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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Friday, June 20, 2003

Oh awell of course

YOU LIKE pikn fictionthe sbest stan, you ghought of it!
I5t all makes snsee if you think aout it@

Posted by Ann on 06/20/03@10:11 PM CST ..::Link::..

Pulp Floyd. Pink Fiction.

That's right. Think about it. You hear d me. No, I'mnot rendering Bryce...I'm bdru;nk. It's damn profound if you ask me. YO GONNA ASK ME?

Even ann rservres the right to write wttupid crap now and then, hell, everyone else does.

I'm ddrunk.

Ha ha.

Posted by Ann on 06/20/03@10:05 PM CST ..::Link::..

From faker to rich man...ha!

When I was a college freshman there was a guy who lived in my building, and he didn't believe my last name was Starbuck for 6 months. This person was probably too slow to actually ever finish college, but times have changed for my last name recognition.

It is interesting to me that before Starbuck's Coffee came out lots of people told me they thought my last name was fake. Post coffee shop though, most people mistake me for a wealthy person. I think I preferred being called a faker to being asked about my mega stash of coffee money. Oh well sometimes some things in life go from bad to worse, but I think that's normal.

Posted by Stan on 06/20/03@06:45 PM CST ..::Link::..

DREAM - Moving...again.

For some strange reason, Stan and I found a house to rent in Fort Collins, sort of around midtown or between where we lived on Peterson Street and where Stan lived on Myrtle Street. It was an older house, one story, I think. It certainly wasn't as nice as the house we have here in Madison, but for some reason, Stan wanted to move back to Fort Collins. We were trying to figure out whether this would be a good idea or not, and decided to do it. The bedroom in this rental only had one window (gaaa...after having a bedroom with four's hard to revert) and we were discussing where we'd have to put the air conditioner (you really don't need an air conditioner in Fort Collins...we never had one), and we said we'd have to put it in the one bedroom window, which was right by the bed. How uncomfortable. We were also discussing the cost of moving...we'd have to get a move, which would be thousands of dollars. Nonetheless, Stan still wanted to do it. I was thinking that I would miss Tim, and how sad Tim would be to see us move. At the last minute I told Stan I did not want to go through with it.

Posted by Ann on 06/20/03@09:05 AM CST ..::Link::..

Wednesday, June 18, 2003

Another travel dream.

In this dream Ann and I were traveling on vacation in the old black chevy monza. We were trying to find a highway we wanted to take and were both looking at maps while we traveled. As time passed the roads turned out to be less and less like the maps. It was as if the maps were changing into text, which read like auto repair manuals. Eventually we stopped on a city street to look for more maps in the car. All of these maps were changing into text too. I was looking at these maps on the roof of the 77 monza when an old white man with a long dirty beard asked me for some money. I told him no thanks and he got mad and left part of a donut on the positive terminal of the car battery. The engine in this car always ran hot so while we were stopped I had the hood open to cool the engine. I tossed the donut piece on the ground and tried to read more maps. It seemed as though I was never going to figure out what ever it was that I was trying to find on the maps. Then an African American man came up behind me and put his hands around my neck. He had very large hands and a very beautiful voice, and when I looked at his face his skin was wonderfully clear and beautiful too. He said to other people who were watching us, "I will bring him down until he lies unconsciously on the ground." At first I started to push him away, but then I stopped fighting against him and completely relaxed my body with my arms at my side. I closed my eyes and while I stood still he telepathically communicated something to me. Then I woke up and couldn't remember what he had communicated to me, which is regrettable because it must have been important.

Posted by Stan on 06/18/03@09:30 PM CST ..::Link::..

Tuesday, June 17, 2003

Attack of the Clones

Last night as we were taking Tim home, he noticed the very obnoxious superintendant of the condos outside on the grounds talking to some other residents. Tim not wanting to face the talkative and highly annoying super, we drove around for a bit to give them time to disperse. We drove through Maple Bluff, a posh area across the road from Tim's. Every block or so, there were a group of women, all white, most over 5'5", average age of 50, all in varying shades of blonde (not all natural) or grey or white hair, all with basically the same straight or waved, bobbed cut. No short people, no brunettes, no women with long hair, no minorities, and only one or two men. They stood by driveways chatting and as we drove by they smiled at us, but as they realized we weren't there for their little gathering or whatever, their smiles turned to quizzical scowls. We had no idea what it was...some fundraiser held at several Maple Bluff residences? A "free Martha Stewart" fundraiser? Why did all the women look like they came out of the Martha's school of modelling? Was Maple Bluff's Stepford Wife Project successful? It really freaked all of us out. Stan said he noticed that at each house that had the clustered Martha clones, there was a large pink cardboard tulip on the lawn. After we drove back through the neighborhood closer to sunset, we didn't see any of these so-called pink tulips (Tim and I think Stan is crazy). Am I the only blonde white woman who feels uncomfortable in neighborhoods that are overrun by blonde white women?

Posted by Ann on 06/17/03@10:02 AM CST ..::Link::..

DREAM: Grandmother's House

I think I was with Stan and my mom and we were visiting my grandmother in Racine (my grandmother has been dead since 1986 and hasn't lived in Racine since 1982 and I hadn't visited her there since 1980). The house IRL was/is a 1 1/2 story bungalow circa 1910, but in the dream it was a 2 story Victorian, sort of like a cross between my grandmother's bungalow, our own house and the old converted townhouse/duplex Stan and I lived in in Fort Collins.. I seem to have the same house reoccur in my dreams often, as if the props department in dreamland doesn't have a large budget. (Now I bet that's a theory for reoccurring dreams you haven't heard before). In the dream, my grandmother had bedrooms on the 2nd story (IRL, the upstairs was just used for storage and was basically unfinished) but we were helping her move them into the downstairs bedrooms. Also, there was a bathroom on the 2nd floor that didn't exist IRL. Stan and I were sitting in the living room where a bunch of futons were and we were wondering if we should go to bed. My mom was in the 1st floor bathroom and my grandmother had to use the bathroom, so she ran upstairs (I guess it couldn't wait) and I heard a loud noise like she stumbled or fell or something. I didn't know what to do, whether I should leave her alone or go look to see what the matter was.

Posted by Ann on 06/17/03@09:28 AM CST ..::Link::..

Monday, June 16, 2003

DREAM - Voting

I was on the Colorado State university campus, I think. I was walking around near where the chemistry building was (perhaps I was between classes?) and began to sing Pink Floyd's "Pigs (Three Different Ones)". (Dejavu...didn't I have that song in a dream before? Probably my favorite Floyd song). I first started to hum, then sing very quietly, afraid people would think I was crazy for singing to myself, and then I just started to SING, not caring who would hear or anything. Then I went into a building and was sitting around a table with a bunch of people talking about whacky subject matter. We all decided to get fish submarine sandwiches or something, and because one person wasn't present but we were talking to him on the phone, we got him a fish submarine sandwich as well. I guess the person on the phone didn't have such a good sense of humour, because he criticized us for getting him a fish submarine sandwich because it would go to waste because he wasn't there to eat it and he wouldn't eat it anyway because he didn't like fish. I was a bit offended by his offense and his lack of humour about it, and I wanted to give him a piece of my mind about it, but we went on a break or something and I never got a chance to talk to him. Then I was with Stan and we had to walk over to East High in Madison for some odd reason...I think to go to vote, like our precinct changed. (I've never been in any school in Madison except Georgia O'Keefe Middle school which is our voting precinct). As we walked over there, we were walking through buildings as opposed to walking down sidewalks outside. It was as if our entire neighborhood was industrial or institutional instead of mixed use residential (or whatever we are). I remember remarking to Stan that I didn't understand why Tim couldn't vote at East High because I thought that was the closest to where he lives. (The irony, is that IRL, that *IS* where he votes). I guess we didn't enter in the main entrance where all the signs were that pointed to the polling place, so we're lost in the labyrinthine basement of East High, that looked like it housed an actual industry, like printers or something. Stan and I entered one opening, and realized it opened onto a conveyor belt. We hopped off the conveyor belt and wandered around and found some people who didn't even care that we were there. Then I asked a man working there how to get back to the polling place. That man turned out to be my dad. I was thinking "I thought you retired years ago." We eventually fond our way to the main floor, which had lots of "half floors", i.e., half flights of stairs that went up a half story, and then down the other side. It was also covered with elaborate carpeting and woodwork, not something that would be in a high school, but a very fancy apartment building. I think we were still lost and still couldn't find our way to the polls.

Posted by Ann on 06/16/03@09:06 AM CST ..::Link::..

Sunday, June 15, 2003

DREAM: Whitewater

Stan and I were staying at his biological mom's house or some room/apartment she had for us. It was nothing like the inn we stayed in when we visited...the one in the dream was very "rustic" not in a creepy way, but in a moderne way, with wood panelling everywhere...sort of like Twin Peaks' Great Northern Hotel. I noticed that there was a huge leak from some room upstairs, leaking down into our kitchen area. The liquid was whitish. Someone later told us that it was just the upstairs bathroom. Ew. I suspected the whitish color of the liquid was soapy water, so I relieved it was only bathwater, but still.

Posted by Ann on 06/15/03@09:22 AM CST ..::Link::..
By Ann @ 20:55 PM CST:06:20:03 ..::Link::..