Paint Jeans, a Grievous Dream, and a Trip to a Frightening Dimension

I got new paint splotches on my paint jeans tonight–red and white ones.  This is very exciting for me, because it is my oldest pair of jeans, and they were starting to seem so old and tiresome, but now they will feel newish again.  The novelty is back.  I heart novelty.  Novelty is a great word and a great thing.

For anyone who’s wondering, the paint appeared when The Mormon (who is so extremely hot, by the way, and greater even than novelty) and I were painting his bookshelf.

The Mormon lives way out in the middle of nowhere where my GPS doesn’t work, and I left his house tonight at about 10:30, and as I was driving along, I was listening my voice messages.  All of a sudden, I noticed that the road seemed…different.  While it normally seems dark and empty, it was now even more so.  There was nothing on either side of me.  I kept driving, thinking I must have just been imagining things; the farther I went, however, the more it just felt wrong.  There was nothing, and I couldn’t escape that horrible feeling that I had somehow ended up in another dimension.  Now don’t get me wrong, finding myself in another dimension could be a really cool thing, but I think I have to add to my list of irrational fears that of accidentally ending up in some freaky dimension where all there is is a road that just keeps going and there’s nothing around, and it just keeps going and going forever with nothing and nobody to speak to.  This is what I thought had happened.  So I called The Mormon.  No answer.  Tried again.  Still no answer.

Okay, I thought, let’s just calm down and think about this rationally.  I knew I had made a right turn, so if the fault was mine, and not that of the multiverse, then it meant I’d just made the wrong right turn.  If I approached the huge Watson building, I would know that that was what I had done.

The huge Watson building appeared, and, assuming that it was the one I was thinking of and not an alternate-dimension Watson building (a Bizarro Watson building, if you will), I pulled into the parking lot and turned around.

Things were going fine, until I got it into my head that I had been driving for way too long and started freaking out again.  Where was the end of the road!?  And then I hit a dead armadillo and screamed very loudly.  But everything was fine a few minutes later when the end of the road finally made itself known, and I made the correct right turn and was on my way.  The Mormon finally called and explained that his cell phone was on vibrate and he had no idea it was ringing (although he was quite concerned when he saw I’d called three times, as he is well aware of my tendency to get lost).

That’ll teach me to check voice messages while driving.

Well, no, not really.  It’ll just remind me while I’m doing it that I shouldn’t be.  But I happen to enjoy getting scared.  Gryffindors convert fear into energy.

There are student elections going on on campus right now, and all across the green, there are these big wooden signs stuck in the ground that read:


We were joking about swapping the piece that read, “HANDS?” with the piece that read, “ASS” so that the sign would read:


This was all going to take place in the middle of the night; it would have been great.  We could have gotten away with it.  Unfortunately, nobody else wanted to risk getting community service over spring break, so we didn’t do it.  It would have been such fun.   I was telling The Mormon about it, and I said, “We’re going to dress all in black, and wear ski masks–”

He interrupted me at this point, looking seriously concerned, and said, “Oh, don’t do that! That’s a capital offense.”

I laughed and punched his arm lightly.  “Don’t worry, I’m only joking,” I said innocently.  “We don’t own ski masks.”

I had this horrible tragic dream that Gary was going to die.  It seemed to be back in high school, because Ms. M. was there, as well as all the drama kids.  And Gary had won all these medals for acting and stuff, but they were all broken and laying in the dirt, and nobody really saw them there, but I saw them and reached over sadly to pick them up.  Ms. M. was just talking to us all, explaining what was wrong (I’m not really sure what was wrong) and how much longer he had (like a day).  It was so sad.

So I went inside to my locker, where Gary was at his locker right next to mine (Gary never had a locker right next to mine, but that doesn’t really matter, because the school looked nothing like ours, anyway).  He was pulling stuff out of it, and when I got there next to him, he said, “Hi, Ginny,” and I said, “Hi, Gary…so…I heard.”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Ginny…before I go, there’s something that I have to tell you.”

And then that was it.  I woke up.  I never found out what he was going to tell me.

I’m going to go and watch The X-Files with Brother.  He’s been waiting so patiently.


And suddenly, a long-forgotten stalker returns from the grave….

Talking in my sleep has been frequent these past few days.  I have no idea what the hell I was dreaming this morning, but I woke up either in the middle of this, or during it…I don’t know, but I was saying it in my sleep:

“You keep looking for solutions to new scientific problems.  Understand the formulaic approach that science can never explain itself, and you’ve basically got it made.”

…!?  I don’t even know what that means!  I mean…what is that!?

You will never believe who called me today.  I hardly believed it myself; it had just been so long.  In fact, I think it’s been about two years since I heard from this person.

It was Brown Mucus.

I wasn’t home at the time, fortunately; my dad let me know, when he came back, that she had called.  But wow…the irony.

I realize that most of you have no idea who Brown Mucus is—it’s been that long.  Allow me to fill you in.

During high school, two of my stalkers were female.  Brown Mucus was one.  I met her through a few of my other friends.  She was always an oddball, with dirty, greasy hair, weird, unkempt eyebrows, and…well…she resembled a mouse, basically.

Brown Mucus’ favorite topics of conversation (the only topics, apparently, she knew how to discuss) were her boyfriend, her ex-boyfriend, the Jonas Brothers, whatever teeny-bop magazine she was currently reading, her period, and how sick she was.  Brown Mucus was always sick, and she always went into detail about it.  (Incidentally, the very name “Brown Mucus” comes from the time she informed me that she was headed to the bathroom with stomach issues, came back a few minutes later, and declared that she had thrown up the substance.)

She also had rapey tendencies and used to try to force me to make out with her boyfriend, and it was very frightening having her calling me obsessively all the time, even after she had moved to…Massachusetts, I think it was?

But I started avoiding her calls.  I was never home or never available when she called, and eventually she just sort of…gave up.

Now—oh, the irony of it all—now that I have another very real stalker, suddenly, she’s back.  Oh joy.

A Rant in One Act

This is my one week off.  It’s the week when I can stay up until 5 or 6:00 in the morning reading and then sleep all day if I want to, and damn the consequences (because there aren’t any).  I should be able to enjoy this.

I should not be woken up at 11:15 by a call from Psychobrat asking me to please come by the high school with a pair of jeans for her.

Of course, being not entirely coherent, I didn’t realize at the time that I could say no, that there probably wasn’t that much pleading in her voice because Mom or Dad had told her to call me so they wouldn’t have to leave work, that it was probably there because she didn’t want to have to go to them.  No, I didn’t think about that.  At first.

As time went on, of course, and I tried to work out how I could sleep a little bit longer, I became more awake.

“And when do I have to be out there, exactly?”


“I can’t get there now.”

“Well how soon can you get here?”

“Whenever I can.  I’m sleeping.  I have the day off.”

“But I need you to be here now.”

A voice from the background.

“You can just bring them to the main off–”

“I have to go inside?  Well, of course I do, they won’t exactly let you walk out to the car to meet me.  Well that puts a whole new spin on things.  I’ve got to get dressed, I’ve got to get a shower–”

“No you don’t, you can just come in the way you are, it doesn’t matter.”

Basically, I had two options:  a) I could get up from my comfortable bed where I had been in the middle of a very pleasant dream about a certain person, drive all the way out to the school and back in the heat, when I’m trying to save on gas because everybody here is broke, and actually walk into the school, where I shall be treated very rudely because that’s just how they operate over there, if they even let me into the building in the first place….

Or b) I could let the selfish bitch suffer the consequences for being too damned stupid to care about the dress code on the second bloody day of school.

Right.  Option ‘b’ it is, then.  I went back to sleep.

Of course, I didn’t stay there for very long, in case she called my dad who would force me to go out there.  But as she was still waiting for my call (I’d asked what would happen if I didn’t show up, she’d said she would get I.S.S.P., I said I’d think about it, she said she’d pay me $10, I said if I showed up, I expected to be paid, she said she didn’t have the money on her, I said, “Right, see you later, then” and that’s when I hung up)…anyway, as she was still waiting for my call, I decided to call my mom first.  I explained the situation and asked if I was obligated to go out there.  She said no.  I went back to sleep for two minutes but by then was wide awake and had to get up, anyway.  Wonder what she’s doing now, if she’s still sitting there waiting for me to call or if they just went ahead and gave her I.S.S.P.  (Why is it called I.S.S.P., anyhow?  That makes no sense to me.  In Virginia it was I.S.S., because it’s “in-school suspension”.  When did “sus” and “pension” become two separate words?)

I never broke dress code, not once; I don’t know why she should have such a problem with it.  Everywhere she goes—school, soccer practice (where all the mothers on the team complain that her shorts are too short, but she doesn’t understand what the problem is)…no, I think it’s high time she understood.  At least take a pair of jeans herself if she knows she’s going to be stupid, so nobody else has to drive out there.  So effing selfish.  If it hadn’t been my day off, one of my parents would have had to take off from work to do it instead, but she wouldn’t care, because that’s how she is.


Adventures At Fort Caroline

I had overall a pretty sweet day today.

Tinny and I arrived at the U-Store place at 9:00 to supervise the movers handling Budget’s stuff.  (Only had to pass the place twice before we made it into the parking lot!)

While we were there, I spotted Budget’s senior yearbook sitting on one of the boxes, so I picked it up to give us something to occupy us while waiting.  I went searching for my message (because I remembered I’d written about a page) just to see what I’d said.  I was reading it out loud, getting a kick out of it, when, about halfway through the page, I was suddenly struck by how straight my writing was across the page.  Like I’d been writing on lined paper or something.  This is unusual for me; I have pretty neat writing, but not when there are no lines.  So I commented on this to Tinny.

And then I read the very next line—“I just noticed how straight my writing looks across the page…that’s amazing!”

How freaky is that?  I noticed the same thing at the same time as I did two years before when I was first writing it.

So then Tinny and I came back to my house, chilled a bit, and headed off to the Ribaut/Ribault (it’s spelled both ways) monument, so she could see what it was.  The weather was so lovely today…not too cold, not too hot…just right.

Then we went to the fort.  Fort Caroline.  We had the most amazingly fun time.  We were basically acting out every character in history that we could imagine being at that fort.  Sentinels, Commanders, enemies, tourists…you name it.  Man…I will never forget today.

And then we came back, picked up Milo, and went to lunch at our British place.  After that, we did some random driving around in places that I’ve never driven and that Tinny did not even know existed.  Then I dropped Tinny off, and we discussed how much we had bonded and grown as friends over the past 14 hours.  We had a good time today.

We don’t need no education….

Last night Milo and I were watching old episodes of SNL on some app on his phone.  There was this one skit with Seth Meyers in which he played “Mr. J.”, the Coolest Teacher in School.  He was a laid-back sorta guy whom all the students loved, until “Phil” walked into the room…“accidentally”.  Luke Wilson portrayed Phil, who at first appeared to be a student, as his quality of laid-backness was much more apparent than Mr. J.’s…but instead, he was the new history teacher, who had wandered into the wrong room “by mistake”.  It seemed his actual intention was to win over all the students and become the new Coolest Teacher in School (who didn’t believe in last names).  However, the school principal wandered in, removed Phil’s long wig, and revealed that he was, in actuality, the most hated teacher in school in disguise, trying to draw loyalty away from Mr. J., whom he despised for being what he himself could never be.  In the end, the students realized once again how much they loved Mr. J., and Mr. J. decided not to resign (because he could no longer teach without his status as “Coolest Teacher in School”) and agreed to go with some girl to get her abortion next week.  Something like that.

I kept thinking about how Pierce was the coolest teacher at our school…I guess this is why he seeped into my subconscious last night.  I dreamed that he talked Cortney and me (I guess we were still in high school) into transferring to that really nice school, with the beautiful auditorium, where he lives (about 40 minutes from here).  So we arrived, dressed in our Hogwarts uniforms, at this school which turned out to be a boarding school.  There was a wall around the school with this huge iron gate at the entrance…it kinda seemed like a prison, I suppose…but Cort and I just thought it was pretty.

So we start attending classes.  There was this assembly on the first day of school, and everybody sat at rigid attention in the auditorium, while the headmaster/principal/whatever gave an introductory speech.  Everybody seemed to pay him the utmost attention and respect.  Everyone was so well-behaved!  I also noticed that everybody, dressed in their school uniforms (which did not match our Hogwarts ones at all) looked really preppy and snobby…anyway.

There was a fountain.  A big, pretty fountain, in the main courtyard right inside the gate.  It has absolutely nothing to do with the story, but I remember it in the dream, so I thought I’d point it out.

Cort and I arrived at our first class, where we were seated at these long, rectangular tables, like students would sit at in elementary school.  The teacher, standing at the front of the room, asked us with this big cheery grin to please open our textbooks to page 2 and complete exercises A through E.  The textbooks were really thin, hardback, and reminded me a lot of those spelling books we had in like, 1st through 6th grades.  We noticed immediately that all of the students opened their books at the exact same time in the exact same way.  We were a couple of seconds behind, and the teacher came up behind us and said sweetly, “Don’t you two want to do the assignment?” and Cort said, “Yeah, we are” and I said, “We were just taking in the scenery” and we both grinned at her.  She smiled still more sweetly and walked back to her big wooden desk.  Cort and I looked at each other like, “Whoa…that was weird” and got to work.

After a couple of hours in one class (it seemed the school days were a lot longer than normal) we would have these 5-minute breaks, and we noticed again, on break, that all the students closed their books at the exact same time in the exact same way.  We kept exchanging glances like, “What is this!?”  We sort of listened to the students’ conversations…they all did seem pretty snobby, though…I wish I could remember the sorts of things they talked about, but I don’t.

Later, we change classes, and now we are in Mr. J.’s class.  How great is that!?  He was so much more personable, normal, and less creepy than that other woman.  And while there was still that feeling of sameness among all the students, it was more relaxing in Mr. J.’s class.  He was more human.  And then we realized that everybody else in this school seemed horribly robotic.  That was the word!  Robotic.  We hadn’t known how to describe it before that point.

The next thing I remember happening is Cort and me deciding to crawl through air shafts in the school and try to listen in on conversations among the faculty.  We did so, but…we didn’t really hear anything.

So we decided to appeal to Mr. J., because obviously.  What better course of action could there be?  He was the most human of anyone else in the entire school.  If he didn’t know what was going on, we assumed, no one would.  We arrived in his classroom off-schedule one day, at a time when we knew he didn’t have any students, and under the guise of needing extra help with an assignment.  Since we were transfers, we were just a little behind all the other students and needed to work that much harder to catch up—or so we claimed.  We asked Mr. J. if he had noticed anything particularly strange about the rest of the school.

At first, Mr. J. listened, dead serious.  Then he laughed, like we didn’t know what we were talking about, and said, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”  This was very distressing.  It was even more distressing a moment later when he grew solemn again and said (with a completely straight face), “You know I can turn you in to the headmaster for asking questions.  You know you’re not supposed to do it.  But because I am the Coolest Teacher in School, I’ll let you off with a warning this time.  Don’t do it again.  Now unless you had any real questions about schoolwork…enjoy your lunch break.  You can eat in here if you want.  I’ve got soft drinks.”

But Cortney insisted that we go somewhere where we could talk.  We went back to our room, where no other students were at that time, because everybody else was down eating lunch.  We discussed the fact that the school was really creeping both of us out, but that if we tried to escape from it, some of the faculty could probably become pretty dangerous…it just seemed that way, we thought, based on dozens of movies we’d seen.  So we decided not to do anything yet, and just bide our time.

A couple of weeks later, Mr. J. asked us both to see him during lunch.  Having no idea what this could possibly be about (we were both doing very well with all of our work, as all the work that ever seemed to be done in that school was elementary-type stuff), we showed up, clueless.

Mr. J. shut the door and said, completely serious once again (which was strange, as he was rarely serious), “Okay…I pretended to think you two were crazy…but I have reason to believe your minds are in grave danger at this school.  All of ours are.  Of course I’d noticed all the things you’d mentioned to me before that day, but I didn’t know what to do about them.  I’d thought maybe I was losing my mind.  But the fact that both of you have noticed it too led me to delve a bit deeper into it.  I’ve been eavesdropping on some of the other teachers’ conversations, and I’ve involved myself in certain other espionage that could get me fired and probably much, much worse….”  After a dramatic pause, he went on to explain that there was a conspiracy among the teachers to turn all of the students into robots (not literally); they were trying to brainwash us all into becoming these perfect, ideal students (who did work that elementary-school kids could do) for the simple motive of becoming the highest-rated school in the country.

So we decided to start making plans to run away.  Cort and I would spend each lunch in his room (“which wouldn’t be at all noticeable,” he pointed out, “because I am the Coolest Teacher in School”…a character flaw that had carried over from the SNL skit).  Cort and I left his classroom that day, headed back to our room, and as we walked the corriders, Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” started playing from somewhere.  This was strange—I hadn’t heard the song the day before.  It just sort of crept in there.  And it was perfect.  It made so much sense.  Another strange thing about it, though, was that it seemed to be playing, not in the actual scene, but more like overlapping, like the soundtrack in an actual movie.  I don’t think we could hear it.  Only I heard it, as though I was watching a movie.

And then I woke up (with the song in my head). I don’t know if we ever got away or not. So ends my DisturbingBehaviorSNL-real-life-whatever-else-I’m-forgetting-esque dream.

Pretty anticlimactic, eh?

A Genius Named Drew

Today I remembered a very comical story that I am very ashamed to have forgotten; I’d have to say it’s one of the most amusing things to happen to me…ever.

A few years ago, when my friends and I owned the backseats of the school bus, this new kid arrived…and when I say “kid”, I mean like, 11, 12 years old.  He was this adorable little thing with glasses named Drew, and Drew was a genius.  This is why he rode our bus.  While he was in high school, he didn’t attend ours–he took a shuttle from ours to the prep school each day.  I think he was a sophomore or junior…?  Anyway, we all thought he was just the cutest thing, and always fought over who was going to get to sit next to him, and who was going to be the first to break down and ask him out and whatnot.  (Because, even though he was so young, his IQ was still up there, ya know?  And we were only 15.)  And Drew, in turn, flirted with each and every one of us…I remember when he gave us all cards on Valentine’s Day.  He used to help us with our homework because he was just so much better stuff than we were.  I remember getting improved grades on my math homework after he put his mind to it.

One day, Drew did not appear on the bus.  And he never came back.  We all missed him terribly after that, and then forgot almost entirely about him, until sometime the next year…my sister informed me that Drew was on her soccer team, and upon finding out her last name, asked her if she knew me.  Apparently she already knew him from school, because he used to go to hers.  Drew was not a genius at all–the reason he no longer went to her school was because he had been kicked out, and was now taking a shuttle bus from ours to some school for troubled children.  We were all duped by the little weasel.

How pathetic is that!?

Kid’s like my hero now.