These are old archived entries from my journal, Ornamental Illness. I have eliminated all graphics (except those in context of an entry) to save on my bandwidth usage.

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Thursday, May 1, 2003

DREAM - Ferry

I had a dream I was on a ferry. It was mid-size...somewhere between the now-retired Merrimac ferry that goes across the Wisconsin river, and the ferry Stan and I took on our trip out east this past fall. I remember there were steps going down to a lower level, but they were all filled up with water.

Posted by Ann on 05/01/03@10:07 AM CST ..::Link::..

The Priss - The Healthclub

So I've been mulling over the concept of "priss" lately, and what a pain in the ing ass prisses are in my life. I was going to write a whole long diatribe on how this one priss totally screwed over someone I love, but I decided against it because I wouldn't want to start any problems for this person (the one I love, not the priss) or have issues from the past come back to haunt. But I was listening to something on the radio this morning that didn't even involve me, didn't pertain to me, wouldn't affect me at all, but even though it would affect people not even in my life, I somehow felt compelled to speak out against The Priss. The discussion on the radio was about health clubs that are "for women only" and how this was considered discrimination. Now, I don't do health clubs, can't afford them, and don't fancy myself being in an air-conditioned yet stuffy gym with bad music. But there was some priss who called up the talk show and was saying how much she liked "for women only" clubs (even though she didn't actually belong to one) because if she was exercising, she wouldn't want to have to talk to men, or somesuch nonsense. WTF?!? Men are 1/2 of the population. Don't like to talk to men? Well, why not just lock yourself away in an Amazonian Nunnery? No, I doubt she was a lesbian, I would think most lesbians would have more self-confidence than what this priss had. She just didn't want to have to be bothered with talking to men. Personally, I think having to talk to a woman while exercising would be just as obnoxious, if not moreso. Ever be forced to get involved with a female hairdresser while you were getting your hair cut and styled? Talk about annoying drivel! Give me a man's conversation anyday. Even if he was trying to pick me up. If you can't get yourself out of a situation of a man trying to pick you up, well, honey, there is that Amazonian Nunnery. I'm sorry, but this issue is so ridiculous. So, what else do we need to protect Prisses from, besides men? How about people that look different than themselves? Sometimes it's hard to have a conversation with them too, because sometimes they come from different cultures. Maybe we should have health clubs that cater only to middle class, middle aged white women with an IQ between 90 and 115. Or better yet, why not get your own home gym, bitch? That way it'll ensure you'll only be dealing with those people you *want* to.


Let's face it, some of these clubs have names like "Curves" and "Shapes" and their decor is pink and purple. What man would go to some place with those names anyway? It's as if gender segregation is automatically built into it and the customer is using their freedom of choice not to choose something if it is too effeminate. We don't need some legality to make it "OK" to discriminate against men.

Posted by Ann on 05/01/03@10:05 AM CST ..::Link::..

Tuesday, April 29, 2003

Bad Italian Food and Drug Money Conspiracy DREAM

Where to begin on this was a weird one. I was riding in a bus with Stan--I think. It was a rainy, cold day. I was acting silly and playing musical bus seats with people, taking people's seats as they left the bus. I sat down toward the front of the bus and for some reason noticed some DW that we used to know toward the rear of the bus. I waved to her (why?!?). Then Stan and I got off at some car dealership or service place. We were talking to a man there about our car or something. We had to give our keys to him so he could service our car, but I didn't have the keys with me and had to go out to our car, which was in the lot, to get them. The man was older, maybe around 50, tall, very short military hair, very average. He looked familiar, like maybe I saw someone similar to him in my dealings with buying cars lately, but I can't recall exactly. I also remember telling him that I'd like to buy some maps. He had a bunch of maps there, and many of them were 3-dimensional, with puffy plastic areas where high levels of elevation were. Then it was like I was in a foodcourt area of a mall and I was buying a lunch for myself to amuse myself while Stan was busy doing something else. It was sort of an Italian health food place, and I couldn't figure out whether they waited on you at a table or I had to order at the counter. I went up to the counter because I didn't want to leave a tip. A woman who was maybe 5 years older than me (but looked a lot older) waited on me. She was short, fat, long light brown hair with grey, no makeup. I was looking at an entree that came as either a main course or just in a cup...I opted for the cup because I didn't want much. It came with black beans (I hate black beans). As they were preparing it for me, it appeared that I would have black bean goo all over the outside of the cup. I decided to get something else as well, so I got a humongous steak. It was strange because it was pre-cut up into little pieces. It was also layed out in a circle like it was a pizza. The steak was rather cold and it needed salt. I went up to the counter and stood in line behind some younger hippie looking guy (maybe about 22, tall, blond, slightly long hair, college student looking) who was returning his steak because he didn't like it. There was a man behind the counter taking care of food complaints. He was, or at least looked like G**rge Cr*m*r (a professor Stan and I had in grad school...not good news), but much fatter...very toadlike. He just grunted as he handled the complaint and refunded the college student hippie guy's money. I gave him my "steak pizza" and he added a few more chunks to it. I asked for salt, which he obliged. I went back to my table, which I found out had some sort of strange DVD player. I put in some sort of CD (I can't remember whether it was an audio CD or a DVD) of Pink Floyd, I think. The DVD player started malfunctioning, and I was worried that it would harm my CD. Some belt was giving out on it, and was flopping all over the place. The short fat woman came to see what was the matter and fixed it. I proceeded to play my CD/DVD again. It was like I was transported into another dimension, a dimension of total psychedellia. It was a very visual audio experience and I saw roads and landscapes of multi-colors. The colors used were sort of like those in this journal and it was also very Yellow Submarine-esque. It then got extremely strange as it became very Twin Peaks-ish/Black Lodge. Suddenly there was this man sitting across from me...and I don't believe I was alone either, I think there was another person with me as well as the man across from me, either Stan or maybe it was Roger Waters or the spirit of "Pink Floyd" or something, but I am not positive about this. But the man sitting across from me was John Lennon except he didn't look a THING like John Lennon. He was American with darker hair and darker glasses...features all wrong (why does that happen? you dream about someone and they look nothing like themselves?) He was talking about some weird music/drug/money conspiracy, saying something like, "They gave us money for our music and they made us buy junk (drugs) with our money in order for us to make more music." It was pretty wild. He threw down this large stack of dollar bills in front of me. It was like I was sitting on a bed or a floor or some flat surface. Then Lucifer Sam crawled out from behind this guy and headed toward me and I reached out to him and woke up.

Posted by Ann on 04/29/03@09:05 AM CST ..::Link::..

Sunday, April 27, 2003

Sweet 16

Lucifer Sam is 16 weeks today. Sweet 16 and been kissed lots and lots.

Posted by Ann on 04/27/03@10:27 AM CST ..::Link::..

DREAMs - Sad and Stupid

For some odd reason, Stan and I were going to buy a different house: the little house I lived in when I was a pre-schooler in Indiana that my parents rented. (Why we would prefer that house, which is like 200 miles away, to the one we currently own is beyond me. We had a real estate agent and she was showing us all the paperwork and everything, but there was a dogs allowed. (Why would no dogs be allowed if we *owned* it?). So we had to get rid of our dogs. We still had Hieronymus, and the only thing we could do is to take them to the pound. Once in the humane society, I was looking at this cage that was filled with one breed of dog that the people there called bulldogs, but they looked nothing like bulldogs at all. The dog was large, sharp snout, short reddish fur. I cannot think of any purebred dog that looks like looked more like a mix of perhap a Lab, Rhodesian Ridgeback, Greyhound, Viszla (sp?), but all the dogs looked the same. They were piled into a cage like rats. It was disturbing. We filled out some paperwork there and handed over our dogs to them, but then I got cold feet. I was hearing all this talk about euthanizing their dogs, and I feared that instead of going to a loving home, our dogs would end up dying in this concentration camp. I couldn't bear to see this happen. I think I was crying and probably was even crying in real life as I slept. I told Stan that I wanted out of the house deal; fortunately we hadn't signed anything on the contract. We told a woman at the humane society that we want our dogs back. She looked a bit puzzled as if that hadn't ever happened before, but she told us that was probably a good idea because they did a search and no one wanted them anyway (in that short a time?) and because they were older they probably wouldn't find a home. So they gave our dogs back to us. I remember she handed over Hieronymus to us in our was like the way we handed him over to the vets IRL when he was going to be put to sleep. A very sad dream.

I also dreamt I was in a clothing store looking at lots of clothes. For some reason I was dressing up in an 80s fashion, looking at myself in the mirror and saying, "you know, the 80s weren't that bad...the worst thing was the hair, but take away the poofy bangs and the clothes were neat." A very stupid dream.

Posted by Ann on 04/27/03@10:21 AM CST ..::Link::..
By Ann @ 20:55 AM CST:05:20:03 ..::Link::..