Blog, Interrupted

Just when I thought I was in, they pull me back out-- the internets are down at my house for the foreseeable future, and (other than this emergency posting), I don't like to blog at work. I'll be back as soon as I can, but to tide you over, here is a brief tidbit-- last night, I had a dream that I lived with Michael and LaToya Jackson, and LaToya had to drive me to work because I couldn't get my car to turn off, and I didn't want it to die in the work parking lot, and Michael was super mad that I had broken my car again.

Life with the Jacksons, man. It's wacky.

The day the wedding stood still

I've reached a really strange point in wedding planning where phase one-- finding a site, getting a dress, hiring a DJ and a photographer, getting a minister-- has all been completed, but it seems too early to move on to phase two, which seems to involve about eight million small but infinitely significant details-- yes, we have a caterer, but we never told them what we want to eat. We haven't yet picked a cake for the baker to make. We have no invitations, or save-the-dates, or even a master guest list. Or any music for the actual ceremony (note: if any of you play a musical instrument, or know someone who does, and they want to play at our wedding, we will give them a million, billion dollars.).

Even though I know it's too early to start on most of these things (or, rather, I have been informed of such by my mom and by Ben, who just want me to stop freaking out for five seconds), I am already secretly in a panic over them, a panic which manifests itself in these horrible dreams where I wake up and it's the wedding day, only we only have planned what we actually have planned in real life. Which means we have a reception hall, and photographer and DJ and dress, but no menu, or seating chart, or guests, for that matter, because we never sent out any invitations.

And on top of all that, I feel intense pressure to have a really cool wedding, especially since so many people are (theoretically) coming in from all over the country to attend. But this is a fatal flaw in my character-- while I may be a decent creative writer, I am not even slightly creative when it comes to almost anything else, including decor, costume-making, and yes, wedding planning. So in my mind I picture all my cool friends from all over the world arriving in Aurora, Ohio, and going, "eh."

Actually, let me take that (slightly) back-- I DO have creative ideas, but they cost a lot of money. Like my idea to have a photo booth on site at the reception, which would have offered up all sorts of weird and wacky portraits of my guests that I would cherish for decades to come. Yeah, those booths? Cost, again, a million, billion dollars.

Sadly, there's nothing I can really do to overcome this crippling defect in my character, except to artfully steal from other weddings and hope that no one in attendance at my own remembers them.

Laotian Devotion

Can I just be the first to say, what the fuck? Why did I dream about Laotians trying to kill me the night before two Laotians won the Mega Millions Lottery? That's them, pictured. It behooves me to mention that they do not look like the Laotians that were attempting to kill me (although I am impressed by my subconscious' ability to generate people who apparently did look rather Laotian).

So, this indicates that a couple of things could be happening:

1. I am able, through dreams, to predict the winner of the Mega Millions lottery (or at least, the ethnicity of said winners)

2. I was actually supposed to have won the Mega Millions lottery, but because I chose, foolishly, not to buy a ticket, my winning numbers went to this couple, who contacted me through my dream just to rub it in

3. None of this is real at all, and I'm just in some sort of Lost-esque purgatory world

At any rate, it's all very bizarre. Here's hoping that these Laotians have the best of luck with their lottery winnings, and do not attempt to subdue me with a syringe to the neck.

Laost Cause

First off, let me just say that I left work early today, a victim of a mystery illness that has rendered me feeling cross-eyed and caused me to misjudge my distance from my surroundings, resulting in a full-on collision with the side of a cubicle and the unfortunate slamming of an entirely too-full cup of Diet Pepsi against the wall at Long John Silver's. Curiously, this does not seem to affect me when I drive, so apparently if I had been left to do my work in the car all day, everything probably would have been fine.

But anyway, none of this has anything to do with Laos.

What does have to do with Laos is the fact that I had a totally bizarre dream last night that these two Laotians were trying to kill me-- once with a syringe to the neck (full of something that, though burn-y, was apparently not lethal) and once by shoving me off a building. This entire thing is especially interesting in that I have never, ever, ever, ever, ever thought about Laos before in my life, and don't know any actual Laotians, and cannot fathom why they would be trying to kill me, in my dream life or otherwise. It is, by far, the most random topic for a dream that I have ever experienced-- and I once dreamed that I was part of an elite Kid Team sent back in time to stop the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. (LeVar Burton was our leader.)

When I told Ben about it, he was sure I must have been confused, and that it was Russians, not Laotians, that were attempting to kill me. But no, I assure you, it was Laotians*.

*Or, rather, dream Laotians, as I do not, in any way, want to insinuate that any real Laotians are trying to kill me, mainly because I don't want to get angry e-mails.