Two Dreams

The past week has been extremely eventful, though my family's stay is not over yet, and so I will not provide details about our vacation in this entry. However, I did have two interesting dreams last night, which is unusual, in that I haven't had any memorable dreams since my Fonz/Wesley/drowning dream.
My first dream started in some public place that somewhat resembled my mom's dining room in its setup. I was dining with two of Heather's banker friends (though Heather herself wasn't present), Sean, Joe, Shannon (I think), a Saint Bernard that was a doctor, and a group of people who were visiting from some nearby bar or something. I think that my mom was there, but I'm not sure, for she didn't play an extremely important part in the dream if she was there. Before we sat down to dinner, everyone embraced as though we were all old friends, and then a white-suited, black-mustached waiter appeared out of nowhere and brought us some expensive white wine. I was speaking with the Saint Bernard about one of his patients when Sean, Joe, and the drunken bar people stood and began running through the bathrooms playing tag or something; Shannon rolled her eyes, stood up, and left huffily for no particular reason. I was extremely stressed out because, being the hostess, I seemed only to be able to consistently entertain the Saint Bernard. Then I blacked out for a while, and when I woke up, the Saint Bernard was flipping out because the people who had been chasing back and forth through the bathrooms were missing and possibly in trouble. We hopped into the Saint Bernard's car, which was some nice blue sports vehicle, and were driving through the night scene of downtown Winston-Salem, searching for our missing companions; the city was lit up, and the last thing that I remember from this dream is driving over a series of hills with old-fashioned lamp posts on either side of the road.
The next dream took place in K-Mart, and was a nerdy Harry Potter dream, in which I was myself, and not a character from the books, as I sometimes am. Bellatrix Lestrange had gained control of the store and was holding everyone inside hostage until Voldemort arrived (I don't know why all my nerdy Harry Potter dreams include the imminent arrival of Voldemort). Bellatrix herself, in the dream, was anorexically skinny and had blond, stringy hair. She wasn't particularly evil in this dream, in that she wasn't hexing random people for fun and what-not. She was just wandering around with her fellow Death Eaters and looking through the clothes. The counter was in the center of the store, and once the Death Eaters had been thoroughly distracted by the clearance sale at the back of the store, I wandered up to the counter and noticed a Tupperware bin sitting in plain view, which held the confiscated wands of all of the innocent shoppers. I dug through it, looking for my wand, and was disappointed when I didn't see it; I assumed that, as I had put up the greatest fight, Bellatrix might be keeping mine closer to her; so I took out wands at random and experimented, trying to find one that worked the best so that I could save the day and what-not. Before I had the chance, however, I woke up while still trying to find a suitable wand that I could Stun with.

Very Weird Dream Indeed

Yes, on to the dream in a moment; last night, after dinner, I sat with Hope on the couch while she watched Spongebob (which she's usually not allowed to watch for some reason), and we played with her baby dolls for a while. Then, Heather came in and announced that she only had a few minutes before she had to go up to bed, and she put one of those gigantic pads of paper in front of Hope, along with some markers, and said, "You can color two sheets of these, and then you have to go up to bed." My dad and I were about to leave to see what was at the $2 Theater, but while he was getting his stuff together, I sat and colored with Hope. She spelled out her full name (last name as well), which I had never seen her do before, and then I helped her spell out "Grammy" and "Grampy," because this is what she calls Heather's mom and step-dad. Then, my dad came down and it was time to go.

We watched "Night at the Museum" at the $2 Theater, and my dad was disappointed, though I thought it was a cute movie; I suppose that they could have included a bit more about each of the exhibits, like more information about Custer, Ivan the Terrible, Napoleon Bonaparte, etc. However, I did learn one thing from the movie that I didn't know before: There is a complex named after Napoleon (I suspect that it is called the Bonaparte Complex) for those who feel inferior as a result of being short. I didn't know that; they mention the Electra and Oedipus Complexes in my psychoanalysis book, which describe the behavior of children too attached to the parent of the opposite gender, the result being hatred of the parent of the same gender, or the extreme tendency to seek the favored parent image in their wife/husband later on.

So, afterwards, we came home, and I stayed up blogging and working on this little video on the computer for a while before I went to bed. I had the weirdest dream.

I dreamt that Wesley, Fonzie from "Happy Days," and I were walking to the beach together; Wesley was leading us, because we were in Ohio and he had lived there once (however, I knew in the dream that we were going to the Atlantic Ocean on the east coast, and so this didn't make any sense). At the beach, people were laying on red-and-white striped beach towels, sunbathing, applying sunscreen, tossing beach balls back and forth, etc. Loud fifties music that featured a saxophone blasted from little boomboxes that all magically seemed to be tuned to the same station. Along part of the shore was a concrete wall that jutted out into the water a little ways, and some people were sitting on the edge of this wall, dangling their feet into the water.

Putting our stuff down by the concrete wall, Wesley and the Fonz ran into the water; I followed cautiously. Once in the water, we were pulled by a surprising current irresistibly to the right, over to the wall. We were pretty far out in the water by now; looking to my right from my corner of the wall, I could see the shore about 40 yards away. I clung to the top of the concrete until the current had ceased to drag us. The Fonz loosened his grip on a portion of the wall a few feet ahead of me, as did Wesley a few feet ahead of him.

Then, out of nowhere, a black, gaping hole opened up in the shallows to my right, barring my escape to the shore. Almost before I could react, the current came back, now pulling us to the right, in the direction of the hole, though I was the only one in danger since I was on the far left corner of the wall; Wesley and Fonz now just found themselves pressed into the section of wall to their right.

I held on for dear life as I watched water and fish swirling to their black, chasmy dooms. My legs, which had nothing to cling to, were being dragged to the right further and further, until I could soon feel the tension in my hips from my legs being stretched so far away from my body. I thought that if I didn't drown, I would surely lose an essential limb or two.

Then the current changed again, and it was pulling us backwards; my legs snapped back to their original position behind me, and were lifted in the water as if some sea creature were trying to yank me away from the wall by my feet. The Fonz didn't flinch in front of me where he held to the wall, but Wesley, who had been taken by surprise, flew past the Fonz and almost past me; I reached out a hand as he tried to swim. He grabbed it and then got a grip on my legs, and so I replaced my own grip on the wall.

This part of the dream seemed to last about half an hour; the current would switch every now and then and pull us to the right, toward our chasmy doom. But, eventually, it would pull us back again, away from the wall.

Suddenly, it stopped; the chasm disappeared. We stayed clutching the wall for five more minutes just in case the current started up again. Then, we floundered over to the shore, dragged ourselves out the water with our aching arms, grabbed our stuff, and ran.

The Fonz disappeared about halfway to our house; we must have been back in North Carolina again because when we got to the house, my family was there. My mom came out and scolded us for dawdling at the beach, since she had to work the 3:30 shift that day and had not been able to be home when the family arrived. She led us inside, and we said, "Hi." to the cousins, who were all sitting on the couch in front of the television, and to Grandma, who was setting the dining room table in the other room, and last, to Uncle Alan, who was running on a treadmill in the kitchen. Once we reached the kitchen, my mom went over to the stove, where she was preparing food of some sort. Then my mom called and I woke up to the sound of the phone ringing.

Bittersweet Homefront and Memory: Time Capsule

Well, there's a mixture of hot and cold on the two home fronts, bitter and sweet; I always like hearing the good news first, so here it is; tomorrow, my grandma, uncle, and cousins will be rolling into town from Naples, Florida, and will be spending two whole weeks before my cousins go back to their mom's house in Kentucky and my uncle and grandma drive back down to the sunny state. I look forward immensely to the time I get to spend with them, as our visits are so infrequent.

As for the bad news, my dad and Heather have decided to separate. Heather and Hope will be going up to Colorado to see Heather's mom's wedding, but when they come back, there won't be much time before they move out, and I am still finding that quite hard to grasp.

I haven't really thought about it like this before, but our house is really quite big.

I want to give Hope my copy of Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone before they leave, but my only copy seems to have been torn apart by dogs and age. I want to give her something to remember me by. What I really wanted was to watch her grow up, learn to read, write, like boys, etc. Okay, enough of dwelling on the negative side. . .

Last night, Shannon came over to my house and we decided to have a movie night; my mom drove us over to the hot-guy movie store, where we were hoping to see the semi-hot guy who works there, but instead, we ran into the guy there who, according to my mom, "resembles Curious George." The movies we rented were "Idiocracy," a comedy about the dumbing-down of mankind through poor education and the like, "Two Weeks Notice," a romantic comedy with Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant, who is gorgeous, and "I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry," which I've already seen, but my mom wanted to see it, so we ended up watching it with her. Earlier that day, I had gone on a bike ride to the Moravian church down the road, and then back through the hillier parts of my neighborhood to see if the famous dog, Daphne Weisner, was still sitting inside of her fence; she was not, and has not been the past few times I've gone to visit her. Her owner probably keeps her inside now so that weirdos like me don't stalk her dog.

Now for the memory: Ever since I was a little kid, I've been fascinated with the concept of a time capsule, a box with memories stored inside, buried somewhere like treasure. You see these sorts of things in movies like "Amelie" and even "Knowing," and it's always been a magical sort of idea to me. I've tried several times to do it with people; in fifth grade, a group of students agreed to help me make an elementary school time capsule, but that never worked out. Neither did the sixth or seventh grade attempts at a similar product.

Then, during my last visit to Florida (which I believe took place during the Christmas vacation period of 2007), my cousins (the same ones who are visiting) and I finally succeeded in making a time capsule.

Background: My cousins and I grew up in the "Spy Kids" era, and were enthralled with the ideas presented in these films. We used to pretend we were like the kids in the movie, and we would tip-toe around my grandmother's house on "secret missions" and that sort of thing. We drew little maps of the house, where dots would indicate our destination and stick people would indicate my mom, uncle, and grandmother, usually drawn hanging around the living room and kitchen. We would stay up really late in the bedroom that we shared, "fake-sleeping," and would sneak out of our room in the middle of the night for the pure thrill of being awake when no one else was. The whole point of it was not to get caught at it, and this would prove that we were good "spies."

Well, the last time we were together, we decided that, as we've long been too old to be doing stuff like the above anymore, we would preserve a memory of it, the preservation of which would be our last "mission." So, late one night, when everyone else was asleep, we found a shoe box, the perfect vessel for memories, I might add. However, we did not have many great "objects" to put in the box, as all of our old maps and the like had probably been trashed by this point. So, we each (Bethany, Autumn, and I; Tim was asleep) wrote down a particular memory of what it had been like growing up in the wonderful house of my grandmother's, back when one might say everything was "illuminated."

I also drew a sample map that would have been similar to any old ones we might have drawn. Then, we sealed the box, took it outside, and hid it in the depths of some bush near the corner of the fence (we didn't have a shovel, and the Florida earth is really hard and dry, what with the temperatures down there and everything). I'm not sure if it's still there, or if my grandmother found it, assumed it was litter, said, ". . .those hooligans always throwing trash in my yard," and put it in the dumpster. I intend to ask my cousins once they arrive.

Harry Potter 6 Review and Memory: Trick-or-Treating

Today, of course, was the big day; we went to see the second-to-last Harry Potter movie on its opening night. You might ask yourself, "What will happen when the last movie comes out? Will it all be over?" This is my fear; what if the last part of the seventh movie marks the end of the "Harry Potter Era," and once it's over, Harry Potter will sink into some state of nonentity, and will only be referenced from time to time as "an old classic among the likes of Tolkien and C. S. Lewis"?
Anyways, the movie was pretty decent, compared to what a disaster the third movie was. The director kept to the overall plot, did not necessarily disappoint me with the reproduction of the cave/horcrux scene (besides the fact that they never explain the importance of the cave as a hiding place for the horcrux), and brought back direct quotes from the parts where direct quotes would have been crucial. However, this director put too much emphasis on the relationship aspect of the movie; Lavender and Ron, Hermione and Ron, Harry and Ginny, etc. Though this factor is definitely important in the book, it does not dominate the plot line. For example, they added a scene to the movie that did not exist in the book, during which Ron and Harry discussed Hermione and Ginny and how they each have "nice skin," which wasn't necessary, as Harry's and Ron's feelings respectively to Ginny and Hermione are already made known through other scenes.
Another scene that disappointed me was the scene in which Bellatrix Lestrange and Greyback (I think it was Greyback; they never properly introduce his character) appear outside of the Weasley's house and, among other things, set it on fire. Now, besides this scene being completely random and unconnected with the plot, it also doesn't exist in the book at all. I don't see why they can take a Stephen King book and make the movie production six hours long in order to keep every single detail, and then take a Harry Potter book and add and delete scenes where they see fit.
Besides these two drawbacks, the movie was very well done. The acting was flawless, as always, the humor that defines Harry Potter movies was present, and the resolution made you leave feeling warm and fuzzy. I also noticed that the way it was filmed was far more artsy than any of the other preceding movies; this can just be seen in the scene transitions, camera angles, and the like. Out of five stars, I would probably give this movie a four, and a recommendation to go see it. ****
Anyways, now that I'm done being a nerd, I'll progress to a memory. Somehow, I just remembered trick-or-treating in my old neighborhood, which is very close to my mom's current house on Gordon Dr. When my mom and dad were still together, we lived on 4220 Cavalier Dr., which was near the bottom of a hill; at the bottom of this hill was a cul-de-sac and a dead end. It really was a great place to grow up, a place where you could hear the crickets at night over the traffic, that sort of thing. Growing up, we lived next to a Baptist family with a cat that would leave dead squirrels in our yard, and a kind, talkative, older man who had a passion for his garden lived on our other side. Across the street was a family that we were well-acquainted with; my mom was friends with the mother who lived there and I was friends with her daughter and son, who are roughly my age and a bit younger. Down the street was an aging woman who still reminds me a bit of a basset hound, in that she has the sad-looking eyes; she owned a dog named Allie McBeagle who (you guessed it) was a beagle. This woman would always plan these neighborhood parties and get-togethers that we never really got around to going to. She was also in charge of the neighborhood watch. A very involved woman, you might say.
But, anyways, trick-or-treating: my old neighborhood was most beautiful to behold in Autumn. The trees' leaves turned mainly golden-orange and yellow, and would mingle with the purples and reds of my gardener neighbor's garden. They would form mountainous piles at the ends of driveways, piles that I and any other sane kid would die to jump in. You could smell the season, too; that heavy, musky scent, the crispness that precedes winter. And, my favorite part, as the wind blew, you could hear its whistle in harmony with the skittering of the leaves across the pavement.
It was a magical time of the year, to be sure; Halloween commercials would come on television about a month beforehand, and you would see kids walking out of costume stores clutching their purchases and skipping, anticipating the big night.
Up until I was about six, I would dress up in the same costume every year. I had a purple dress and hat, and so I called myself the "purple princess." My mom would dress in a simple black dress and hat with spazzier make-up than usual to be a witch, and my dad would go without a costume, though he would bring the most energy of the three of us; he loved the holiday even more than we did.
My neighborhood had a good yield, as far as candy was concerned. Almost every front porch light was on, and you would be met at each door by an inordinate amount of praise for your costume before receiving a dollop of candy. The neighborhood, which was usually completely dark at night, was illuminated by lanterns of orange, purple, and green, large plastic bats hung from trees, and the little glow stick torches. There were always lots of fellow trick-or-treaters, because my neighborhood had a lot of families with smaller children.
My dad always mentions this now: apparently, when I was little and would get tired from walking all through the neighborhood, he would pick me up and run me from house to house so that we could stay out as long as possible. He and my mom were always radiant on these nights.
For some reason, I remember one particular night when we went home earlier than usual, because the bag was getting heavy and because it was really cold outside; I remember being little, looking up at the sky, and saying, "Hey, Mommy, look - the sky is purple." And it was. It was comparable to Barney's hue, even. I remember standing there thinking, "Wow, I bet I'll never see a sky as purple as that again; and if I do, I'll think of Halloween, this night." And I was right; I've never seen any sky quite so extraordinarily purple since as the sky I saw that night.

Harry Potter 6 and Memory: Places

Okay, today is Wednesday; my mom's at work until 3:30, but when she gets off, she's going to come home, pick me up, and then we're going to drive over to Greensboro, where we'll be watching the Harry Potter movie that just came to theaters today; this is special, because the last time (I think) that we saw a movie on its opening night was when "Bruce Almighty" was in theaters, and we went to the midnight showing of that. We'll be going to the 5:30 showing today, though, because neither of us want to risk falling asleep, and I also have to go back to my dad's today.

Other exciting news: My cousins, uncle, and grandmother are coming to visit us from Florida; they'll be arriving on Saturday morning, and I'll get to spend a whole two weeks with them. We usually only get to see them about once a year, so this will be pretty awesome.

Yesterday, my mom and I rode our bikes around Salem Lake, a seven mile trail. It was a beautiful day and there weren't a lot of people on the trail, so we didn't have to maneuver around too many things; there's this great view of the lake from all points of the mild trail, and so I suggest it for people who want to have a nice bike ride in a place other than their own neighborhood.

I also cut my mom's hair successfully yesterday, as she's been wanting to trim it for a long time now. I just cut the back part (she did the rest herself), but I was still pretty proud of myself, considering how nervous I had been before the operation.

That night, when Wesley's band arrived to practice, my mom and I took our bikes out again and rode down Country Club to the Mayberry that is in the Food Lion plaza. We each had a scoop of ice cream (Birthday Cake flavored and chocolate peanut butter flavored) before biking back up hill, which we originally thought would be impossible to do; it turned out being pretty easy, much to our surprise.

Now, for the (rather short) memory: The other day, Shannon and I were talking about all the people we've ever liked; she said she couldn't remember them all in order, to which I responded that I could probably count them all on one hand, as well as remember the places where I either first met them or noticed them. So, here are all the places, in chronological order.

• The door of our third grade trailer classroom, when it was held for me.
• My old best friend's downstairs den.
• Mrs. Tutt's classroom, when I was standing in the doorway.
• A computer room.

I've "liked" more than four people, but these are the four that lasted the longest. So, that ends my short entry for today.

Dream, Blue's Clues, and Memory: Harry Potter Party 2007

This blog entry has a very long title, I know; but there are many things that I have to say.
First of all, last night was eventful for two things: my lack of sleep, and the dream that I had in the bit of sleep that I did get. I was up quite late, working on the previous night's blog, while my dad and Heather were watching the news in the next room; I don't know if it was local or national news, but I heard the phrase "escaped from prison. . .two rapists and a killer on the loose" and was immediately (and possibly unnecessarily) concerned. That night, when I finally went upstairs to bed, I spent a few minutes taking stuff from around my bedroom to put in the bag I'd be taking to my mom's the next day. I came across this Bible that I have in my room, and because I didn't feel all that tired, I opened it to some random page in the Old Testament and read this depressing story from the book of Samuel about one of David's sons (Amnon) raping one of David's daughters (Tarram), and later being killed by his brother (Absalom). So, you can gather from the summary that it wasn't the sunniest story to go to sleep to. I lay in bed after I had turned off the lights, listening to the thunder and trying to remember if I had locked the front and back door. However, I was too stubborn to get out of bed, go back downstairs, and check. And, this is a selfish thought, but if someone were to break in, my bedroom is the first one you come to once you go up our front stairs; Hope's bedroom is next, and the master bedroom that my dad and Heather share is at the very end of the hall, and all the dogs sleep with them, so I wouldn't even be able to rely on one of them for defense right away.
Anyways, I finally did go to sleep, and I had the weirdest dream; in the first part, Alexis, Shannon, Elizabeth, and I were standing at the front of Mr. Holbrook's class, about to present our decade project again. Shannon was the only one who was dressed for it, and she was wearing some male outfit that I don't even think was from the thirties; I didn't have any 1930's clothes, so I asked Mr. Holbrook if we would be counted off for not dressing up. He said, "No, since I put you on the spot." and we proceeded to begin our presentation (this time without any technical difficulties).
In the next dream, Heather was picking me up from the side of First Street near Five Points. I climbed into the passenger seat of her car, and noticed that there was an unfamiliar lady in the backseat with a dog sitting in her purse; Heather saw me looking at her and said, "Oh, Robyn; this is Britney Spears; she and her dog needed a ride." and I was like, "Oh." I looked at her fluffy dog, sitting in the purse, and to make conversation, I asked, "What kind of dog is that?" to which she responded, "She's a shih tzoodle (pronounced shizoodle), a mix between a shih tzu and a poodle." and I said, "Wow." Now that I'm awake, I don't even know if there's such a thing as a shih tzoodle, but I might become famous some day for suggesting that name for the new breed.
Today, when my mom picked me up, she delivered bad news: my great grandma was recently hospitalized, and though she's out now, her condition was worse than she had thought it would be, and the effects take away from her overall independence that's always defined her. We wrote her a letter, as we can't go down to Florida to see her now, and we're going to send her some pictures from our vacation.
Beyond this, we went out to eat at La Caretta today, where I suspect our waiter was trying to flirt with us; my mom didn't believe me until he lingered at our table before taking our plates away, and asked us where we lived and other odd things. After this, she looked at me and said, "Yeah, now's a good time to leave."
Then, we went to the hot guy movie store in an attempt to rent Coraline, which we did eventually. We will be watching it tonight.

Somehow, Steve Burns came up in conversation today (the "Blue's Clues" host who is so much cooler than Joe) and my mom and I wanted to figure out what really happened to him (after he left "Blue's Clues," there were all these different rumors that he died from a heroin overdose and that he killed himself). We looked him up on wikipedia and found out that he merely shaved his head, started a band, and has been in an indie vampire movie called "Netherbeast Incorporated" since his departure from the show. After reading this, there was a collective sigh of relief, "Whew."

Now for the memory: I spent the entirety of the summer of 2007 in Florida, as my mom had to move there temporarily for reasons concerning complications with our old apartment. We stayed with my grandmother in her house, which happens to be right next door to my great grandmother's house; I spent a lot of that summer over at my great grandma's house while my mom was at work, learning how to knit and hanging out with her and my great Uncle Bud as they watched "Reba" and other television shows. I spent many nights in the bookstore Books-A-Million with my mom, uncle, cousins, and grandma, the latter reading and taking hours to drink one cup of coffee, my uncle and mom conversing, and my cousins and I taking the quizzes in girly magazines like "Tiger Beat" and "Seventeen." My mother, that summer, became reunited with one of her old high school friends, Ralph, and his daughter Gabby and I became friends. The four of us would walk on the beach occasionally at night, and would go to the end of the pier as a group, where in the darkness of evening the horizon couldn't even be made out; it was though you were looking into a breathing, black chasm, an eternity of churning black water.
Well, one night, in July, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows made its first appearance in bookstores, and my grandma had reserved a copy for me. There would be a party that night at Books-A-Million, which would last until midnight, when the books would finally be distributed; if I'm correct, this party took place on July 30, and of course, when the clock struck midnight, it was the 31, or Harry Potter's birthday. Gabby would be getting a book as well, so that night, my mom and Ralph took Gabby, another two friends of her's, and I to the bookstore, which was decorated lavishly for the occasion. There was a large television in the cafe where they were playing all of the Harry Potter movies chronologically. Almost everyone had dressed up (which Gabby and I had neglected to do; I was wearing red plaid shorts and a Misfits skeleton t-shirt) and we soon found out that there was to be a costume contest later on.
Gabby ran off to find her friend, and in her absence, I found this super-pretty guy walking around in what looked like a fur cape; he was tall-ish, black-haired, skinny, and pale. He wore black eye make-up and pale powder (I think) as part of his costume. Under the cape he wore a black-and-white striped ripped t-shirt and black pants. I had no clue what he was supposed to be dressed up as at first.
Later, when Gabby came back, I pointed him out to her, and she nearly squealed. "We should go talk to him." she said, and we spent the next few minutes plotting how we might do this. Then, someone announced over the speakers that it was time for the costume contest, and people began to flock towards the back of the bookstore. Gabby saw the pale boy at the back of the line, said, "I'm dressed up as J. K. Rowling," and made a beeline for the place behind him. I followed her, assuming the same identity, and stood beside her. He turned, noticed a key chain that Gabby had hanging around her neck, and said something about it. Then he noticed me, and said something like, "Your hair's freaking awesome." and I was taken aback. "Thanks." I said. He then proceeded to tell me that he had once had his hair cut like mine, but that it didn't look as cool. We asked him what he was dressed up as, to which he responded, "A Death Eater."
Then, as the contest began, Gabby and I fled from the line, and did not see him again until they announced the winners, who would be the first to receive their books. In the meantime, we walked around the bookstore, observing all of the Harry Potter nerds that had met there besides ourselves; there was this little station there for smaller children where they could decorate felt wands. Then, we were taken by surprise when a girl we had seen earlier that was about our age ran up, brandishing a wand at us; she shouted, "Expelliarmus!" and stood there blankly as if she expected us to do something. In response to our lack of response, she said, exasperated, "You're supposed to fall down." Gabby, who seemed to be lost for words, said, "Well yeah, but I blocked it. Protego!" Then we ran off and laughed really hard about the whole thing.
Then some of the bookstore workers began to announce the winners of the costume contest. Hearing the names, we headed to the front of the line to see if the mysterious boy had been one of the winners, and as we thought, he was the second in line. "So, you're Steve?" I asked, remembering that that was one of the names announced. "Nope." he shook his head, "I'm Kadie (I don't know if this is how he spelled it)." and I was once again taken aback, as I had heard the name Kadie announced, though I didn't think it was his name.
After receiving our books, Gabby and I left. I stayed up until about 2:00 a.m. reading mine.

Supernatural Memory

Sorry, I'm really starting to get into this concept, and so I will supply my avid readers with another memory tonight.
This must have happened sometime around third grade as well, though it might have been any time that I was in elementary school. It was during that space of time, after the news of Santa Claus's non-existance is broken to you, that you still cling to the impossible, when you want more than ever to believe in magic and flying reindeer and ghosts.
My mom, my dad, my mom's friend Eric from Savannah, Georgia, and I were all traveling through the Blue Ridge mountains in the fall, observing the pretty leaves (the trees' leaves were very vibrant, and they resembled red, orange, and yellow truffula trees); we stayed in a cheap, mountainside motel during the night. One evening, as we were driving through the mountains and watching the sun set, we saw this broken-down old house on the side of the road that looked unoccupied and very interesting. Eric, who had brought along a very nice camera, said, "Pull over a minute; I'd like to get some shots of this."
We got out of the car and watched him cross the street, getting pictures of the house from different angles; there was a car parked in the back of the house, though no one could possibly drive it, for it seemed to be crushed from the top, like an elephant had stepped on it at some point. My dad, glancing up and down the road shiftily, apparently anticipating interference in the form of the police, called over to Eric, "Hey, man; we should probably go. What if someone lives there?"
Eric turned. "They don't." he responded simply. "Come and see." The sun had almost fully set behind the trees that made up the background of the sad-looking house; holding my mother's hand, feeling an ounce of lovely, chilling thrill, I crossed the street. Eric gestured up at the windows on the side of the house; most of them were boarded up with rough pieces of wood; but some gaping holes in the boarding revealed the inside of the house, which seemed to consist of a huge, haphazard pile of wood that might have fallen in from the ceiling. No one, he seemed to be suggesting, could live in a house with a collapsed ceiling.
"Oh," said my dad. He and Eric walked half the perimeter of the house, taking shots, before my mom announced that we were cold and ready to head back to the motel. I remember, on the way back, my mom made some joke that "the ghosts of some hillbillies were going to chase us down in their pick-up trucks with rifles for invading their property." and everyone laughed.
Once we arrived back at the hotel, Eric downloaded the pictures onto his laptop and looked through them. When a perplexed look slid over his features, we asked him what was wrong.
Sitting behind him on the large, moldy, motel bed, we watched him click through a series of pictures of the same window, located in the upper lefthand corner of the house. This window, I recalled, had been completely boarded up. However, as the pictures progressed, - and it may have been a trick of the light, - but it appeared as though a hole grew larger and larger in the very center of the wood, until half of the window was unboarded. In the last few pictures, of which there were probably ten, it looked as though, in the space without the boards, there were two little pinpricks of light that could pass for eyes, and even a shadowy contrast that might have formed a face. Dotted about this picture in various random places were small gusty spheres of muted light that might have passed as "orbs" that those crazy people on television are always rambling about.
But anyways, we collectively decided that the light effects were probably due to some malfunction in the camera or to the fact that the photographer had been smoking a cigarette during the shooting. However, though the correct explanation of the phenomenon is probably rooted in logic, it's still fun to let yourself believe in these things every now and then, because there's just the slightest possibility that they do exist. spooky music playing. . .haha, just kidding.

Dream and Valentines Day Memory

I'll start with the memory today; this was one that I thought of yesterday for no apparent reason.

On Valentines Day in third grade, we were all required to make valentines cards for the whole grade; I neglected to tell my mom this until the night before, and so, the next morning, we traveled to the Harris Teeter near our house to purchase cheap valentine cards and candy. We got a variety bag of candy that contained some candy that I liked, and some that I didn't. My mom drove me in her silver PT Cruiser to the back of Brunson Elementary, where a path through a fence's gate led to the trailers where the third graders were taught. We sat in the parking lot and stuffed the valentines with candy, and I developed a system of sorts: I gave the candy that was my favorite to the people that I liked the best (like lollipops and 3 Musketeer Bars) and the candy that I liked the least to the people that I liked the least (like Snickers Bars and other nutty chocolate bars). I had this grand plan in mind to announce to the person that I fancied at the time (the first person, in fact, that I had ever fancied) that I had liked them since the beginning of third grade, or something along those lines; I can say nothing to describe how nervous I felt that day, that morning, as I sat in the car sorting valentine cards. As cheesy as this sounds, I got to his card, and felt as though I had swallowed something large in shock; trying to do this discreetly, I put two lollipops into his valentine, strawberry-flavored, which was my very favorite lollipop flavor back then. My mom looked over, noticed the two lollipops, and went, "Ooooh! Whose is that? Let me see!" She reached over, and I tried to hide it, but before I could, she saw the name. "Ahh, of course." she said, smiling. She dropped me off and I went inside the trailer. The time to distribute valentine cards came and went, and soon, everyone sat behind their desks, sifting through their loot; the guy I liked sat at my table, and just as I was trying to muster the courage to say something to him, he opened a folded-up piece of paper that had been buried at the bottom of his Valentine bag. He read it; his friends flocked around, and soon they were all laughing maniacally while he turned bright red. As it was, he had received a secret admirer note from some other girl in the class. There were a few seconds that I was almost convinced that I had put it in there under a nerve-induced trance of some sort, but I saw the handwriting and it was not mine; my friend, Elizabeth, came over and did not believe for the longest time that I wasn't the author of the note. Needless to say, the horrified look on the boy's face was enough to persuade me not to inform him of my feelings, as immature as they probably were at the time anyway.

Now for the dream: It was not last night, for I cannot recall my dreams from last night, but from the night before. It was another Harry Potter-esque dream (By the way, I just found out that we have tickets for the 5:30 showing on Wednesday!!!), except this time, I was myself, and not some character from the books. I was with my mom and Wesley in a hotel room that turned, halfway through the dream, into a cabin, and then back again. However, the environment didn't much matter in this dream. The important part was that I was practicing all the spells that I could remember with my wand, while my mom and Wesley observed from various parts of the room; I was preparing to intercept Voldemort on his way to conquer the Ministry of Magic, as silly as that sounds (yes, I'm a nerd). The one spell I could not remember in this dream (in the previous one, I couldn't remember how to Stun) was the spell that produced water, which I think is "Aguamenti," though I can't be certain, as I have been an uncommitted nerd and haven't read the books in at least a year now. But anyways, though I was preparing to meet my certain doom, the stress in the dream was minimal; in fact, I have made the conclusion that, while some people wake up exhilarated from flying dreams, others from dreams involving super-powers, and others from dreams that involve the love of their life, I earn my subconscious bliss from waving a stick at something and watching it respond.

Memory: Stair Slide

I had a brainwave today, and I think that I'm going to add it as a new feature to my blog. Now, not only will I recount events from my day, and my dreams, but I will also tell, every time one occurs to me, about some old memory; today, as I followed Hope down the stairs, I reminisced about when I was her age. She sat on the top step and slid all the way down the stairs.
When I was little, we lived in a house with three floors, if you count the basement level, which consisted of a computer room/guest room and a work-out room/library. My mother and I rag-rolled the work-out room/library ourselves using plastic bags balled up and dipped in purple paint; it looked super-cool. But anyways, the bottom set of stairs had five steps and the upper set of stairs had ten, both sets carpeted in deep brown.
The ceilings had popcorn in them (not the food, but that crumbly consistency of some ceilings), and I would get scolded every now and then for getting up on a bed and picking at the ceiling. The two staircases were set right next to each other in the living room, one going downstairs and one going upstairs, where my bedroom, the upstairs bathroom, and the master bedroom were.
My dad used to have this long pillow that was very firm, like a temporpedic bed (don't know if I spelled that correctly), and it fit into a tattered, beige, flowered pillow case that had a zipper. He would lay on this in the living room while watching basketball. I would sometimes join in with him, and cheer only for the Away teams because they had the pretty colored uniforms while the Home team played in boring white.
One day, when I was about four or five, I got a brilliant idea; I took this pillow to the top of the upper staircase, sat on it, and slid down the stairs like I was on a log ride. I soon learned how to sort of steer it, so that when I got to the bottom of the first staircase, I could swivel on the pillow and go down the remaining five steps to the basement level.
I particularly remember having my three cousins (who are all within two years of my age) over at my house, and we would all pile onto this cushion and slide down the stairs, pretend we were escaping from some great danger in a speeding car.
But yes, watching Hope slide down the stairs brought this all back to me instantly.

Past, Dreams, Future

Ok, I must begin this entry by reminding everyone: Harry Potter comes to theaters on Wednesday!!! From the previews, it seems like it will be really good, but then again, trailers can be deceiving.
Now that I've gotten that off of my chest, I'll continue to tell about my week. On Monday and Tuesday, I was with my mom, which I think I've already mentioned, along with our really long walk on the Salem Creek Trail and everything. Also, while I was there, we attempted to rent a movie from the red box, but between the three of us (my mom, Wesley, and I), we've seen just about everything in it. It's unfortunate that the red box only rents out new releases. So, we were forced to go to this movie store that doesn't have as good of a deal on new releases as the red box, but better deals on old movies, meaning that they actually have them. It also has a reputation for having a really attractive guy who worked/works there. My dad and I met him several months ago when we went there to look for a video game, and so when my mom and I first started going there about three months later, I told her to keep on the lookout for a hot guy who was tan with blue eyes; however, ever since my mom and I have been frequenting the place twice a week or so, we have encountered no such man. So, whenever we go there, she always jokes around, telling me to put on make-up "for the hot guy that doesn't exist," though I insist that he did indeed work there at some point. But anyways, this is why we call this movie store the "hot-guy movie store" as a clarification, that is, so people don't think we're talking about Blockbuster or something. The movies we rented from this store were "Green Mile" and "Secondhand Lions," both of which were good.
Yesterday, at 8:00 in the morning, Stacia picked me up from my dad's house after dropping Lynda off at the Sawtooth Art summer program; I was going to stay the night with Shannon. When we got back to the house, she was still sleeping, so I sat on the porch for a while and read my book; the sky was overcast and it felt like it would be a pretty day. Shortly after Shannon woke up, she decided that she wanted to spray-paint her Kanye West glasses on the porch, and then Talia and her mom arrived; her mom dropped us all off at Will's house, where we would be spending a few hours. Among other things, we played his pianos, met his cows and horses, played hide-n-seek (simply because his house was that huge), and discussed our life dreams out on his porch. Stacia came to pick us up around six, and we had a dinner of tacos back at her house. Shannon washed the dishes before dinner, and I insisted on washing the dinner dishes. Talia, Shannon, and I made a video depicting a scene that occured recently at Olive Garden that was somewhat amusing; I had told my mom that I wanted to order the fettucini alfredo, but when the waitress arrived, I ordered baked ziti; only to change my mind again as the waitress was walking away. It was one of those things where you had to be there to find it amusing. Then, we went upstairs and Shannon painted my finger- and toe-nails. These two boys, Lucas (Shannon's ex) and Cricket Boy (whose real name I don't know), kept calling the house, and wouldn't leave us alone until 1:00 in the morning, despite threats made by Shannon to "send the po-po to their door-door," which she eventually stopped making because I told her that they didn't sound remotely serious.
Shortly after this, we went to sleep, and I had some extremely strange dreams. In the first of the dreams, I was at a place similar to the Stevens Center with my friend (who was not someone I know in real life) and our other friend, who was a guy, and who I apparently wanted to date in the dream. We were in some lavishly decorated, high-ceilinged hall, waiting for the auditorium doors to open to indicate that the show was about to start. I realized that I had left something upstairs, and so the guy who had accompanied us escorted me by the hand to a small staircase, and as I got onto the staircase, I told him to go wait in the theater and I kissed his hand, which was weird because it would be more typical for the guy to do that. Upstairs, in a room that resembled a bedroom, I ran into my friend, who made fun of me for looking breathless and spacey.
Shortly after this, I had a dream that I was with my parents at some amusement park; we were standing at the top of what I think was a water slide, and we were gazing out over the entirety of the park, which we could see from the height. Beyond the park, there was a large expanse of water that revealed the presence of an ocean or other large body of water. Soon, it was my turn to go down the slide, and halfway down the steep plummet, I realized that something was wrong; my chest hurt internally, and I was somehow struck by the thought that there might be something wrong with my heart. By the time I got to the bottom of the slide, the pain was terrible, and I thought that I had lost my heart on the ride, and that my chest, empty, was bleeding internally. I ran around the amusement park, calling for help, shouting that my heart was gone and that I needed a new one. Mostly, people ignored me. Near the park entrance, I came to several dumpster-like bins that had pictures of organs on it and the words adult, or minor written on them. I approached a minor bin that had a picture of a heart on it, and peered inside. Within was a huge pile of human hearts, all around the same size and shape. I dug through the bin, but found no heart that was beating, and was immediately discouraged. I closed the bin, and when I turned to rummage through the adult bin, figuring that if I could find one that beat, that would be good enough, I ran into a man who seemed to work at the park.
"Anything I can do to help?" he asked.
Relieved, I responded, "I think I lost my heart on that water ride," I gestured over to the tallest ride in the park. "But I can't find a heart in this bin that will beat for me." He nodded, absorbing all of this information.
"Open your mouth." he instructed, and peered inside with a small flashlight; after only a few seconds, he straightened up again. "Your heart's working fine," he informed me, "You are, however, missing your spleen." He then reached over to a minor spleen bin and found a healthy-looking spleen; he moved it in the direction of my chest, as though there was a hole there, and suddenly the spleen was nowhere to be seen and the pain in my chest was gone.
"Thanks!" I said as he walked away. "No problem," he waved over his shoulder and continued on.
In the last dream, I was at my dad's house; Heather sat on the couch reading a book, and my dad was playing his basketball game on the Playstation. The home phone rang and I ran to get it as I was the only one unoccupied; on the other line, I heard Brittany's voice in response to my "Hello.": "Hey, Robyn," she said in a grim voice. "We need to talk; I wanted to know why you've been acting so uncool lately, not talking to us and everything."
I was shocked; this, coming from someone who had not spoken to me for at least a year, was just too much. After a pause on the line, I said, "Me, uncool. Let's talk about uncool, now, shall we?" and just before I got into the full force of an angry rant, I woke up.
Talia's mom came to pick her up around noon, and Stacia drove me back home at about 2:30 after stopping at Walmart; I'm at my dad's, typing this after taking Juliet on a long walk around the park and up to the gazebo park on Glade Street.

An Eventful Night of Dreams

I went to sleep last night determined to actually have a good dream, which the dreams I had could be called good dreams, perhaps, compared to the kind I've been having as of late. I figured that the dreams would at least be somewhat different, as I would be sleeping in a different bed (the one at my mom's house), and I was correct about that.
Before I fill people in on the dreams, I must make the comment that I was finally able to hang up the posters that I received for my birthday: a Jimi Hendrix poster, a Jack Skellington poster, and a Seurat poster (the impressionistic painting that shows the people sitting on the shore of a lake with a really long title that I can't remember). Now, there's a nice little bit of variety in the art of my bedroom at my mom's house.
Also, another funny thing happened the other day in my dad's car that I forgot to mention in an earlier post. Hope has this little broken cell phone that she likes to play with, and so she took it in the car one afternoon. Heather asked her who she was going to call; I immediately responded, "Ghostbusters!" and felt like a complete nerd when I was the only one who laughed. Hope handed me the cell phone and told me to call Ghostbusters, (she hasn't seen the movie and has no clue what Ghostbusters is) and so I pretended to be dialing 867-5309, and laughed at my own joke again, while everyone else in the car remained silent; I felt very easily amused that day. Talking into the phone, I said, "Jenny? Oh, hi, can you put me on with Ghostbusters?" then paused for a moment, before turning to Hope and asking, "Do we have any ghosts that we need to get rid of." Hope thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No. We don't have any ghosts. But we need some jewelry; tell Ghostbusters to bring us some jewelry." Figuring that it would be pointless to tell a five-year-old that Ghostbusters traditionally doesn't deliver jewelry, I spoke the order into the broken telephone and thanked Ghostbusters for their delivery. So now my dad, Heather, and I have this inside joke about Ghostbusters and their jewelry delivery. Random, but whatever.
Now, to the dreams: I first dreamt that my mom, Wesley, and I were having an ice-cream eating contest, and that I passed out after my second bowl. When I woke up from being passed out on the carpet of our living room, I found my mom slouched over the piano bench with the stomach of a pregnant woman, puking out all of her ice cream on the echo pedal of the piano. Wesley still sat upright on the couch, eating his way steadily through his fourth or fifth bowl.
At my next dream, I was at Shannon's wedding; I don't know who she was marrying in the dream, but I couldn't see the ceremony anyway from where I was sitting. We were in the middle of some forest, outdoors (in nature, of course), and there was a red-carpeted aisle lined on both sides by rows of white straight backed chairs. The guy who sat in front of me was really tall, and I was stuck in the very last row of chairs because I was late. I was distinctly disgruntled in the dream because I wasn't even a bridesmaid. I was also really tired, and so I slumped into the shoulder of the person next to me and fell asleep in the middle of the service.
The next dream was a nerdy Harry Potter one; I have these every now and then, where I'm either Harry Potter or Hermione or some random added character. In this one, I was Harry Potter, and the Weasley family, Hermione, some people from the DA and the Order of the Phoenix, and I were attempting to kill Voldemort, who was running about in this small village, creating chaos and throwing things at people. The dream took place at night, and the thing I remember most about the dream was that I wasn't able to perform a stunning spell (You know the whole "Stupefy!" spell), and Voldemort was sort of wreaking havoc unchecked due to this handicap of mine. I could summon a patronus, which I did randomly in the middle of the dream to make sure that I could still do magic and what not. But anyways, we killed Voldemort by the end of the dream, but Mr. Weasley had died, and everyone was really sad. So, yes, you have now seen the inner workings of my nerdy subconscious.
Today, my mom, Wesley, and I went to Salem Lake and walked along their creek trail, which was about 8 miles there and back.

An Anxiety Dream

First off, before I describe the dream, I'll say that Independence Day was nice; I spent the day before the fireworks reflecting on how fortunate we are to be in a country that hasn't flopped yet due to tyranny, multiple coup-de-tats, or any other possible downfalls. Our constitution is still applicable, even today (and I know that the constitution doesn't have anything to do with Independence Day, but it deserves mention). So, thank you, Mr. Adams, even if no one in Congress particularly liked you (as it seems to be depicted in 1776). You're a cool guy, nowadays.

Speaking of which, have you noticed how some deceased people who are famous today weren't in their lifetime? Poets (Edgar Allan Poe and Emily Dickinson being good examples) especially seem to get this raw deal. Dickinson spent her life being a recluse, locked in her bedroom, and it wasn't until after her death that her sister found several thousand poems locked in the room with her that brought her to her current fame.

But anyways, we went to Lewisville to watch the fireworks, and there was a cover band that provided some entertainment before the show. We ran into one of my dad's old friends, who apparently went to the School of the Arts for film and is now a small celebrity behind some current reality TV shows. Hope was really tired; I tried to pull her up to the cleared space for dancing, as she usually likes to dance at concerts, but she kept going back to her seat, and became immensely upset that we didn't have any sparklers.

When the fireworks finally started, the DJ began by playing a classical music overture of some sort; when that was over, they put on I'm Proud to be an American, which they were bound to play at some point that night; they overplay that song, in fact, to the point that they might even consider making it our new national anthem. Haha, just kidding. It was the longest fireworks show that I've ever seen in my life, and the finale was amazing; I got some pictures and a few videos.

Now, the dream: Lately, I've been having a lot of stressful, first-day-of-high-school dreams. Tonight's was similar, but clearer and easier to remember, which is precisely the reason that I'll be recounting it for my avid readers.

At the beginning of the dream, I was late; I had forgotten my backpack at home halfway to school, but my mom refused to go back and get it, and I was still late. I was running around in the huge, confusing building that was supposed to be a school, stumbling into people that were emerging from their classes. The bell, which was really high-pitched and annoying, rang continuously as though it was right next to my ear, and kept ringing, even once the students went into different classrooms. I kept looking around for a familiar face, to see if I could just sneak into that class; but then, I forgot that it wasn't middle school anymore, and that we would all have completely different classes; and then, I realized that I didn't have my schedule.

I asked a tall, faceless boy who looked like a senior for directions to the office. He pointed right across the hall, and I entered. Manning the desk was Mrs. Curtis, our old Hanes librarian.

The minute I entered, she gave me a sympathetic look and said, "Late for your first day?"

"Yeah," I said, "And I also don't have my schedule; may I have a copy of one, please?"

"I'm afraid not," she said. "The office is out of printing paper, but I can tell you your next few classes."

Though I don't remember the order of any of the others, I remember that math class would be my first stop, and that I would have to interrupt the teacher midway through her lecture.

Mrs. Curtis gave me directions, of which I only remember that there were "highways" and "turnings at intersections" involved; it was as if she was giving me directions through the town inside of within the school.

I dashed through the wide hallways, trying not to be later than I already was. The walls of the school were all blue, and this made me uncomfortable for some reason, possibly because it was something that I wasn't used to; I associate schools with plain-colored walls.

I approached a wide, spiraling staircase and ran down it, coming to a stop outside of the classroom door, out of breath. I opened the door as quietly as possible and received the blank stare of thirty students, the stare I would always receive in elementary school when I was late.

I crept to a decadent desk in the back row, trying not to interrupt the teacher, who was still speaking, when she said, in a voice sterner than any teacher I've ever had, "Welcome to class, Ms. Witt."

She spoke with the I-already-hate-you-because-I-only-judge-off-of-first-impressions tone. I looked up and was immediately surprised by her appearance; she looked exactly like Sarah McLachlan in the Humane Society commericials, except sterner. My first thought was that my dad would think she was hot (he thinks Sarah McLachlan is hot; we had seen that commercial the previous day, which is probably why the math teacher in the dream looked like this).

She turned back to the board and continued writing and speaking simultaneously. I sat, watching everyone else take notes, feeling naked without my notebook and pencil. There was a poster on the wall that had pictures of some fifty things, including expensive calculators, a certain brand of stapler, and labeled dividers.

While I was busy looking at this poster, the teacher stopped speaking again and directly addressed me. "Why aren't you taking notes?" she asked sharply.

Not wanting to use my mom's refusal to return home as an excuse, I said, "I forgot my backpack at home. I'm sorry." She snorted and rolled her eyes; then, noticing that I was looking at the poster, she said, "Oh, we addressed that poster while you were out of the room; you need to have all seventy of those school supply items before the end of next week, when there will be a quiz to check if you have brought them." With satisfaction, she added, "The students all wrote the list of items down in their notebooks."

She smiled evilly at my blank desk and turned back to the blackboard, where she had worked out some complex formula for the class that I couldn't comprehend. Not wanting to provoke her to attack me again by asking someone nearby to borrow their notes, I tried to pay attention and remember every detail; however, I was extremely tired, and I fell asleep on the desk, in the dream. I woke up to, "Ms. Witt! Detention! I've had enough of your attitude without having you sleep through my class!"

Feeling thoroughly miserable, I stayed behind in her class as I watched the rest of the students file out the door at the end of the period. I remember feeling vaguely sad, knowing that the rest of the teachers would probably hate me as well for not being present in their first class due to the fact that I was in detention on the first day of school. It's all part of the same rule, that first impressions make all the difference, and though teachers aren't supposed to have favorites, it's still good to try extra-hard to get them to like you. Anyways, after thinking this, I woke up and felt very tired from having such a stressful dream.

The Interesting Events of Tonight

Wow. Tonight was pretty cool for being July the 3rd, not that I have anything against the date, except for the fact that it rests between two rather important dates in contrast.
Anyways, today was fairly uneventful before the evening; I woke up late, took a call from my mom, had a banana for breakfast, and showered. Then, I decided to take Lancy with me to return a book that my dad checked out from the library (that has apparently been overdue for the past few weeks). I felt bad about halfway up Glade Street for choosing him to take over Juliet, as he was panting up a storm and shedding profusely. I didn't take Juliet because she is my walking companion more than half the time and Lancy never usually gets to come along because he is a spazzy walker and wants to stop every few feet to pee on tufts of grass.
After putting the book in the drop box of the library on Fifth Street, I decided that, since it was such a beautiful day (with a little breeze to alleviate the heat), I would walk a little further. Lancy and I walked down to Cherry Street, took a right, and then took another right onto Fourth Street, so that we were heading back toward the house; we passed what used to be Cat's Corner, which has not yet become a Mexican Restaurant. My mom told me the other day that the new owners are taking back the old waitstaff, which is awesome.
Several times throughout my journey, Lancy got compliments from people who enamored with his lancylicious beauty. As they reached out their hands to pet him, I informed them that, as he was born a runt, he is rather skiddish. They generally ignored me; it's a good thing that Lancy didn't react aggressively, as he will sometimes (but not often) do when he is surrounded by fans.
People also asked me for directions three times; the first time, I had just crossed the street after dropping off the book when a guy asked me where the library was. I directed him across the street that I had just crossed. The next two people weren't so lucky; I didn't know where the Piedmont Art something-or-other was, nor did I know the exact location of Mary's of Course, though we have dined there on several occasions (a lot of my mom's old coworkers from Cat's Corner also worked part time at Mary's; they have excellent English Muffins if you ever go there).
At home, Lancy drank a lot of water and passed out in his cage. As my dad ate lunch, I swept while singing Buble, at which I epicly failed to my dad's amusement. Then, I watered the plants, played a little piano, and had a passionate half hour with my drumset. After this, I sent emails to the marching band director at Reynolds and one of the secretaries about band camp and changing my German course to a Latin course. I played the Spiderman game on the Playstation, which I haven't done in a while. Finally, the dishwasher stopped running and I was able to put the dishes away and reload it with stuff from the sink. In between these activities, I also made quite a bit of progress in My Sister's Keeper, which I am trying to read before my mom and I rent the movie from the red box. As of yet, I cannot sympathize with the main character, no matter how much I might have wanted to keep my own kidney; I will wait until I finish the book before I give an in depth review on it, though, so I'll try not to dislike Anna so readily.
When my dad and Heather got home, we went to sushi at their favorite place, Ichiban, in Thruway. We go there so often that they typically don't even ask our drink orders, and we always have the same waittress, who's young and funny. My dad announced that he was going to take us downtown for the Gallery Hop, which was supposed to coincide with Heavy Rebel Weekend. Before this, however, we went to a new shop in Thruway called Francesca's, where I bought a strapless bra, an orange camisole, and a super-cool black shirt.
For my own memory's sake, I was wearing my spazzy, floral, green shirt over a white camisole, as well as my khaki shorts.
Random Confession: I can more easily recall important events in retrospect when I know what outfit I was wearing on that day; so you'll often see details about my outfit in my blog posts.
Anyways, my dad and Heather stopped once more by McDonald's so that they could get some ice cream, and I split a fudge sunday with Heather. Then, we were off to downtown Winston-Salem!
We parked beside the road across the street from a building full of lofts. We walked up the sidewalk in the direction of the music. We stopped in several galleries and looked at the product of our local artists' imaginations.
Possibly the weirdest part of the night was the mime that we witnessed performing in the middle of Trade Street (I think it was Trade Street). This was my first instance of seeing a mime in real life; he was standing on a pile of boxes, moving the top box around slowly, and seemed to be doing "the robot" as he waved to the audience. He was bedecked in stereotypical mime attire, the black-and-white striped shirt with black pants and a rather creepy white face mask. We moved on after a few minutes of observation.
After stopping in a gallery down the hill from where the summer live music usually takes place, we walked down to a Human Society truck, outside of which there were three beautiful, sleepy dogs that lay on the pavement. Two of them were brothers, and the one that was completely asleep bore a striking resemblance to my old dog Shamus. We sat and pet the dogs for a while before standing up to move elsewhere.
At this event, I saw several people that I knew, including Alex Siavelis, his parents, and what looked like Ben Cowgil's mom. We also saw a lady inside one of the galleries that I think was my mom's colleague at one time. Thinking that it was already a huge coincidence, we were walking back up the Trade Street hill when I saw Sean and Joe walking down it, conspicuous because of their hats. I caught up with them and spoke with them for a few moments before rejoining my dad and Heather up at the top of the hill. Heather was exhausted and ready to leave by this point.
However, it was a lovely night of local art, music, and what-not. Happy early July the 4th to everyone, by the way.

The Past Few Days. . .

Well, first of all, today is July 2nd, which, among being notable for historical reasons, is Hope's birthday. She is now five years old, and I cannot believe that I first met her when she was two (though, arguably, she was almost three). I have known this child for the majority of her life. . .it's really weird when you think about it; anyways, we took her to Emerald Point today (Heather and I because my dad had to work). It was really fun; she wore the dress that I bought for her over her bathing suit, and I didn't get roasted. She's really brave when it comes to rides, as I found out today; she went on this one slide with a large drop that I was too afraid to go on until I was about eight. I went on the Twin Twisters, which are the large black slides that curve around the sheer drop of the Daredevil Drop, which, in all my years of existence, I have still not had the heart to go on. On another note, I was slightly disappointed about a musical tradition that I associate with my infrequent trips to Emerald Point; every time I have gone there (just about), the song "Look What You've Done" by Jet has played at least once. This did not happen today, and I couldn't help feeling just a bit deflated. However, they did play "Bohemian Rhapsody," which makes this the second time that I have heard that song in an amusement park, the first time being last week at Cedar Point when we were in line to go on the Raptor, an inverted roller coaster. Yes, I know that it is very nerdy that I keep up with this sort of thing.
Anyways, after a fun day at Emerald Point, we dropped Hope off at her dad's and met my dad back at the house. He decided to take us out for dinner and a movie, so we went to this Japanese steakhouse near the $2 Theater, a.k.a. "Movies for Misers." The dinner was sort of embarrassing because I ordered off the kids' menu (a thing that I always do at Japanese steakhouses, because they give you enough food to choke a horse or whatever the saying is) and it was the first time in years that someone has challenged me. The woman asked how old I was, and I was just smooth enough to look down at where the menu said "12 and under" before answering. My dad and Heather weren't all that concerned about it, as my dad was the one who suggested that I order off of the kids' menu in the first place, but I felt really weird about it for the rest of the meal.
After dinner, we stopped by one of my dad's houses that is a work in progress. We went inside to see the work that has been done, and he was upset because, though no progress had been made, the lack of it had; I swear, this job has stressed him out enough to convince me never to go into real estate when I get older.
Then, we went to see Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, which was really awesome; it was even better than how I thought it would be, and I had assumed from the commercials that it would be worth watching, which is more than I can say for most movies that come out these days.
Anyways, now we're home and this is all that I can say for today.
Two days ago, on Tuesday, I went over to Shannon's house for the first time in at least a month; we hadn't gotten the chance to hang out since the get-together at my dad's house with Alexis and Elizabeth (who might be interested in hanging out again at some point as well? cough-cough). We arranged this last-minute Monday night when I was at my mom's, and so she dropped me off after work the next day.
I'm stunned that I have been able to convince myself, over the past few months, that every aspect of my life is not greater than the big picture itself, though in some moments I am reminded how wrong that assumption can be.
That will sound random to anyone but me, so I apologize.
After my arrival, I staggered up into the house and was introduced to Joe, a friend of Sean's, of whom I have heard many great things for the past few months from Shannon. My mom saw him from the car and the first thing she said was, "His hat has ears on it." which was very true; anyone in their right mind would have coveted his hat. But anyways, I was able to interview him and Stacia that night, gaining two more video interviews to add to my collection.
Another thing of minor importance: I had the chance to meet Tinuviel, Lynda's cat, who is now living upstairs in the computer room with her.
That night, we watched Meet the Fockers and sat on Shannon's roof for about an hour. We also walked to various places around her neighborhood. The next day, Stacia took Shannon and I out to eat at Mi Pueblo, and this was tasty.
Then, she dropped me off at my mom's, who in turn dropped me off at my dad's, where I spent an eventful half an hour before he came home from work.
Overall, it's been quite an eventful week so far.