The Intense Nightmare

A few days ago I had The Intense Nightmare. I'm not calling it a dream because a dream implies happy things like Care Bears and picnics and usually does not involve criminal activity and high stress levels.

In my nightmare, I was living in a small white house with a screened-in porch on the side. I came home from somewhere and realized that someone had broken into my house. The screen had been ripped, the lock was dismantled, and the door had been partially removed. I freaked and called 911--where someone actually put me on hold (That makes me feel safe. "You're being held hostage at gunpoint? Oops, I have another call. One sec.")

At this point, I wake up, actually scared. Not like in the movies when you bolt upright in a cold sweat, but let's just say that my heart was beating considerably faster. I looked at the clock. 6:21. I had nine minutes until my obnoxious alarm clock would curse at me.

I put my head down, close my eyes, and right as I start drifting off, I hear WAAAAAAAWAAAAAAWAAAAAWHOOOOOPAHHHEEEHHHHH. And then I bolt upright, just like in the movies. I'm wide-awake. Just imagine a ridiculously loud whooping siren blasting full-force throughout your house at 6 a.m. and you get the idea. It took me 2.3 seconds to realize that it's our house alarm and perfect timing, right? Because I just didn't have a nightmare about my house getting robbed or anything.

Over the pounding of my heart, I hear the commotion downstairs and soon realize that one of my sisters accidentally set it off. At this point, all chances of going back to sleep are lost.

THEN (as if this couldn't get any better/creepier), as I'm recounting The Intense Nightmare to my parents some forty-five minutes later in the kitchen, the three of us hear the garage door open without any warning. No one is near the garage. No one touched the remote. We all give each other a look. But it just opened, right in the middle of my story.

And on that note, good night.

Cheers and Jeers 2

Cheers
--pina colada Italian ice
--"Cool Thing" by Rascal Flatts
--cowboy hats
--surprises (even the small ones)
--"Possible Side Effects" by Augusten Burroughs
--pizza topped with broccoli and roasted garlic


Jeers
--Harold Reynolds allegedly getting booted from ESPN (which, on a sidenote, prompted my mother to e-mail ESPN demanding why they fired someone like Reynolds but still employ Michael Irvin. I agree, Mom).
--guys who wear too much cologne
--nightmares that wake you up at 3 a.m.

True Confessions

The other day I was driving home with my sister, Kayla, who is the most up-to-date person in most entertainment and pop culture news that I know. On this particular drive, she had brought along her own CD's, because, of course, mine are sub-par. Hers are usually mixes of the latest hits. But the backstory is this: whenever I listen to any of her CD's, 90 percent of the time I will say, "Oh, who's this? What's this song called?" She will then proceed to reprimand me for not knowing the latest hits. I try to explain that a) when you're in college, you're in a bubble and b) the last time I watched TRL was, um, never.

On this particular CD, she flipped from track to track, and I recongized a few artists (okay, just Ashlee Simpson). Most songs, per usual, I failed to name.

And then, it happened.

A song came on that I didn't recognize, but it had a decent beat.

"This isn't bad," I said. And then she laughed.

"It's Paris Hilton's new song," she said. And then I screamed.

Yes, I had just listened to a song by Paris Hilton. The girl speaks like a mumbling space cadet--how had she recorded an actual song? With words? I had heard rumors of her new CD but I figured it would crash and burn. Yes, it's bad enough that she actually made a CD, but worse--I had listened to her song...and actually quasi-enjoyed it.

Why I Love the World Cup

In honor of tomorrow's World Cup championship, I advise you to read Bill Simmons' article Why I Love the World Cup. It's awesome - and completely true. Here's a few of my favorites:

#3: "The red card/yellow card thing. Nonsensical, completely arbitrary, even crooked to some degree … I love it. Why hasn't the NBA adopted this yet? Can you imagine how many yellows and reds the Mavericks would have gotten in the Finals?"

#8: "Everyone makes fun of the flopping, and it is hideous, but it's also funny as hell. These guys drop like they were gunned down by a sniper, then they roll around for 10 seconds in absolute agony, heroically hop up and limp around to "shake it off," and within 30 seconds they're running full speed again."

Good stuff. And bonne chance to France tomorrow.

Odd match

Today I saw a man selling "designer sunglasses" at a Shell station.

I think unusual business venture would be an understatement.

There's nothing like higher education

Me: I'm not really worrying. Just thinking...on a high level.
HockeyStud: uh huh
HockeyStud: stop trying to use english major logic on me
Me: you saw through that?
HockeyStud: my dear
HockeyStud: my minor was in english major bullshit

A breakthrough!

There is now Peach Jell-O. And if you know me, you know how much I love everything peach.