "everybody's going around either scary or Snake Plissken," she swallowed a bite herself a the cat had finally finished playing with half of it and started to chew and gnaw, "or Bruce Willis - but he's more, I don't know, of the action uncles that I have to pick through, I think I'd rather get Bruce Willis - if only because ... well he just seems like he'd take jokes better," huffing softly and not trying to accidentally get the cat as she'd made her way to the back room to find her pajamas, "but Max is totally riding out some weird Escape from LA thing right now - little weird," her walking back out paused as she was buttoning up her pajamas, "not that we probably couldn't use that right about now, since y'know, Boston is the epicenter of the world ending, who knew." Finding herself back on the sofa, clicking the television on with a heavy sigh while debating crust first or not, of course the news was on. Of course there were people freaking out still about what had happened, you could see it in the eyes of the news casters, it wasn't hard. But ... "How about we try to sit through that really awful Sherlock New Years episode, huh," the cat was mostly uninterested. "I know, I know. But we started it, so we have to finish it."