Today I got into work and my manager was on the computer trying to plan a spontaneous vacation for her upcoming 30th birthday. Cleverly, I decided to throw in a few suggestions in hopes that it leads to another discussion that takes up a good chunk of my work day.
This lady is crazy. First of all, she speaks eleven languages. FLUENTLY. I thought I was cool because I can say “¿dónde está la biblioteca,” but apparently that’s about as cool as Dwight Howard dunking on a Little Tykes basketball hoop in her world.
Secondly, she’s been everywhere.
I’ve always been under the impression that I’m relatively quite the worldly traveler. I’ve been to all 48 continental states and only have 2 more continents to knock out. Pretty cool, right? RIGHT?! Wrong. My manager lived in Australia. And Ireland. And now her parents live in Panama and she tours around Central/South America every summer. When she was living in Ireland, she would just grab some green eggs and ham and eat it on a bus, eat it on a plane, eat it on a train throughout Western AND Eastern Europe.
It’s a good thing I’m simultaneously doing some “sensory evaluation” (aka “tasting” wine) during the conversation because otherwise I probably would’ve Hulked out of my safety vest and thrown the titrator sitting in NaOH at her face out of jealousy. Honestly, I don’t really care if I’m “rich” when I grow up. I just want to be able to travel and see everything this planet has to offer. I don’t care if that means I have to poo in a hole I dug myself, or if I have to live through 10 days of night time (or day time!), or if I have to eat fried iguanas like Andrew Zimmerman. My life goal is to be that awesome old grandpa sitting in a giant leather reclining chair (whiskey in hand) telling my grandchildren about my awesome Indiana Jones life. I don’t even care that it’s physically impossible for me to a “grandpa!”
Anyways, eventually the conversation steers towards UC Davis and we talk about all the crazy stupid stuff we used to do as freshmen (is it just me or does freshmen year of college feel like it was just yesterday?), and I accidentally let it slip that my friend and I used to stalk our chem TA on Facebook (heeeeeello, Jeff!). My manager scoffed and told me stories about her housemate got arrested TWICE for public intoxication. And then she was like “when I was in college, you had to have a college email address to join!” and I was like “how young do you think I am?! It was like that for me too.” and she was like “OH YEAH?! WELL DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT LIVEJOURNAL IS?!”
Uh, say what? I think I’ve heard of Livejournal, but seriously, all I could think of at that point were “Live Links” commercials. They’re so awkward. And hilarious. Like when mama cats lick their kins’ buttholes. We know you wanna clean your children’s butts, but please save that for when I’m not about to eat this HoHo… you’re ruining fake chocolate for me!
Anyways, I was too afraid to ask what Livejournal was like… I can only assume it was a less cool Xanga? Cuz c’mon, everyone in middle who had discovered the magic of sexual innuendo had a Xanga! I tried to sign on awhile back but unfortunately this was prior to when I made all of my passwords my ex-boyfriend’s nickname and I couldn’t recall what my stupid pw was. (I call them stupid not because I’m angry I couldn’t remember… I really did make REALLY STUPID passwords. At one point, my running pw was “buffet.” I DIDN’T EVEN EAT AT A BUFFET THE DAY I MADE THAT PASSWORD.)
(Sidenote: On one of those magical days strolling around Vallejo in which I was trying to get to know it better because I had just moved in, I saw a fatty hoard of people stampeding in the same general direction. Quickly they swept me up in their tide– so unfortunate that I didn’t have my Razor scooter or else I would’ve salmon-ed upstream– and somehow fell into the doorway at KFC. I have absolutely no recollection of how it came up, but soon I discovered that the [I’m assuming] 16-year-old cashier also used her ex-boyfriend’s name as her password and was too lazy to change it after they broke up. So I’m pretty confident that I can crack anyone’s security system now. Hardison, you’ve got nothing on me. COME HIRE ME, LEAVERAGE TEAM!)
Back to the point. If I had a Livejournal, I’d use it to keep track of my dreams. Like a dream journal. I’ve always wanted one, but have always been too lazy. So I have one in my dreams. Whenever I open up this leather bound pop-up dream journal, the song WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF would play.
(Speaking of awkward and hilarious… Remember when bellbottoms were cool?!) (Sorry to feature so much Hilary Duff on this blog. I had no idea I was such a fan..?)
By pop-up book, I mean you would see holograms of my dreams. But since Apple is totally slacking on this invention, I’ll just have to paint you a word picture of my dreams. I should warn you now that I have weird dreams every single night. And most of the time, when I wake up, I only remember 50% of it or so. But here are 3 examples that I think are sufficiently representative of what I go through every night when I drift off to Never Never Land. Please make sure your seatbelt is on tight, and keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times– this is going to be a crazy ride!
I was at Mall of America (or MoA to us cool Minnesooooootan kids) when it suddenly got super dark. I was really distraught because I was frantically looking for the TCBY. (This is weird because I’d take Dairy Queen over TCBY any day. Such a shame that DQ’s suck here in Cali. DAMN YOU HEALTH CONSCIOUS CALIFORNIAS! Take a lesson from the generally overweight population of the midwest.) Suddenly, bat signals start flashing all over the ceiling. And then DOOMS DAY music blares all over the sound system. From out of the giant water fountain in the middle of the mall, the Legion of Doom’s UFO-shaped headquarters thing pops up. To my side, Batman and Ash Ketchum appear. I scoff and I’m like “gentlemen, I take my whiskey neat and I taught Bear Grylls how to machete the shit out of pokey plants that are overflowing forest trails, so I think I’ll be able to handle this Legion of Lame.” (someone call the BUUUUURN unit.) I barely got my words out, however, because suddenly, MoA has transformed into Hogwarts and it’s the final battle sequence: Superman is flying around lazering Dwight K Schrute (the flying version from Second Life), who is shooting beets out his ass like when you’re playing Mario Kart and you can shoot turtle shells backwards; Aquaman is being eaten alive by a blue eyes white dragon (the Justice League can afford to lose Aquaman, dontchathink?); an army of Angry Birds are bombarding Snape (I’m not sure who is good and who is evil in this instance). Ash soon realizes that this could be the end and runs over to Jubilee and asks “Hey, do you mind if I Pikachu?” She shoots him in the face with the weak fireworks, or whatever her superpower is. I love over at Batman and everything goes slow-mo. He looks over at me, and there’s a twinkle of yearning in his eyes. Lionel Richie’s “Hello” plays in the background. Or Maybe Sara Bareilles. Definitely a “long looks, stolen glances” kind of moment. You know what I mean. If you don’t… brush up on your Community!
Anyways, I don’t really remember anything after that. Even in my dream, where a vortex of entropy had unleashed itself, I stopped caring. I think Batman took his mask off and revealed that he was Ryan Gosling? Drool.
One night, I dreamt that I was in a lecture hall (SciLec123) with Christina Ly (or the Donut Princess, as you might know her as). The professor asked us a question and I raised my hand to answer, when out of the corner of my eye, I notice Christina’s hand reach inside her awesomely fashionable handbag purse thing. You know… those things are women lunk their stuff around in. Midway through the professor’s praise for my brilliant answer, Christina shoots me. Execution style. I scramble down and over a few rows to where Thom is sitting. Apparently no one heard the shot, but surely the fact that I”m bleeding to death will alert those around me that I need medical attention! I yell to Thom “CALL 911!! I’VE BEEN SHOT!” and he yells back “YOLO!” The lesson continues and I just lay on the ground near my roommate, praying that the EMTs are going to be hot. They finally get there after the pop quiz but dismisses my case because the guy says “she’s not shot– she’s just drunk.” And I stand up and tell him “THERE’S A FREAKIN’ BULLET LODGED IN MY BRAIN!” (At this point, I realize that I should be dead, and I start freaking out that I’m not.) Class is let out and Thom tells me to meet him and Christina, along with our other friends, in the cafeteria for lunch. I start walking over, cuz, well I’ve got nothing better to do, when I realize that I can’t walk straight… and my vision is blurry. But I’ve been shot, so that’s expected. Right?! At this point I’m mad because I can no longer function like a normal human being, and not only did Christina shoot me, but she also grabbed the last serving of mac & cheese.
And then my alarm went off and Jay-Z is singing about his 99 problems.
What made this dream even weirder was that I wasn’t even mad at CLy or anything. I would be, though, if she ate all my mac & cheese. ALL FRIENDSHIPS NEED BOUNDARIES.
Sometimes I dream in cartoon. And sometimes it’s half cartoon, half live action. Just like this video I found:
Pretty exciting, right?
I’ve always wondered what I’d look like if I was animated. I’d hope it’d be something like this:
But I actually look like this:
Speaking of dreams and Tom Brady, I need to get to bed. This schedule is completely messing with my internal clock (like ghost pepper chicken wings do to your intestines).