What happened at work last night (in English).

I skipped my freaking religion class yesterday; I’ve missed it about ten times, no exaggeration (but Katie’s still missed it more, so it’s okay).  I swear, the entire class and the teacher all hate us, and I’m almost positive I am going to fail.

I thought I’d translate that last entry, and add a bit more detail.

I walked into work last Tuesday and there was a new guy, and I knew the moment I laid eyes on him that he was going to be bad news.  It was the way he was looking at me—staring, with this goofy, euphoric grin.  He approached me, introduced himself as Paul, and shook my hand for a really long time.  He might still be shaking my hand if I hadn’t pulled it away from him.  Just…right away he was creepy, and I predicted exactly what would happen—that he’d ask me out for a drink.

Sure enough, five minutes into the conversation, after a lot of pointless questions from him, he asks, “Do you drink?”  “No.”  “Do you want to get a drink with me sometime this weekend?”  “I have a boyfriend.  Sorry.”

So then it was all questions about my boyfriend, whom I met in high school, have been with for three and a half years, and occasionally travel with to Orlando or St. Augustine for the weekend, just for the heck of it.

Then it was all, “So, do you have any girlfriends that you could hook me up with?  Could you find me a girlfriend?” to which I gave the same response every time:  “I’ll see what I can do.”  Not a yes, not a no, just very vague.

And he kept coming up to me, putting his arm around my waist, but not long enough to say, “Get the hell off you CREEP”—just for a second here and there.

Naturally, I made sure everybody knew right away, and everybody had their say with him, including Dann, but not until after he had made a joke the next day about him putting me next to him in the hot tub, where he would serve and I would just sweat—meaning behind the line.  I wasn’t entirely certain that’s what he’d said, because he’s Filipino and has an accent, but Big Steve informed me later on that Paul had approached him and said, “Listen to what I said to Ginny” as though he thought Big Steve would find it funny (he didn’t; he told Paul he didn’t need to be joking around that way with someone half his age).

Anyway, after Dann spoke to him (and he assured Dann that it was merely a misunderstanding—right), he went up to the dishwashers and told them that he had been joking around with me, I’d gotten offended, and that he just wasn’t going to speak to me anymore if I was going to be like that.  Well…good.  Haha.  So we hardly speak at all, unless somebody else is involved in the conversation, or if it’s absolutely necessary.

And that’s about it for now; class and work, class and work, the usual.  Just thought I’d go and clarify what was going on for those of you who didn’t feel like reading that entire pirate entry there.

Speaking of pirates, you know why pirates say “ARR” so much?

It’s because their shipmates are always going around saying things like, “The cannons be ready, Captain!”

screenshot_116

Avast Ye!

Yarr, been a while since I updated, me hearties.  I’ve been up tae the usual:  Pillagin’ an’ plunderin’, drinkin’ me grog when I gets the chance, causin’ general mayhem o’ all sorts.

We be havin’ a newcomer at t’ workplace–arrr, an’ a scurvy lubber he be, at that.  I knowed he was trouble the moment I laid me eyes on him, an’ I was right, o’ course.  He had a creepy look in ‘is eyes, mateys, creepy.  ‘Twasn’t five minutes intae our conversation he asked me tae drink grog wit’ him over t’ weekend, yarr.  But the rest of me good sea dogs be havin’ me back, they be.  Cap’n Dann be havin’ a chat wit’ him abou’ consortin’ wit’ the workers–particularly the younger ones, yarr–an’ Bosun Big Steve, he be tellin’ him a thing or two abou’ heavin’ tae the younger lasses.  Black Bob o’ t’Kitchens be checkin’ in wit’ tae Cap’n if’n he be witnessin’ anythin’ strange, as is First Mate Jasper, yarr.  An’ Maggie, Maid o’ t’Mediterranean, she be tellin’ the scurvy cur all abou’ his ass, she be.

It be good tae have a loyal crew, it be.  Heave to an’ prepare tae be boarded, Scurvy Cur!  We be keelhaulin’ ye wit’in an inch o’ yer life, if’n yehs don’ watch yerself.  Ye be seein’ yer way tae Davy Jones’s Locker, so avast now, ye scurvy dog o’ t’ sea!

Playing With Lightsabers

Tonight at work, Jasper finally brought in his Force FX lightsaber that he got for half off.  (Now this is interesting—earlier, while writing in Word, I discovered that it automatically capitalizes the word “Mudblood”—but it doesn’t recognize the word “lightsaber”.  Weird.)  We turned out the lights and were playing with it (this sounds so dirty…*sigh*).  It was most awesome.  It was Anakin’s lightsaber, so it was blue and so pretty.  I was describing to Cortney how it lights up gradually, like it’s actually igniting, and she said, “That’d be really cool if it had sound effects, too.”  And I pointed out that it does.

“It makes a sound when you swing it,” I said.   “Well—no, it’s always humming, but when you swing it around, it purrs.” I just liked that line and found it funny after I thought about it, so I had to make note of it here.

Speaking of work, I have more stories again.

First of all (and this is mainly for Tinny, because you’ll find it as shocking as all the rest of us did), Jackie was fired.  (That’s not the shocking part.)  The shocking part of that is that she allegedly bitched at Caroline, who then shoved her against the wall…!?  So then Jackie threatened Scot in some way, and threatened to send in the cops to arrest Caroline…and she was fired.  Caroline…little old friendly grandmother Caroline…none of us could picture it.

This, also, will mainly amuse Tinny.  There’s this new guy who washes dishes—Eric—and we were trying to remember his name tonight, and I said, “Bob, it took you almost a whole year to learn Teshura’s name.”  (I never call you Tinny around him, because I don’t want to confuse him.)

He got this huge, sheepish grin on his face and said, “Why do you say that?”

I said, “You never said her name—it was always, ‘Hey, Ginny—and you, too!’ or, ‘Hey, Ginny, you and your friend come over here and do this,’ or…” and here he interrupted.  His face was rather red, and he still had the sheepish grin on his face, and he said, “You guys noticed that?”

“Yeah, Bob, we noticed…we were always joking about it.”  I laughed.

“Yeah, I’m bad with names,” he said.  “Hers was a hard one—I didn’t get it until right before she left, even!”

“Oh, trust me…we noticed,” I said, still laughing.

I love the philosophical conversations/arguments we have at work sometimes, too.  Like, tonight, for example:  We were cleaning up after everything, and Steve said, “Sometimes I wish I was Samantha from Bewitched; then I could just wiggle my nose and everything would be clean already.”

I said, “Or Jeannie from I Dream of Jeannie; then you could just bonk your head, and it’d be done.”

So then we started trying to name all the fictional characters we could think of who could get the cafeteria cleaned faster than we could.  Among them were:  Yoda, Darth Vader, Superman, the Genie (from Aladdin), Tinker Bell, Mary Poppins, Elliot (Pete’s dragon), Harry Potter (well, really Hermione, but I didn’t know if Steve would know who that was), Ursula (from The Little Mermaid)…and…oh, I feel like there are lots more I’m forgetting….

But the point was, Steve trumped us all by saying, “No one beats this:  Mickey Mouse when he’s the little magician guy.”

We all oohed and ahhed, but then I pointed out that he didn’t really get anything cleaned faster; he just had help.  And besides that, the “help” took it way overboard and just got him in deep shit.

Just a brief amusing story:  Yesterday at school, I was in the library writing for about an hour and a half before stepping out into the dazzling sunshine.  So I was all in that mindset of turning all of my thoughts and actions into 3rd person.

I went digging in my purse for my sunglasses, but instead of thinking, Where are my sunglasses?, my actual thought process was, Where were her sunglasses?  I just…think that’s funny.  Haha.

And it’s late and I’m tired now, so I’m just going to post this for now.

Bird Stories (Or, The Coolness of Brother)

All the same people are in here every single day.

I’m in the library again (where else?).  Just got back from guidance, where they still had not even sent UCF my official transcript (I’d been in there three times asking them to).  This time, they actually gave me a form to fill out; they never did that before.  So maybe it’ll actually get sent in.

That said, I still haven’t decided between UNF or UCF or if I just want to stay at FCCJ for another semester and actually get my AA before I go to either one of them.  I’m dropping that class at the end of the summer, along with the claustrophobic history class I’m in now that I sleep through every day.  (Got an appointment with a guidance counselor tomorrow afternoon to figure out that mess.)

Hmm, what else is new….

I was in the middle of a dream yesterday morning that I was wandering the halls at Hogwarts; somebody (I believe Ron, though I’m not sure) had just made a comment about the size of the hallways–I don’t know exactly what he said.  And then we stepped into the Great Hall and just…stopped, and looked at it as though we’d never seen it before.  I was really taking in its massive size, and just turning my gaze to the ceiling to take in the outside sky, when from behind me I heard my mom say, “Ginny, there’s a boy on the phone for you.”

I opened my eyes, rolled over, and said, “Is it Milo?”

“No,” she said.

“Tell him I’ll call him back.”  And I went back to sleep.

Despite all of my protestations, my parents went out yesterday to get a bird.  (Brother went with them.)

They returned with a cage containing a cockatiel and a parakeet.  The parakeet, having come free with the cage, was to be Brother’s, and he had named it (we think it’s a him) Pepsi.

“To arms!” Psychobrat yelled.  (Well, no, that’s just what I was thinking when they announced that Pepsi belonged to Brother.)

“WHY DID HE GET A BIRD!?” Psychobrat yelled.  “I WANTED MY OWN BIRD TO PUT IN MY ROOM!”

My parents tried to calm her down by telling her that she’ll get her own bird later, when she goes along to pick it out.  (*cough*DUDLEY*cough*)

“Pepsi is a stupid name,” she told Brother.  “You can’t name it that.”

“He’s my bird!” Brother retorted.  “And Pepsi isn’t a stupid name; I like it.”

“I think Pepsi is a cool name!” I called from across the room.

After a 15-minute argument, during which time Psychobrat tried to convince Brother that he should name his bird Blueberry, she finally retreated to her room and was not heard from again for a while.

Brother came up to me to show me Pepsi up close, and I repeated, “I think Pepsi is a cool name.  Nobody has that name for a bird.”

“See, that’s what I thought!” he said.  Then, with a sly grin, “I came up with the name Pepsi while I was drinking a can of Coke.”

Returning the grin, I said, “Brother, that’s awesome.”

Then he gave me further evidence that my training has been working to some degree.  See, recently, I’ve been showing him all this Python stuff, and Brother’s gotten really into it.  And we got A Fish Called Wanda, which technically isn’t Python, but it’s got Michael and John in it (my two favorites)…so Brother told me that when he was at the flea market, looking at all the animals, he approached a tank of fish and greeted them (loudly), “Hello, K-K-K-Ken’s p-p-p-pets!”

I was rolling.  Brother is awesome.

A bit later on, Brother found the old birdcage from like 15 years ago and took out some of the old ladders and stuff to clean and put in his new cage, and Psychobrat’s radar blipped on and she stormed from her room, shouting, “YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT STUFF!  WHAT AM I GOING TO HAVE IF I EVER GET A BIRD!?”

I said, “If you ever get a bird?  He has a bird now.  We can get something else for you if you ever get your own bird.”

It actually shut her up.  I was pleased.

And that’s really all that’s new for the moment.

A Wookiee Christmas and a Will Ferrell Dream

Forget everything you have ever heard:  Plan 9 From Outer Space is not the worst movie ever made; The Star Wars Holiday Special is.

For the most part, it wasn’t even laughably bad; it was just unspeakably so!  No plot; I’m serious!  Things just randomly happened—random characters appeared and disappeared, musical numbers were performed merely for the sake of taking up time!  Carrie Fisher sang.  Entire scenes of Wookiees conversing in Wookiee (with no subtitles, might I add) were played.  That was the whole movie, basically.  The one brief scene with Darth Vader was stolen right out of A New Hope.  There’s a place in the end when Chewie arbitrarily stares into space and dreams about things that happened in A New Hope—some of which he didn’t even witness.  None of it fit into the timeline at all (which led me to the conclusion that it must have all been taking place in a separate dimension—although, as I pointed out, I didn’t know why I was bothering with the attempt at rationalization when there was no rationality to any of it at all).  The cartoon made more sense than anything else, even though we couldn’t see why that was placed in there, either…and right in the middle of everything.  There was something like soft porn, and there was a Bizarro Rocky Horror Martha Stewart.  I didn’t understand!  I still don’t, and I promise you—I never will.

On with the Will Ferrell dream.

I was bored one night, and nobody could hang out, so for some reason I decided to drive to St. Augustine…alone…down A1A (a drive that I do love, but it’s already creepy when you’re with somebody—imagine being completely alone at about 8:30 when it’s dark).

I arrive, park, and go walking down St. George Street.  I’m just walking along, and everything is closed, and…nobody is there at all, except me.  And I’m walking…and then I pass this little arcade thing, where there is a light on, and somebody is inside, hyperactively running around to various machines.  It’s Will Ferrell. I stop, look at him strangely, and continue on my way.

About two hours later, when I’m coming back in the other direction, I see that he is still in there, and now he looks drunk, and is clinging on to an air hockey machine (because that is apparently the only way he can keep himself upright by this point).  And he’s whacking the puck against the walls of the machine, and he just really looks drunk.  I walk in and say, “I would be absolutely delighted to play a game with you.”

He looks thrilled, too, and gives me the…not the puck, but the other thing…um…whatever it’s called.  He then takes out a large white plastic egg and starts trying to hit the puck with that.

I say, “Uh…what’s that?”

He replies, “Harry Potter.”

Of course, this line somehow makes perfect sense to me in my dream, so I just nod and continue playing.  I think the way I interpreted it was that it was supposed to be Norbert’s egg, and it was some sort of children’s toy.

We give up on the game after a while and just walk outside, and he’s clinging onto me for support…and we round a corner, and there’s Kristen, who immediately goes all fangirlish and wants a picture with Will.  I happily oblige, knowing well about her obsession, of course.  And he then clings onto her and slurs, “Great!  I have a girlfriend now!” which thrills Kristen even more.

And then Cortney, Nicole, and Katie all show up, and we’re all standing together looking at Kristen and Will Ferrell and saying, “Awwww, how cute!”  Not really like us at all, but…there you have it.

And that was really it.  I’d better go to bed now.

Maggie Stories

And now for something completely different.

Well, okay, not really—all my entries do tend to be centered around the same things.  I just wanted to say it.

At work last night, Maggie just…well, she went way up in my book.  Not that she wasn’t already up there to begin with (Maggie is really cool), but she just gained some extra points by telling me about things she did in high school.  She was especially adept in her math and science classes, and their science teacher taught them how to assemble and disassemble entire automobiles within 72 hours.  So one day, they disassembled a ’69 VW Bug, carried the pieces up to the roof (the football players helped them with this), put it back together, and started the ignition.  They all got A’s in that class.

Another time, another year, another science class, their teacher taught them to create bombs, and in response, they blew the wall out of the gymnasium.  They got A’s in that class, too.

I just said, “Maggie—that is so coolMan!  I want to go back to high school now!”  And I high-fived her.

Tinny, I thought you would appreciate these stories.

Well, Cortney’s about to come over so we can go to Publix—so I’m going to end this here, and I’ll write about the Will Ferrell dream a bit later.  (What’s with these random actors doing cameos in my dreams!?)

Another Superhero Dream

I finally had a dream last night; it had been a while!  Maybe it’s because I’ve started updating a bit more frequently, so my subconscious decided, well, she’s willing to talk again–let’s give her something to talk about.  (I ❤ my subconscious.)

First of all, I don’t know where I was; and like certain other of my dreams, I wasn’t really me, I just looked like me.  And my dad looked like my dad, too, but wasn’t him, either.

We were in some large city where superheroes were…not exactly common, but people weren’t all like, “OMGSUPERMANLIVESHERE!”  (Superman was not in my dream; that was just an example.)  Basically, just the way people act in any fictional town where one or more superheroes reside; normal, except for that.

But where there are superheroes, there are also supervillains.

There was one superhero (and I’m not even sure if he was the only one) who had…turned bad.  I don’t know what all of his powers were (which didn’t change when he turned, he just used them differently), but I do know that he was able to see people’s souls.  He could see things about them that they sometimes didn’t know about themselves.  He could tell if there was evil inside them, or whatnot.  I guess he had a whole method worked out of reading and interpreting what he saw.  And he could see people’s souls in other rooms, through walls…basically, it worked like night vision, I think.  I’m not sure what turned him bad (although I could write a story based on this guy…I think I want to now, so I’ll be making up these details I’m unsure about), but he’d been using his powers for evil for a few years.  It was common knowledge that when you saw this guy’s superhero uniform (his identity was, of course, not known)…you could run, but you probably wouldn’t survive.

He ate souls–which, in turn, killed people.  I guess it was kind of like a vampire, in that he had that dark, mysterious sexiness about him while he was killing…or, perhaps more accurately (except sans the sexy part), like a Dementor–he basically sucked people’s souls out of their mouths.  This is not something he did when he was good–it’s just one of the things that changed about him when he became evil.

Now I’m this quiet, innocent little thing…I think perhaps I was a bit younger than I am now, more innocent and naive or something…well, I guess I really must have been, because…well, you’ll see.

So my father, the mad (evil?–undetermined) scientist, worked for the government, coming up with new weapons.

He had just invented this bug-like thing that looked like a bug when it was moving (it looked just like that weird bug I saw at work last night while I was cleaning–some sort of fly/bee combo)…but when it was resting, it folded its wings over itself, was completely still, and looked exactly like an M&M.  All different colors–even pinks!  These M&M bugs ate human flesh.  (This probably has something to do with the fact that I just passed the Knockturn Alley part of CoS yesterday, when Hagrid was looking for Flesh-Eating Slug repellant.)  Not only flesh, but…they basically ate everything…all the way through, until there was merely a bit of shell left over.  And they had just been tested on some guy who had killed his wife…and it was pretty gruesome….  (But it didn’t seem to affect my father at all, as he scooped the bugs into a Ziploc bag–I guess they worked on command?–and sealed it, screaming, “It works; it works!!!”)

It was nighttime, very dark, and I was to help destroy this superhero who had become his own supervillain.  It was known that he hung around this big ex-office building (he’d seen to its undoing, I guess so he’d have a lair) downtown, and my dad and I were driving there.  For some reason, he was sending me off by myself to find this creep, armed with this little bag of M&M bugs.

For my part, I didn’t want to kill him, and I was repulsed by the idea of killing anyone in such a way…but my dad kept reminding me that it was my civic duty.  (I’m not exactly sure what he was doing, but it seems that, in the dream, he really did have something equally important he was doing–maybe we just split up and he had his own bag and it was just whoever found the guy first…I dunno.)

So I started creeping around, and I’m on the outside of this building, where there are lots and lots of windows, and I’m assuming he’s just going to jump out of one, so I’m a bit nervous…but more than fear, all I feel is regret for what I know I have to do.  And I’m walking along…slowly…slowly…trying to reach the edge of the building, where I’m just going to turn the corner and creep along the back wall–alone.

I don’t know what exactly I expect to find–probably him in his costume (which looked oddly like a cross between Spider-Man and Strong Bad…hmm), feeding on some unsuspecting soul.

Well, I reach the edge of the building, and there’s a short hand rail stretching back into the woods, and I figure I’m going to climb over it, when I step forward, and somebody else steps forward from around the corner.

For some reason, it’s Clive Owen.  (The last time I saw him in anything was Closer, but that was about two weeks ago.  Hmmm.)

He looks…well, really hot (it’s Clive Owen, I mean…come on).  But he’s not in the Strong Bad costume–he was wearing a long-sleeved bluish shirt (I think Crayola might call it “cornflower” or “midnight blue”–been a while since I opened a box of those) and jeans and just brown shoes, and he seems…relatively normal, so I just say, a bit calmly, “Oh–hello.”

He just…stares at me for a moment, and finally says slowly, “Who are you?”

I guess I gave him a name.  I’m not really sure.  I just remember him staring, in all his hotness.

Turns out (and I don’t know if he told me this or if I just…knew it) he was the guy I was looking for, just not currently in costume, and he’d been creeping along the other side of the building, because he’d…spotted my soul…creepy…and was following along beside me so he could spring out and…I guess eat me.

But as he was following along, he was staring at my soul and thinking, against his will almost, without even really realizing it…that there was something so absolutely lovely and pure about it (shut up, guys, I already told you it wasn’t really me) that he just knew he wanted to get closer…and the closer he got, the more entranced he became by this complete innocence I must have been radiating.  (Perhaps this comes from my joke to Steve last night, while putting away the basket that held the taco shells, that I always felt like Little Red Riding Hood carrying it.)

Anyway…he just became so entranced by my “innocence” that it completely washed over him and changed him back–but not immediately–he was very cautious at first, not exactly sure what was going on (maybe he didn’t know anything was going on)…and…I’ve got to go to class in a minute, that’s why I’m rushing along here.  I think there may have been a lot more to it but it’s time to go.