A Potterish Dream

I got kicked out of my classes because I hadn’t paid for them yet…I really hope that check gets here soon, because otherwise I won’t be able to freaking pay for these, either.  I re-registered for three of them, but the philosophy class was full, so I replaced it with Western Civ. 1589-Present with the only teacher who ever made history interesting for me, so that’s cool.  Now I’m taking three of my favorite teachers again.  But I have to get them paid for!  My dad has been insisting since I graduated high school that I should just take a semester off and work, but…um…no.  I don’t want to do that.  If I start doing that, I’ll never finish.

Okay, so I had this dream.  We had just come from a Harry Potter party, and so we’re all in our Hogwarts stuff and everything, and then we go and get on a train.  And then Cort and Nicole sort of…fade away, so it’s just me on this train, in HP stuff, and I’m strolling around (and it seems like the train goes in more directions than just back and forth–like there were actual rooms and hallways like a building or something), and run into some young parents with a 2-year-old daughter named Hannah.  (I sadly cannot now remember her last name.)

Hannah’s got red hair and she’s wearing this long green dress, and she’s supposed to be dressed as “the baby Weasley,” who doesn’t actually exist.  And she’d won a costume contest and all.  So she was wearing a ribbon on her dress.

Anyway, so I ran into them and recognized them from the party (as it had just passed a few minutes before), and the parents acted all snobby and said they didn’t remember me, as the party had been two years before.  The train had gone through like a time warp or something.  Okay.

It was then that I decided to look out the windows.  There’s nothing there.  I mean…nothing.  We’re sort of  hurtling along through this black void—creepy stuff, I’m telling you.

So I’m walking around, and eventually I run into Jasper, who is the only person on the train not dressed in HP stuff.  Jasper’s got a lightsaber.  And I say, “Jasper!  Good to see a familiar face!” and he says, “Yeah…Andrew’s here, too, somewhere.”  So I’m like, “Oh, I’m going to go find him and invite him to tea in our compartment.”  (Tea?  I grow increasingly more British in my dreams all the time.  Not, of course, that I mind.)

But Jasper says, “No, wait!  He’s killing people.”

I stopped suddenly.  “He…what?”

Jasper explains, “He already killed this one whole family, and he’s looking for this little two-year-old named Hannah, and he wants to kill her, too.”

I said, “I know Hannah….”

So Jasper told me that I had to protect Hannah, and if it came down to it, I had to kill Andrew, too.

Okay.  So I ran.  And I didn’t stop running until I found Hannah and her parents.  Hannah’s just sitting in the middle of the floor reading a stack of little kid’s books—maybe not reading, she might have been coloring in them or something—and the parents looked at me and were kinda like, “You again?  Go away.”

I attempted to explain to them that somebody wanted to kill their daughter, but they started shouting at me, and they thought I was crazy, and they wanted to take Hannah away, and I refused.  I told them she had to stay with me.

And then I just happened to glance down at the end of the corridor, through the window at the door, and it’s all dark, but I can just barely see Andrew standing there, staring at Hannah.

So I picked her up, and the parents are shouting at me, and Andrew opens the door at the end, and I take out my wand and start running with Hannah, who’s just holding a couple of books, and I’m still in HP stuff so my robe’s all billowy behind me and stuff—LOL—and they’re still shouting, and he Avada Kedavra’d them, and he’s running after us, so finally we got to one compartment where there appeared to be a closet of sorts in the side, and I sort of threw her and her books in there and shouted, “Stay there; don’t come out!” and whirled around to face Andrew, wand ready…

…And my sister started banging on the front door like a crazed lunatic and woke me up.  Yes, I hate when these things happen, but, as I explained to Andrew, if I hadn’t woken up then, I probably would have killed him, and then I would have woken up all traumatized.

That’s all for now, I guess.  We’re really, really busy at work these days; I won’t be getting off in the evenings until probably around 10:30.

Oh…and my dad wants to impose time limits on the computer, because every time he comes home from work late, I’m on it.  Never mind the fact that Psychobrat is on it all day every day—it’s just that I have it for a couple of hours each night, and that pisses him off.

Oh yeah…and now we have to pay $380 for that car window my brother shot out, not just $250.  And I don’t know if we’re paying any damages on the other car he shot.  I didn’t really hear what happened with that except the guy driving it wanted to beat the crap out of my brother, and wouldn’t back off until the cop physically held him off.

Fun stuff.


Just A Brief, Random Dream

I had a dream this morning.  It wasn’t really all that remarkable except for the fact that I think I was engaged to Cross.  I was…I was eating breakfast somewhere with him and my mom, in this little cafe, and I think I had a sandwich, and then Cross had to go to a hearing or something, because he was a…lawyer?  Mmkay.

I’m not sure why I followed him.  It seems that I didn’t know what he had to do upstairs (there were at least three stories–a restaurant on the bottom, a church on the second, and a courtroom on the third), so once I got up there, and all these men in suits and white wigs were filing in (like we were in England or something–not, of course, that I minded) I said, “Oh, you know, I think I’d rather go downstairs and sit with my mom, then,” so I tried to find the stairs….

It was really weird.  They had four different flights of stairs going the same places.  They had men’s stairs and women’s stairs.  And then they had the up stairs and the down stairs, all of which were noted with little triangle signs, pointing up or down, and containing those little bathroom symbols.  So just as I’ve spotted the women’s down stairs, this attractive woman with wavy blonde hair comes and pulls me by my shoulders and says, “No, you’re late to Sunday school; come this way,” in this sweet-but-firm voice, and pulls me into a classroom.

Damn it if it wasn’t The Cult (what I am calling the collective whole of that stupid religion class).  Fortunately, the woman wasn’t Stephanie, but while she didn’t look anything like her, she acted exactly like her.

I stood at the door for a second and said, “Um…I can’t stay, I’m supposed to be either downstairs with my mother or upstairs with my–uh–husband.”

I knew we weren’t married yet, but it sounded a lot more respectable to say “husband” than to say “fiance”, like they could argue with one, but not with the other.

Well, The entire Cult was staring at me, and the teacher was staring at me with this patronizing smile on her face, and she said in that sweet, honeyed voice, “Now, don’t be a nasty little liar; we don’t want nasty little liars in our Sunday class.”

I stared at her, enraged because–well, maybe I was lying, but she didn’t know that!  She just wanted me to stay in her stupid class!  So I said, coldly and haughtily, “And if I’m not lying?” wondering what she could possibly say to that….

She said, always in the same voice, “Oh, but you are.”

“No,” I almost shouted, “I’m not!  My mother is downstairs and my husband is upstairs!  They’re both waiting for me!”

The class hissed–they actually hissed!  And the teacher said, “We don’t want to hear nasty little stories about your love life here–”

I interrupted, definitely shouting now.  “Oh, so marriage is illegal now, is it, marriage is somehow immoral–”

And at that moment, my cell phone rang and I woke up.

Veal Surprise

We had veal tonight at work.

Tell me, how was that a good idea?  I was staring at it, thinking, “Veal?  How the hell am I going to explain veal to all these foreigners?  They didn’t go to English school and learn veal.  Hell, half the native-English-speakers who come through my line don’t even know what veal is!”

And I was right, of course.  You try explaining “baby cow” to 200 people who only know basic words in English; it’s not easy.

There was one older guy who thought he knew:  He held up his hands behind his head to signify antlers, and another older guy next to him nodded his understanding:  “Ah, Bambi, Bambi, yes!”  I just let them think it.  As long as it tastes okay, they’re not gonna know the difference.

So…yeah…I have to go to work tomorrow.  I was never really going to get out of it, I guess.


Maggie has said that she might walk out tomorrow.  I hope not.  That would suck a lot.

Work and General Guilt About Friday

We’re supposed to have about 200 more people coming into the cafe, but they didn’t exactly all come in last night.  Maybe about 40 of them.  (Hopefully it’ll stay like that for a few days so I won’t feel quite so bad about calling in sick on Friday when Bob’s not going to be there, either….)  But anyway, they’re foreign, ’cause it’s some soccer group.  (I always feel so bad when I have a foreign person, and I have to keep asking them to repeat themselves, because it’s damned difficult to understand accents when it’s already hard to hear from where I’m standing–I always feel like I’m insulting them.)

There’s this one annoying guy named Jason whom nobody likes because his night isn’t complete until he’s criticized something in the cafe.  He’s an old guy who’s been coming in for forever.  Yeah…apparently he’s been living on campus for like 14 years, can you imagine?

Got distracted last night and accidentally took an hour-long break instead of a half-hour one.  Bob came to find me and said, “Hey, Ginny…you know it’s, like, 8:30 now, right?”  No, I hadn’t noticed that!  All I knew was that it felt later, but that made sense, because I was breaking half an hour later for the first time in months.  Ah, well.  They just made fun of me a bit when I emerged, and I didn’t get in trouble or inconvenience anyone or anything, so that’s good.  (Would have made me feel that much worse about calling in sick on Friday….)

Of course, Dann won’t be there on Friday, I hope–although he could be, when I call in…I just hope when I call in that I do get an answer machine and not an actual person.  And Fridays generally go a bit slower (though I don’t know how this one will work with those 200 extra people)…and there’s a new guy, but Dann and Scot decided that only I and the chefs can serve, so…right.  That’s Bob and me both will be gone…but Steve will be back…oh, damn it, the pluses exactly balance the negatives.

They hired two new people yesterday, neither one of whom is a server.  And just when do they plan on hiring any bloody new servers, then!?  I looked at each of them upon meeting them and said, “Are-you-a-server-please-tell-me-you’re-a-server-why-aren’t-you-a-server!?”  It’s like they refuse, or something.  “Oh, it’s okay, we don’t need anybody new, Ginny can handle everything.”

Anyway.  For now I can.  I just hope before we get more than 5 or 600 they’ve got somebody to help me out.  (And it would be nice to have another official server to take my place on Friday, when I shall not be working.)


As I’m constantly stating, I miss updating this freaking thing every day.  I expect I’ll go back to regular updates when I’m back on a regular schedule in the fall, with classes that alternate every other day, and teachers I actually like, whom I know will make funny comments in class…yes, it will be fun.

Well, my awesome brother is, most unfortunately, sinking more and more into delinquency.  He was brought home in a cop car today.  And here I’d hoped that Psychobrat would be the only one in the family that would ever experience that.  (Alas, she is rubbing off, apparently.)  He and his friends got in trouble for throwing pool chairs in the pool (“vandalism”).  Well…okay, then.

But yeah, I don’t like his friends, and neither does anyone else in the family, and so he’s been grounded for three days.

Then, Psychobrat decided to open her mouth to inform my parents that they’re not harsh enough on him.

Instantly, Dad was in a blind rage.  “YEAH!?  WELL YOU TELL US HOW WE’RE SUPPOSED TO ENFORCE THAT, THEN!  TELL US HOW TO ENFORCE HIM NOT HAVING ANY FRIENDS OVER WHILE WE’RE BOTH AT WORK!  ENLIGHTEN US, O BRILLIANT ONE!”  (No, I added that last bit, but that was the effect.  Just with a lot of swearing.)

Of course, she had to bitch back.  As neither one of them can ever let anyone else have the last word, the arguing continued for a good while.  My mom tried to intervene by pointing out that she didn’t believe they were being harsh enough, either, with just the three days’ separation from friends, but he gave her the same reaction he gave Psychobrat, so after that, Mom and I both sat in complete silence on the couch, just taking it all in, too wise to say anything at all.  (I learned my lesson countless times in the past when I tried to point out that they could have been way harsher on Psychobrat for…well, everything.)  I don’t know what my mom was thinking, but I was partially trying not to laugh, and partially quite concerned about Brother and the loss of his coolness.

And then my dad disappeared into the bathroom, at which point, Brother reappeared from his room (he’d gone in there and slammed the door when someone had called his friends delinquents) and Psychobrat informed him that he was a “lying little shit”.

As he’d been just about to head back into his room himself (he’d merely come out to get a pen or something, I don’t know) he had nearly shut the door, when he swung it back open, stuck his head out, and said, “What did you say?”

She said, “You heard me!”

He stepped out completely this time.  “Oh, I’m a ‘shit’, am I?  A ‘lying little shit’, am I?”

“Yeah, you are!  A lying little shit.”

“I’m a shit.  Right.  And you’re just going to let her say this, Mom?”

Mom takes a sip of her wine and says nothing.

“Thanks, Mom.  Thanks a lot.”  He went back to his room, slamming the door behind him.  At this point, I really wanted to hug him, because I hate when she calls him names.  I hate it.  She can call me whatever the hell she wants, because I’m immune to it…but is he?

Dad re-emerged then, just in time to hear the door slam, and demanded to know what was going on now.  I can’t recall exactly, but somehow Psychobrat started bitching again, and he said something sarcastic about how they should ask her, because obviously she was the authority in the house, and she bitched back about how obviously her opinions didn’t matter and she would just keep them to herself from then on, and then it somehow became a huge argument about her birth control pills, and how that was a decision she’d made that my parents both disagreed with.

Psychobrat said, “I’m 16 now–” (“17,” Mom interrupted), “–17, and I think I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Are you old enough to accept the responsibilities, too!?” Dad demanded.

“WHAT responsibilities!?”

Then it was all about how my parents can’t stand picking up her pills for her, she should do it herself, and why can’t she pay for them herself (“WHEN I HAVE MONEY I WILL!”, Psychobrat said), and why can’t she drive there herself to pick them up (“BECAUSE YOU WON’T BUY ME A CAR!”, Psychobrat said).

There’s way more detail I’m leaving out, but it’s extremely late and that’s the bare necessities of it.  I ought to go to bed now.

Katie & Ginny & the Epic Escape from World Religions

I am telling you—our teacher hates us.  (Hated us—it’s over, finally.)

We presented our project this week.  It took forever to make with all the sound effects and everything, and we weren’t even sure until we got up there if they were going to work.  We were both scared, seriously, so when we clicked and Samuel L. Jackson started ranting, I couldn’t withhold a verbal, “YES!”

Of course, Needs-A-Nickname had no idea what sound effects were on our project, so he looked rather sheepish standing there, reading stuff off the projection screen, and listening to everything for the first time along with the rest of the class.

But nobody had a conniption fit.  In fact, they all sat there saying it along with Samuel L. Jackson.  Here we were hoping they’d think we’re heathens, and the entire class has Pulp Fiction by memory.  Including Rain Man.

And then we click to the next slide, and it says “CHRISTIANITY AND CREATION” in huge letters, and there’s this starry-planety-sky, and the Star Wars theme starts blasting, and I’m gone…I can’t stop laughing by this point.  I’d told Needs-A-Nickname that he wouldn’t have to read everything, I’d help, but I stood there laughing straight through our entire report.  There was no chance I’d get one line out.  Katie finally pulled me back as if to say, “Forget it; just leave it to him.”

We actually got a standing ovation from a few people, and they were all shouting that we’d done so well (like they were surprised or something—odd).

Stephanie smiled.  That’s probably not a good thing.  As I put it (and Katie had been thinking exactly the same thing), while everybody else was laughing and saying, “Hey, that was really good,” she was laughing, “Mwahahahaha, now I can fail you.”  She’s evil, she is.

And here’s further evidence:  After class today (I’d already gone, because I leave on time so I can get to work when I’m supposed to), Katie approached her with the writing assignments she’d been working on all night.

Stephanie said, “You can’t make up a field trip,” with that same sweet smile she’d presented me with when I informed her I couldn’t make the trip to the Indian restaurant.

Katie said, “What do you mean?  I had to work; I couldn’t go to the field trips.”

Still with that eerie smile, Stephanie repeated, “You can’t make up a field trip.”

It says plainly (which is huge for her) in the syllabus that any missed field trips can be made up with a 300-500-word writing assignment.  There are even examples of the sorts of writing assignments you can do.  So Katie intends to e-mail said portions of the syllabus back to her, see what happens.

I’m just so very glad to be rid of the cult.  SO GLAD.  JFC.