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.


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.

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.)


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.

Sleepy Entry About My New Stalker

We went to see Guardians of the Galaxy II the other day.  We arrived a bit early to wait in the concession line for a while.

Then we met these guys…Mr. Matthew, and Norman.  We thought (well, I thought, not really sure about Cortney and Nicole) that they were in, like, high school, until we found out they’re in the Navy.

Well, as we were walking in, their friend Nick showed up, and when we got inside, he somehow got separated from the rest of the group.  But that was okay, he said, because he could just come and sit with us.

So we were sitting…and sitting…just waiting for the movie to start, and talking….  The seating arrangement was, left to right, Nick, Nicole, Cortney, me, blank space.  And we’re all just talking, and he mentions his large salary, and Cortney, joking, reaches out her hand as though to shake his, and says dramatically, “Did I mention I’m Cortney?”

So—also joking—I dramatically pushed Cortney back, leaned forward, held out my own hand, and said, “Did I mention I’m single?”

A little while later, he moved to the empty seat next to me, explaining that his neck was sore from leaning over and talking to us all in one direction.  And then he…talked to me…for the rest of the movie.

Now I knew…I could tell…he was interested.  Wonderful.  Cort and Nicole had the same idea.

Sure enough, he called Cortney the next day to ask if she thought he should ask me out.  Essentially, Cort told him no, but he found reason enough to do it anyway.  It hasn’t happened yet, and isn’t going to, because I’m not going to answer my phone to him anymore.  He’s a stalker.  Seriously.  He does not stop calling, either me or Cort (although he’s never called Nicole once, fortunately for her).  And when you do finally answer the phone to him, he doesn’t stop talking.

The problem, we believe, is that he has no friends down here (and he’s obsessed with me).  The whole time he was hanging out with Cortney today, and every time he talks to her, the conversation keeps leading back to me.  Every time the phone rang, “Is that Ginny!?”  When the phone beeped a daily reminder at Cortney, “Is that Ginny!?”

And just so much more; too much to write an entire entry about, after I’ve discussed it ‘til I’m blue in the face.  (And plus it’s really late.)

So we decided…we’re not obligated to him.  We’re just going to ignore him and drop him cold turkey.

This could only happen to me.  Only I could walk into a concession line and pick up a stalker.  Story of my life.  (And Bob got such a kick out of it at work.

Anyway, as usual these days, this was a pretty boring post I guess, as I’m just rambling, trying to get everything down before I fall asleep.  I need to go to bed now.  Pleasant dreams, all.

Psychobrat’s Attention Issues

Psychobrat, as you all know, has anger issues.  But, as I discussed with Cort earlier tonight, I don’t feel that it’s so much anger issues as it is attention issues.  Psychobrat can’t act, and it’s nearly always obvious when she’s faking something.

So when she gets “angry”, there is always much yelling and cursing, and often much crying, as well.  She will hit things or Brother as the urge arises, and slam doors, and do everything she can to be sure people notice.  It goes on until I wonder if she even cares anything at all about the anger-inducing stimulant, or if she only cares about the attention.

Today she was sitting at the computer while I was in my room changing for work.  I heard her start making noises, and then the pounding sound as she lifted the keyboard and smacked it against the desk several times.  She then did this with the mouse.

Milo once told me about a time that she did this while I wasn’t around, and how much he thought she looked like an ape as she did.  So, not being within eyesight, I pictured a big hairy chimp, banging the keyboard around and screeching, “YOU F—ING MACHINE!”

I moved into the kitchen to look for a snack.  She headed out the back door.  I didn’t know or care what she could possibly be doing out there, until I heard the pounding, which meant she was kicking the porch.

As I was checking the fridge, she walked briskly and purposefully back into the house, into the kitchen, past me, and out to the garage, where she grabbed one of those flat-head broom things, and headed out the back door once again.

I had no idea what was about to happen here, so of course I had to find out.  I looked out the back door and saw her hitting the tree continuously with the broom.  Um…okay?

I wasted no time.  I grabbed my phone and started snapping pictures.  At one point, I yelled, “Smile!”

She appeared to be trying not to laugh.  Angry…right.  As I said to Cort before, even if she had originally been angry enough to whack a tree with a broom, it had worn off.  This wasn’t instinct.  She had had plenty of time in there to cool off, between, “Grr, I’m pissed,” and, “Hey, why don’t I get a funky-looking broom out of the garage so I can hit this tree?”, and then the walk to the garage and back.  That’s not anger; that’s “Watch me make a spectacle of myself.”

Well, I am practically asleep now; I’m typing with my eyes shut.  I’ll post this and then get to bed.

“Do you believe in Moses?”: Fun Arguments As Usual In The Jones House

An interesting argument ensued in my house this morning between my father and me, when Psychobrat was going on about Amityville Horror and how she can’t sleep at night anymore, and the entire family went to the computer to look at pictures of the real house, read aloud something about a priest visiting the house and saying that the third floor was the worst part, and I mistakenly said something (but what?—I can’t remember precisely what my comment was) about how I don’t believe there are quite so many exorcisms being performed by priests as some would have you believe.

Not that exorcisms are something you hear about on the news every day.  What I meant was that I don’t feel that every case of divine intervention necessarily involves a Catholic priest (or that if it does, there’s quite a bit of hoaxing going on, as well).  Come on, I’m supposed to believe that God only works through Catholics?  And only the priests, at that?  That, just because a man is a Catholic priest, he can suddenly sense evil spirits wherever they may lurk?

I stated as much, pointing out that supposedly God works through plain old ordinary people quite often—people you just wouldn’t expect to see great things coming from.  (Jesus was a carpenter.  His mother was the wife of one.  Noah was no Prince of Egypt, although Moses was, but only in name.)

Somehow this led my dad to ask me questions like, “So you don’t believe there is evil in the world?”

Did I ever say that I don’t believe that there’s evil in the world?  How anyone could live in this world and not believe in the existence of evil is beyond me.

“And you do believe in Moses?” he went on.  And, “Why do you even believe in religion at all if you have thoughts like this?”

I said, “All I said is that I don’t believe God always chooses to work through Catholic priests!” and as he was partially distracted anyway, the conversation sort of died right there.

The truth is, maybe I don’t believe in religion anymore.  Or God.  I don’t know.  I just keep asking myself questions.  And to me it seems suspicious that religious people, like my family, are quick to get offended when you question things about religion.  I can’t ask an innocent question without you freaking out?  It seems like you have something to hide, like maybe deep down you don’t even believe in the religion and are afraid that if I won’t believe in it with you then it will be exposed as a fraud.  Because seriously, if “God works through more people than just Catholic priests” causes you to freak out and wonder whether I think Moses was real…it seems you’re hiding something.

But then I feel blasphemous and afraid for having these thoughts.  Like I’ve been brainwashed all my life not to question my own beliefs for fear of what could happen if I allow my mind to wander too much.

Anyway.  Cort and I got our apartment in Orlando.  Of course, I still have not heard from UCF, so god only knows if I’ll be moving into the place.

I’m not feeling too well at the moment, so I’m going to end this right here and just wait for the laundry to be done so I can go to bed.