whiski_sour: (Fishy people)
This afternoon I went into the bathroom and found one of my dad's gun books lying open on the floor in front of the toilet. It was opened to the beginning of the J's, so I did pause a moment to wonder just how long of a shit he'd taken. Then I realized this probably doesn't happen in most people's houses.

Then just a little bit ago, I walked into the kitchen to find Dad sitting at the computer with a rifle lying across a box sitting next to the desk. I figured he was either expecting some serious shit to go down or he didn't know how to use the pop-up blocker.

Turns out he was just searching for parts for the gun online.

You see why I don't ask about things? It's not as much fun as not knowing.

In other news, I had a dream last night that I was in school again (oh joy) with a bunch of my old classmates and some people I didn't know. My algebra teacher was teaching some kind of English/Art project that I wasn't paying attention to and neither were a lot of other people. But at one point, a guy I went to school, big, tall guy named Steve, got into the face of another big, tall guy that I vaguely recognized at the time and told the guy that if he left a mark on me (!!!) that he'd have his ass. I ended up separating the two of them.

It was a shocking dream because I've never had anyone in my waking life defend me like that.

Also, I have no idea what Steve was talking about. But still! It was nice that he defended my honor and whatnot.
whiski_sour: (the horror!)
I cram my brain with horror films for two weeks during AMC's FearFest.

A week later and I get my first nightmare. Nothing new, just Michael Myers trying to kill me. He's been trying to kill me since I was six and the closest he ever came was the time he stabbed me with the pitchfork (that was a bitch).

He topped himself last night, though. He chased me down on a horse while carrying the decapitated head of some poor schmuck.

And those were good times.
whiski_sour: (I cause porn)
I'm on day 11 of watching at least 1 horror film a day, but most days more than one, and some days the same one more than once. Still no nightmares.

However, last night I dreamed that three baseball players did a Playgirl spread and they were using them for baseball cards. One of them was Chase Utley and one was Lance Berkman, aka, Fat Elvis (but it didn't look anything like Fat Elvis...and for that I'm grateful), but I can't remember who the third guy was. I wanna say it was Pat Burrell, but I'm not for sure.

I did have all three cards, though. Bet they'd be worth some money in the real world.

Gotta love my over-exposed, under-developed brain.
whiski_sour: (wtfx4)
I had a great dream last night, one for the books. Or in this case, the LJ.

It started off with me being called in as a relief pitcher for the Cubs. We were losing 6-16 and for some reason Jeff Baker was my catcher (odd because Jeff Baker is an infielder, not a catcher). Except Jeff wasn't at the game (being held in some bizarre park behind a hotel) and I had to go find him before I could pitch. I'm guessing they just put the game on hold while I went roaming around, looking for my lost catcher.

I ended up going in the hotel, which was hosting a con of some kind, and I ran into a friend of mine as we both got on this bizarre glass elevator that seemed to have functioning issues. It wouldn't stop long enough on a floor to let you off safely and it descended way too fast. This was all fun and frustrating until a giant lizard of some kind appeared out of nowhere. I'm not normally bothered by lizards, but in this case I made an exception, and I bailed from that elevator as quickly as I could.

And I admit it: I left my friend. Hey, I'll remember her fondly, but when giant, obviously-going-to-eat-me lizards are involved, it's every able bodied person for themselves.

This move ended up being a frying pan to fire manuever as it turned out the whole hotel was infested by dinosaurs. Mostly of the meat eating kind, velociraptors and a T-Rex, and the lesser raved about allisaurus. After cowering in a corner to avoid the attentions of the T-Rex (man, I hoped Jurassic Park was right when they said that T-Rex responds to movement), I ended up running for the door with a group of people, but the only face I recognized was Nathan Fillion, for some odd reason.

And then I woke up.

Consequently, I've been pretty sore today, particularly by right shoulder. I guess I'm just not up to snuff when it comes to major league relief-pitching and running from dinosaurs.
whiski_sour: (wtfx4)
I'm supposed to be keeping my feet elevated because they are swollen like woah (probably from the heat; my hands and feet both swell, but this is the worst my feet have ever been), but I can't type in that position with my current set up and I must tell you about this fantastic, cracked out dream that I had.

I was in Hawaii, swimming with Zachary Quinto and Chris O'Donnell, watching them compete in some kind of race that involved having a rope tied around their waists. A shark came up and bit down on Chris O'Donnell's rope and swam off with him and I had to go save him, but when I did and we got out of the water, we were faced with a tidal, which we survived. Then I watched a crime being committed, only it turned out that it was only on TV. Then I realized it was Halloween and I was bummed because someone how I'd forgetten my favortist holiday of the year and missed all of my favorite movies. But then I was happy because LL Cool J was coming back to the day shift and I have him a big ol' kiss on his cheek to let him know how happy I was before going to work on ER, where we couldn't tell the good guys from the bad guys and Tim Curry shot Tamala Jones before someone shot Tim Curry and I ended carrying both of their bodies (by myself because Noah Wiley was no help) through all of these corridors, past a ranting Jon Gosselin, to the front desk, where I dumped them at Jamie Lee Curtis's feet and told her to do something with them. Then she gathered all of us around to give us some kind of pep talk, but I got distracted by a puddle on the floor.

And then I woke up.

Freud would have fallen over.
whiski_sour: (the horror!)
Tuesday night, I dreamed about being at my elementary school playground, putting on a talent show, and in a brief moment of WTF, Jason Alexander was there. Foolishly, I thought that my brain was mellowing out.

Yeah, right.

Wednesday night, I dreamed about getting involved with some gang bangers due to a case of mistaken identity; some girls set another girl on fire; some guys decided to pass the time torturing people and I barely managed to convince them not to crucify my friend Damon; and then we made our escape by driving away in a mobile home. So, yeah, that was a good time.

Then last night I dreamed that after I won some really fucked up lottery that involved winning some scary movies (including the Evil Dead trilogy) as well as three grand, I went to a drive-in movie with some guy in a convertible and we were attacked by a rotting demon with a chainsaw. We were saved by a bleached blond Ash Williams (circa Army of Darkness in terms of everything but hair), but not before the demon trapped us in the convertible and the chainsaw cut my arm. Honestly, the worst part of that dream for me was the blond Ash. Bruce Campbell does not look good with blond hair.

So, yeah, that's where my brain is at right now. Unrestrained, gory horror every time I close my eyes. Which you'd think would make me hesitant to go to sleep, but no. I don't even qualify those dreams as scary because I just rolled over and went back to sleep. A scary dream for me is one that keeps me awake.

Fun side note: In real life, I have no scream. Like, I open my mouth and nothing comes out. I think I've only been successful a couple of times in my life. Most of the time in my dreams, however, I've got a rip roarin' scream. Go figure.
whiski_sour: (Fishy people)
My brain is on one of it's bizarre jags again, and by that I of course mean more bizarre than usual.

Night before last, my dream was inspired by a mash-up of Adventures in Babysitting, Blair Witch 2, and SyFy's Mothman. The latter two I can understand since I watched them right before I went to bed (yeah, I have no fear of nightmares), but I haven't seen the former in years. Not a clue how it got into the mix.

Last night featured Uncle Jesse and Aunt Becky from Full House and [livejournal.com profile] luchalibrarian staying at my house and [livejournal.com profile] luchalibrarian unhappy with the prospect of leaving her car at my house because we weren't sure it'd make the drive back home; gargoyles falling from buildings on the square; and Harris, Wojo, and Dietrich from Barney Miller and me trying to blind velociraptors with these bizarre fire extinguisher things in this tiny room with no exit.

Yes, that was one continuous dream.

I'm anticipating more batshit goodness for tonight's sleep, but in the end, I probably won't dream at all.

My brain doesn't like it when I start having fun, too.

ETA: I'm disappointed that LJ's spellcheck doesn't recognize "Wojo", but amused that it wants to replace it with "Woo". Woo, indeed.
whiski_sour: (wtfx4)
Dear Erik Estrada:

I like you well enough, even if I do think your smile is scary in person, but I see no reason for your presence to invade my dreams. I don't want to do a scavenger hunt with you. Please, don't force me. It makes me uncomfortable.

Good luck with that,
Chesh

Dear Subconsicous:

Erik Estrada? Really? I know we love the 70's more than is necessary, but Erik Estrada? What the fuck have you been smoking?

Continually perplexed by your choices,
Chesh
whiski_sour: (not bad)
I did not spring ahead this year with much grace. I went to bed far too late, woke up far too early, stayed awake an hour, went back to sleep, and finally woke up far too late, which is probably going to cost me when I try to go to sleep at a decent time tonight.

I sacrificed my lost hour to watching Slither in the wee hours. I went to bed right after the credits started to roll.

You'd think that watching a gross horror comedy like that would give me nightmares about fast slugs and Michael Rooker turning into some kind of lumpy blob mutant. But no. I dreamed about Nathan Fillion and at some point, he turned into a cat.

Don't ask me to explain it because I'm not sure exactly how, when, or why it happened, but it did.

So, on one hand, no nightmares. On the other hand, no dream make-out session with Nathan Fillion. I guess I broke even.

At least he purred when I pet him.
whiski_sour: (wtf?)
I'm going through another stretch of having trouble sleeping. Falling asleep and staying asleep are just not of the good (it doesn't help when a cat assaults your door for an hour either). The best sleep I got was sometime after four and it lasted until about eight.

Unfortunately, this stretch of sleep featured a dream that included the following:

-my old elementary school playground
-a two person scooter
-a childhood friend
-my grandparents house
-killer bees
-Jeffrey Donovan
-Dom from NCIS: LA
-my garage
-Eric from NCIS: LA
-alien mutant squid
-an alien baby that would kill us all if her core temperature got too hot
-dancing with Beyonce
-a shopping center parking lot
-a sandstorm turned flood in Las Vegas
-disaster survivors holed up in a hotel
-a hotel room filled with stashes of cheetos and no dry towels

Yeah. I don't know either. My brain likes to keep it lively.
whiski_sour: (the horror!)
I dreamed about zombies last night. I've been dreaming about them a lot lately. I would imagine it's because I spent most of December and January reading The Living Dead and I've been working almost exclusively on two different short stories that feature zombies.

This dream was a little different, though, because while in some dreams in which bad shit is going down I'll scream and run (hello, self-preservation!), I do not flail. I scream and run and try to think of a plan like how to escape or fight off whatever I'm running from. Like Earl said in Tremors, running ain't a plan. Running is what you do when a plan fails.

Anyway, in last night's dream, I flailed. I mean like a girly-girl who just saw a bug or a rat or a snake. Like that. I was in a house and zombies were trying to get in both the front and back door and I was running in back and forth between them, flapping my hands and screaming "What do I do? What do I do?" as I ping-ponged. To which my sister appears out of nowhere, hands me a bow and a quiver a set of arrows, and tells me to quit my screaming and just shoot them. Which I did.

I woke with two thoughts in my head:

1. The dream could have used more Woody Harrelson.

2. I bet most people would find the zombies, not the girly flailing, the most terrifying part of the dream.
whiski_sour: (marshmellow stupid)
I took a sick day today. I haven't felt very well for a few days and after a crappy night's sleep last night, I just decided to give in and stop fighting it and just feel bad.

I think it was the crappy night's sleep that broke the camel's back. I couldn't stay asleep, I kept waking up. When I did sleep, I had really messed up dreams. The one I remember best started off in the Marriott hotel in Atlanta, trying to give directions to people and then getting a ferris wheel elevator thing that broke down and ended up with me wandering into the latter part of a Friday the 13th movie. After several gruesome deaths, I'm happy to say the movie ended and I survived, though to get out of this house of death I had to walk through a hologram of a spinning Jason Voorhees mask that would have been more cool if, ya know, death hadn't been following me. Once I got out of the house and hit the sidewalk, I was safe.

Best part of the dream? It had end credits. I don't know why Leslie Nielsen and Johnny Depp were listed because I didn't see them and I doubt they'd go slumming in Friday the 13th land. I'm just saying.

I took a nap with no bizarre dreams (and my nap dreams are usually more bizarre than my regular sleep dreams) so I'm hoping that's a good sign.

I really hope I feel better tomorrow. I don't have anything pressing to do; I'm just tired of feeling yucky.
whiski_sour: (i am no lady)
I had two separate dreams back to back last night about weddings. In both, the women getting married are already married in conscious life (one is a high school friend; the other is a cousin) and there were problems with wardrobes in both. In the first one, I couldn't find the right earrings to go with my Maid of Honor dress; in the second, I was running late, packing all the clothes I would need for the ceremony and the reception, missing an appointment, pissing off my mom, and wearing black and white while everyone else was dressed in bright colors.

According to Dream Moods, weddings can symbolize "... issues about commitment and independence."

Since I was having trouble getting to both ceremonies, I guess we all know how I feel about that, huh?
whiski_sour: (wtf?)
Last week I dreamed that I had a rocking makeout session with Nathan Fillion.

Last night I dreamed that I and three other people beat up and robbed a church deacon.

This was after the dream that started off with a wedding and ended with a search for a missing person at the Apple and Pork Festival and some point in between it rained and I changed clothes.

I'd give five dollars to know what was going on inside of my head.
whiski_sour: (Busted!)
I woke up with morning to find a bloody tissue in my bed and a little blood on my face and only the fuzziest of memories that I dreamed about Jeffrey Donovan.

So, clearly, the logical explanation is that Jeffrey Donovan is an unscarred, living version of Freddy Kruger who invaded my dreams and busted me in the nose for endlessly mocking him for getting a DUI.

Had I known he possessed that power, I would have kept my mouth shut.

Now I know and knowing is half the battle.
whiski_sour: (seems inapproriate)
I had a dream last night (or actually early this morning because I was up until two watching Futurama) that I got engaged to a guy much younger than me.

Guess what the dream means according to one dream site?

That I desire to get engaged.

There's a certain disappointing lack of Freudian creativity there.

I'm just saying.
whiski_sour: (wtf bleu)
I've heard music in my dreams before. Even woke up with the song in my head.

But last night was the first time I have ever had a dream featuring mariachi music.

I can't remember anything else about the dream. Just mariachi music.

Sometimes, I look up the meanings of my dreams. But, I've got to tell you...if there's any dream interpretation site or book that has a meaning for mariachi music that isn't "you're craving Nachos Guadalajara at El Rey's", then I truly fear for myself and the world.

Mariachi music? Seriously? I haven't heard that in ages.
whiski_sour: (wtfx4)
I've been having wacked out dreams all week, usually more than one a night.

They've included parades, house parties, planes, dirty text messages, cats, elevators, overflowing bathtubs, fireworks, trying to get to school on time, high school math teachers, drum sets, dirty socks, and featured guest appearances by Aaron Douglas, Danny DeVito, Mike Farrell, Michael Weatherly, Sean Murray, and Wil Wheaton (allow me to clarify that no drugs were involved in the making of these subconscious films and I was not consulted on the casting either).

But last night was the ultimate. Last night was zombies. Not the classic slow moving zombies from Night of the Living Dead. Not the scary, fast moving zombies from 28 Days Later. Not even the zombies from Shaun of the Dead.

Nope, what I got was the zombies from Return of the Living Dead. If you've seen this movie, then you're probably giggling and saying, "Send more paramedics". If you haven't, then I have no idea what you do when there's nothing better on the TV.

I'll spare all of the details save this one boggling part. We decide our best bet is to fly away, so our little group gets on a plane. This very nice British guy and I go to check out the cockpit to find it's occupied by two talking skeletons. I turn to find that my companion has been attacked by two zombies and one of them rips his arm off at the elbow.

Horrible, right?

Yeah, except he keeps making polite conversation with the zombies while they're trying to eat him.

I look back at the skeleton pilots (who were probably doing schtick, I don't remember), look back at the Brit, and he's fine. The attacking zombies are gone, he's still polite, and he's duct taped his arm back on.

Feel free to reread that last bit as many times as necessary.

Apparently, my subconscious was just trying to reassure me that yes, duct tape really can fix anything.

Could you imagine what I'd come up with if I were on drugs?
whiski_sour: (darkside)
For reasons unknown to me, I couldn't fall asleep until nearly four this morning.

And when I did finally fall asleep, I dreamed that I was screaming "YOU ARE AN EVIL MINION FROM HELL!" then laughing maniacally at some old woman. And then I punched her and chased her around a backyard before finally capturing her and putting her into some weird-assed, full body, wire restraint thing.

To be fair, the woman was killing babies and I was frustrated that I couldn't prove that she was killing babies, hence the screaming and punching.

Most people would consider that disturbing.

I'm not most people.

However, since I didn't get to sleep until very late (or early, really) and I'm not often able to sleep past eleven, I feel my bedtime coming on rather quickly.

I wonder who I'm going to scream at tonight.
whiski_sour: (stuck on stupid)
The sleep I got last night didn't really feel like sleep. I woke up feeling like I hadn't even napped. But I've functioned surprisingly well today.

I know I must have gotten some decent sleep because I did have one dream. It involved [livejournal.com profile] dr_funbags going to Chicago to see the Angels play the Tigers (why they were doing it in Chicago, I do not know) and I invited her to come stay at my house for a day or two to hang out.

Cool, right?

Except I already had like six people staying at my house so I was trying to arrange everyone so no one would have to sleep in the bathtub. Then I was trying to figure out how to get a hold of one of my friends because he was going to Chicago and I wanted to tag along and have him take me to pick up [livejournal.com profile] dr_funbags.

All in all, I kinda came off as a douche in that dream.

And I never made it to Chicago. Sorry about that, Jenn.

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Cheshyre

February 2014

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