P is for...

No, Jack, P is not for poop. Not that you even read this blog any more (when I bother to post) what with your busy new job and your new friends and that new stick up your butt.

That's right, I went there.

You don't talk to me any more. What's up with that? You barely respond to my emails. If I page you over the loudspeaker, would you even bother to return my calls?

Why don't you love me anymore???????????????

/emo

Gosh, its tiring being all emo and shit. And I'm sure I'm not even doing it %100 percent right.

I fail. At everything.

See, this is the anxiety talking. I'm anxious about a story due tomorrow for my creative writing class. I kinda like the idea that's in my head. I'm excited to explore and play with it. The problem? I can't fucking get anything written! Every time I start to write, the sentences that come out consist of boring drivel. The brain to paper translator button is on the fritz.

Frustrating, that is.

I'm also anxious about my high school reunion that's... holy shit... two weekends from now. I even dreamed about it last night. Me and the HB were wandering around, doing stuff, and I was wearing my new dress. And it looked really good on me. And I was pleased. Which is so not how I'll be feeling during the actual reunion. With all those people looking and judging and thinking... such a shame, she had a little potential.

Anywho...

P is for PROCRASTINATION

I was going to post the ant story alluded to a couple of posts ago. I actually wrote most of it while composing that post, but edited it out for later. It's later now, but I don't have time to finish it. To polish it and make it shiny. Because I have actual writing homework to get to.

Which is why I'm writing this instead.

Logic, they name is Lisa.

I don't know if that makes sense. But I'm leaving it there anyway. The Art of Stream of Conscienceness or Some Shit Like That.

Ack... I'm done. I need to write. My story demands it to be written. Maybe now my brain will work. Even if its crap, its crap that needs to be written.

Crap, here I come!

Oh... I guess maybe P is for Poop after all.

Damn you Jack! You win again!

But first, before I sign off, let me share the following email exchange I partook in this morning. If I didn't have to deal with this moronic stuff I'd have more time to goof off and do homework. Grrrrrrr.

From: Nob
Sent: Wednesday, October 31, 2007 6:55 AM
To: Lisa

Good Morning ! Hey Lisa do you know if the parts I requested from
NEQUAK ever got ordered or came in? # 09F5329

From: Lisa
Sent: Wednesday, October 31, 2007 7:21 AM
To: Nob

That part number has been discontinued. The vendor recommended a different number, 22K8388. Will this do? If so, what quantity is needed?

From: Nob
Sent: Wednesday, October 31, 2007 8:34 AM
To: Lisa

The same.

Okay, what kind of a friggin answer is that? It doesn't answer either one of the questions I asked! The first was a yes/no question. The second required a numerical answer. The same doesn't fit either of those categories!

Friggin moron.

If I were a Man-Rabbit I'd totally touch me too.

As previously mentioned in the last post I had a string of dreams a couple of weeks ago. I mean, there's a dream-remembering dry spell, then whammo hello here's four dreams to remember, then nothingness again. What is up with that?

Dream # 1 Synopsis:

Act I) I do weird embarrassing things in front of people who are not weirded out which weirds me out because they should be totally weirded out by the fact that I'm doing these weird things. Right in front of them no less.

Act II) I um... well... havemyfirstsexdreamever.

*cough*

Seriously. It was awesome. There was this guy, escorting me around some town in a car, we stop at some corner, he hands me six bucks, and directs me to go talk to the women standing on the corner. But they're not like Hooker-Corner-Standing. They're like... flea market setting-up-wares standing. I think they were selling baskets or something. And I uh... well... me and one of the girls end up in the back seat of the car. The end.

EPIC!

;)

Dream # 2 Synopsis:

I was in the videogame I was playing earlier that day (like, I was in that world, actually a part of the game... no, I don't play too much, thanks for asking), and we were doing stuff that we were doing in the game, then the location in the game morphed into the street next to my apartment complex.

We were all heading somewhere. The "where" wasn't too important at the time.

Eventually that somewhere turned into some underground bunker-like museum. It was a cross between the underground lab from the second Star Trek movie and Q's lab from the James Bond movies. And Tim Gunn was our tour guide.

I love it when celebrities guest star in my dreams.

Dream # 3 Synopsis:

Act I) something having to do with the DMV. I wrote it down somewhere so I wouldn't forget, but I don't remember it being too interesting. So meh, whatever. I can't remember the last time the DMV popped into my head, so my subconscious really had to reach deep for that one.

Act II) I'm outside in the DMV's backyard. There's a garden. At one point I start getting pawed by these strange Man-Rabbits.

That dream memory of the Man-Rabbits (like men in rabbit suits, only they're not a suits) will stick with me for awhile. I wasn't scared or worried. I was just mystified as to the Man-Rabbit's motivations behind touching me.

Other than the fact that in my dreams I'm, like, totally hot.

Well, not really, but I'm not my uberfat self either.

Did I look like a Woman-Carrot or something?


Dream # 4 Synopsis:

I was at work. Doing work. There was a little more too it than that, but that's what I woke up remembering. Doing paper work.

It was an awful feeling. Especially since I had to get dressed and go do more of it for real.

What the hell is up with that crap? I'm supposed to be having dreams about sex or Tim Gunn or creepy affectionate Man-Rabbit creatures. I'm not supposed to dream about all the paper work I have to do!

I love remembering my dreams, but good lord, these were getting progressively worse. I'm glad it stopped after the work dream. I don't want to think about how much worse it would have gotten.

I've heard from the HB, and from others, who have had dreams about doing homework. The HB, while taking Calculus 4, would have dreams about working out complicated calculus problems. He'd wake up exhausted, with hours of real calculus homework in front of him.

So at least I didn't have a calculus dream... I guess.

It has been 5,486 days since my last confession.

Well, maybe not that many days, but it sure feels like it.

Man, do I fail at this whole blogging thing or what?!

I should have been posting during that week a couple weeks ago where I practically had four dreams in a row. Each one stranger and more disturbing than the last.

This here blog is the perfect place to record stuff, to save important and historical events in The Life Of Lisa to be savored at a later date - you know, in case I happen to suffer from temporary/nontemporary amnesia in the future, or whatever. Or you do, dear reader, and wonder why the hell you're here. So yeah, important and historical and blah blah blah. Let me tell you something, that first dream was definitely historical.

Here, a taste.

Dream 1: Sex!
Dream 2: Tim Gunn as Tour Guide!
Dream 3: Man-Rabbits from the DMV's garden!
Dream 4: My job, it haunts me! *cry*

All that dreamy goodness, and still no posts from I.

Then came the Ant Incident of '07.

I think I may have consumed a whole colony.

Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. But there were several of them. And I'm sure once they mixed with the toxic acids of my stomach they became mutant Godzilla ants that mated with each other to produce gabillions of baby Godzilla ants

True story.

But more on dreams and ants later. I have to pee, but I need to post this first before Some Work Emergency happens which causes a rip in the space time continuum that is my brain and I totally forget that I have something to post.

Because my brain is a leaky sieve of a bitch like that lately.

Which coincides nicely with the fact that I've started a new school quarter!

/cheer