Quick Thoughts

1. Last week I dreamt that I was sitting with Dean Kamen on his private island and we were discussing (read kind of arguing) about the Segway, which we were referring to as Ginger, which any nerd will understand. Anyway and finally I bellowed, “Dude [yes I totally called Dean Kamen ‘dude’] Ginger will never revolutionize human transport until it is light enough for me to lift!”

2. Yesterday I had a dream inspired by a cat macro. This is because I am nuts. This is the macro via cuteoverload.com:

This is the dream:
I was on the run from someone and I was with some kid and Addy [hi Addy!] and we needed a house so I used my mammoth amounts of spare cash to purchase a giant brownstone in some decrepit neighborhood. And I bought it because it had a solarium, and in same said solarium was a fat gray cat.

3. I am a bridesmaid in my friend Bonnie’s wedding and the rehearsal dinner was last night, and I noticed that the mother of the bride was sitting on her own. So, for once a tiny kernel of pity welled up in my heart and I went over and said “So are you excited?” and she said, “No.”

Now the twist in the story is that I didn’t give her the back of my hand.

Because I'm an idiot, that's why.

What made me think that it was a good idea to chase Resident Evil: Extinction with a couple episodes of Dexter before bed?

Because sleep is for losers.

All the cool kids like to sit bolt up right covered in sweat every half hour through the entire night.

I could watch every sexy show known to man before bed and I will still dream of ham sandwiches or staplers. But watch zombies and serial killers and I will actually dream about zombies and serial killers. There is no justice.

And on the issue of stuff I'm watching:
Dexter:Super Awesome. Nifty TV show about a scarily endearing sociopathic vigilante serial killer. 5 monkeys for being unique and thought provoking.


Heroes: Started slow but stick with it. It's like crack now. Delicious crack. 5 monkeys.

Resident Evil 3: Actually pretty decent. Especially if you're into naked chicks. Which I'm not, but I'm just saying that if you are, you will probably like it. There was actually a really scary thing in there that I wish I could spoil, (since nobody else will see the movie) but I won't.
1.5 monkeys for being a nice example of its genres. Plus .5 monkey for having that cute Israeli dude back from Apocalypse and an additional bonus monkey for introducing the most terrifying conceivable zombie ever. Grand total 3 monkeys.

In which Superman is kind of a dick.

Early in the week I had a crazy vivid dream.

It was the late 50’s, and I was on a farm in pedal pushers and a pony tail. I wanted to go to the big city, so I hitched a ride in the back of an old orange Ford pickup.

When I got to the city I went into this business/housing complex that was black and shiny and modern, but modern in the way that people in the 50’s expected the future to look. And as I was walking around men with clear, bubble-like helmets came and hijacked the building complex. The whole thing rose up from the earth bringing an inversed pyramid of dirt and broken pipes into the air with it. A clear bubble emerged over the complex and we were in space.

Luckily for me, as I was plotting my escape, a profoundly slovenly Cat Woman came skipping down the darkened hall. She was in black flat keds with scuffs, faded yoga pants, a ribbed black turtleneck covered by an off the shoulder Flashdance style sweater with yarn that was not evenly spun. Upon her head was a mask with crooked ears. She carried a long whip and together we somehow escaped back to Earth.

I ended up back on the farm. Large clear crystals were growing out of the ground quickly and violently. Clark Kent came over and ordered me to build his Fortress of Solitude. I picked up the heavy crystals and tried to build the fortress, but the crystals wouldn’t stick. They were like magnets aligned to the same poles. Superman, still dressed as Clark Kent: 50’s farm guy, came over and stuck two crystals together and looked at me like I was a complete moron, “See? Like this.”

“But they won’t stick for me…”

“That is because you aren’t doing it right.”

Then he walked away in disgust to the sound of my alarm.

Thought of the Day: Useless and Dirty Version

1. Recently coined euphemism for anal sex:
“The road less travelled.”
And by recently coined, I mean Steve and I came up with this in order to sound genteel when we mock people.

2. Have you guys heard about the teaching student who was kicked out of school right before graduation because of her Myspace page content? Here's an article about this.
This is precisely why I have rules about pictures. I don't allow pictures to be taken of myself under the following circumstances:
1. Eating- not good to be photographed eating, fatty.
2. Drinking identifiable alcohol- not good to look like a drunk.
3. Makin' whoopie- that should be filed under "duh."
My Myspace page is as innocent as a baby panda. Just like me, or so my great grandchildren will think when they don't find pictures of me double fisting a ho-ho and a beer whilst exploring the road less travelled.

3. I am a bad person.
There is this woman at work who just drives me nuts. She is a classic busy-body: nosy, bossy, not terribly brilliant, not good at her extremely simple job, and deeply desirous of praise. But she is a very very nice person- much nice than other people I could name- ex: me.
And lately she has been inviting herself to lunch at our table. Which would be fine except the whole time she is there she dominates the conversation. And she always tells us things that are not accurate. She shows up when we are all almost done and plops down. I wouldn't even care if
it wasn't that from the second she shows up I am on edge, just waiting for her to do something ridiculous and drive me crazy. I know this is mostly a me problem, but honestly, who goes to someone's cube and invites themselves in? I would sit alone forever rather than go anywhere uninvited. And I would certainly never show up late and just shove my chair in.

4. So, Friday night I had a very disturbing dream. I won’t go into too much detail; but I was at a resort in Las Vegas for some form of nuptials (mine or someone else’s). Whilst traipsing about I met a (in)famous person and had a torrid affair with him. (I should note that I never have sex dreams, so in spite of the torridness of the affair, I was spared any gross details. Thank sweet zombie Jesus.)
This person was depressed and self-destructive, and well they should be. I won’t say who it was, and never in a BILLION years will you correctly guess. It was hands down the most seriously upsetting thing that I have ever dreamt.
What is up with me lately? First the pregnancy peeing dream and now this; God, I hope that I have brain cancer or something. The possibility of my normal healthy brain thinking up anything this awful simply will not do.

I wasn't going to blog this...

but now I realize that I have blogged numerous more embarrassing things.

The night before last I dreamt I was pregnant. Not huge but well on my way. (Note to people who don't know me: I don't plan on having babies. Like an SUV, I like them but I don't want one.) And I was trying to hide this pregnancy from my family. (Note: my family who would be thrilled if I would get knocked up. THRILLED.) My strategy: yoga pants. Dream Quiana is not only fat, but also not terribly bright.
I was attending law school, in yoga pants, whilst pregnant. Now Kim, you will be glad to know that you too were in law school and you were assisting me in some manner in hiding my bulging belly and looking for a bathroom in what was a library, but turned into a party in a sort of split level house. A house with a ladder to the rumpus room. After climbing down said ladder all we could find was a mammoth bathroom which seemingly had no stalls, but rather pots all along the walls. However, due to my mercilessly squished bladder, I was forced to wobble unsteadily down and pee in front of younger drunken student types.

Now, I tell this to my lunch club at work (the people I don't hate) and they tell me that when you dream you are pregnant it means that you are searching for a creative outlet. Said I, "I think that it meant that I really needed to take a piss." I am a class act.

Later that night I get a phone call from my collegiate best friend Megan who, as it turns out, also dreamt about being pregnant; something that her boyfriend was not too thrilled about. I would love to search for greater meaning, but unless we are having some kind of psychic Bryn Mawr moment, I don't get it.

Is this like some cheap romantic comedy where a stern business lady suddenly hears the tick-tock of her biological clock and finds seemingly unsuitable love? BLECH!

Do not wake me

I am in the midst of a lovely dream.
Imagine me in my Seattle uniform (sneaks, jeans, zip front micro-fleece) on a bike with a basket and a bell (ding!) riding to and from work. Or the farmer's market, my basket brimming with fresh vegis and a baguette.
I call this my Ballardian fantasy.
If you would have told me in college that I would be working my ass off to get a job in the non-profit sector, in Ballard, so I could ride my bike to the independent grocery store to buy granola, I would kick your hippie ass. Then I'd pound a G&T.

In dream related news, last night I dreamt that myself and my nonexistent siblings were kidnapped. And the bad people made me eat at a buffet- which is not OK. And then I hit my kidnappers with a frying pan to escape. Let this be a lesson for those who might intend to make me eat at a buffet.

In buffet related news, last night I was asked to be a bridesmaid for the 6th time. I have a been a groomswoman once as well. I think the important thing to remember is that I hate weddings and I hate you.

Midnight Movies

Last night I dreamt that Steve and I registered ourselves as high school students in order to write a high school expose. How Steve could pass for a high school kid with his beardy face, I do not know. We had the first day and Steve signed up for baseball (which should have tipped me off that it was a dream). Later Steve and I played basketball, and then rode a bus somewhere with a girl with purple eyes-shadow that knew what we were up to. We met with the principal, and went back down to the basketball court. As I was walking to my car, some high school kid invited me home to hang out and he had a tortoise eating fruit right off the carpet. From the outside his house was a fancy town-home, and inside it looked like the trailer we lived in when I was young. I spilled a gallon of milk and apologized to his mother. And we sat in the back of his truck while he told me the story of the town. It was so bright and sunny. Fake, yet amazingly real.

I also dreamt the night before. I dreamt that there was some kind of disaster and people were spread thin. My uncle, aunt, and cousins were with me. My younger cousin found some way to visit some other group of people somewhere distant. He said it was fascinating, so the next time I went instead. It was a group of people living in a mountain lodge. We were in the chapel and suddenly the rear wall opened up with blinding hot light and they scattered. I hid under the pew. They found me and a man who walked out of the light grabbed my arm and said “She’ll do.” The girl who befriended my cousin yelled “No.” I told her it was ok, and walked into the light with them. And can’t remember much after that, except that I was on the run with a huge golden retriever, the size of a Newfoundland; unfortunately I didn’t know where I was or how to get home. We were sleeping in drainage ditches, looking for some direction, until I got cold and snuck into an elderly man’s house. And he found us and was calling the police as we ran out into the storm. And then I woke up.

I wonder what is up with these crazy dreams lately. Dreams that I can remember so well are unusual for me.

Demonic Weasel Assault and Takin it to the Street: this is all Your Fault, Stromboli.

Chef's assistant Sean and I were making stromboli last night when I burned myself, like a complete moron. I wasted the rest of the evening lounging about watching Mystery! (emphatically) and the finale of American Idol. I have seen the finale and only the finale of every season of American Idol and every viewing reinforces me with the belief that they pick people who blow. I would bet good money (or cupcakes, whatev) that every one of the back-up singers on that show has ten times the technical skill and natural talent than Taylor Hicks. Does he not know that Michael McDonald is not dead yet? Sorry, all full of Michael McDonalds at the mo, maybe try back in ten years, maybe grow a beard, change your name to Michael. And maybe also McDonald. Maybe nobody would notice the difference, we could just slip you in like the replacement for a dead pet on a sitcom.

Anyway, all night my hand was hurting like the dickens and just generally upsetting me. I watched a fair amount of Battlestar Galactica, I mean er... Masterpiece Theater with a bag of frozen corn on my hand before I could fall asleep. Finally, as I lay in bed, blissfully slumbering I dreamt that Sean and I were out hiking in a lush forrest and came upon a beautiful giant otter. He was floating on his back in a deep pond and gesturing to us, like Mr. Beaver in Narnia. We came closer to the edge of the water and he paddled to us, his lunch on his long, glossy, flat belly. He leaned forward and as I watched the shell slide off his belly and down through the clear cold water, he grabbed my outstretched hand and bit it. Little bastard.

This morning I came in and all the office ladies were horrified. So now I am safely swaddled in neosporin and gauze. Unfortunately, now that I look like an extra from the curse of the mummy everyone keeps asking what happened. And then I have to tell everyone that I'm a total idiot.