iDream (again)

I woke up at 3:38 a.m. this morning, and I was planning to write all about the deep thoughts that one has at that ungodly hour, but I’m going to save that for my next post. Today – I’m going to write about the crazy-ass dream I had between 5-7 a.m.

I was in New York with friends (none of whom I currently know). We were staying in a hotel and split out into two rooms – mine was #1010 and I was sharing it with a guy. I’m pretty sure it was the fellow who plays Tyrone on Coronation Street. Anyway, I went shopping with the girls and remember buying Fresh products. A girl I was with bought bright orange heels and I think, a matching bag. I’m pretty sure I know this chick in real life and I suspect she might be L2. Anyway, for whatever reason we decide to take a abus back to our hotel. We’re at the bus stop waiting and there are 2-3 black girls with us. One of them starts bothering us. In fact, I’d say the bitch was the equivalent of a bully since at one point she’d thrown me to the ground and was sitting on top of me. She wanted the crap we’d bought. Anyway, while she’s on top of me, her friend grabs my shopping bag and presumably my purse, since I remember worrying they’d have my phone. I don’t remember how we get to the hotel.

I then find myself in the hotel lobby, and it’s filled with people. All I want to do is go to my room but I don’t have a key and I remember thinking that the concierge wouldn’t give you another key but I can’t remember why. So I’m on the couch talking to these girls, presumably about what happened. I think they were nice but I don’t recall. The lobby is pretty full. I then see a tall black man walk past me, as I’m telling the girls about what happened. I think it’s Lionel Ritchie but in addition to that, it also turns out that he’s Whitney Houston’s father. He accuses me of lying about his granddaughter – the thieving bitch. I don’t recall what he was saying but it was enough to piss me right off and my reaction was to ask him if he was on crack too. There was a loud gasp from all the other guests when I said that. I remember thinking that was a cheap shot but whatever – it was a dream and the words just came out. Plus, sarcasm is second nature to me. Anyway, Whitney Houston’s daughter ripped me off.

The girls I was talking tried to calm me down (I think), and they called my room (#1010 – that number seemed to come up a lot) to see if “Tyrone” is back. He is, so he comes down to the lobby. He tells me he got my stuff back, which is questionable because when I look in the bag he gives me, all I see are those fucking orange high heels. “Tyrone” suggests going somewhere but I wanted to go to the room and freshen up first.

I head toward the elevators and see that the doors are open and about to close; there were two guys in there and one of them holds the door open for me. Both guys are smiling and seem pretty friendly. The one that stuck out the most had on a suit, and he had longish blond hair. He stood abnormally close to me for a stranger, and randomly touched me – you know, like someone does when they’re into you? They touch your arm or whatever. Anyway, I don’t particularly recall enjoying that. So we get to my floor and as I’m about to get out, dude grabs me around the waist, pulls me to him and licks my neck repeatedly. What. the. fuck. Whatthefuck!?

I don’t remember what happened between the time that I got off the elevator and this next bit of madness, but I’m with a guy that I went to university with (hi C-W!). We’re walking outside, when we come across a procession or parade that looked strangely, well, strange. It looked like we were in Cairo or some kind of Middle Eastern market. I remember telling Uni-guy that it reminded me of the scene in The Godfather II, when the religious procession is taking place, and Vito kills Fanucci. Anyway, it was really crowded with what seemed to be Arab men, shouting and chanting. Maybe they were praying – who the hell knows. So I look over to my right and I see the procession. I see an elephant. The streets were too crowded for me to really see the full procession and I got distracted by a group of Arab guys shouting at each from other atop the elephants or plantforms they were sitting on. They were all lined up with each other. THEN Russell Peters shows up. I think he was one of the angry men. He leans to his right and reaches his hand out behind him, and from the back of his head he pulls out a bone. I think he had some kind of ornamental action going on back there. He then throws the bone at one of the Arab guys. As the bone sails toward the guy, it elongates and the guy catches it with something that looks like a long, skinny tree trunk. Now that’s not phallic imagery at all, right?

So then it’s night and we’re on an empty street. I tell Uni-guy that I need to go somewhere specific (no clue where). We walk for a bit and get to a corner. One side is East 15th and the other is West 55th.  We run across the street and go up W55th.

 

Discuss.

Oh Baby

This morning I watched The Today Show before work. It’s part of my morning ritual – wake up, roll out of bed, take meds, make coffee, drink coffee with Matt Lauer.  Now, there’s a lot of weird shit out there, but I generally trust Matt & Co. to report on important and interesting things, with the occasional forehead slapper thrown in for good measure. It was business as usual until they started talking about dolls. Not just any dolls – dolls known as “the reborns.” No people, I am not talking about religious nut jobs suddenly feeling the need to become born again Christians, or a town that’s been invaded by zombies.  I’m talking about adult women buying dolls and treating them like their own children. Their own human children. Say what?

Photo Courtesy of Deborah King /MSNBC

These “reborns” cost about $4000 and have incredibly lifelike features (read: creeptastic); they’ve got hair,  are hand-painted and they wear clothes and shit. Well I don’t know if they shit but they just might. Anyway – women are buying these dolls and using them to fill the void in their hearts. They treat them like real babies – they talk to them, cuddle them, take them out in public, change their diapers. What. the. fuck?! Personally, I think these women are nuts. Honestly, if you so desperately want to give your love and affection to something then get a dog. They actually breathe and are guaranteed to return the affection.  Now, I understand that some women are barren – but I don’t understand how a fake baby will fill that void. I also don’t understand why you would pay $4000 for a doll – much less 600 of them. In the link that I provide below (courtesy of MSNBC), a woman uses this logic:

“Children talk to their dolls, and they express their feelings toward their dolls,” she told Lauer. “And as a 40- or 50- or 60-year-old woman, you do the same thing. You’re still the same person you were when you were an 8-year-old.”

Really. Really? You’re telling me that you are the same person that you were when you were 8-years old? Are you on crack? A 40-year old woman who has grown up and evolved is nothing like she was at 8-years old! Women like this make me wish I was a dude.

You can read the full article here  if you want to be creeped out (or read up on the full story) (or buy  doll).

 

It’s the end of the world people.

Adventures at the Airport

Last Wednesday I flew out to New York for work. I chose an 8pm flight because I wanted to avoid traffic and other assorted bullshit. Thankfully, my drive to the airport was uneventful and there was no shit in sight – that is, until I got to the airport. I drove in exactly the same way I always do and immediately hopped into the lane on the far left, knowing that this would lead me right into the Proxi-Parc. That’s where I hit a wall. Literally. Well, I didn’t actually hit a wall with Mo (my car, for those of you who are unfamiliar) – but what I did ‘hit’ was a big slab of cement that prevented me (and anyone else) from accessing the goddamn Proxi-Parc. I had no choice but to drive past the Proxi-Parc, into the Arrivals area (fun!), drive my ass around the entire airport and then right on OUT of it into traffic. Twice! Now the third time (yes, you read correctly), I was visibly agitated and cursing like a motherfucker. I mean seriously – how fucking hard is it to post road signs that clearly indicate how one accesses the fucking parking lot? Am I supposed to guess? You’re doing construction – doesn’t it make sense to put up big-ass signs directing travelers on how to access certain parts of the airport?  Anyway, I was livid.

On my third attempt, I once again found myself driving past the Proxi-Parc entrance that I had no access to (all the while, I kept seeing other cars driving in without a problem). At this point I seriously considered going home – I mean, how much does one girl have to take just to access a fucking parking lot? As I drove through Arrivals (again), I was on my way back out of the airport (again) when I saw a sign to my left that read ‘Stationnement Aerogare’ or some shit like that. I had no idea if this was the way into the magical shitdom of Pierre Elliot Trudeau Airport but goddamn, I was going in. And thus, I was finally able to access the Proxi-Parc. It only took 40 minutes and three times around the damn place but whose counting?  So I drove into the level parking to find that it was full and there was nary a parking spot in sight. At this point I was ready to lose my shit all over the place. After driving from one level to the next, I finally found a spot – thank you fellow traveler for leaving when you did.  Off to check in. Finally.

I checked in using a kiosk and have no shituation to report there. Going through Customs was another story. I think we were about 50-60 people waiting to go through. There were two Customs officers on duty. And they were slow as shit. And it was like a sauna in the bloody waiting area. It took me 40 minutes just to go through Customs. By the time I joined my colleagues at the gate, they were sure I’d bailed on the business trip. I won’t lie – I came pretty close to going home! The flight to NY was uneventful, but we had to wait on the tarmac for a half hour before we could get off a plane. I swear, last Wednesday my patience was being tested in a major way. When we finally got off the plan into La Ghetto, we of course had to wait for a cab, and it was raining. Needless to say that I was very, very glad to get to the hotel.  After dumping our crap, we went for a bite to eat then headed back to the hotel for some much needed sleep.

Except I couldn’t turn off the lights in my room <disgruntled sigh>. After trying to switch off the hanging lights with no success, and being unable to turn off the table light, I was ready to pull the plugs out of both but of course, I couldn’t access the outlets. I had to call the front desk, who then sent up an engineer to turn off my lights. I also couldn’t figure out how to use the stupid handheld shower thingy until my colleague told me on the flight back. We’ll call it fatigue and leave it at that.

I arrived home Friday night, looking forward to my bed and my shower (with pressure and you know, heat). The next day, I took a road trip to Vermont. Here are some pics of NY – pics of VT to come on Tuesday!

Photo: RAnnDomized

Photo: RAnnDomized

Photo: RAnnDomized

Photo: RAnnDomized

Photo: RAnnDomized

Photo: RAnnDomized

Photo: RAnnDomized

 

Ciao!

A

 

Meet Mo

In the absence of a super inspiring post, I thought I’d finally introduce you to Mo. Well, two of them – there’s a whole family of wild rabbits that have taken over my property and I really can’t tell them apart, hence the universal name ‘Mo.’ It works, right? This is one of the parental Mo’s – not sure if it’s Mister or Missus:

Photo: RAnnDomized

Photo: RAnnDomized

 

Apparently Mister & Missus have been quite busy doing what rabbits do, because there is a new addition to the clan – Mini Mo:

Photo: RAnnDomized

Mini Mo looks bigger in the above photo, but he is in fact, quite small and has the most perfect little ears. He’s been quite busy discovering the neighborhood this week; I’ve watched him venture out into the great green world known as Lawn, only to come speeding back toward ‘his’ tree like a furry bat out of hell. There he sits, peeking out at me from behind his tree – I’m pretty sure it’s his safety zone. When he feels brave enough, he ventures out again a little further, only to come speeding back my way. This can go on for quite some time and is funny to see. This morning, Mini Mo was busy chasing birds. What an adventurous life, LOL!

While I’m at it, here are some photos of my baby girl. Contrary to Kill Bill, she positively hates having her picture taken and will turn away from me each and every time. All I need to do is let her see the camera and that’s it – no pic for me. But this time……

She didn't think I saw her sunbathing.... check her out!

One of the few nice shots I have of her. She's a tough subject to shoot, let me tell you!

 

Have a great weekend!

A

Hearing Voices

So, I’m sitting on the toilet in the bathroom at the doctor’s office. There’s quiet music and the sound of water running softly outside in the waiting room. I’m the only one there aside from the doctor. Faintly, as if coming from the walls I hear, “Ann!” Like…quiet screaming. Like what Horton heard when he heard a Who. “Ann!”. Fearing that I am losing my mind, I desperately try to ignore this little, wee voice shouting at me…. “Annnnnnnn!”. Interestingly enough, I decide to answer this voice with, ” Umm..I’m on the toilet..??” And then, laughter..the voice is laughing at me! I’m about to dial 911 and have myself taken to the hospital when I identified the voice as L2’s, coming from my bag , shouting and laughing hysterically, “Ann, your phone called me! Ann, pick up your phone…!”

One of my besties sent me this yesterday – how could I not share, LOL? Obviously this didn’t happen to me, but I had to switch up the names so that the crazy person’s identity remained confidential 😀

Coincidentally, my BlackBerry crank-dialed this guy I met recently (so we don’t really know each other very well). It did this on Tuesday at 7:15 a.m.  Of course, I had absolutely no clue until I pulled out the BB at 7:23 a.m. to check my emails…. this is when I realized that the line had been open for eight minutes, and who the damn thing had called. I promptly disconnected and texted dude to say “Umm, I think my BB accidentally called you. Hope I didn’t wake you!”  Of course I had, otherwise the line wouldn’t be open.  I didn’t receive a response so I figured he either went back to sleep or assumed I was a stalker.  At 10:45 a.m. I received a text message. Dude had just woken up and was obviously VERY late for work (LOL!) – he blamed my ‘wake-up call’ for his tardiness, while I laughed hysterically. Hey – that’s one way to make an impression, no?

So… who else has a story to share?

LMAO! I think I might run just because of the expression on this guy's face! (Also, I would like to mention that this is NOT the guy I met :-p)