Randoms

One
I had a weird dream the other day. I didn't remember it until I saw a commercial that featured lots of bees.

I was walking in a field, possibly a park, it was all grass. I was trying to run away from a bee -- I saw the bee coming after me, like in slow motion but not quite. And this bee was no ordinary bee -- it was about as large as a half-dollar or dollar coin (the old dollar coins). I was also walking away from the bee, not running, but I still was trying to get away from it. It gained on me and I decided to let it sting me. I was wearing a shirt and skirt and I lifted up my shirt a little, exposing a small portion of my back for the bee to sting me. I felt the stinger go in, and then I grabbed the bee and pulled on it, to get it away from me. Then I took the stinger out of my back. And I was nonchalant about the whole thing. Usually, I am terrified of bees and try to get away from them as fast as I can. I am not one of those people who can "stand still". So this dream was a bit odd...but I think I know why I dreamed it. Hopefully, if I'm right, my life will get so much better, but if it's the other theory, well...metaphorically speaking, I'm a doormat and I'll have to change that.

Two
I realized the other day that I do have a type of guy I'm attracted to. (I'm a little slow, so bite me.) I like dark and curly haired guys. Curly is important, but so is the dark hair. Nothing makes me drool like a guy with dark, curly hair -- and a goatee. He has to have that too. Lacking dark haired guys, I prefer brown curly hair, no blondes need apply. I also like dark brown eyes. And the hair has to be short. I am not attracted to guys with long hair. So what?, you may ask yourself...and I would tell you that this is a revelation for me. So, like, if any one of you out there knows a guy with a good personality, isn't a mooch, and fits the above description, send him in my direction. If you haven't already snagged him, that is.

Three
There are fifteen year olds who bother me. I want to say, "Stop being such an idiot!" but I can't. I am only their friend, I can't play mother. Not my place. But it angers me anyway.

Four
I don't believe when people say they miss me. I've learned to shrug it off. Thank you, internet community, for this dispostion. If there's one thing I've learned from the internet -- and life, really -- it's that no one really cares. That may seem harsh and insecure, but I point to John...to have him say he misses me is an insult in my book. And sadly, those are the people who say they miss me. If anyone else misses me, they don't tell me, especially a lot of the people who I want to miss me. However, there are people in my life who really do miss me, and mean it, and I do care about them. So don't think that I believe that nobody is sincere about missing me; I just think that the general portion of the population doesn't miss me as much as they say.

Five
My bother had a dream about me a few weeks ago. It was when we lived in the Maryland St. house. I was about four or five, which would have made him ten or eleven. He was tickling me (and since I was ticklish, that gave full rights for my brothers to tickle me to near death). He'd been having nightmares before that dream. The best thing about the two of us talking about his memory was that we started talking about all of the other funny things we did, like him kissing feet or the times where he and the oldest brother would throw me in a sleeping bag and carry me around the house, like Santa and his sack. Then they'd go up the stairs with me dragging behind in the bag. At the end of it, they'd toss me on the couch or the bed, and I would yell from my little cocoon, "Again! Do it again!" I loved it...but don't ask me why. I couldn't tell you.

This whole topic is hilarious because The Artist has a similar fond memory of his sisters and sliding down the stairs on pillows. Sometimes we sit around and talk about the silliness that we got into with our siblings. It's always lovely to talk about those days. I'm just glad that I'm lucky enough to have nice memories of my brothers. It could be worse....