The Transcenders (Movie-like dream that came with its own title)

The other night, I had this dream:

It was of the sci-fi genre; it took place in the future in a world, just like the current one, except no one could make their own/conscious decisions. Everyone thought they had free will, but in reality there were 20 or so "tracks" of like that everyone followed that were monitored by the powers above (government).

I, along with 11 others, belonged to a secret society; we called ourselves Transcenders. As well as not being controlled and making our own decisions, we could combine our power of free will to transcend the present and live in another world. Once a person in the world had a glitch adn made a purposeful decision, not a prewired one, this would fry the bug in your brain and you suddenly were free.

This world to which we would transcend had free will and was a utopian society. We would take transcending trips there and bring back ideas to share with each other. Sending people to transcend require all of us be there, and it also required the person to die.

Because the transcender had to die to go the other world, we would monitor them very carefully and use our power to bring them back when they were done. This ritual was done in a long, deep, porcelain tub. We would call all the transcenders to a meeting (to a club house that required a secret password), get naked, get in the tub, and the leader would conduct the ritual. The transcender would die, take his visit, then come back.

The particular session we were conducting was sending the object of my affection, we'll call him mason, to transcend.

(It just so happened that mason and i both had the freedom of our will. Because of our relationship when both under the control, when one of us gained free will, the other one did as well. Maybe it was because the one who had free will still used their free will to be with the other, something like that. So both our brain bugs fried almost at the same time, then the transcenders came to get us to join their group. They automatically knew anytime anyone was no longer controlled.)

We all got in the tub and the process began.

I was seated down by his knees and I reached out to put my hand on his thigh. He had a little scab that i almost flicked off, but I didn't as not to disrupt his concentration. After a little while into the ritual, I looked down at his leg. His skin was colored a strange, light color. I touched him again and he was cold. It was then I tuned into to what our leader was saying; this was an extended ritual including clauses I hadn't heard before.

Then, it came to me that he wasn't transcending, but dying. He was tired of the crooked society we lived in and overwhelmed with that we couldn't live in the utopia. The trips had taken a toll on his emotions and he just didn't want to do any of it anymore.

He, and the rest of the group, didn't tell me that he was choosing to die because they were afraid I wouldn't comply and the rift in the group would punish everyone from transcending. Recognizing that they didn't tell me made me realize that I would have chosen to selfish and keep him.

Once I fully comprehended what was happening, I turned my back to the circle and put my arms on the side of the tub. For the duration of the ceremony, I wept quietly. Group members in reach stuck their arms out to touch and comfort me.

Be super jealous of my dreams.

Childhood Memories and Mishaps

Throughout my K-12 school experience, I brought my lunch to school. Most of the time, my mom, Melanie Johnson (saint), packed it for me. She usually included special things like notes, candy, trinkets, and other surprises. Sometimes if I were really lucky, she would send me with my all-time, favorite, most special food in the world, a butter sandwich.

I thought butter sandwiches were the fanciest sandwiches in the whole world; literally, I believed that no other 7 year old was sharing such a fancy lunch, only kings and queens from far away lands. When said sandwich so happened to appear in my lunch kit, I made sure not to tell anyone at the table for I was afraid they would beg to trade or ask for a bite. I couldn't risk losing such a delicacy, so I made sure to eat it secretly, tearing off small pieces and discreetly putting them in my mouth.



Reality check: In high school, I realized a few things...
A. Butter sandwiches are not normal/common/acceptable
B. Nor are they fancy
C. We had run out of lunch meat, and my mom found a crafty replacement.

Bathroom Backfire

So, it's that time of the month and I went to the bathroom to do certain business. While in my stall, someone comes in and takes the stall next to me (not commonly courtious). In an attempt to throw away my tampon cartridge, the trash can in the wall falls through to the stall and on to the lady, then on the ground with excessively loud bangs and clangs. I awkwardly mutter "uhh, sorry?" to receive a surprised "uh, it's. it's okay?"

Luck be a lady tonight.

Backstreet's Back... Alright?

In the car today, I began over analyzing and commentating the song "Everybody (Rock Your Body" by the Backstreet Boys and I thought I'd share.

Here's the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HbKtMtYf2Cg

And the music doesn't start until 50 seconds of incredible acting and plot.

Everybody, yeah

[I think they're talking to me]
Rock your body, yeah

[Like, right now?]
Everybody, yeah

[Yeah, they're talking to me]
Rock your body right

[Well, if you say so...[INSERT PELVIC THRUST]]
Backstreet's back, alright
[If it involves hip thrusting, I'm down!]

Oh my God, we're back again

[Hallelujah!]
Brothers, sisters, everybody sing

[Wait, there's incest involved? God doesn't approve. And if this is an attempt at ethnicity, it failed.]
Gonna bring the flavor, show you how

[I feel like they might lick their siblings; I'm getting outta here.]
Gotta question for you better answer now, yeah

[That wasn't a question.]

Am I original?
Yeah

[Absolutely, way more original than Manuedo, N'Sync, New Kids on the Block, The Osmonds, The Beatles, The Beegees, and Earth Wind and Fire put together!!!]

Am I the only one?
[No, there's five of you]

Yeah

[No, that's wrong.]

Am I sexual?

[The only image in my head is of them touching each other]

Yeah

Am I everything you need?
You better rock your body now

[Not much time to answer and I think you want to sleep with me.]

Everybody
Yeah
Rock your body
Yeah
Everybody
Rock your body right
Backstreet's back, alright
Alright

[This part consisted of a self-prompted conversation, no need to respond on my part.]

Now throw your hands up in the air

[The initial encouragement of the whoo girl]

Wave them around like you just don't care

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keI59KRVco8]

If you wanna party let me hear you yell

[Wait, why yelling?]

Cuz we got it goin' on again
Yeah

[Could you remind me of the first time you so called had it going on?]

Why I love being single...

Last night, while working at my other job (at a food establishment), I noticed a young couple walking toward the door from the parking lot.

[I know they were dating because, once they sat down, he laid his head on her and snuggled, for the better part of 10 minutes.]

I paid special attention because I knew the boy portion of the coupleness from a road trip from my freshmen year. He was on crutches and she was texting. In midst of texting, she forgot about her crippled boyfriend, opened the door for herself, and let it slam on him. Stuck outside alone and failing to get her attention, he attempts to maneuver the very large glass door in hopes of wedging himself between the door and frame. He fights with the door for about 30 seconds before forcing himself inside. He hobbles over to her, making that very distinct clacking-crutches sound, and says, "babe, you let the door shut on me." She says, "JOEY! IT'S NOT MY FAULT! YOU KNOW I CAN'T THINK AND TEXT!!!!!!"

Let us all take a minute to pray she doesn't have a valid driver's license.

Dear Ford Truck,

Please do not wonder why I'm irritated at 2:00 AM when I can't pull into the parking spot in front of my house because you insist on fighting with your girlfriend from inside your car, on your iphone, in front of her house; be a man and just tell her she's a dumb b*. Go home; clearly, she's not worth it.

Adventures from owning the worst dog in the world (1)

After a hearty three hour nap, I woke up at 7:45 PM and proceeded to plan my evening. I made arrangements with some friends and decided I needed a shower because I had been at outside roaming around the bike surplus (see previous posts). I walked up the stairs and, of course, my dog had crapped on the stairs.

[For those who are not a Peyton follower, this is not a rare occurrence but actually quite a regular thing. My dog loves, more than anything in the world, to sh*t on the stairs.]

Because it was at the top on the second step I thought it would be easier to take it to my bathroom, which is upstairs, and flush it rather than carry it down the stairs.

As I went to get some toilet paper, I started the water for my shower. Then, I gathered it all up and dropped in the pot. I flushed, and nothing happened. I flushed a second time; the bowl filled up with water.

I was in a bit of a hurry because I needed to eat before partaking in total shenanigans for the evening and apparently not thinking clearly. I looked around for a plunger, but, being that Nicole and I are classy ladies and never clog the commode, we do not need one thus do not have one. In the trash, there were a couple of toilet paper tubes so I tried to clear the stoppage with those. This did not work. With a swift jerk of the wrist, I stuck my hand in the toilet and punched the t.p. wrapped poop wad down the drain. Needless to say, I'm currently not speaking to my dog.



And yes, I thoroughly disinfected my entire body after this delightful experience.

Sidenote 2

This morning my breath smelled so strongly of patron from the night before, that when I burped, I almost threw up.

Work Wonder: Volume 1: Bike-a-pa-looza

Preface: I work for Transportation Services at Texas A&M University as a Customer Service Representative. Any qualm about parking, lots, bikes, etc, goes through me. Once a year, all the bicycles that are left on campus are relocated to a surplus lot. Students who did not move their bike, after being notified repeatedly through email, can make appointments to come and look for it. Today, one girl in particular stood out from the pack. Here is her story...

Britney and I left the office around 8:45 AM to go out to surplus to meet the 13 people who had appointments. Everyone forms a neat line and checks in (so we know they have given us a description and aren't just trying to steal a bike). Most of the appointments showed up and went on their way to look through the 1550 bikes.

Britney went inside the building to help customers and I stayed outside, helping a particularly confused young man. After 50 minutes, everyone had left and we started to head back.

While driving on Olsen Blvd., I noticed a girl from the appointment walking a bike on the side of the road. I turn to Britney and ask,"hey, that girl found her bike?"

Britney replies, "No... SHE STOLE IT! What should we do??!?!?"

"Pull over!" I yell.

We pull the car over into Lot 67, and Britney gets out to talk to the girl. I pull out the appointment sheet and confirm she did not sign for taking a bike as well as nothing in her description except the color. Britney comes back and tells me that the girl is claiming it may be her bike, but she isn't sure and is unable to remove the lock.

[When there is a lock on a bike, we require the customer be able to remove it before taking the bike.]

The lock is a numerical, not key lock, and she doesn't not the combination. She says its not her lock. At this point, we call back to the office and ask what to do. Our supervisor says if she can't remove the lock, to take the bike away from her.

So, as kindly as possible, we requsted she give us the bike. She did and walked away. BP (Britney) and I loaded the bike in the Taurus and drove, with the trunk ajar, back to surplus.



This is why I blog, and this is why I spend an hour by myself when I get home.

Side Note

I hate people who wear swim suits literally everywhere such as the bank, on the Texas A&M Campus, sit-down restaurants, bars, and Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

Ahem...

Dear Jason's Deli,

If I order a Reuben, please do not suggest I accompany this particular sandwich baked chips. While the mouthy girl behind the counter may be watching her figure, this is clear not the case under my circumstances.

Sincerely,
Fay

Funny movie happenings

So Britney, my fellow office worker, is telling a funny story about being in a theatre. Here's my great story...

In high school, my friend Valerie and I went to see a movie, one that apparently no one else cared to see. We walked in and no one else had gotten there yet. So naturally, we picked the seats equidistance from all sides (in the exact middle for those don't have an education from Texas A&M University).

While enjoying our popcorn and Icee, an Asian couple came in and began to scan the seating. As we continued to chow down, they walked up to the row in which we were seated. I leaned over to Valerie and said, "No way..."

Way. They walked down, sat next to us, and shouted "HEEELLLLLLLO!!" with the biggest smile I'd seen in a while. They too, then proceeded to eat their movie snacks.

First Entry, and I already have something to say. This could be this worst decision I've ever made.

Yup, I've made a blog.

Britney, don't steal my background.

As I've spent my morning addressing thank you cards to gracious gift givers and employers, Britney and I have decided that employers should send you a notification that they have recieved your application or resume, and they don't want you.

I have applied to 50+ positions and if I am taking the time to write a cover letter, submit my resume, and then spend 20 minutes creating a profile for your company's account, the least you can do is email me to tell me what a piece of crap I am and how you would never hire me in a million years. Just a thought.

Once in the interview process, not notifying me is entirely fair. They haven taken time to see you, so not hearing anything back can only result in one obvious meaning.

I would like to think the resumes I send out are going to actually people and not the junk mail inbox of cyberspace. As of now, I'm not convinced.