The word: "like."
When did it become impossible to finish a sentence without using "like" at least twice?
My class schedule this semester is pretty great aside from my Tuesdays. On Tuesdays, I have all four classes between 11 AM and 9 PM with one one-hour break at 5 PM. Yesterday was the first day all the classes ran their full time. I had Communication Revolutions from 11 to 12:30, Media Relations 12:30 to 3:30, Stats 3:30 to 5, break 5 to 6 and Mass Communication Research 6 to 9. This schedule is pretty brutal.
The people in my first class are all relatively literate. People started grating on my nerves during Media Relations. The class runs for three hours, which in-and-of itself is pretty difficult to stomach. Since it was only our second class of the semester, the professor made us each introduce ourselves by answering six questions:
1) What is your full name, including middle name(s)
2) Who/what were you named after
3) Where are you from
4) What PR experience have you had
5) What is your dream job
6) What is an interesting "factoid" about yourself.
.... I hate stuff like this. Seriously? Who cares who I was named after? What a waste of an hour and a half.
One girl pranced up to the front of the class wearing an outfit that didn't match and exposed parts of her body I did not want to see.
Girl (who's real name is not as follows): Hi!! OK! My name is Sarah Jenna Lee!! I'm not really like sure like where exactly my name came from but like I think my mom named me after like my great grandma or something like that. I'm from like this little town in Connecticut.
Umm, I like haven't had any like reeeeeal PR experience but I like helped plan this party cuz like one of my friends' dad's was like my boss last summer so like he just kinda gave me the job. It was so fun.
I'm like not really sure like what I reeeeeeally wanna do. But I think I wanna be like an event planner or like do something for famous people where I can like travel a lot and like meet a lot of famous people or something.
What else? Oh yea. Umm. Something interesting about me. (Looks up while crossing one leg over the other. Her eyes bulge open.) I've been tattooed on like nine times!! It's like a passion.
Twenty-five "like" sprinkled stories later I had a throbbing headache and felt dumber than when I entered the classroom.
Later that night, the same stories spurted from the mouths of my fellow classmates in Mass Com Research.
Random girl: I like think polls are good because they like really give you a good chance to like find out what people think about stuff and like you can ask a bunch of different people and like all the different genders and stuff.
I wonder how many genders she thinks there are?
I really wish I could taser people every time they used "like" unnecessarily. I know my dad used a similar method to make sure my brothers and I never picked up the habit. HEY! Verbal tasering is still abuse.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
426 reunites with some changes.
Aaaaand we're back.
Last night was the first night everyone who was supposed to be in 426 was in 426. Michelle, after a temporary lapse in judgment for two semesters, has returned and I am loving every second of it. She still loves pizza bites. She still color coordinates her room. She still loves squirrels. Everything in the world is right again. She moved into my old room and worked her magic to make it look like a more luxurious walk-in closet as opposed to the department store fitting room it looked like when I lived in there. I moved into Tara's old room and have made some changes. I put my sheet over the window to make it more cave-like/mimic romantic lighting during the day. I also purchased a lovely black couch with a super soft blanket-for-two and two pillows. Noelle and I spent about 40 minutes assembling it today. It was extremely difficult but a slew of curse words and several beads of sweat later a beautiful, sturdy masterpiece appeared before us.
Me: Noelle, you should sleep on it tonight!
Noelle: Ah, yes. Sleep on the fruits of our labor.
We have been enjoying those fruits all night long. Christina, Noelle and I were joined by Michelle and Louis for some quality, trash-tv time. Today was the first day of classes so we are all a little drained. Granted, I didn't have any classes today.... but I still worked hard on the new decor of my room.
The second new edition to 426 is Sooah, a South Korean native participating in the intensive English language program here at BU. She arrived yesterday morning, much to our surprise. She was one of the last to move in so we (or rather, I) assumed she wouldn't be coming. Prior to yesterday morning, speculations of deportation and tragedies involving falling off the edge of boats began forming. She doesn't even have Facebook, so we really had no information about her. Not even an e-mail address. Her aunt, who lives in Boston, helped her move in. Poor Sooah hardly speaks a word of English. We all introduced ourselves at various times throughout the day. When it was my turn, I approached her with my arm out and said, "Hi! I'm Maria!" She stared at me warily for a few seconds and then weakly grabbed my fingers with her tiny, cold hands. "Sooah." It is difficult to know exactly how much of what we say she understands.
Last night after dinner, Christina finally arrived, the last in the room missing. We all cracked open a some beers and made our first cheers together in 2008.
"2008, let's lose some weight!"
"2008, it's gonna be great!"
"2008, maybe go on a date!"
The last toast was apparently the favorite because everyone let out a loud cheer, hit beer cans and started drinking. Christina decided to extend an offer to Sooah, who was sitting in Noelle's room opposite mine. She brought her beer into the room and we all listened anxiously as Christina extended the beer in front of Sooah, opened her eyes widely, pointed at the beer and stated loudly and firmly "American beer." Sooah declined this offer and continued unpacking her belongings. Christina came back after concluding that Sooah had no idea what was in the can.
Thus began Spring semester 2008 in room 426.
Last night was the first night everyone who was supposed to be in 426 was in 426. Michelle, after a temporary lapse in judgment for two semesters, has returned and I am loving every second of it. She still loves pizza bites. She still color coordinates her room. She still loves squirrels. Everything in the world is right again. She moved into my old room and worked her magic to make it look like a more luxurious walk-in closet as opposed to the department store fitting room it looked like when I lived in there. I moved into Tara's old room and have made some changes. I put my sheet over the window to make it more cave-like/mimic romantic lighting during the day. I also purchased a lovely black couch with a super soft blanket-for-two and two pillows. Noelle and I spent about 40 minutes assembling it today. It was extremely difficult but a slew of curse words and several beads of sweat later a beautiful, sturdy masterpiece appeared before us.
Me: Noelle, you should sleep on it tonight!
Noelle: Ah, yes. Sleep on the fruits of our labor.
We have been enjoying those fruits all night long. Christina, Noelle and I were joined by Michelle and Louis for some quality, trash-tv time. Today was the first day of classes so we are all a little drained. Granted, I didn't have any classes today.... but I still worked hard on the new decor of my room.
The second new edition to 426 is Sooah, a South Korean native participating in the intensive English language program here at BU. She arrived yesterday morning, much to our surprise. She was one of the last to move in so we (or rather, I) assumed she wouldn't be coming. Prior to yesterday morning, speculations of deportation and tragedies involving falling off the edge of boats began forming. She doesn't even have Facebook, so we really had no information about her. Not even an e-mail address. Her aunt, who lives in Boston, helped her move in. Poor Sooah hardly speaks a word of English. We all introduced ourselves at various times throughout the day. When it was my turn, I approached her with my arm out and said, "Hi! I'm Maria!" She stared at me warily for a few seconds and then weakly grabbed my fingers with her tiny, cold hands. "Sooah." It is difficult to know exactly how much of what we say she understands.
Last night after dinner, Christina finally arrived, the last in the room missing. We all cracked open a some beers and made our first cheers together in 2008.
"2008, let's lose some weight!"
"2008, it's gonna be great!"
"2008, maybe go on a date!"
The last toast was apparently the favorite because everyone let out a loud cheer, hit beer cans and started drinking. Christina decided to extend an offer to Sooah, who was sitting in Noelle's room opposite mine. She brought her beer into the room and we all listened anxiously as Christina extended the beer in front of Sooah, opened her eyes widely, pointed at the beer and stated loudly and firmly "American beer." Sooah declined this offer and continued unpacking her belongings. Christina came back after concluding that Sooah had no idea what was in the can.
Thus began Spring semester 2008 in room 426.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Home*
I’ve gotten past the fact that seeing my friends from high school is a challenge because everyone is scattered around the world. I’ve gotten past the fact that it’s impossible to meet people my age during school holidays because everyone has their own friends. I’ve gotten past the fact that every time I go home I am in a place I know nothing about and wouldn’t be able to find my way back to my house if someone dumped me a mile away from it. All these things are normal now.
Home is not about the house I live in or the neighbourhood surrounding the house or the city the neighbourhood is in. Home is
*Actually written at 12:30 January 13th.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Boriana.
The stars were most definitely aligned in my favor today. I got a haircut, found amazing sales and everything I wanted/needed during a mostly painless shopping trip and got a summer internship. Let's take it from the top.
I am in a committed relationship with my hairdresser, Boriana. I hate getting my hair cut because hairdressers love cutting inches off and doing really dramatic and unusual things with my head. Boriana is not like the other hairdressers. Hailing from the deep corners of Russia, she is tall and beautiful with pronounced cheekbones and short reddish-brown hair. When I first met her, I told her I wanted straight bangs and a clean cut on the bottom of my hair. No layers. She questioned me, wanting to give me big layers to make my hair "move better" but I told her no and she cut exactly how I wanted. After, she said it turned out better than she expected. Since then, I made it a point to visit Boriana every time I'm in Michigan. Today was my third time and she knows how I like it. She doesn't make pointless conversation and doesn't put a million stupid products into my hair.
But Boriana is not perfect. In fact, she has a deep, dark secret and I'm totally onto her. Boriana is part-time hairdresser, full-time Russian spy. I noticed this on day one of our relationship. She doesn't make pointless conversation because she is too busy surveilling the salon. Her huge brown eyes peer to the left and right as she grips scissors in one hand and a strand of my precious hair in the other. Most of her attention is aimed at the door to the salon as if she is waiting to see movement outside so she can push a hidden button activating her spy bombs and releasing her carefully stored Kalashnikov. One of her subtle tactics to distract the customer is shoving her indecently exposed boobs in their faces. I fell victim to this tactic several times today. I squeezed my eyes closed because I felt like a creep keeping them open. I wish she would wear a real shirt.
Despite this unappreciated tactic, I love Boriana. She always listens to me. She knows what I like and she gives it to me every time I see her. After clipping the final out-of-place hair in my bangs, she gave me her warm, Russian smile and said sweetly in her strong, Russian accent, "You look like a long-haired Cleopatra."
Oh Boriana. You always know what to say.
I am in a committed relationship with my hairdresser, Boriana. I hate getting my hair cut because hairdressers love cutting inches off and doing really dramatic and unusual things with my head. Boriana is not like the other hairdressers. Hailing from the deep corners of Russia, she is tall and beautiful with pronounced cheekbones and short reddish-brown hair. When I first met her, I told her I wanted straight bangs and a clean cut on the bottom of my hair. No layers. She questioned me, wanting to give me big layers to make my hair "move better" but I told her no and she cut exactly how I wanted. After, she said it turned out better than she expected. Since then, I made it a point to visit Boriana every time I'm in Michigan. Today was my third time and she knows how I like it. She doesn't make pointless conversation and doesn't put a million stupid products into my hair.
But Boriana is not perfect. In fact, she has a deep, dark secret and I'm totally onto her. Boriana is part-time hairdresser, full-time Russian spy. I noticed this on day one of our relationship. She doesn't make pointless conversation because she is too busy surveilling the salon. Her huge brown eyes peer to the left and right as she grips scissors in one hand and a strand of my precious hair in the other. Most of her attention is aimed at the door to the salon as if she is waiting to see movement outside so she can push a hidden button activating her spy bombs and releasing her carefully stored Kalashnikov. One of her subtle tactics to distract the customer is shoving her indecently exposed boobs in their faces. I fell victim to this tactic several times today. I squeezed my eyes closed because I felt like a creep keeping them open. I wish she would wear a real shirt.
Despite this unappreciated tactic, I love Boriana. She always listens to me. She knows what I like and she gives it to me every time I see her. After clipping the final out-of-place hair in my bangs, she gave me her warm, Russian smile and said sweetly in her strong, Russian accent, "You look like a long-haired Cleopatra."
Oh Boriana. You always know what to say.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Denim vests destroy lives.
Strange things happen at the Rainforest Cafe. This is not a dream. These are actual events that actually occurred about six hours ago at a Rainforest Cafe in Michigan.
My mom, brother and I went for some dinner after Joe's wrestling practice ended. We were seated right next to the elephants and across from a colorful fish tank. The dim lighting, apparently meant to help perpetuate the jungle theme, made the menu and other diners difficult to see. Two men, a woman and a little girl were sitting at a table diagonal from ours. The girl had balloons tied to the back of her chair. I noticed that the girl had a long blonde wig on, which was a little strange to me so I made some joke about how the three people were probably kidnapping her and the balloons were there to keep her quiet. Later, the woman and girl left their table for the bathroom, which was right behind our table. Fifteen minutes later I realized they still hadn't returned.
Me: They're for sure kidnapping that girl. They're still in the bathroom.
Mom: Go check it out then.
I pushed my chair back, scanned the premises and stealthily headed toward the bathroom. As I opened the door and walked in the bathroom, I found the girl and woman standing at the sink. They looked up at me and walked out of the bathroom. I couldn't tell what they had been doing before I entered. I thought about following them just to make sure but it's been a long day and my detective skills aren't up to par. I should be on neighborhood watch or something.
Thankfully, Noelle and I have thought ahead and taken situations such as kidnappings into careful considerations therefore determining a discreet code word to indicate when and if one of us is ever in a bad position. I can't tell you what that word is but I suggest making one up yourself. You never know when you will get trapped in a parking garage with a lunatic holding a phone to your ear forcing you to tell your sister, your only chance to be saved ever, that you're ok. Thank you P2. Something good actually came out of that movie.
After witnessing and investigating a possible kidnapping, three large, mafia-looking men were seated at the table directly next to ours. I made a comment about how they probably just threw a bunch of people into the lake and my mom told me they were gay, not in the mafia. I guess the denim vests and matching jeans should have tipped me off. Our young, male waiter approached their table and the oldest man (we'll call him Sergio) asked about a mug with flashing lights that was attached to the waiter's belt.
Sergio: What's the deal with that flashing mug?
Waiter: You can purchase them for $5 dollars and then we'll put your drink in it and you can take it home with you after dinner.
Sergio: Five bucks huh? Do you come with that?
Waiter:... No... sorry.
The waiter walked away and tried to avoid the table next to us as much as possible. I laughed uncontrollably until my mom hit my arm and gave me her Greek death-glare. Never a dull meal at the Rainforest Cafe.
My mom, brother and I went for some dinner after Joe's wrestling practice ended. We were seated right next to the elephants and across from a colorful fish tank. The dim lighting, apparently meant to help perpetuate the jungle theme, made the menu and other diners difficult to see. Two men, a woman and a little girl were sitting at a table diagonal from ours. The girl had balloons tied to the back of her chair. I noticed that the girl had a long blonde wig on, which was a little strange to me so I made some joke about how the three people were probably kidnapping her and the balloons were there to keep her quiet. Later, the woman and girl left their table for the bathroom, which was right behind our table. Fifteen minutes later I realized they still hadn't returned.
Me: They're for sure kidnapping that girl. They're still in the bathroom.
Mom: Go check it out then.
I pushed my chair back, scanned the premises and stealthily headed toward the bathroom. As I opened the door and walked in the bathroom, I found the girl and woman standing at the sink. They looked up at me and walked out of the bathroom. I couldn't tell what they had been doing before I entered. I thought about following them just to make sure but it's been a long day and my detective skills aren't up to par. I should be on neighborhood watch or something.
Thankfully, Noelle and I have thought ahead and taken situations such as kidnappings into careful considerations therefore determining a discreet code word to indicate when and if one of us is ever in a bad position. I can't tell you what that word is but I suggest making one up yourself. You never know when you will get trapped in a parking garage with a lunatic holding a phone to your ear forcing you to tell your sister, your only chance to be saved ever, that you're ok. Thank you P2. Something good actually came out of that movie.
After witnessing and investigating a possible kidnapping, three large, mafia-looking men were seated at the table directly next to ours. I made a comment about how they probably just threw a bunch of people into the lake and my mom told me they were gay, not in the mafia. I guess the denim vests and matching jeans should have tipped me off. Our young, male waiter approached their table and the oldest man (we'll call him Sergio) asked about a mug with flashing lights that was attached to the waiter's belt.
Sergio: What's the deal with that flashing mug?
Waiter: You can purchase them for $5 dollars and then we'll put your drink in it and you can take it home with you after dinner.
Sergio: Five bucks huh? Do you come with that?
Waiter:... No... sorry.
The waiter walked away and tried to avoid the table next to us as much as possible. I laughed uncontrollably until my mom hit my arm and gave me her Greek death-glare. Never a dull meal at the Rainforest Cafe.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Laughter in a police state.
Tonight my brother and his friend brought me to my first ever high school basketball game. We showed up late and only saw part of the second half. Apparently, kids only go to these games to socialize and no one actually watches, according to my brother. I rather enjoyed the game. It was varsity basketball. Those guys are bruisers. There were many giggling girls drooling over my brother and his friend, both of which are apparently hot stuff as far as high schoolers go.
My brother refused to sit in the student section because "we're too cool to sit there." The three of us sat on an empty bench at the top of the bleachers. Joe and Nati were wearing their new wrestling sweatshirts and their most intimidating "I'm a wrestler" faces. It turns out they really are too cool to sit in the student section. Several people approached them instead. Joe and Nati didn't even have to move from their seats. Two girls kept looking back at the boys and giggling uncontrollably until I made eye contact with them at which point their faces turned bright red and they looked away. One little blonde boy who looked about eleven kept approaching Joe and trying to make jokes which were difficult to take seriously since they were delivered through fuchsia cheeks. Joe told me the boy was a freshman on the wrestling team. The boy was obviously trying to impress Joe and fit in with the older boys. I sat between Joe and Nati listening to them recount stories from their recent dance and various classes as they spotted people they knew.
Joe never ceases to amaze me. No matter where the family moves he always makes a million friends from different social groups who look up to him enjoy hanging out with him. In both Indiana and Michigan, he has conquered the American high school environment without having ever been exposed to it. He even makes friends with college kids who have either been to his high school at one point or who go to my college and have met Joe during a visit. He's the man.
What does amaze me, however, is the heavy police presence in American high schools. I guess I never thought of a school as a police state. There were four armed police officers in the gym during the basketball game. They spent a fraction of their time watching the game but most of their time inspecting every student who walked past them. The game ended and Joe, Nati and I slowly made our way down the bleachers and out of the gym. As we walked past the concession stand, some mother gave Nati two bags of brownies that didn't sell during the game. Nati started devouring the brownies as we walked out towards the door. One of the freshman wrestlers stopped the boys to talk about tomorrow's meet. We stood in the hallway and I listened to the boys. The police passed us slowly, looking Joe and Nati up and down focusing on the Ziploc bag of brownies. I guess police presence is supposed to be reassuring and perhaps it is an effective preventative measure but it seems a little exaggerated when they are staring down a hungry wrestler carrying some brownies. I've heard Joe's school is known for it's abundant drug use but I doubt any of these kids stand in front of parents and children with their bags of cocaine eagerly snorting off any available surface. The police would probably have to search beyond the obvious to discover as serious a problem as drugs.
On the other hand, Joe and Nati do look like hooligans. Until they open their mouths and you realize they're just goofy 16 year olds being cooler than everyone else.
My brother refused to sit in the student section because "we're too cool to sit there." The three of us sat on an empty bench at the top of the bleachers. Joe and Nati were wearing their new wrestling sweatshirts and their most intimidating "I'm a wrestler" faces. It turns out they really are too cool to sit in the student section. Several people approached them instead. Joe and Nati didn't even have to move from their seats. Two girls kept looking back at the boys and giggling uncontrollably until I made eye contact with them at which point their faces turned bright red and they looked away. One little blonde boy who looked about eleven kept approaching Joe and trying to make jokes which were difficult to take seriously since they were delivered through fuchsia cheeks. Joe told me the boy was a freshman on the wrestling team. The boy was obviously trying to impress Joe and fit in with the older boys. I sat between Joe and Nati listening to them recount stories from their recent dance and various classes as they spotted people they knew.
Joe never ceases to amaze me. No matter where the family moves he always makes a million friends from different social groups who look up to him enjoy hanging out with him. In both Indiana and Michigan, he has conquered the American high school environment without having ever been exposed to it. He even makes friends with college kids who have either been to his high school at one point or who go to my college and have met Joe during a visit. He's the man.
What does amaze me, however, is the heavy police presence in American high schools. I guess I never thought of a school as a police state. There were four armed police officers in the gym during the basketball game. They spent a fraction of their time watching the game but most of their time inspecting every student who walked past them. The game ended and Joe, Nati and I slowly made our way down the bleachers and out of the gym. As we walked past the concession stand, some mother gave Nati two bags of brownies that didn't sell during the game. Nati started devouring the brownies as we walked out towards the door. One of the freshman wrestlers stopped the boys to talk about tomorrow's meet. We stood in the hallway and I listened to the boys. The police passed us slowly, looking Joe and Nati up and down focusing on the Ziploc bag of brownies. I guess police presence is supposed to be reassuring and perhaps it is an effective preventative measure but it seems a little exaggerated when they are staring down a hungry wrestler carrying some brownies. I've heard Joe's school is known for it's abundant drug use but I doubt any of these kids stand in front of parents and children with their bags of cocaine eagerly snorting off any available surface. The police would probably have to search beyond the obvious to discover as serious a problem as drugs.
On the other hand, Joe and Nati do look like hooligans. Until they open their mouths and you realize they're just goofy 16 year olds being cooler than everyone else.
Weird.
Once again I have failed. I tried to concentrate really hard but I got distracted. It's difficult for me to concentrate on things for too long. I have only tried lucid dreaming and making myself wake up without an alarm clock once each. So I will continue trying. I've also started gathering troops. I somehow convinced my skeptic of a 16 year old brother to attempt waking himself up. His wrestling friend, another precious little trouble maker, was also intrigued and will be trying. I expect reports in the morning.
Instead of waking up at the time I determined, I had more severely twisted dreams. The dreams involved private planes, six mostly naked men doused in body oil carrying me while I was in a small speed boat or a hot air balloon basket, Xena running in the woods and finally an above ground pool full of me, someone else and a bunch of pigs or hogs. Someone got mad and threw a hog out of the pool over the edge. It was incredibly disturbing.
Instead of waking up at the time I determined, I had more severely twisted dreams. The dreams involved private planes, six mostly naked men doused in body oil carrying me while I was in a small speed boat or a hot air balloon basket, Xena running in the woods and finally an above ground pool full of me, someone else and a bunch of pigs or hogs. Someone got mad and threw a hog out of the pool over the edge. It was incredibly disturbing.
Friday, January 4, 2008
A short shout out and a new experiment.
I'd like to take a minute to recognize two very important people in MMATM's life. Without Noelle and Christine, I would not be where I am today. Their support has helped this starving baby of a blog grow into the selfish infant stealing cookies out of the oven before they're finished that it is today. (That was NOT a reference to my childhood.) Their feedback is much appreciated and has provided the necessary encouragement to keep me afloat. It has also provided me with fun new ways to test myself physically and mentally.
Which brings me to my latest attempt at conquering the world of dreams. Noelle told me about something her mom used to do before falling asleep and swears by. This is how Noelle described it:
Your mind needs to be perfectly clear. Don't think of anything you have to do or anything you're worried about. Picture yourself on a cliff but you're not facing the cliff, your back is to it. Focus on the image strongly. Then picture a small rock or pebble in your hand. Bring your arm up and throw the rock behind you off the cliff but as you're throwing it over your shoulder think of the time that you want to wake up and you'll wake up at that time.
WOW! I can't pass up this experiment. Hopefully it goes better that the lucid dreaming failure that ended with my dad breaking his legs and yelling at me while driving through a graveyard last night. If it works I'm going to teach it to Christina so she can replace that obnoxious, ulcer-inducing, dancing and singing hippo with this peaceful alternative to an alarm clock.
(Ms. Knopf... Come to Boston! We have a blow-up mattress that's calling your name!!)
Which brings me to my latest attempt at conquering the world of dreams. Noelle told me about something her mom used to do before falling asleep and swears by. This is how Noelle described it:
Your mind needs to be perfectly clear. Don't think of anything you have to do or anything you're worried about. Picture yourself on a cliff but you're not facing the cliff, your back is to it. Focus on the image strongly. Then picture a small rock or pebble in your hand. Bring your arm up and throw the rock behind you off the cliff but as you're throwing it over your shoulder think of the time that you want to wake up and you'll wake up at that time.
WOW! I can't pass up this experiment. Hopefully it goes better that the lucid dreaming failure that ended with my dad breaking his legs and yelling at me while driving through a graveyard last night. If it works I'm going to teach it to Christina so she can replace that obnoxious, ulcer-inducing, dancing and singing hippo with this peaceful alternative to an alarm clock.
(Ms. Knopf... Come to Boston! We have a blow-up mattress that's calling your name!!)
I'm a failure.
Ok so my experiment with lucid dreaming didn't go quite as planned. I didn't even come to the conclusion that I was dreaming in the dream. It was like any other dream. I did remember it though and it was a little creepy.
Brief synopsis of the creepiest part:
My dad and I were on Comm Ave in front of Sicilia's and a vehicle backed into his legs causing him to fall to the floor in immense pain at which point I called the police who took forever to arrive. I was extremely worried about the result this accident would have on his hockey career. I thought he was doomed forever and became sad but then my dad stood up, said he was fine and forced me to get into our car. He sped off and I yelled at him for speeding and he told me to shut up because I'm always yelling about nothing. We drove for a while through hilly terrain swerving between strange houses and tombstones.
The creepiest thing about the dream is that last night my boss, who encouraged me to try this lucid dreaming business, had a dream with his mother in it and she slipped and was injured. After her injury, she yelled at him for going too fast while running on the ice. I know it's not quite the same thing... but it's similar enough to have creeped me out. I feel like our dream worlds are strangely connected. Or were last night. It makes me wonder who else's dreams mine relate to. What affect do we have on dreams other than our own? Do we have an affect at all?
Some people are connected spiritually somehow. They must be. For example, Tara and I have a strange connection. Weird things often happen with our lives that we notice when discussing them in detail. The strongest connection seems to be found in our love lives. They are rarely both good at the same time. We are rarely both happy with whatever situation we are in. When one has good luck, the other tends to have bad. We have weird dreams about each other that seem to tell a lot about whatever situation is going on at the time. The strangest thing to happen was probably about a summer ago. I forget exactly what happened but she was in Connecticut and I in Indiana and something bad happened to her and I had a dream that night about how she was crying hysterically. I woke up in a terrible mood and found out later she was having a rough time. Maybe we're twins!!! Or maybe I'm just making it up. I can never tell.
Brief synopsis of the creepiest part:
My dad and I were on Comm Ave in front of Sicilia's and a vehicle backed into his legs causing him to fall to the floor in immense pain at which point I called the police who took forever to arrive. I was extremely worried about the result this accident would have on his hockey career. I thought he was doomed forever and became sad but then my dad stood up, said he was fine and forced me to get into our car. He sped off and I yelled at him for speeding and he told me to shut up because I'm always yelling about nothing. We drove for a while through hilly terrain swerving between strange houses and tombstones.
The creepiest thing about the dream is that last night my boss, who encouraged me to try this lucid dreaming business, had a dream with his mother in it and she slipped and was injured. After her injury, she yelled at him for going too fast while running on the ice. I know it's not quite the same thing... but it's similar enough to have creeped me out. I feel like our dream worlds are strangely connected. Or were last night. It makes me wonder who else's dreams mine relate to. What affect do we have on dreams other than our own? Do we have an affect at all?
Some people are connected spiritually somehow. They must be. For example, Tara and I have a strange connection. Weird things often happen with our lives that we notice when discussing them in detail. The strongest connection seems to be found in our love lives. They are rarely both good at the same time. We are rarely both happy with whatever situation we are in. When one has good luck, the other tends to have bad. We have weird dreams about each other that seem to tell a lot about whatever situation is going on at the time. The strangest thing to happen was probably about a summer ago. I forget exactly what happened but she was in Connecticut and I in Indiana and something bad happened to her and I had a dream that night about how she was crying hysterically. I woke up in a terrible mood and found out later she was having a rough time. Maybe we're twins!!! Or maybe I'm just making it up. I can never tell.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
I will flick you.
I am looking to conquer a new frontier: dreams.
This goal was inspired by one of my bosses. Both of us have problems sleeping. Though his are far greater than mine (he sometimes goes days without sleeping), I have a hard time getting a good, restful sleep. At school I attribute the problems to stress, living in Kenmore and Christina Trotta. The problem seems to have been magnified since coming home, though. It's probably because I didn't bring my body pillow and the length of my bed is not against a wall. I like to be smoshed in between the two and have grown dependent upon that situation for a good night sleep. My dad thinks I can't sleep because I drink too much Coke and keep my phone on. I told him I need to be prepared for Noelle to call me at 2AM and have her friends sing all the Maria songs they can think of and then rap to me.
Regardless, my boss and I were talking about our predicament today. We got on the subject of dreams because he told me a story about a dream of his that I was in. I love trying to interpret dreams and the obvious result of his dreams, according to my psychic and detective talents, was that he needs me to keep his life on track. He didn't believe me but I told him to give up because dreams never lie.
Anyways he told me that at one point in his life he was having really creepy dreams. He eventually taught himself to control his dreams. He got to the point where he had a dream about someone he didn't like and made himself flick the person over the horizon in the dream. This sounds fascinating and amazing! So I asked him how to do it. He told me it is difficult and takes dedication.
Just start with the basics. When you realize you're dreaming, just kind of investigate. Talk to people. Ask them questions about what it's like to be in a dream. Ask them if they will do things for you. Sometimes they will and sometimes they won't. People in dreams have their own personalities, too. It's strange.
Even now the excitement makes my fingers tingle with anticipation. I wish falling asleep was easier so I could train myself to flick people I don't like in my dreams and make people do whatever I tell them. I have seen documentaries on lucid dreaming (controlling your dreams) but I have never put in much effort trying to master it. The most I've accomplished has been realizing that I am dreaming. Even that doesn't work all the time.
According to Wikipedia, the first step towards effective lucid dreaming is dream recall, or being able to remember your dreams. I'm pretty good at that. Ask my brother or any of the roommates. They are often subject to elaborate stories of my ridiculous dreams followed by interpretation that is often more ridiculous than the actual dream. Wikipedia doesn't really say what to do next. But I will take the advice I received earlier today. I will fall asleep, tell myself I'm dreaming and then start talking to people in my dreams. I am so excited. I hope this works! This will be another way to entertain myself here in lonely Michigan! When you have no friends, create them with lucid dreaming!
This goal was inspired by one of my bosses. Both of us have problems sleeping. Though his are far greater than mine (he sometimes goes days without sleeping), I have a hard time getting a good, restful sleep. At school I attribute the problems to stress, living in Kenmore and Christina Trotta. The problem seems to have been magnified since coming home, though. It's probably because I didn't bring my body pillow and the length of my bed is not against a wall. I like to be smoshed in between the two and have grown dependent upon that situation for a good night sleep. My dad thinks I can't sleep because I drink too much Coke and keep my phone on. I told him I need to be prepared for Noelle to call me at 2AM and have her friends sing all the Maria songs they can think of and then rap to me.
Regardless, my boss and I were talking about our predicament today. We got on the subject of dreams because he told me a story about a dream of his that I was in. I love trying to interpret dreams and the obvious result of his dreams, according to my psychic and detective talents, was that he needs me to keep his life on track. He didn't believe me but I told him to give up because dreams never lie.
Anyways he told me that at one point in his life he was having really creepy dreams. He eventually taught himself to control his dreams. He got to the point where he had a dream about someone he didn't like and made himself flick the person over the horizon in the dream. This sounds fascinating and amazing! So I asked him how to do it. He told me it is difficult and takes dedication.
Just start with the basics. When you realize you're dreaming, just kind of investigate. Talk to people. Ask them questions about what it's like to be in a dream. Ask them if they will do things for you. Sometimes they will and sometimes they won't. People in dreams have their own personalities, too. It's strange.
Even now the excitement makes my fingers tingle with anticipation. I wish falling asleep was easier so I could train myself to flick people I don't like in my dreams and make people do whatever I tell them. I have seen documentaries on lucid dreaming (controlling your dreams) but I have never put in much effort trying to master it. The most I've accomplished has been realizing that I am dreaming. Even that doesn't work all the time.
According to Wikipedia, the first step towards effective lucid dreaming is dream recall, or being able to remember your dreams. I'm pretty good at that. Ask my brother or any of the roommates. They are often subject to elaborate stories of my ridiculous dreams followed by interpretation that is often more ridiculous than the actual dream. Wikipedia doesn't really say what to do next. But I will take the advice I received earlier today. I will fall asleep, tell myself I'm dreaming and then start talking to people in my dreams. I am so excited. I hope this works! This will be another way to entertain myself here in lonely Michigan! When you have no friends, create them with lucid dreaming!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
