Another Crazy Dream

The Mormon was dead, to begin with.  I don’t know how or why he was dead, but he was.  This was depressing enough in itself, but all of his friends then decided that they needed to date me, because “he wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone”, as they said.  (None of these were any of his real friends that I’ve met or ever heard him mention—I was just being pursued by all these fake guys.)

One in particular seemed really crazy about me, and even went so far as to tell me he loved me.  I did not reciprocate this feeling, and told him so.  All of this, for some reason, took place at our house in Virginia, which, for more reasons I don’t understand, has been entering into my dreams frequently of late.

There were also these twins—two big white guys (that’s important later) who were kind of robotic and crazy.  One of them wanted me dead; the other just…wanted me.  *shudder*  So they were both chasing me all over the house and the backyard and the street…the entire area we used to play in when we were little.  I never knew where they were, but it would have been very dangerous to run into either of them at any time.

So I’ve got all The Mormon’s friends after me, plus these two twins, one of whom is trying to kill me.  And then Lukealike shows up in what used to be our kitchen and professes his undying affection for me.  He claims he has known since the first time he saw me that we were meant to be together.  He also says he can take me away from all of this and protect me from the twins and all The Mormon’s friends.  I look at him and say, “I’ll think about it” rather coldly, and he says, “That’s good enough for me” and walks away.  (Lukealike, for those who are wondering, is a guy I work with—two years younger than me, might I add—who slightly resembles Luke from Gilmore Girls.)

Later that night, I’m lying in my bed.  My bed in my old room in my old house, right where it used to be, next to the wall.  Psychobrat’s bunk is underneath it, like it was, but her other bed was also there, right against the wall where it was after she decided she didn’t want the lower bunk anymore.

The Mormon’s one friend who loved me was sleeping under my bunk, and Lukealike, apparently, was in the other one, because while I was lying there alone, wondering where the twins were and if the one was going to kill me in my sleep, I finally decided to sit up and shout, “LUKEALIKE!  LUKEALIKE!”  In the bed across the room, I saw him sit up, plus two girls I’d never seen before, and he just stared at me solemnly for a moment and then left the two of them without a word and climbed up there with me.  (I find this disturbing on a number of levels.)

So Lukealike was lying next to me, his arms around me, and I was just drifting off to sleep at last, when from below me, I heard The Mormon’s friend say, “Ginny, I love you!”

No!” I called back.

The next day, I was riding on like a subway somewhere, when I heard two women say hello to me, and I looked up and they were twins, too, and there was this tiny black girl with them who explained that she was very sorry about the whole ruckus with the twins, that they had…malfunctioned…they were creations of hers (they were supposed to be clones of her, both of them) but that she’d “fixed” things.  She’d somehow made them look like…well, like two identical large white guys who were now two identical large black girls, or just large white guys trying to look like black girls.  Whatever–at least they weren’t trying to attack me anymore.

Later, I was standing somewhere I’ve never seen before, talking to The Mormon’s friend, when I decided to go into the Afterlife and retrieve The Mormon, because this had all gone on quite long enough.  So I climbed the stairs to the overhead thing above us, and that, apparently, was the “Afterlife”.

The Mormon was standing there silently, a cigarette in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other, and just…staring.  He didn’t really seem to see me.

I was trying to coax him back down to Life, but he wasn’t going to be able to go, because somebody had to take his place.

Just then, the elevator (next to the stairs) dinged, and Lukealike appeared to inform us that he was going to take The Mormon’s place so that we could return to Life together.  And he did.

The next thing I know, we were on this roller coaster, but a slow-motion one…it was moving slowly for any vehicle, not just a roller coaster.

For some reason, I was in a car completely by myself, and The Mormon was in one behind me that was completely full of people, and then the roller coaster went indoors somewhere, and there were all these…spirits…lining the walls.  These were really creepy-looking things, kind of see through, but they looked like they wanted to attack every one of us.  So I stood up and was shouting behind me to The Mormon that he had to come up there with me, because they wanted him, and he would only be safe if he was with me.  “Lukealike did not sacrifice himself just so they could take you again!” I shouted.

The Mormon, unfortunately, was either not listening or didn’t hear me…or he simply didn’t believe me…because he didn’t do anything.

The roller coaster thing let us all out, and he and everybody from his car went into one room, and I went into my own, and shut the door.

I was in an over-sized shower stall, for some reason.  And I just stood there, assuming that The Mormon was going to die again and there was nothing I could do about it.  The ghosts were now surrounding the entire building.

I had my back to the door when The Mormon stepped inside, put his hands on my shoulders, and started kissing my neck.  I, assuming he was one of the many others who had been pursuing me since I’d fallen asleep, brushed him off and said, “Oh, would you just cut it out, please?”

Then I turned and saw that it was him; I threw my arms around him and told him not to move, because he was safe as long as he was with me; they couldn’t get him.

Then we heard what sounded like a tornado in the room next to us as the spirits…attacked, I guess.  And then after a few minutes, it moved to our room, and the walls were shaking and rattling, but they couldn’t get in, because I was there.  (This is truly mystifying to me—I have no idea what powers I had, but…they rocked, that’s for sure.)

And finally they were gone.  And all was well.

I made The Mormon turn around then, because I suddenly decided I needed to take a shower.

A few minutes later, Dennis started banging on the door shouting, “Hurry up, Ginny!  God, you take forever in the shower!”

I stepped outside with The Mormon behind me, and Dennis said, “Oh…I see.”

“Shut up, Dennis,” I said.

“I wasn’t saying anything,” he said.

Michelle said, “You’d better not; you know what’ll happen if you do.”  (I don’t know exactly what was meant by this, but apparently Dennis has become quite vulgar in his inquiries into just what exactly is going on between The Mormon and me.  Michelle told me he shouldn’t say anything anymore, because she hit him.  So…okay, then.  Thanks, Michelle!)

And then I realized that I’d forgotten to brush my teeth, and I was griping to Dennis that this was all his fault for rushing me along.  Dennis told me to shut my mouth because my breath was awful.  Good old Dennis–well, Dream Dennis.


Random Superman Dream

I dreamed about Superman last night.  That was exciting.  It was a bit confusing, though, because I’m not sure if I was Superman—like, a couple of things he experienced, I experienced, too…but it was like I was watching him, like a movie.  I don’t know.  You’ll see what I mean.

First of all, the Daily Planet, for some reason, looked like a grocery store.  And over in the cold section, there was all this fruit just sitting out that anybody could go and snack on whenever they wished.  It was weird, though—there were these strange blueberries that were like grapes.  They were blue and tasted like blueberries, and they were called blueberries, but they had the same size, shape, and texture of very large grapes.  Anyway.

Perry comes over (and let me just say, if you want a visual, that all of the main characters look just like the ones from Lois and Clark:  The New Adventures of Superman) and says that there is a phone call from someone who will only speak to Clark—so Clark gets up and heads over to where all the fruit is sitting and takes the phone.  All of this I am seeing like I’m watching a movie set in Clark’s perspective.

Clark is talking on the phone to his parents, but for some reason, the rest of the store/Planet is under the impression he’s talking to a suicide bomber.  The Kents are discussing something really urgent, but I can’t remember what it was…but it was something he couldn’t talk about in front of everybody else.  So, a Superman thing.  I wish I could remember the conversation.  There was this girl working behind the counter who kept putting out more fruit, and he kept eating it, and every time he ate it, I could taste it.  So in those moments, I was him.  (Eventually, he ate so much damned fruit that I woke up with a slight stomachache from it all.)  The girl kept giving him strange glances because of odd things he was saying, and he kept noticing this, turning his back on her, and dropping his voice.  She finally caught on and disappeared so it wouldn’t seem like she was eavesdropping.  And then he started saying things that didn’t match with what the Kents were saying, so as not to let on what they were really discussing.

Clark got off the phone and headed back to his desk, informing Perry that everything had been taken care of.  Perry lauded his ability to talk down a suicide bomber. T hings quieted down.  Clark got up a couple more times for fruit.

Then the feds came in—two guys in dark suits.  They announced that they needed to speak to “Mr. White and Mr. Kent”.  Once alone, Perry said, “Now, what’s this all about, fellas?” and they said, “It’s about that—suicide bomber [with a swift glance at Clark] who called this morning.”  Then they pulled out a cassette tape and said, “We think you need to hear the other half of this transmission,” apparently assuming that everyone had already heard Clark’s half of the conversation with his parents from that morning.

At that moment, Clark said awkwardly, “I think I hear my phone ringing…let me just get that, this is a very important call I’ve been waiting for all day….”  And the feds were all, “No, Mr. Kent—” but he was already gone.  They raced out the door after him, but then the front doors to the grocery store, which for some reason were hinged and not automatic, were both swinging, as though somebody had rushed out them very quickly.  They scanned the office, but Clark, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

The very next thing I saw was the clouds as I flew away, because now I was Clark again.  And it ended there with me soaring through the sky.

I don’t even know what in the hell kind of crazy dreams….

So last night, I had this dream that I was (and I don’t think I was really me, but I could have just been me in a different universe or something) living in some New England-y town with this really beautiful beach.  But the town next to us had a great beach, too, and somebody from ours had gone bike-riding on their beach and left tracks (obviously, because you can’t step on the beach without leaving some sort of tracks).  Big deal, right?  Brush your hand over it, it’ll be gone.

Some psycho girl from that town was pissed off and poured cement all over a really long portion of our beach in the middle of the night, then rode her bike through it so it dried that way.  And then she drew a line where she’d stopped and intended to keep going later on.  She also left some sort of note explaining what she’d done—in the cement.

Well, seeing as how she’d already wrecked it, I didn’t see any harm in adding a little cement of my own—so I wrote her some sort of sarcastic response and let it dry.  I wish I could remember what it said; all I know is, it was funny.  And I became a hero there in our small town for doing it.

So I was telling my friends about it one day while we were in a bookstore, and we were having a good laugh over it, when we were interrupted.

Before I get to the interruption, here’s the background on my dream friends:  My best friend is blind and I guess paralyzed from the waist down, because she’s being pushed around in a wheelchair by one of her older sisters.  Most of them have moved out of the town by now—I guess she had several—but one had remained there to take care of her.  They also had several younger siblings and the older one had kids and stuff…oh, but their mother was dead.  But you get the idea.  Big family.  Many of them were there in the bookstore that day.  As was John Cusack (but not really him—this guy’s name, for some reason, was Glenn—he was just played by John Cusack) who had dated most of the older sisters in that family and was now kind of into the blind one.  I was kind of attracted to him, because he was John Cusack, but he wasn’t interested.  He had some fixation with their family.

My best friend, for many years, has been…I don’t know how to do this without making this fictional girl sound horrible.  The idea, despite what it seems, is that she is to be pitied for this.  Someone has been coming to her for years and threatening her family unless she helped them kill.  The deal was always that she didn’t have to actually kill anyone—her role was to blind this person.  Usually with the use of some sort of poison that did the trick.  Sometimes by actually gouging their eyes out.  The killer had convinced her that this should seem completely fair to her, being blind and all.  I guess the purpose was so the person would have no idea who was about to kill them.  Or maybe just because that’s how the killer dude got his thrills.

I always suspected that this person was Lex Luthor—or perhaps not Lex Luthor (I’m honestly not sure)…maybe just someone who sort of represented him.  The town multibillionaire or whatever.  But he and his personal assistant looked exactly like the ones from Lois and Clark:  The New Adventures of Superman.  I figured his motive was just taking out anyone who crossed him or accidentally discovered how evil he was.

The multibillionaire was dead, but his ex-personal assistant was with some guy in a wheelchair (whom I also knew, upon waking, to have actually been Lex).  They approached my best friend, who, as you know, was also in a wheelchair, and the little old guy in the wheelchair didn’t speak, but the personal assistant was all, “So I’ve heard about your work in…optometry.  I want you to do a job for me.”

So obviously it is them, because how else would they know about it?

And now that we know who they are, we’re trying to figure out how to go to the police with this without getting her entire family killed.  But it’s only her, her older sister, Glenn, and me having this conversation, because obviously the kids don’t know anything.  But we’re her trusted inner circle.

The thing is, of course Lex and Co. aren’t going to admit to any of this, and it’s damned hard to prove, and all we really have of whoever this mysterious killer is is their voice, which is always kind of faked—you know, deep and scary-sounding.

So we’re all talking, when older sister somehow discovers this old diary of their mother’s, and for some reason decides to start reading it out loud right then.  Like, maybe Mom might have known something; who knows?

Well as it turns out, Mom did know something—she never names him personally, but she starts talking about an old “family friend” who was very close to all of her girls, but whom, though he seemed sweet and mild-mannered and boy-next-doorish, she never trusted.  There was something off about him, she thought.  Conversations she had had with him gave her cause to distrust him.  She had even heard him speak violently—if only in jest—and mention, on one occasion, gouging someone’s eyes out to show them what it was like to be the blind one.

Everybody by now, of course, was kind of staring at Glenn—well, older sister and I were staring.  And he was suddenly starting to act very strangely.  Like, he was getting seriously pissed off and yelling, “YOU THINK IT’S ME, DON’T YOU!?  I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU THINK IT’S ME, AFTER ALL WE’VE BEEN THROUGH TOGETHER!  I’VE BEEN YOUR FRIEND OUR ENTIRE LIVES!”  His voice, the blind one commented, was starting to sound like the killer.  That’s when he stalked off through the house, through all the little kids who were staring in complete shock, and outside.  I followed him.

He headed into this deserted parking garage (it was the middle of the night by then) that was really deep and twisty and only had one exit.  And despite the fact that I was fairly certain now that he was a complete psychopath, I was still following him, as he ranted and raved the entire way.

We were standing there, about as deep as you could get into the parking garage, when I suddenly said, rather softly, “Glenn, I’ve just realized something—I love you.”

He glanced at me, but he was doing that anyway off and on, so I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me and was ignoring me—which would be bad—or if he just hadn’t heard.

I figured if he thought I knew he was the psycho, he would kill me right then, so I was pretty much going to die and may as well keep going.

“Did you hear me, Glenn?  I said I’ve just realized that I love you.”

He stared at me for a really long time.  And finally he said, “Really?”

I nodded and said, “Yeah.  I do.”

He calmed down and started walking towards me, seemingly the same old Glenn I’d always known, but then I woke up, so I have no idea if I was about to die or not.  I think so.  I believe he is the one who was in the diary; who else would it have been?  Lex didn’t make sense by that point.

I was just going to make a comment about how I didn’t know where the name Glenn came from, because I’d only ever known two in my entire life, and one was somebody’s dad in Virginia, and the other was a chef from the café last year, when the doorbell rang, and it was my brother’s friend Glenn.  So…that’s sort of weird.  I’d forgotten he had a friend named Glenn.


The other night I had this bizarre dream that was sort of a cross between Dr. Doolittle and The Birds.  I could talk to animals.  The bad thing was, though, that they were all going crazy and becoming vicious, maneating killers.  But they all knew it was coming, so they were trying to warn me.  Like at one point, The Mormon’s pugs came into the café while I was working to tell me.

Later I’m at my old house in Virginia with these two big dogs, and we’re just talking about how they’re going to change soon, and then the one does, right there in front of me, and it pounces on me and knocks me over, and then the other dog immediately pounces on it and they start fighting, and the one that’s still okay yells, “Ginny, I’m going to change!  Run; just run!”  And I run up the stairs.  Remind me never to run up the stairs if I’m being hunted in real life.

And then later I came home and George was leaving.  This was very, very sad…he explained that he had to leave because he was going to change, too, and I said, “No, you can’t leave!  You’re my George!  I love you, George!” and he said, “That’s exactly why I have to go.”

I love my George!


I had yet another one quite a while ago—this was when I was in Illinois—that Brother and his friends found in our basement (we don’t have a basement; we don’t even have two floors) a portal to every other universe in existence.  The way it worked was, they’d jump through it and just end up somewhere, in any other universe.  And then they just had to jump through from the other side, and it would automatically bring them back to here.

These other universes could look very similar to this one, with maybe only a minor difference here or there.  They could also be totally and completely different.  No telling what they were jumping into.

They’d been gone a long time, and I went to find them and bring them back.  So I’m jumping into this thing, and I end up in several different places, but they aren’t there, and then I keep jumping through, and nothing’s changing at all—I’m still in our basement—when I finally realize that it is changing, it’s just so slight I can’t tell, and that they’re probably in there somewhere and I just don’t realize it.

I do eventually catch up with them, and I’m saying, “You can’t just go choosing your own universe just because you like it better!  Haven’t you ever seen The Butterfly Effect!?”

“No,” Brother says, “you wouldn’t let me watch it.”

“Oh…right,” I said.  “Well, haven’t you ever seen that episode of The Simpsons when Homer goes down to the basement with the toaster and things keep changing, and then he runs upstairs and it’s raining doughnuts?”  (This is an actual episode, which I believe is probably the basis for the dream, hence why I referenced it.)

I finally get them back home.  It rains doughnuts.

Sorry the quality of this entry completely sucks; I was rushing to get it all out, just so it’s documented for my own personal use.  There were probably a few more dreams I’m forgetting; I’ll add them later.

Catch-Up Stories: Part Two

Continuing with the catch-up from the last few weeks….

The Mormon called me one day before Doomsday to say, “I was just wondering if I could take you out for dinner next Tuesday.”

“You mean…Doomsday?” I said.

“Oh, it is Doomsday, isn’t it?  Well, that doesn’t even factor into it.  I was just thinking since it was, you know, Tuesday and all, we should celebrate that…not Doomsday or anything.  Completely unrelated.”

“Well…okay,” I finally relented.

So he made 9:30 reservations at this place where they apparently serve ostrich tenderloins.  I’m really intrigued by this.  I will let you know what ostrich tastes like once I have tried it.

And speaking of The Mormon…that story I wrote about before that took place in the car, that was so cute and all…last night he told me he plans to include that scene in a story he’s going to write soon, and he said, “So, you know, if you’re reading it and you suddenly realize that it sounds familiar…that’s why.  Because I’m stealing it from real life.”


I had this dream that I was…I guess on another planet or something, because the sky was a deep plum color, and I was watching a sunset.  It was really gorgeous, like a painting or something—it didn’t look real.  (Maybe because the sky was purple.)  And there was this gold streak against the horizon that grew more and more defined…it was very realistic, and yet not at the same time.  There was no plot to this dream; I just wanted to remember it.


We were all gathered around watching Freaks and Geeks (all meaning Mom, Dad, Brother, and me) and every now and then I’d make a comment about what somebody was really feeling at a particular moment…and at one point, Coach Fredericks is sitting on Bill’s couch watching football, and Bill comes in and changes it to Dallas, and he’s explaining to Fredericks what’s going on.  Mom said, “Does he really care?”

“Well,” I said, “he wants to be on good terms with Bill so he can…no, he doesn’t really care.”

The entire family laughed at that.  That was amazing.  I love when we have actual genuine bonding moments—they don’t happen that often.


The Mormon and I went to Corey’s house the other night, and his wife, Khris, served us these Brazilian drinks—I can’t pronounce it, but it was horrible!  The alcohol flavor was really, really evident.  Like, after one sip, I was breathing fire.

I told them I don’t drink but that I’d taste it.  They gave me an entire glass.  The Mormon told them he doesn’t drink and he’d already tried it and he didn’t want any.  They gave him his own glass.  We were able to pawn one of them off on somebody else and just share one, but even that we couldn’t finish; I think Corey eventually finished it up for us.  Then Know-It-All came in and drank like two of them.  I think I killed some brain cells on one sip.  Nearly vomited on another.  That was not pleasant.


We only have one episode of Freaks and Geeks left to get through, and I am heartbroken.  I’m now completely in love with this show. (I kind of have been since episode one.)  Brother and Dad really like it, too.  I knew they would; it’s their type of humor.  But it isn’t even just that it’s funny—it’s so perfectly realistic, and even though it’s set in 1980-81, I feel like it’s my high school and my friends and my little brother.


I would have thought ostrich would be a lot like chicken; surprisingly, it was way more like steak.  And so was buffalo.  These observations, coupled with the idea that we would never have imagined eating ostrich or buffalo, led to an in-depth discussion on Oregon Trail and the little lessons it taught us:  Never, ever ford a river.  Always make sure your oxen are healthy.  Among other things.  I did say that I’d pondered eating buffalo before.  Like, I’d go to the zoo and see ostrich and never once think, Wonder what that tastes like….  But I’d look at a buffalo and say, “Dude…I used to hunt you in Oregon Trail…I know you’ve got to taste good.”

So The Mormon got me black licorice for Doomsday after we joked about how he hated kissing me after I’d eaten it.  How cute is that?  And he also got me this kick-arse Phantom picture frame that plays Music of the Night, with the first picture of us ever taken.  I’d pointed it out that time we were in St. Augustine and said I thought it was cool.  It is.  It’s even cooler that he remembered that, though.


The secret to not losing track whilst licking the way to the center of any given lollipop is to pause after every ten counts.  That way you always know where you are; it’s the same principle as saving your work in specific places when using a word processor.  The other day I discovered that it takes 507 licks to get to the center of a Garfield Doomsday pop.

Later, when I was finished with the lollipop, just sitting there, minding my own business (well, I guess I was probably about to say something), a ladybug flew straight into my mouth.  I immediately spat it out, but it left a horrible aftertaste like Brussels sprouts, or perhaps grass—I don’t know, something salad-y.  Maybe that’s good luck.  I don’t know.  But it reminded me of Raiders, when the fly crawled into Paul Freeman’s mouth…and never reemerged.


This week I went to the doctor’s office to demand they sign my form.  Then I took all my paperwork to UNF, and Adrianna showed me around campus, like the library and the English department and such.  Just places I need to know the locations of that I don’t.

Catch-Up Stories: Part One

I have so much to catch you guys up on.  Our home computer is dead.  Again.  So I’m sitting here in an Internet café, spending money to bring you this update (which is mostly just a dream, anyhow, but I had to get it written down before too much of it escaped me).  My mom has said she might help me buy a laptop (meaning, she’ll put it on her credit card, and I’ll just pay her for it), so if that happens, I will never have to depend on the home computer again (plus, I’ll never have to share it with Psychobrat).  So that would be rad in an extreme way.  I’m going to just catch you up on a bunch of stories all at once.

Because I don’t believe Cort ever has a chance to look at this anymore, I don’t really feel guilty posting about this here before the next time I speak to her.  I just need to rant.

Nicole informed me that Cort still doesn’t approve of The Mormon, and really, her reasoning does seem to be that she thinks he’s psychotic just because he likes me.  This bothers me.  Yes, maybe just about every other guy who’s ever actually been interested in me has been psychotic to a degree, and I understand the concern, but am I just supposed to never date anyone ever?  Does my judgment mean nothing?  I’ve always been a superb judge of character.  Plus, I’ve never actually fallen for any of the psychos who liked me.  I kept my distance.  I think that should count for something.  I don’t see what the big deal is.  It just annoys me—and it sort of hurts, too—that I finally have somebody who really is very good to me and makes me happy, and now there’s this.  One of my two best friends doesn’t have enough faith in me to choose a decent guy.  That’s what I’m getting out of all this.  And she expressed approval before; I don’t see why it should have changed.

I just have to talk to her, I guess.  *Sigh.*

I thought I would share this quote (my own quote, if you wondered) explaining pretty clearly exactly why I don’t like Doomsday:

“Before I thought I just disliked it because I was single and had no reason to celebrate it.  Now I know I detest it because it’s every bit as manufactured and cheesy and pink and red and vomit-inducing as it was when I was single.  And how can anything that can honestly be described with a combination of words like ‘manufactured, cheesy, pink, red, vomit’ be appealing?”

Well, I was going to post the above like two weeks ago, but whatever.  I believe Katie’s issues with Doomsday are the same as mine:  When you’re actually with someone, being told that you have to go out and celebrate love on this one particular day along with the rest of the world is a major turn-off.  It adds that much more awkwardness to something that is already awkward enough as it is.  And cheap chocolates and tacky hearts just make it worse.


I made The Mormon watch Nanny McPhee with me, and there’s this one part when Colin Firth says something like, “Aren’t my children just delicious?” with a sort of crazed smile, and it was really creepy, creepy enough so that The Mormon and I glanced at each other like, “What the hell?” and The Mormon said, “I can’t envision ever using the word ‘delicious’ to describe another human being in any scenario” and I whispered back, “I don’t know…Colin Firth is kind of delicious.”  The expression on his face in response to that was delicious.

We were sitting in his car later (we spend a lot of time sitting in cars, so if you notice multiple stories starting off this way, just go with it) and I had my head resting on his shoulder, and he was just kind of running his hand up and down my arm, and I looked up at him and he was smiling, like he was just glad to be there with me.  Well…it was cute.  He didn’t know I was looking at him.  So then I sat up and smiled at him, and he said, “What are you thinking?” and I said, “I’m just thinking that I’m really happy to be with you.”


Brother and I were watching Freaks and Geeks yesterday, and it was the first episode when the boys are getting ready to fight Alan, and Brother said, “What is this, the nerds against the nerds?”  It was very funny the way he said it; then later, Alan leaned into one of their faces (I forget which) and said, “I’m sorry; I don’t speak Geek!” and Brother said, “Are you sure about that?”

A couple weeks ago, Brother, Mom, and I were watching Superman, and Superman tells Lois how he’s fighting for truth, justice, and the American Way, and Mom said, “So, what—Superman is only here for Americans?”

“No, Mom,” I said, “it just means that he believes in the American Way.  He’ll still help people from other countries.”

Brother said, “Dude, whatever.  Japan can get their own superhero!”

It was just so completely out of nowhere that I laughed very hard.


What else can I tell you about?  Oh!  On a recent work night, Michelle and I made a voodoo doll of Turtle, and then a bit later we decided to make one of Dennis so he would have company, and we set them both aside in a frying pan we were no longer using, and Turtle came out and said, “Well who’s the second one now?” and we told him, to which he responded, “Great—even when I’m a fucking voodoo doll in a frying pan, I’m still stuck with Dennis!”

In case you’re confused, “voodoo dolls” are things we make in our spare time on slow nights when not many people are coming through our line.  Usually we only do this on breakfast-for-dinner nights, because breakfast foods make the most fun fillings for the dolls (rubber gloves that we tie off once they are stuffed).  Scrambled eggs, grits…that sort of thing.

Later we had them all guess which ones they were (we made one of Maryann, too) and Dennis looked through them, pointed to his, and said, “Well, I can’t be that one, because I don’t have shit for brains.”  (Dennis had hash browns in his, with peppers and tomatoes and stuff.)

Also, Turtle did not know that he was called Turtle until tonight.  (And I’ve been calling him this since I met him like a year ago.)

I was about to tell him about our upcoming Friday Movie Night, and I said, “Hey, Turtle!”

There was this horrible pause as Michelle laughed out loud at me, and Turtle whirled around and finally said, “What did you just call me?”

An even longer pause as I tried to think how to answer that.  Finally I said, “Oh, you knew we called you Turtle!”

I might mention that Turtle received this nickname because he looks remarkably like the turtle in Master of Disguise.


I’m actually going to make another entry to share more catch-up stories from the last few weeks because this one is getting so long.  See you soon!

A Trip to Amish Country

One of the first things I noticed about Illinois—because it was dark when we finally arrived there, so the only things I could really see were street signs—was that there was a town called Effingham.  Effingham.  That is a really funny name for a town.

Effingham is somewhere between Champagne and Decatur, apparently, because that’s where it appeared on all the signs.  We spent all our time traveling between these two towns (and we made a trip one day to St. Louis).

As my subject implies, we were right in the heart of Amish Country.  Farmland for miles and miles on either side of the road.  Just endless barns and cornfields—dead, as it is the middle of winter, but cornfields nonetheless.  There were all these signs with pictures of horse-and-buggies, and “NEXT 5 MILES” written underneath.  And names like Lindenmeyer, Vyvenberg, and Schrock.  (Say that three times fast.)  Lindenmeyer, Vyvenberg, and Schrock.  Oh, and Aschermann.

Of course, my only concept of Amish people at all comes straight out of Witness, so I was not at all expecting Super Walmart to be the first place I ever saw an actual Amish person.

They looked like my concept of Amish people from the top down, except where they were wearing what appeared to be Skechers, or something to that equivalent.  All of them.  They were all in sneakers.  And there was this one kid who had glasses that just looked so…well, not Amish.  I don’t know how to describe them.  Too modern, I guess.

They were all over the Super Walmart.  A family back in the photo section, a woman pushing a cart in the direction of cosmetics, another family in front of us in line, buying…a rug.  Amish people.  Buying a rug.  Like…don’t they make their own rugs!?  When they noticed us behind them, they let us go ahead, so we turned and thanked them, and they said you’re welcome, and then we were all excited because the Amish people spoke to us.  And they smiled, too.  They were friendly about us geeking out over them.

And I’m not sure how they all arrived at the Super Walmart, either, because when we went out to the parking lot, I didn’t see any horses.  And I looked!

I did finally see some horse-and-buggies a few days later when we were up quite early in the morning, driving through cornfields.  So that’s cool.  I don’t really know why it was so interesting.  But it was.

The very next morning after our arrival, it snowed.  That was the first time I’d seen snow since we moved to Florida.  I miss snow.  It was as beautiful as I’d remembered.  There was one morning we were sitting in the car, and there was frost all over the windows, and the sun was shining through it, all gold and orange, and for the briefest moment, I had the sensation that that must be what it was like to be the Snow Queen, sitting in her castle of ice.  I really love snow.

The temperature each day really fluctuated.  Like, the first day, the high was in the 20s, but the next day it was in the 50s.  I think the highest I ever saw it while we were there was 57.  And I loved it.  Everybody else complained and got sick, but I loved it.  (I got sick as soon as we returned to Jacksonville and our stupid 75-degree January weather.)

As Cortney’s mom put it the morning we saw all the buggies and I got all excited:  “And people say there’s nothing to see in Illinois.”  And she chuckled.

By all means, read on if you are afraid of clowns.

But first, a Brother quote!  Brother, looking through the mail this afternoon:  “‘Falkor Jones’.  It’s six days until my birthday, and even the dog is getting more mail than me.”

I just wanted to preserve that quote before proceeding with the stupid clown dream.

The entire family had moved to a new state or something.  And then I went driving, and, as I didn’t recognize the area (we’d either left the state or the country, one, I’m not completely sure—I think just the state, although there is always the possibility of our having stepped into another universe), well…you know how I am with directions.  I got lost.  Brother was with me.  We ended up in this little…town, I guess…and there was this one building that for some reason we decided to buy tickets to enter.  The whole place was hailed as a big tourist spot.

So we stepped inside, and it turns out that this town was the site of some huge natural disaster from I have no idea what time period.  Everyone in the town had died.  Everyone.  But relatives of these people had moved back in, cleaned everything up, and the town had prospered since then as a tourist trap.

Mainly because of the building we were now in.  It was sort of like a museum—they’d reconstructed what they thought life in this town was like, mostly with wax figures.  (At one point, I commented to Brother on how it was like one of those stupid movies with the wax things that come to life.)

There was one room with…I think, actually, it was the band from Titanic—all in top hats and playing music (well, there was no sound, but that was the idea) and I started wondering if that was the time period, early 20th century, but then other stuff looked way more modern, and all these wax things were really realistic….

There were a couple rooms that really made me feel like I was in another country—parts of a specific location that has been in my dreams before, but I can never quite place it.

We’re not the only ones in there—it’s like the middle of the day, and there’s a teacher in there with her first grade class, or something.  There were other people walking around.  And I think it was when I saw the class that I suddenly remembered having read about the town when I was their age.  (No, it doesn’t really exist; this was just in the dream.)

And then we’re standing in one room, and there’s this really scary-looking clown standing there, frozen.  I’m standing right in front of it, and I say to Brother, who has already mentioned that he thinks all the wax people are sort of creepy, “Now that is truly frightening.  You know, I never really understood those people who were afraid of clAAAAAHHHHHHH!”

I had intended to say, “afraid of clowns, but this one really is evil-looking”…but I never finished the sentence, because the clown moved, and I jumped back so far, and I experienced a moment of blind panic in which the only things going through my head were, Cortney was right—clowns ARE evil! and HOLYSHITTHISCLOWNISGOINGTOKILLME! 

I took off running, really hard, and it’s running after me, and I’ve gone out this side door, and now we’re outside in the sunlight, and he’s still coming after me, and then of course, I fell, because that’s what always happens in moments like these, and he dropped down and was lying right on top of me, staring into my eyes all evilly, and then a whistle blew from somewhere.

“Damn it, I’m off the clock,” he said, and stood up.

This meant that his shift was over and it was time to get out of his work stuff (the clown makeup) and let somebody else take over.  So this new guy who had very similar makeup but was obviously a different guy stepped into place, and I went back inside with Brother, who was all, “That was so freaky!” and the clown who had attacked me had gone, and I was standing sort of near to the new clown, who kept stealing grins at me, but I knew he wasn’t going to attack me because I was already in on the joke, or whatever.  He just kept chuckling.  I glared.

Then I found this brochure thing on the museum, and I’m looking at it, and there’s a place with the pictures of all the different guys who play this clown thing, but I can’t find one who looks enough like the one who’d attacked me, and I said out loud, “Well where the hell is he?  I can’t find him!”

Then there was this deep, growly voice right over my shoulder—and I felt the breath on my neck—who said, “That’s because I’m not in the brochure, sweetheart.”

I jumped again, and the clown next to me laughed, and so did the voice behind me, who of course happened to be the one who had attacked me, except he was no longer wearing makeup or a hat or anything, he was all clean, and…it was Dane Cook.  Except I don’t think it was really Dane, I think it was just some random dude who happened to look exactly like him.  But anyway, he and the new clown are just laughing at me, and I’m getting more and more pissed off, and then I woke up.

End scene.