Snippets

I had this dream last night that I was a member of the audience on American Idol...As a joke, a producer sent me to the stage instead of to my seat. Everyone on the set was in on the joke. I went along with it as gamely as I could, but was, as you can imagine, more than a little uneasy and displeased with the set up...As I went up to sing, the first thing I noticed was that I had started the "let-down" process on one breast...(meaning, on one side only, I was totally soaked). Josh had also sneezed on me on the other side, so the whole thing was completely balanced out. Gross. Then, I got onto the stage, and not only did I not know the song I was supposed to be singing...but they kept switching to other songs in the middle of it (and I didn't know them either), so I was really getting ticked...Jon, of course, wanted to shoot them (he always wants to shoot people in dreams -- his or mine -- in his waking life, he just wants to hit them over the head with a golden shovel *) . Simon Cowell ended up telling me that I would do best by getting a job dressed as Donald Duck in Walt Disney World...lip-syncing. Ha, flippin' ha!

* More on the Golden Shovel later


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Another dream I had involved a cartoon fire (I swear, I'm the only person I know who actually dreams in cartoons) in a many storied building...little cartoon people yelled and howled out the windows like they always do in cartoon fires...and the fire department was called, but wouldn't get there until it was much too late. Suddenly a brass band beside me began to play the Mighty Mouse theme, and I found I was wearing a large, flappy cape. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I whipped out my "wild stallions" (sorry, you'll only get that reference if you made it all the way through the fourth season of BBC's COUPLING), and they just went haywire...they were everywhere like the cartoon pressure hoses, and I was thrown back and forth all over the place, but I put the fire out, by golly. Somehow, I don't think pubescent boys dream about breasts as much as I have been lately.

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Recent Conversation:

Jon -- I am a speedbump.
Me -- I'm sorry?
Jon -- I am a speedbump. People come cruising into my office and hit my desk, and then whine because their lives aren't going as smoothly as they'd like, and all their money is gone.
Me -- Ah, and then you come home to Baby Speedbump. Like Father, Like Son.


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The True Story of the Golden Shovel:

My husband is a very practical person with a low tolerance for blatant, head-numbing stupidity. In his opinion, every problem in the world can be solved with a shovel. Simply hit the problem upside of the head with a shovel, dig a hole with said shovel (no wasting time changing implements) -- and Voila! No more problem. One year, my parents who knew of this philosophy, purchased a ten-dollar shovel, painted it gold, and gave it to him as a Christmas present. Now, he got quite the haul that year...dvd boxsets, clothes, the whole speil. Yet his most favorite present (TO THIS DAY!!!) is that silly ten dollar shovel. At any point in time, Jon will calmly mention to anyone listening that he has a shovel and isn't afraid to use it.

For months, the shovel lived in the trunk of our little honda, ready to be whipped out should the need arise. And one day, the need did arise after all. First, you should be aware that Jon can say anything in such a fashion that you WILL believe whatever he says. Imagine sort of a boy scout...now imagine an annoyed boyscout with more steel in his tone, his eyes, and spine -- a smile that just barely stays this side of biting off an offending head...and you have Jon after a really long day. (Now, I can get around any mood he's in simply by rubbing his head, but I don't think he really makes a point of giving anyone else that option. Frankly, if you're not me, I wouldn't recommend it...there could be pain involved...it would be very sad.) At a prior job incarnation, Jon was faced with a client who chose to be overtly obnoxious to all in the vicinity. There were certain rules of the facility, and this client chose not only to ignore those rules, but to flaunt that fact, and his actions were freaking out the other clients. Jon looked at him, and calmly told him that if the client did not cease his disruptive behavior, that Jon carried a shovel in the car. The client laughed and ignored him. Jon shrugged, and went out to the car, where he retrieved the shovel, and went back to his office -- which had a window that looked out onto the facilities living room area. He then caught the attention of the client, and smiled.
He looked at the shovel. He looked at the client. He looked at the shovel. He smiled again.
Apparently, the jerk was was the model gentleman the rest of his stay.


After Jon recieved his shovel, he decided that like the great weapons of old, it should have a name, and he settled on the perfect one within moments of grasping its handle -- PANACEA.
Literal translation: Cure All.