Othersomethings

Is to have dreams that make me question my unconscious mental patterns.

2 nights ago, I awoke from a dream where we were having a rummage sale INSIDE Home Depot. Right there in the aisle. And one lady bought a nasty old Microwave from us and wrote us a $3000 check, and another man bought a set of shelves and wrote us a $4000 check. And when I woke up the first thing I thought to myself was “I have to get to the bank!” and then I realized it was a dream.
Last night, I awoke from a dream where my husband was a pale green Dinosaur. You know the really big one…brontosaurus I think. And he could fly, and talk, and he went to all these parties.
Honestly…I just have no idea. And I kind of feel like I need to apologize to someone for dreaming such nonsense.

Have you ever noticed when local or national authorities are talking about crackdowns on crime, or individual criminals, that they use the phrase “I hope that this [crackdown/arrest/tantrum] sends a clear message to (insert bad person here.) “

And have you also noticed that criminals don't use that type of language? Terrorists don't say to one another, or even to the public “I hope that by blowing up x building, I'm sending a clear message to that we don't like you!”

No. They just blow it up. Or steal. Or kidnap, or embezzle, or whatever nefarious activity they're involved in.

Why can't authorities do this as well? Instead of warning a criminal that “We don't like what you're doing and we're going to stop you if we can.” They should just stop them. Instead of milling about in front of cameras telling the public that we're flying our colors high for justice, why don't we just administer justice?

Now that I think about it, that sounds like an excellent strategy for living a Christ-like life. I don't have to get up in front of people and say “I hope that by doing this or that, I'm sending you a clear message that I'm a Christian and Jesus loves you!” But could rather simply live as a Christ did and show people that Christ loves them. No bullhorn. No official party line or public statement. Just actions.

So, down with the inane public statements! Bad for me, bad for local authorities. Lets just broad brush it and say BAD FOR EVERYONE.

An unwanted child of a chinese misionary?*

Huh? For all his gratifying qualities, the man also offers his mysteries of logic.

*Dr. No

What is with the obsession with new years eve/day?

Obsession?

Suspicion?

Superstition?

The latter, I think.

I think it's supersitition. Why else would any worldly, forward thinking, individual put an ounce of effort into the advance of one number over the other?

It's superstition, whether you think of yourself as beyond that sort of mental drift, or merely an intellectual, if you put any stock in December 31st over January1st, that's what it comes down to.

And I'm sorry. It's a lie. It's all a lie. If one day means more to you than then one before, you are misled. Fireworks…Smirnoff…Glitter…it doesn't make a day worth more than another. So stop. Stop thinking it's significant, stop thinking that you're a forward thinker, stop thinking that your moments of progressive/reminiscent thought equate something worth looking back on.

New years is just that. Another day.

I realized that in my 24th year. Let that [not] be documented for further reference.

So this is what my dad has been saying all along…

Make a point to watch this when you have the time.
It makes a lot more sense than my dad just always saying “it's against the law!” and makes me feel a little creeped out.

http://www.othersomethings.com/

opened for business. Not sure how I'm going to use it, but for now…it's a wonderful archive.

Grumble Grumble. A sunshiney page should have rainy day words on it.

I have a story to tell.

I met Billy Ray Cyrus. He no longer has a mullet, and I was disappointed.

But his family is very nice and cute.

Why is it that British children always have an innocent look about them? Their eyes always look like their about to tear up at a moments notice.

2 odd things.

Shannon just called and said he talked to our Landlord (who we're friends with) and said that they needed prayer. Because apparently, their daughter (who is a gator handler down at Gatorland in Orlando) was a good friend of the Irwins, and is super upset and distraught to the point of being really messed up about Steve Irwin's death.

How about that, huh?

2nd odd thing…last night while eating at a Chinese buffet, Shannon brings back a plate with something on it we're not sure what it is…he takes a bite and realizes that it is a Chicken Breast stuffed with a hotdog.

You've heard of Chicken Marco Polo? Now there is Chicken Hot Dog.

We laughed for a good two minutes.

I am not liking this cream of broccoli soup. Campbells sucks.

I have bangs. I just realized that I haven't had bangs for 8 years, and now I have them. And they are a GAZILLION times better than the last time. Last time…they were poofy. Unbelievably poofy.

Now they're nice.

90's were kind of cool.

00's are awesome. Because of good hair.

My friend Matt wrote an article for Relevant Magazine and he's pretty stoked about it. So check it out.

I rocked out hard on the guitar this morning. I totally rocked my face off and it was AWESOME. I even played some solos, FIRST TIME EVER IN PUBLIC holy crap it was awesome.

Every Sunday gets crazier.

In other news…You do not want to know what just happened in our kitchen. It was foul, and involved 3 month old noodles, and should be reported to the Health Department.

I actually vomited a little.

I love this kind of weather. Except for the days that are perky, sunshiney, “I have to listen to happy music or blow bubbles for 3 year olds” type…because nobody hates those days…

THIS is my favorite. It's warm. The clouds have rolled in. There have been a few light showers, and you can still see the sun over pensacola, but you can feel it (even indoors) - it's about to pour.

I love that.

That's comfort weather.

I swore in church, Sunday.

I mean really swore.

And I actually feel bad about it. There must be something seriously wrong with me.

here. this is for you.

I still treat money like it's not mine.

I just realized that.

I never have my own money. I haven't had my own money since I was like, 14. When I made $10 a week mucking horse stalls. Man, I loved that so much. The smells. The hard work. the summer heat. The cookies…and I saved it all. I was SO GOOD at saving. I saved up several hundred dollers. like, $400. Just mucking stalls and babysitting. THOSE were the days.

And now I make $400-$500 a week, and I don't even feel like its mine. Its rent. Its gas money. Its Geico's. Its Gulf Power's. Its cingular's.

Bills. Man. I hate them so much. It's a solid part of adult life that I resent. It's the one part that makes me want to be 7 years old again, when all I had to worry about was breaking my best friend's power wheels barbie car, (those things were so dang expensive!) or whether I got icecream or not that night. Or when I was 12 and I worried about when I could spend the night at Jessica Shrewsburry's house. I loved spending the night at her house, because her family was “rich.” (they weren't, at all, her dad just worked for the space center and I thought that made them rich.) even though I hated her Jonathan Taylor Thomas and “Seaquest DSV” posters. Oh, and the kid from rookie of the year. Oh holy crap, she was such a middleschool fangirl.

Yeah. Money.

It's so much crap.

So this is what two good martinis feel like. Holy crap.