Any more room on that trampoline for me, Obama?

Well, that can I say. I have the weirdest dreams sometimes. The other night, I dreamt I was pregnant. And I'm 15! Dream-Me needs a stern talking to. Anyways, the real weird dream occurred last night. It went something like this.

It started at a water park. It was nighttime and the place was packed, which doesn't make sense but whatever. We toured around for a little bit and came to this really big mountain thing with stone stairs winding up it. Not quite at the top, there was this lookout sort of thing and someone said "No person has ever been up there, ever." And I thought "Well, that's a big fat lie because the people who built it were up there at some point."

So my mom, her boyfriend, my brother and I sort of dispersed. I was left looking at this mountain thing and I go "I'm gonna go to the spot no one's been to before!" I go inside because the mountain sort of has a building built into the bottom of it and the inside of the building is all ornate and fancy-like. I go to the desk right by the door and I'm all to the french guy behind the desk: "Hey, how do you get to the spot that no ones been to before?" And he's like "Oh-ho, just go into zat elevator, mon amie!" and turns out, there's an elevator right in front of me. "Gracias!" I say and I press the elevator button. The doors open and I step in only to jump back out because there's a tsunami going on in there and the french receptionist is all "Heheheheheheh. Ohhh." I conclude that Mr. French Receptionist is no help. 

Then, to make this mountain even more spectacular, turns out there's a hospital at the top. I start to wonder if this water park is more dangerous than I originally thought, but move on anyways. Somehow, I end up laying on this sort of mountain ledge that was pushed up against the side of the building. I'd sent some guy to go check out the spot that nobodys been to before for me. Because I'm lazy. I stayed there, in my jeans and swimsuit top, waiting for him to get back for a while but then gave up and crawled into a window. The room I'd crawled into had a bed and all that medical hooplah but wasn't occupied so I went to sleep, of course.

When I woke up in the morning, I was wearing hospital clothes for some reason. Nurses and such were walking by the room constantly but either no one noticed that I wasn't a patient or they didn't care. Suddenly, there was some guy there and he was packing a suitcase and he had blue shoes. So, I packed my own stuff even though I originally had no stuff but hey, Dream-Me doesn't care. Dream-Me is irrational and illogical. So, I packed up and there my brother is, at the window and he's smiling and he says "Time to go!" Like it was totally normal that I snuck into the water parks hospital and spent the night.

So, I climb out the window with him and we meet our mom and her boyfriend and we go home. Everything seems perfectly normal. I go to my room and there's a kitten in a box on my bed, but Dream-Me goes to my rational brain: "It's alright, you've always had this kitten in a box." And then she feeds it.

My friend turns up and she's in my room too. I decide to open the window. What do I find? It's sure not what you're thinking. Oh, wait. What? Really? That's weird. But anyways, yes, Obama was jumping on a trampoline in my backyard. Not that we actually have a trampoline or a backyard big enough to fit one. And I know this may be surprising, but Obama doesn't just drop by our house every now and then to jump on the trampoline we don't have. I know, crazy.

But wait, there's more. After expressing my surprise to my unimpressed friend, I started unpacking only to find one of the blue shoes that belonged to that guy in my hospital room. Speak of the devil! That guy is now in my bedroom. So I return his shoe, explaining that it must have fallen into my bag while I was packing or whatever. Blue Shoes leaves.

And that, my friends, was basically how I spent last night. You know you wish your dreams were as magical and entertaining as mine.

Don't deny it. *Accusing stare*   

Creepers be Creepin'

Over the years, I've learned that being a girl can be quite an issue. I'm not talking about heels, periods, childbirth and hair straighteners. I'm talking about the large population of creepy people out there. Creepy guys, to be exact. Maybe even creepy old guys. And these creepy guys tend to gravitate to me.

Being only about 5'1 and skinny as a noodle, I can understand that I might be viewed as an easy target. But what the creepers don't know is that I'm not entirely an idiot. Nor am I a particularly slow runner.
Many a-time, I've had to encounter said creepers. Here are a few instances.
I'd have to say that the least creepy/serious experience was simply when I was walking down the sidewalk and a shabby red car pulls up across the street. Some Mexican guy I didn't know popped out the window asking me if I needed a ride home. I said no thanks and quickened my pace. The end.

The next story took place in my own neighborhood. My brother and I were walking down the street, coming home from the neighborhood pool. All of a sudden, I heard a car behind us and ignored it. The sound of the car followed us down the street but failed to pass. Finally, I turned around to see. it was a big green and white RV. Creepy enough on its own, right? Well, the guy behind the wheel maxed out the creep factor by hunching over the wheel, wide-eyed and staring right at us, showing no shame when he was caught. I got the attention of my brother and quickly suggested we make a run for it as we came to the corner. We did just that. Creeper RV sped down the street the opposite way. Realizing he wasn't coming after us just today, we slowed. He was still in view down the street and he slowed too. So we ran again. He followed suit and made a break for the neighborhood exit. Creeper...

Creeper award of the year goes to That Guy In The Furniture Store. When I was about 8 maybe, my mom, brother and I were at some furniture store because my mom was buying a dresser. While she was over at the desk, my brother and I decided to explore. We were jumping on beds or something when this guy came over to us, pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. He started chatting with us and, being 8 and 6 years old, me and my brother didn't know any better than to talk with the man. Then the man says "Y'know... I'm Justin Timberlakes manager."

We had no idea who he was talking about. So he started singing "I'm bringing sexy back. You motherfuckers don't know how to act." Aside from the fact that the man had just said the "F-word," my brother and I weren't very impressed until he started telling us that we could have a ride in his limo and get backstage passes to meet the star at a concert etc etc. Oblivious to his creep, we told the supposed superstars manager that we'd have to ask our mom. We pointed her out and watched the man walk over to her and greet her by putting his arm around her. A few minutes later, my mom half-ran over to us, scooped us up and we drove away like there was no tomorrow. Later that day, we got a very late don't-talk-to-strangers speech.

I have more stories, a short one, even, about a cannibal. But this post is getting long enough. Anyways, all of this just goes to show that I am a complete creeper magnet.

Purple chicken

You ever had one of those unexplainable spurts of inspiration telling you that you should do something really, really stupid even though you know it’ll turn out badly? Your rational brain may tell you “No! Don’t jump off the roof and plan to land in the pool! It won’t work out that way!” but somehow, you have to anyways. My mom had one of these days last year and it didn’t go too well.



(Yes, my mom and I are about the same height - A whole 5'1")



)It started when my mom found that we had nothing to marinade a pack of chicken in. This little dilemma at hand, she decided she was Betty Crocker and left the chicken to marinade in… raspberry vinaigrette. Y’know, salad stuff. Later that day rolled around and my mom, feeling rather proud of herself and her fruity, meaty creation, put the chicken in a skillet to cook. We waited in the kitchen for a while, letting it do its thing. A few minutes later, we took the lid off the pan to find that the chicken had turned a bright, vibrant purple color. My mom and I stood for a moment, contemplating before both bursting into laughter so forceful that hardly any sound was coming out. This went on for about 10 minutes straight.

Hearing our heaving and air-deprived choking noises, my brother came into the kitchen, saw us quite literally rolling around on the tile with faces as purple as our supposed dinner and went to investigate for himself. Being him, he chuckled and went on with his life.  It was maybe a half hour later that me and my master chef mom were able to compose ourselves enough to dump out the ridiculous purple chicken.

We certainly weren’t about to eat it. Who knows, maybe it would have been good. Then again… Maybe not.

Dolls = Bad.

I think my subconscious has some serious issues. I was going through some old texts that I'd sent to my best friend and found some from August of 2010. This is basically what it said.

"Dude, last night, I had a nightmare that a giant talking doll was chasing us through a city shooting laser beams from its eyes and laser beaming everyone.

It chased us into a grocery store. I went and picked up a can of peaches and was all "Yum, peaches." but then it tore off the roof and started laser beaming people so we went and hid under a rack of red pants.

The doll came into the store and was all "Is this maroon or peppermint?" and I was all "Maroon... Wait, shit." so it found us but instead of killing us with its lasers, it said thanks, took the pants and left. The whole time, police were trying to herd people to safety but we didn't want to be herded so we snuck away like ninjas. It was like the frickin' apocalypse. Doll style."

This random and fucked up dream was brought to you by my intense and irrational fear of porcelain dolls.