I have been having a series of very odd dreams. Usually I don't dream or I don't remember them. On the rare occasion I would dream, they would be extremely graphic nightmares. However, recently, my dreams have been suspenseful, action packed, and filled with subconscious danger. The danger part isn't new.
My dreams are usually centered around me (and sometimes others) in immediate peril. It's my job to run or find some solution. My dreams never actually end. I never save the day. I just wake up as terrified and confused as I was in my dream.
Lately, my dreams have gotten exciting. I was involved in an intergalactic coup last week. I still didn't save the day, but the details in the dream were amazing. The plots are intricate and mostly make sense. I wish I could remember more of them, but the longer I'm awake, the more I forget.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
It May Seem Like a Stretch
Sooo.....
I was arrested eight days ago. (I wonder if it was in the blotter) Now, if you asked any of my family, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, people I've walked past on the street they would all tell you how unlikely I was to be arrested. I'm not the kind of person who lives life on the edge and plays by their own rules. As a matter of fact, I play by all the rules. Sometimes I even make up extra rules.
It all stems from the innumerable problems with bureaucracy and my need for speed. I was driving home from work late on Friday and all I wanted to do was go home and watch a movie with my boyfriend. He was almost there already, but I must have caught every light. In my eagerness to get home, I may have accelerated a bit prematurely where the speed limit goes from 40 to 55 at a place that is frequented by the police. I should have known that he'd be waiting right there for someone to do something stupid like I did.
So I flew past this policeman and half a mile later he pulled up right behind me with his lights shining through the night. He was young and actually pretty handsome, but he was all business when he asked my for my license and insurance. Then he lets me know that I was going too fast and that my car is too loud, but he'll let the noise slide - this time. Then he went back to his car to look up my record and write me a ticket.
I sit and I wait. And wait. And wait. Then another squad car pulls up behind him and they both walk up to my car. So Officer Friendly asked my to get out of the car and follow him behind it. Then he seriously said to me, "I'm going to ask you a question and you need to be completely honest with me. Did you know your license is suspended?" I knew my license wasn't. I had taken care of it more than 6 months ago. He apologized to me and told me that he had double checked my record and that my license was, in fact, suspended.
So he made me lean against the rear of my car, and he cuffed me. Then he walked me over to his squad car and frisked me. FRISKED me. Like I walk around with a gun or something. Seriously, I border nerdiness and I was frisked. So he tucks me into the backseat of the squad car while he and his police buddy look through my car. Then, the other guy points out something in my passenger seat that they both find amusing. Satisfied that I don't run a drug cartel out of my Fiero. Officer Friendly returns to his squad car and his comrade leaves in his. Then we wait some more for the tow truck.
As we are waiting, I see my boyfriend's car drive by. A few minutes later, my mom and step dad pull up right in front of the tow truck with my car on it's flatbed. My mother runs from her car towards the officer, demanding to know where the person who was in that car was. He tells her that he has arrested me. My boyfriend then pulled up behind me. From the moment the officer told me he had to arrest me I had been fighting the urge to laugh or asked if I was being punk'd, but all this was too much.
After the tow truck drove away, the officer returned to his squad car and asked me what it was like to drive a Fiero and he told me about my mom. On the drive to the station, he was speeding and instant messaging with another officer who in no uncertain terms told him he was weak for stopping me. I was driving a Fiero, that's just too cool, I guess. I'm pretty sure that's double illegal, but he's cop.
So we arrived at the station and he led me, still cuffed, to a processing area. Finally I got the cuffs off and he tells me to sit down in the corner. He starts entering all my information into an ancient computer asking me questions here and there like my SS# or my previous crimes. He took my fingerprints and some mug shots. Awesome! He called someone to have something printed and they told him I had quite the party waiting for me upstairs. We had witty banter, which is nice I suppose. I think my favorite part of the whole ordeal was when he was asking me questions towards the end like, "Do you know any drug dealers?" or "Do you know anyone is possession of an illegal weapon?" or "Do you know anyone who has committed a crime in Lake County?" I told him my dead grandfather was involved in organized crime, but other than that, no. He told me I didn't seem the type. After I signed myself out of jail, recognizance bond, he walked me through the station. He carried my purse the whole way, I was very impressed.
He lets me out into the waiting area where my mom, step dad, boyfriend, and friend/coworker/neighbor were all waiting. My friend and my boyfriend were laughing and my parents had very concerned looks on their faces. I showed them the marks on my wrists from the cuffs. My mom was horrified.
I was arrested eight days ago. (I wonder if it was in the blotter) Now, if you asked any of my family, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, people I've walked past on the street they would all tell you how unlikely I was to be arrested. I'm not the kind of person who lives life on the edge and plays by their own rules. As a matter of fact, I play by all the rules. Sometimes I even make up extra rules.
It all stems from the innumerable problems with bureaucracy and my need for speed. I was driving home from work late on Friday and all I wanted to do was go home and watch a movie with my boyfriend. He was almost there already, but I must have caught every light. In my eagerness to get home, I may have accelerated a bit prematurely where the speed limit goes from 40 to 55 at a place that is frequented by the police. I should have known that he'd be waiting right there for someone to do something stupid like I did.
So I flew past this policeman and half a mile later he pulled up right behind me with his lights shining through the night. He was young and actually pretty handsome, but he was all business when he asked my for my license and insurance. Then he lets me know that I was going too fast and that my car is too loud, but he'll let the noise slide - this time. Then he went back to his car to look up my record and write me a ticket.
I sit and I wait. And wait. And wait. Then another squad car pulls up behind him and they both walk up to my car. So Officer Friendly asked my to get out of the car and follow him behind it. Then he seriously said to me, "I'm going to ask you a question and you need to be completely honest with me. Did you know your license is suspended?" I knew my license wasn't. I had taken care of it more than 6 months ago. He apologized to me and told me that he had double checked my record and that my license was, in fact, suspended.
So he made me lean against the rear of my car, and he cuffed me. Then he walked me over to his squad car and frisked me. FRISKED me. Like I walk around with a gun or something. Seriously, I border nerdiness and I was frisked. So he tucks me into the backseat of the squad car while he and his police buddy look through my car. Then, the other guy points out something in my passenger seat that they both find amusing. Satisfied that I don't run a drug cartel out of my Fiero. Officer Friendly returns to his squad car and his comrade leaves in his. Then we wait some more for the tow truck.
As we are waiting, I see my boyfriend's car drive by. A few minutes later, my mom and step dad pull up right in front of the tow truck with my car on it's flatbed. My mother runs from her car towards the officer, demanding to know where the person who was in that car was. He tells her that he has arrested me. My boyfriend then pulled up behind me. From the moment the officer told me he had to arrest me I had been fighting the urge to laugh or asked if I was being punk'd, but all this was too much.
After the tow truck drove away, the officer returned to his squad car and asked me what it was like to drive a Fiero and he told me about my mom. On the drive to the station, he was speeding and instant messaging with another officer who in no uncertain terms told him he was weak for stopping me. I was driving a Fiero, that's just too cool, I guess. I'm pretty sure that's double illegal, but he's cop.
So we arrived at the station and he led me, still cuffed, to a processing area. Finally I got the cuffs off and he tells me to sit down in the corner. He starts entering all my information into an ancient computer asking me questions here and there like my SS# or my previous crimes. He took my fingerprints and some mug shots. Awesome! He called someone to have something printed and they told him I had quite the party waiting for me upstairs. We had witty banter, which is nice I suppose. I think my favorite part of the whole ordeal was when he was asking me questions towards the end like, "Do you know any drug dealers?" or "Do you know anyone is possession of an illegal weapon?" or "Do you know anyone who has committed a crime in Lake County?" I told him my dead grandfather was involved in organized crime, but other than that, no. He told me I didn't seem the type. After I signed myself out of jail, recognizance bond, he walked me through the station. He carried my purse the whole way, I was very impressed.
He lets me out into the waiting area where my mom, step dad, boyfriend, and friend/coworker/neighbor were all waiting. My friend and my boyfriend were laughing and my parents had very concerned looks on their faces. I showed them the marks on my wrists from the cuffs. My mom was horrified.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
To the Front of the Room
I have sometimes wondered how people can get excited about a career that isn't exciting to me. This technical writing class has opened my eyes. My class is made up of international students, career professionals going back to school, young students with no idea what they want to do, and young students who do know what they want to do and know that this class is for them.
Some of the students want to be engineers, pharmacists, doctors, translators...the list goes on. One girl wants to work with, and know everything about, materials. Just materials. Concrete and the like. Who wants to know about concrete when they grow up?
Basically this class teaches how to write manuals, memos, and other boring professional documents. I'm in it because the premed counseling brochure said I should. I'm doing well so far. I see how this will be an asset in my career. Maybe one day I'll want to submit something to a medical journal or simply just write a report about a particular case.
But I want to be a doctor. That's interesting. There is a certain amount of glamor and intrigue. Cement? Not so much. But these people are totally invested in their chosen paths. All I want to know is why they are so interested in these paths.
Some of the students want to be engineers, pharmacists, doctors, translators...the list goes on. One girl wants to work with, and know everything about, materials. Just materials. Concrete and the like. Who wants to know about concrete when they grow up?
Basically this class teaches how to write manuals, memos, and other boring professional documents. I'm in it because the premed counseling brochure said I should. I'm doing well so far. I see how this will be an asset in my career. Maybe one day I'll want to submit something to a medical journal or simply just write a report about a particular case.
But I want to be a doctor. That's interesting. There is a certain amount of glamor and intrigue. Cement? Not so much. But these people are totally invested in their chosen paths. All I want to know is why they are so interested in these paths.
I Had Sworn to Myself That I'm Content
A lot of this blog is mopey, whiny, my-life-is-so-hard crap. I'm pretty okay with that. Everyone needs an outlet, and I suppose this is mine. What I am not okay with is that I haven't written anything smart or thoughtful in quite some time. I could blame this on my mundane classes (Advanced Technical Writing, anyone?) or my mundane job or any number of blah blah blah super whiny crap. I can only blame myself. I haven't gotten very worked up over any current events or ridiculous occurrences in my life that are in any way interesting.
Oh, no! I've gotten boring. I'm just like....everyone else!
I've degraded my life to soap operas, and work, and gossip. This is no way for me to act. I disapprove. If you look to the right, you'll see that so far I've only read 3 books this year. That is an all time low. I've been reading nonstop since I was 4 or 5. No more I say!
I'm definitely going to work on posting things of actual substance instead of some angsty teenager bull.
Oh, no! I've gotten boring. I'm just like....everyone else!
I've degraded my life to soap operas, and work, and gossip. This is no way for me to act. I disapprove. If you look to the right, you'll see that so far I've only read 3 books this year. That is an all time low. I've been reading nonstop since I was 4 or 5. No more I say!
I'm definitely going to work on posting things of actual substance instead of some angsty teenager bull.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Fastidious and Precise
My little pumpkin patch is under the weather and I can't make her better. She is super adorable laying on the couch, though. It's kind of sweet when she looks up at me with my same eyes. I wish she was still little so I could scoop her up and rock her to sleep like I used to.
It breaks my heart when she says she isn't pretty. She has curly, red hair and the cutest smile. Once boys her age figure out girls don't have cooties, she'll be beating them away with a stick. If I let her out of the house. :)
It breaks my heart when she says she isn't pretty. She has curly, red hair and the cutest smile. Once boys her age figure out girls don't have cooties, she'll be beating them away with a stick. If I let her out of the house. :)
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Algo Que Decir
I have taken 5 years of Spanish, but it's been almost three years since that last class. I figured I should take some more because one third of my future clients will probably be Spanish speakers. Realizing how long it's been and how rusty my Spanish is, I took the proficiency exam so that I could skip the beginner classes, but not enroll in a class that was too hard for me. The test placed me in Spanish 222.
In the name of all that is good, that class is fucking hard. No english, ever. The textbook doesn't even have any english. I have to use the Spanish-English dictionary just to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing.
The awesome part is that I actually am really loving it. There is something about the language that is slightly more effective than English. The verbs are very exact. Your intention is so much more clear, but that does mean you have to choose your words wisely. If you said to a girl, "Eres bonita," she would be very flattered. If you told her, "Estas bonita" she might get a little ticked because you told her she was beautiful, but only in a temporary sense. The verbs both translate to the same thing in English, but have different intentions in Spanish. I just love it.
In the name of all that is good, that class is fucking hard. No english, ever. The textbook doesn't even have any english. I have to use the Spanish-English dictionary just to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing.
The awesome part is that I actually am really loving it. There is something about the language that is slightly more effective than English. The verbs are very exact. Your intention is so much more clear, but that does mean you have to choose your words wisely. If you said to a girl, "Eres bonita," she would be very flattered. If you told her, "Estas bonita" she might get a little ticked because you told her she was beautiful, but only in a temporary sense. The verbs both translate to the same thing in English, but have different intentions in Spanish. I just love it.
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