More Than a Feeling

Okay, enough with the Boston jokes, because this is kind of serious to me...

There's a time when a thought becomes more than just a thought. A thought is defined as "a single act or product of thinking; idea or notion." Sure, you can use your imagination when thinking and have images play out in motion, but you don't feel thinking. Your body doesn't get warm, or get cold, and your eyes don't get goo in them. And as far as I know, real life events don't speed through your mind's eyes as if they're really happening, and then several hours later, truly happen.

Same with dreaming, right? Dreams may seem real to you when you're dreaming them; sometimes you even have lucid dreams (dreaming but knowing you are during the process). But I don't think it's normal to feel pain or texture when dreaming, or to dream things and have them happen later that day or month.

Or is it?

Yesterday morning, I woke up and hopped in the shower to get ready for church. I brought my Venus razor in with me to shave my legs. Afterwards, I decided it was high-time to change the razor head. I pushed the cute little eject button and the head popped off and into our open-ended waste bin. I clarify this because we have two waste bins in the bathroom: one for general things, like empty shampoo bottles or tooth paste tubes, nail clippings, etc. Then there is a second bin for things like Q-tips, tissues, personal items that need to be tossed - basically anything that our beloved dog Max could (and would love to) chew. That bin has a lid on it so that he can't stick his little hose nose in and pull anything out. We realized all too fast that he enjoys chewing things like that and would stick his head into the trash at night and pull things out, leaving a trail of trash for us to pick up in the morning. So, back to the razor: when I popped it off into the open trash bin, I seriously had what I'm guessing to be some kind of day-mare: Max sticking sniffing around for food, smelling something tasty, grabbing it with his mouth, but catching the razor up with it...chewing it, cutting himself, bleeding everywhere on our black and white tiled floor...

I blinked and it was over, but I was sweating. I grabbed the razor out of the bin and threw it in the other one.

Fast-forward to 6:30 that night. I had gone upstairs to get a flosser out of the upstairs bathroom's medicine cabinet - my dad had treated me to dinner for helping him on a job a couple weeks ago, and I'd had chicken (which ALWAYS gets stuck in my back teeth). When I got the the doorway, I saw a combination of paper and (what the heck?) a Subway paper wrap (you know - how they wrap the sub in that waxy paper with their logo on it?). Max had been sniffing around in the waste bin again. It was actually half-way tipped over, leaning precariously against the side of the sink, and the wrapper was torn to shreds. The sandwich must have been my brother's since there were remnants of sauce stained into our bathmat that the dog must have trampled into the threads. And then it hit me - that day-mare - Max eating out of the trash. He totally would have grabbed the razor.

Fast-forward to last night/this morning.

A woman gets into her car after loading the trunk with groceries. She pulls away slowly, she and her three children - a boy and two girls. Within seconds, there's a man - lanky, African-American, short braids sticking up like thick strands of hair - grabbing at the passenger door, trying to open it. She screams, setting off an echoing wave of terror in the back seat of her small compact vehicle. The man succeeds in opening the door, but the woman picks up speed, swerving through the parking lot in an attempt to throw him from her car door. He does, and she slams on the brakes, lurching to a stop. "HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP!" she screams, and two men - one tall African-American and one shorter Caucasian man - come jogging over to see what is the matter. The assaulter is limp on the ground. The shaken woman leans toward her still-opened passenger door to see if her attacker is injured or dead while the men get out their cell phones to call 911. She pulls her door shut, hits the "all lock" button on her door, and starts to cry. While trying to calm down her kids, the man is suddenly back at her door and trying to open it. She throws the car into drive to make her second effort to escape the man as he begins to run around the front of the car, probably trying to get to her door or window. She rams him, he falls to the ground, and the police cars arrive. She buries her face in her hands, rests her head against the wheel, and sobs uncontrollably while her kids do the same in the back seat.

Then I wake up, sweating, breathing fast, sitting bolt upright. I don't know what made me dream that...but I did. And it's not like every dream I have comes true, but I've been keeping a journal of the weird ones like this; and it turns out that a heck of a lot of them do. So now, something's making me want to watch the news late tonight...

Happy Birthday to Me...

Well, today marked the beginning of my 20th year of life...and it started out drippy.

I had my alarm set for 8:00 this morning to get up for church, but, as always, I hit the snooze a good two or three times. The third time, I noticed I could hear the rain...but I had been hearing the rain earlier -- just outside. This time it sounded like it was coming from inside. My mom and I had fallen asleep downstairs, so I (from the loveseat) called over to her on the couch: "Mom. Mom, wake up. Do you hear that?"

"Yeah, it's raining."

"No, I know. But something isn't right...it sounds like it's raining in here."

"Someone probably just left the window open; it's probably hitting the windowsill."

"No, Mom, you don't hear that? I'm saying it sounds like it's raining in the living room!"

*stops and listens* "Oh. Wow. Yeah..." *looks up* "OH MY GOSH, IT IS RAINING IN THE LIVING ROOM!"

And that's how the day started. I came downstairs to see my dad had stationed two buckets and a small pot under the three major drippy areas. He went outside later that morning and determined the leak to be a result of a bent-up shingle. ALL THAT FOR ONE FREAKING SHINGLE. So hopefully we'll get that fixed before the infamous "April showers" we're likely to be getting within the next couple days. [yikes]

Otherwise though, great birthday. Not one of those milestone ones like 16, 18, or (in the future) 21, but hey, I can't complain. After church I was able to take a nice nap, then headed out to get my free coffee that Caribou owed me. Turned out that I could make it ANY drink of ANY size. So naturally I got the biggest thing they offered, a large, of my favorite specialty drink - the white chocolate mocha. Ordinarily, I get it skim, but today I got it soy since it was free (HA! Cuz there's no way I'm spending an extra 35¢ on a drink just to make it soy). After that, we (my mom and I visited the Old Navy that was nearby. I, being the moron that I am at times, forgot to bring along the gift card that I got in the mail from my cousin, so all I could do was look around. Still, we had a good time. On the way back, we stopped at a local DQ to pick up my ice cream cake (my favorite). I told my mom that I wanted to pick what was written on the cake, and she agreed; but when I asked if I could get "Happy Birthday, you sexy thang," she said no. She also turned down "Happy One Year Away from Being Legal" and "Happy Birthday to the Awesome Daughter." Not sure why... :-)

So we had pizza for dinner, ice cream cake and coffee for dessert. I got (apart from some $) a green PINK tote, a pair of layered butterfly earrings, a v-neck Tink tshirt, and [GASP!] the first season DVD of my all-time favorite TV show. I also got this really cool homemade crown that said "Princess Sammi" on the front and "--> I'M AWESOME <--" on the back, but I gave myself that gift, so I guess that doesn't count. After gift opening, we played a few rounds of Catch Phrase, which is hilarious with my family. I've got two nearly deaf grandfathers and a grandma who can't help but spell the word out under her breath if you don't catch on fast enough - it's always so much fun. We walk away with so many inside jokes after every time we play it.

So now that I've walked Max, it's time to look for that episode of "Lie to Me" that I missed last-last Wednesday...thank God for Hulu.

The Adventures of Vinny and Christine

My sister and I had a very successful trip to the mall on Saturday: I stopped in at Hot Topic and picked up a Paramore CD for way cheaper than I would have had I gone to Borders (sorry, Borders, I love you but it’s true). After browsing around the sales racks, we moved on to Payless where – after what seemed like hours of trying on every black ballet style shoe they had – she picked out these.

When we got home, I gave Max a bath (for which he was ever so grateful). He really is the most hilarious dog to watch when he’s feeling frisky, especially after bath time: he goes tearing down the stairs at breakneck speed and then proceeds to leap – no, pounce – from one piece of furniture to the next as fast as he can, digging his nose into the cushions to dry off/ itch his little bearded snout. In our living room, we sort of have the Bermuda Triangle set-up going on where the couch, loveseat, and easy chair are all within jumping reach for him. Technically, he’s not allowed to do that. But he’s SOOOOO CUTE.

After changing out of my “wet dog” scented t-shirt and shorts number, I decided to make that fudge I promised my grandpa. He’s hilarious in that he has this cute and yet annoying habit of repeating stories he’s told before anytime he hears (which is rare to begin with) certain “trigger words.” So the evening before, I had to listen to him retell his tales of attempting to make fudge but never being able to get it to set up. I, being the amazing cook and baker that I am (HA) would never make that error.

Psh.

I decided to use the directions that had come with the monstrous jar of marshmallow fluff I had picked up the night before. I found it strange that it didn’t include any particular temperature to which it needed heated, since usually it’s like 300* or something of that sort. Shrugging while putting away my candy thermometer, I thought to myself, “I guess this is why the recipe’s name is “Never Fail Fudge” – there’s no temperature reading required…”

Au contraire, my friends.

Typically, fudge sets up in 2 to 3 hours. Five and a half hours later, the stuff was still goo. “Sludge Fudge” is what I named that horrible batch of blech. The next morning at church, I saw my grandpa standing in the choir loft. We made eye contact and, in his only-pappy fashion, he began to pantomime eating my fudge with a spoon right in front of the entire congregation. I would be embarrassed except for the fact that it’s Pappy. Pappy could probably get away with murder.
So after church, I took him home since his car was in the shop, at which time he commented on the tastiness of the fudge and how he appreciated me chopping the walnuts smaller this time so he wouldn’t choke. I laughed and apologized for how runny it was and advised him to keep it in the freezer to harden. He smiled and used another one of his little catch phrases, one that I particularly love: “Sam, you know why they put erasers on pencils?”

“Because everyone makes mistakes,” we said together.

And isn’t that the truth.

As far as the rest of my weekend went, my mom, my brother, and I watched – back to back, mind you – “My Cousin Vinny” (which was hilarious) and Steven King’s “Christine” (which was more freaky than scary, but still great). Something tells me that would have been quite a dream sequence for someone once it came time to go to sleep.

In closing, Happy Monday!