Saturday, October 29, 2005

DREAM: The Ring, Pee Lenses and Mister Molester

I think Stan and I must have been visiting my parents because we were in a room in the basement and we start hearing a bunch of yelling and angry screaming. I figure my parents are having a fight, and I go upstairs to "break it up". When I get upstairs, I see my parents standing in their bedroom. My mom throws a gold ring at me and says "here, you keep it." For some reason, they were fighting over a ring. Hmm. How very Tolkein of them. The ring appears to be real gold of a somewhat high karat content, from the color of it. It is cut or carved--I don't know the technical term for it--so that it has a sort of sturdy filigree (sp?) pattern. It almost looks like a Celtic design and something of antiquity. The weird part of it, is it's flared, so that unless you have conical shaped fingers, it would be a bit uncomfortable to wear. The odd part is that my dad looked younger, like maybe he was my age or a bit older. Then it seemed like there were two women in the bedroom, sitting on the bed. Supposedly these women were involved in the folk dancing thing my parents used to do. One of the woman looked like Trudi, the pothead friend of Jody's and Lance's in Pulp Fiction. (Sort of a cross between her and Kelly Osborne, you know that sort of black-haired, dark eyed, punked out white-skinned, plump Gaelic look. Also looked a little like someone I used to know ((Fourth Pig)) and an ex- of Stan's. OK, are we scared yet? Yet, I digress.) I forget what the other woman looked like. These two women are staring at me, like "Who are YOU?" (Who are THEY in my parent's bedroom?!?) I start to make small talk: "Sooooo..... you're into folk dancing, huh? Never liked dancing myself, except when I went to see bands in the early 80s, I would pogo..." Then the Trudi woman puts a blanket over her head and comes over to the other side of me and starts to stare at me, analyzing me. I figure that she's confused when I said I would see bands in the early 80s because she probably wonders how I could be old enough to have done that, not realizing I'm as old as I am (well, if my dad does look younger in this dream, then that would be puzzling, wouldn't it?). They start talking about boring things, and pretty soon there's even more people in the bedroom, and "Trudi" says "Anyone want to go out for a smoke?" Nearly the entire room starts to leave, except me and my parents. I don't especially want to stay there with my parents because it seems rather geeky, but again I don't exactly want to go out with a bunch of smokers and stand outside in the cold and talk about stupid stuff. (Are you forgetting about your husband in the basement, Ann?)

I don't know if it was in my parent's house or someone else's house. I think it might have been in some house related to Stan, like maybe his parent's house in Yuma. I was a guest in this house. I had to put in my contact lenses. I went into a bathroom that sort of doubled as a laundry room. It smelled of urine. There was a weird toilet that sort of looked like a washing machine with a kiddie potty on it. There was urine streaks running down the underside of the cover, which was open. I'm fumbling around with my contact lens case, and I realize there's urine inside my lens case. GROSS!!!!!!! I'm frantically trying to rinse off my lenses, but the soaking solution is dark with urine. Ugh. Haven't had a dream that gross in a long time.

A very odd dream about some young woman who had a baby and named her "Kodon" or "Kudon". Sounds Japanese, although this woman was very "country American." I think she lived in a trailer made out of wood. (I have no idea how this dream relates to me) I'm driving up to an old house in a state of remodelling, and her trailer is out in front with that name, Kodon or Kudon, written on it. In the front yard of the house is a carpenter who is fixing up the old house. I then realize the carpenter is a sex offender Stan and I unfortunately knew. Very horrorshow.

Posted by Ann on 10/29/05@10:07 AM CST ..::Link::..Whisper or Scream?

Friday, October 28, 2005

Losing Your Mind

Several months ago I watched a program on a science/medical channel about organ recipients, and how after surgery said recipients got a desire for a certain food, or a desire to play a certain sport, that they never had pre-organ donation. Then, when the organ recipients met the families of the organ donors, they find out that the organ donor used to like these things. A lot. The theory was that the mind isn't just isolated in the brain, but rather is in the entire body, sort of like insects. When a female praying mantis bites the head off her mate, he doesn't die. If he did, he wouldn't be able to keep breeding with her.

I believe it is also a fact that as the cells in our body die and are replaced with new cells, we are no longer essentially the same person that we were years ago, literally speaking. Some cells are fast to grow and replace, others are slow. Therefore, if our "mind" is distributed throughout our body, and those body parts are constantly "dying" and being "reborn", wouldn't it then be that we really are not the same person we were, oh, say, 20 years ago, not just from a literal standpoint, but also a mental standpoint? We become completely different people. And the only thing that ties us to our past is our memory. But whose memory is it?

Just thinking about how much I am really starting to hate Halloween, and it was just seven years ago it was my favorite holiday. I don't dislike Halloween for the reasons most people dislike it, i.e., "It's Satanic!" Bullshit. It's corporate. Halloween used to be sort of an underground holiday that only kids and more adventurous adults enjoyed. It's not that it costs money to feed trick or treaters. So few come to our house ('cause it's on a hill and kids are lazy to climb the steps) that the bite into our budget isn't anything at all. And we'll eat the leftover candy anyway. It can't just be that we got sick of going to the silly bars we'd go to with Tim and friends on Halloween night, but I'm sure that's part of it. I think a big part is that we've just become different people, Stan and I. What's weird, is that we've become different people together, like two different vines growing along the ground, we've become entangled in eachother, putting out new roots along our path as we grow, meanwhile, our original root system from where we started is long dead.

Posted by Ann on 10/28/05@10:39 AM CST ..::Link::..3 Screamers.

DREAMs: Rhodonite Pigs, Figs and Other Figments and Fragments

I honestly can't discern the order in which these dream frgments happened, so realize they're in no particular order.

I was in a room full of pigs; pink and black pigs with each pig having a unique color pattern. They were all maybe around 50 pounds, maybe the size of a Bulldog or a Bassett Hound, maybe just a little bigger than Arnold Ziffel. They would all put their forefeet (hooves) on me and lick my face, just like they were dogs. They had no coarse pig hair, just smooth, naked bodies, smooth like softy polished rock. In fact, their skin patterns were so artlike and even stonelike, like Rhodonite*. There was one pig that I was particularly felt attracted to; it was mostly pink with black swirly stripes (I can probably simulate the effect through an art program I have). It was very friendly and gave me kisses with its snout. They were very sweet pigs, not stinky or aggressive at all.

I was in a bedroomn and Stan and some other guy was there (some very average-looking 30-something guy). I was taking my clothes off in front of them.

It was my birthday and I received a few very cheap presents. It made me cry. One of the "presents" was some sort of bath salts to soak feet in. I said I could've used lotion more. Stan then decides that he shall get me some lotion.

For some reason our animals were all in different locations. I'm not sure where they all were, but for some reason some guy (perhaps the bedroom guy) put one of our cats in the refrigerator. Stan an I went for a drive, and when we came back, we tried to find the cat in the fridge, but we couldn't find anything.

I was in a room with a large tree-like houseplant in the hallway. Whenever I walked by it, I was fascinaated by the plant. I think it was some kind of fig.

*I have a tiny little Rhodonite stone pig. I think certain kinds of Rhodonite lends itself to pigs, just like Ocean Jasper lends itself to frogs, Leopard Jasper to leopards, Moonstone to certain kinds of fish, Sunstone to goldfish, Dalmatian Jasper to Dalmatians, etc. Not that I'm big on stone animal carvings or anything, but I couldn't resist a Rhodonite pig.

Posted by Ann on 10/28/05@09:35 AM CST ..::Link::..Whisper or Scream?

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Dr. Drew Pinsky, you are a Pinhead.

Says the Doctor on an MSNBC news show about the recent violent Pamela Vitale murder, "if your kid is painting his/her fingernails black, it's a sign of opiate addiction."

Bite My Ass, Dr. Drew! I have been painting my fingernails black off and on for well over 20 years since I could first find black in the stores (before then, I made my own black by mixing dark colors), and I have NEVER even tried illegal opiates and have no desire to.

These so-called experts think they know so much in their ivory tower TeeVee Celebrity Spokesdoctor role, but instead, they just sound ignorant. Just because you are "goth" does not make you a disturbed psychotic killer. But because certain "goth" kids (the Vitale murderer and the Columbine killers) ALSO HAPPEN TO BE MURDERERS look different than your average shorthaired potato-faced dime-a-dozen thug killer or your average moustachioed macho murderer, everyone's up in arms about how VIOLENT goths are. But I wonder how many murderers wear moustaches, for example (a very non-goth fashion). I'd bet you'd find there are more moustachioed murderers percentage wise than there are moustachioed people in the general population. Perhaps we should start paying more attention to moustaches. I think moustaches are a much higher indication of a violent personality than any other fashion statement. After all, look at one of the most famous moustached faces in history: Hitler.

I dare you, Dr. Drew Pinhead, I dare you to analyze me, just so your so-called educated conclusion that "those who wear black fingernails all have opiate addictions" can be blown to bits. Come on, analyze me, or if not me, take a random sample of black-wearing high school kids or college kids, or *anyone* (I just thought I'd volunteer my services since as a 44-year old happily married woman I'd like to mess with his statistics). You want to know why the kids who you see who are wearing black nail polish have opiate addictions? Because you're a PSYCHIATRIST! There are probably millions of people out there wearing black nails (probably 'cause it's kinda fashionable right now? Hello? Dr. Drew? Are you that removed from young society? If you are, perhaps you should focus on being an expert on the geriatric set) who are perfectly happy or at least stable and not in need of a two-bit tele-shrink with a license to push drugs. They don't need you, Dr. Drew. Thank goodness. The ones who you see are the ones who are messed up. That's all you know, just those who are screwed in the head. There's a whole world of us out here who are just fine and have no desire to ever use your services. And you will never know about us, or what we are like, because all you know are the emotional nutcases you see.

Now had he said that in irony, it could've been funny. Alas, he was serious.

Posted by Ann on 10/25/05@10:16 PM CST ..::Link::..9 Screamers.

DREAM: Soylent Green is PURPLE!

I was in either a store or a business; somehow it seemed like some Depressions hybrid (I wish I'd stop dreaming about that place, it's really irrelevant at this point)*. The ambient color of the rooms was dull red. There were many glass doors but no windows. I was in some interior room and had to pee. For some reason, I couldn't use a bathroom, so I had to secretely pee on a chair*#. There were people around, so I had to be secretive about it. Stan was with me, and he was my "lookout", and when he saw that I had pulled my pants down and there were people around, he told me to stop. We somehow managed to leave, and we were with people we saw recently in Ft. Collins, like Pat, Dale and Bill. We were travelling, perhaps by car, in the northwestern sector of Ft. Collins, although some of the houses seemed very Madison Isthmus in architecture*#* as they were two story frame houses circa 1900-1910 (like ours) except they were trashed out with bad peeling paint and general decrepitness which is much more Ft. Collins instead of Madison. It is dark outside and although initially it seemed like Bill was with us, we are driving up to Bill's former house on Mulberry. He is sitting outside with a woman and she is asking some other people questions like "what is it like to live away from Fort Collins and then come back?" I'm mad because she's not asking ME these questions and I'm pretty much an authority on that topic, but the people she was asking were the kind of people who travel to foreign countries, so they get special treatment. Oh, well, excuse me for being poor and not able to do that. Well, I guess Wisconsin doesn't count as a foreign country; so many Coloradoans seem to act as if it is ("why would you move THERE? isn't it COLD?"). ::::Ann! Stop it! You're getting mad at a Chimera!:::: Yet, I digress. Pretty soon, the people at Bill's house, including myself and Stan, start walking around and the setting turns into a convenience store in the day time. We're making jokes and for some reason we're talking about Soylent Green and the color purple (not the movie, the color) and pretending we're zombies and I start doing a Charleton Heston immitation by way of Phil Hartman on SNL saying "Soylent Green is Purple! It's Purple!" I start laughing and wake myself up laughing. It is still pretty funny even now that I'm awake.

*Makes me think that although even in the grand scheme of things, "Depressions" was just another job (like Pinko's or the Chemistry Stockroom ((the only job without a pseudnym))), the fact that I held it at such a bad time in my and Stan's life means that I transpose any bad associations I had with grad school or Disneywitches to it.

*#This is a very odd reocurring dream motif, that I'm peeing on a seat. OK, if you have to pee and you can't use a bathroom, wouldn't you find something like a jar or a cup to pee in? (Unless you're outside, of course) Why pee on a seat or chair? Makes me think that for some reason I am being watched and can't let it be known I'm peeing, so I remain seated and leave a Poppy Stain#, rather than go find some sort of container. Either that, or I'm immobilized, a paraplegic (sp?) which might be accurate if you think about the fact that you are paralyzed while in sleep/dream mode.

*#*I realized that a certain reocurring motif (driving north on College Avenue) also draws from businesses on East Washington, which I feel is the Madison cosmic Equivalent of North College. The scenery in the dream seems to heavily draw on the area around Visions and a used car business and the general trashy strip that's about 8-20 blocks northeast of where we live. There are other Madison/Fort Collins cosmic equivalents. My street is very Remmington around MidTown, although Willy Street is very Mason Street. Monona Drive (Madison) is very Lemay (Fort Collins). And some areas north of Washington and east of Lake Mendota remind me of areas around LaPorte and Shields. It's not just Madison and Fort Collins, other parts of other cities remind me of eachother, like north Montrose on US 50 reminds me of North College Avenue around the Poudre River crossing in Ft. Collins.

#And yet another in a neverending series of Seinfeld references used for descriptive purposes

Posted by Ann on 10/25/05@09:48 AM CST ..::Link::..5 Screamers.

Monday, October 24, 2005


I had a dream that someone, either Stan or my mom, got me a bunch of yarn as a present. It was pretty yarn, and some of it had pre-strung color-coordinated glass bugle beads, but what the heck was I supposed to do with bugle bead YARN? Make Linda Richman sweaters? Talk amongst yourselves. The giver of this gift baffles me because my mom seldom ever gets me "stuff", and when she does, it's usually pretty cheap. Since this was probably high quality, expensive yarn in vast quantities, it makes me think it was Stan, but that's so not Stan too. He does know better, I hope. I know, maybe it was Stan's mom! Regardless, I was doing the "oh, that's very nice" gift acceptance routine, meanwhile wondering how I can return it politely.

Posted by Ann on 10/24/05@09:13 AM CST ..::Link::..Whisper or Scream?
By Ann @ 10:07 AM CST:10:29:05 ..::Link::..Whisper or Scream?

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October 2005



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