Just because.

I bees smart.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 20:22:00 +0000

If there was a centrally located "cuss jar" in our office and every time someone threw out some words, shit.

We would be effing loaded.

Then the money should be used to buy lotto tickets.

dreams suck

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 14:23:00 +0000

And this is why. I have to put it in words before I forget it.

Besides there being explosions of a tire store across the street from the building I was in, waiting on something...don't remember what...seemed like Star Toyota or the inside of some kind of "car" place...I got up and walked down a crowded hall with pictures. One of the pictures was of myself and my mom. I think I was about 5 years old. My mom looked absolutely beautiful.

We were somewhere sunny, I was looking at her and she was cracking up with her head thrown back. Then the picture moved. It was a movie. I was watching myself and my mom and I couldn't move nor breathe for what seemed like for.ever.

It really disturbed me, saddened me, maddened me, hurt me, touched me and backhanded me all at the same time.

Onward.

A phone call about 1 minute ago, went a little something like THIS

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 20:07:00 +0000

Me: Law Office

Not me: Um, yes...I just have a question. A few days ago, my husband and I made an apple pie and when we bit into the filling, we found a very long fingernail in it.

Me: Crickets.

Not me: Do you know of anyone who handles anything like this?

Me: Ummmmmm, no. I don't.

Not me: Oh, you don't handle anything like this?

Me: (laughing, sorta) Um, no. I'm sorry. We don't.

Not me: Ok, thank you.

I bit into a big fucking enchilada yesterday and I think it gave me cellulite...

Do you handle anything like that?

Before it all goes bye bye.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 15:22:00 +0000

This year, that is. I figured I'd get in one last really gooood bitching.

Got no sleep last night. Gerry is in Florida, working through New Years.

I am here...coasting along. I do that VERY well, mind you. Very. Well.

I laid in bed last night, hearing every damn noise possible in my empty house and without my dogs there to remind me that they ARE there. Instead, I hear my cat, playing with a water bottle cap. I wake up. Jolt out of sleep. Then I fall back asleep. Have a dream about walking down a steeeep flight of stairs...in the dark...on some kind of building. There is some kind of white elephant game going on with people in the building. I am not a part of it.

Then I wake up again. This time, it's the A/C kicking off and on. Fucking A/C. Off to sleep.

Wait...not yet...someone came home at 2 a.m. and their damn car alarm went off as they were probably trying to lock the car, were drunk, and hit the panic button. Asshole. I know who it was. The stupid-ass across the street who, one night...decided he was going to run back and forth on the street while "In Da Club" played on his car stereo.

What.A.Fag.

Needless to say, I didn't actually fall asleep until about 3:45 or so. I had RLS...bad...kinda like growing pains. That didn't help either. My arms kept falling asleep and my pillow sucks ass. That's it...I'm buying new pillows today. Hell yeah.

Ok, bitch number 2. It's New Year's Eve. I'm not really spending it alone...just with my boy. He'll be out by 8. Wahoo. Perhaps I'll play my Nintendo DS. Have some wine. Take some type of p.m. ish type meds and actually sleep tonight. Who cares about the ball drop. Who cares? I really, honestly...do not give an ounce of shit.

Don't come in and tell me I look "rested" today. I've heard it...and it's bullshit.

I am not rested, I am irritated and could really use a big, fat dose of happy right now. I'm not in the mood to type a divorce decree because some client decided to bring it TODAY. No. I am supposed to go home early. Not work on this shit. I hate decrees. They suck.

Ok, I think I'm done. For now.

why I'm a fucking idiot.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 15:35:00 +0000

By: Fucking Idiot...I mean it was 35 this morning. I'm wearing a short-sleeved sweater-with a JEAN JACKET. Like a jean jacket has EVER kept anyone warm. Just like when you wear jeans. However, the legs are different. They stay warm-er than your arms. And you can't wear boots up to your elbows on your arms, helping the jeans out. No. I just walked 2 blocks with the wind crystalizing every ounce of my body. Thinking to myself..."I am a fucking idiot"...my nose is running, my hands are frozen and it's all my own fault.

My goodness.

Hold music.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 20:41:00 +0000

I just called one of the JP courts and was placed on hold for a brief moment or 4...the music was eeerily similar to that of the Revenge of the Nerds song that the dudes played on stage with the synthesizers and clapping hands...."now clap your hands everybody...everybody, clap your hands"...

I need a joint. (not really, more like an apple)

The Laws of Birthday Parties

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 20:45:00 +0000

Took Jez to Chuck E. Cheese for his little friend's 3rd birthday party. First of all, you should see this little girl. She is a doll. White-blonde, short hair and a pout that won't quit. Way to go, buddy! He loves her. Anyway, I've never had a reason to go to CEC whilst Jez has been on Earth.

We have all been in our lives. Back when I was little, it was...shit. What was it called...hold on...SHOWBIZ PIZZA. Yes. Over in Pasad-get-down-dena. Wow. I'm old. I remember Billy Bob...and some rat chick cheerleader thing that swung around pom-poms...they put on a whole skit and everything. It was mind-numbing. Now...there's CEC, by himself, creepily being moved by some person hiding behind the wall, staring at you through the beedy eyes of a mouse. (at least, that's what it seems like). I'm proud of Jezek though, when the "real" Mr. Cheese came out, Jez went up to him without me telling him to, and hugged him. Jerk-tear. He was also 1 of 3 boys at a girl party. Right on! He didn't want to play much, just watch the train thing go around and watch Mommy play basketball. He loved that...for...whatever reason.

I'm leading myself away from my main question: what's up with the kids who come up to you while your kid is playing a game, or riding a ride, who take over, push buttons and look at you like "move your kid"...? The socialization of kids at this place is quite hilarious. Jez was like "no dude" with that look on his face. The kid then looks at me, tells ME he has no more tokens...like I'm supposed to give him more, and then won't go away. He was a random kid. Not apart of blondie's party.

I ALSO didn't realize that you have to feed your tickets to this machine that eats them and then spits out a voucher. How tech of them. I proudly and smugly figured it out without looking like a total fucking idiot to anyone, thank goodness.

I know, CEC is old news to many parents...and it's a great little place for the kiddos to "hang" but it gave me a headache that I can't get rid of.

Onward.

Couple of things I'd like to point out before I go...

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 20:34:00 +0000

OJ Simpson is finally going to jail.

We all know what he is REALLY going to jail for. Turd.

I put my Christmas tree up. It lasted all of 4 days before ornaments were crushed, limbs were bent and spirit destroyed. Little Ike (kitten that he is) made his home in the tree. Spec.Tac.U.Lar.

I had to take it down and explain to my son why. That was a lot of fun. When he's 34 and sitting in his therapist's office, perhaps memories of his mom taking down the tree whilst yelling at the cat will come back and he'll ask "why me?"...poor fella. The best is yet to come.

Well, I had more, but I'm really distracted and trying to work while not working. I'm going to come back when I can do a better job. I suck.

If I had a gun. Or some numchucks.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 14:07:00 +0000

Holy. Crap.

I can always count on my own mind to make myself feel better about, well, just about anything. I don't need to consult a psychiatrist, or talk to a therapist, no. I just need to have that little conversation with "me" and all the stars seem to align. Perhaps that is how crazy people are born.

My friend in the office who shall remain nameless for the sake of, nothing really, but just being nice - has a 15 year old son who likes to walk the dog. A lot. Apparantly there is a girl in the neighborhood that meets him between houses at the A/C unit to give him bj's. I friggin' love it. Of COURSE she's teen-angst ridden and wears really thick, black eye-liner and crams her ass into skinny jeans (which are so not cool if you're a normal adult) and drops to give him 20. Actually, it's probably more like 1.5 min. But I digress.

None of my fucking clothes fit me. All my jeans hang off my non-existent ass which my husband must remind me daily, that I don't have. I don't know where I have gone. It's disturbing on many levels. I always look at the really crazy stick-like folk around here and think one of two things: quit doing meth....and....quit doing meth. There are some nasty ass people around the square. You can't go anywhere without someone looking like they just rolled out of bed, forgot that they had court, smell like booze, cigs, etc. It reminds you of all the stupid things you did when you were younger...makes you wonder how nothing ever happened to you and ESPECIALLY makes you wonder what would have happened had you kept on being. Stupid.

I really have PMS today. It's a fire ignited within and I can't fucking help it. I really want something but I can't put my finger quite on it.

happy. thanks. giving.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Fri, 28 Nov 2008 19:31:00 +0000

I love the fact that I'm not at work...it's 1:30 in the afternoon, and my wine is so good. I'm allowed to do this. I'm on "vacation"...it's my "holiday". Now, if I were doing this on a regular day, not so cool.

Here's my thing. It's the day after Thanksgiving and it's 84 degrees outside. This makes it very hard for me to want to put up a Christmas tree. I know you understand. I'm sitting here, in a tank top and flip flops and can't find it in me to get the tree out.

I just had a realization: I don't rant enough. Why? Nobody really reads this. Picklo, I love you. But really. Who is reading this? It sits in space...I "feel" better that I've vomited my thoughts....but realistically, what the hell?

Ladonna, if you're here...thank you! I heart you mucho.

I need to catch up with my Alzheimer's.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 15:04:00 +0000

Why is it that I cannot, for the life of me, remember what I did last week, wore, drove, etc. BUT I can remember what I did on May 1, 1987 at 3:37 p.m.? (wait, that would make me in 2nd grade, probably waiting in the school bus line OR getting dropped off on good ol' Sagemill. I think I was wearing red glasses and Converse tennies that day. I was such a boy)...

But really. What happens to us and our brains? Our memories? When I am 50, will I remember being 29 like it was yesterday, because I don't really think so. I don't remember my 20's very well. Maybe because I don't want to. 6 years spent in college (which is a whole other topic) and what did I actually gain out of it? Ok, so I can spell some "words" and I know what Dante's Inferno is, but what else? I do know this: I drank and drove a WHOLE SHIT LOT and nothing ever happened to me. Now I work for an attorney and deal with DWI peeps and my God, it's amazing that I never had to be one of "them".

Thank you, Jesus. Speaking of Jesus...

I sat Jezek down for dinner last night, some Shrek shaped soup and a Hi-C. Remember the metal cans that Hi-C used to come in? You had to use a friggin' bottle opener to punch triangle holes in 2 sides to get the shit to come out. Fun! Anyway, I put the bib on Jez and he says to me "mommy, we now say a prayer".

I was speechless and realized at THAT moment that he did NOT learn that from me (which is bad) and that I didn't know how to say it with him (which is even worse). Thank "God" for school. What has happened? I'm not one to speak about religion or politics openly, because A) it bores me and B) I just don't care. But when you're 2 1/2 year old learned about the Bible and says a prayer before eating and they did not learn it from you, you think "what a horrible parent I am"...there's nothing like your toddler looking at you like "why the hell don't you know this, mommy?"

Nice. Parenting. Hey, he loves. That's all that matters.

I watched countless hours of bad tv yesterday. Just layed on the bed, and flipped back and forth between "Clueless" and "National Lampoons Van Wilder"...the best part about "Clueless" was the abundant amount of Radiohead songs and a dash of Counting Crows. Wow...I miss my youth. Again. Only for a fleeting moment.

Dude, again with the calls asking for free legal advice.

Stop. It.

Happy Thanksgiving...I haven't even ordered Christmas cards yet. I suck.

I'm old...or getting there, anyway.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 00:18:00 +0000

I was at Panera Bread last week. Standing in line. Wishing I was lying supine on an island somewhere. My peripheral vision picked up the most hideous sight.

There was a girl, very long legged, with what appeared to be panty-sized shorts on with these crocheted knee-high sock things that went from her knees to about mid foot so she could STILL wear flip flops. She had bad hair and worse make-up. Then I heard the conversation.

Girl: "omg...I'm still working at Hollister, it's sooo easy, I can soooo get you a job there if you want"

Other girl: "well, I'm pretty happy at my dr.'s office, but it sounds like you're having fun"

Girl: "I don't do anything, it's so easy, and look at my cool clothes"

I wanted to barf. For many, many reasons. Perhaps it was the smell of onion soup wafting past my nose at the same time I heard this conversation, or perhaps I realized how old I really am. But you know what? I wouldn't change being almost 30 for anything. You just don't seem to know the same shit at 18 that you do at 29. I like to think I know shit.

That poor girl. She has no idea and probably an even dumber boyfriend.

cheers with my Ziegen Bock.

Just a thought...

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Sat, 20 Sep 2008 01:44:00 +0000

...aside from the fact that I am in a hotel right now, in Longview, whilst Gerry is at yet another high school football game, I have to post this, though no one will really read it.

I bought Jezek cheap Target brand training pants with some random, no-name cartoon character on it...and I thought to myself.

they should have training pants with South Park characters. I would buy them.

just another conversation with people in line at Wal-Mart

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 13:00:00 +0000

Went to Wal-Mart last night for some much needed vino, paper towels, laundry detergent, you know, important stuff. Jez and I were in line and this woman walks up behind us, barely noticeable, until I REALLY looked at her and watched out of my peripheral vision, what she was doing. Her items were that of odd; a tub of chewing gum, some plastic hook things and a duster. Perhaps she was going to hang some pictures, with plastic hooks, stuck to the wall by gum. She opened the tub and asked me "can he have one?" Caught off guard, I look, realize she means Jez and I politely say "no, he's too little".

"Well, he was eye-balling it..."

"yeah, I bet...but no thanks."

"wow, he must look JUST like his daddy because he looks NOTHING like his momma.."

crickets...and some more crickets.

"wow, um don't know what to say to that"...as I really look at her and her pink jeans, black and hot-pink playboy bunny shirt, HUGE coke bottle glasses and really bad haircut. She was pleasant enough, but without a mute button. It was the icing on the cake of my day.

This morning, I dropped Jez off at school and stayed just a TAD too long. All the other kids were sitting at a table with no room so Jez had to start the 2nd table. There is a kid in the class named Jack who I think may be his little buddy. He sat with Jez and ate breakfast. All of a sudden, Jez says "mommy, stay at school" with tears in his eyes. Woops, time to exit stage left.

First week of school, he's a pro. And he DOES look like his momma, dammit!

why...why...why...

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 21:14:00 +0000

People. Why. Are. They. Such. Asses.

By "ass", I mean, stupid. I've taken the IQ test, I can glowingly say, I scored a 140. Eh, take that however you want. I can't do math to save my fucking life. Maybe if I could, I'd have a different job and reason for being.

Instead, I sit here and entertain the dregs of humanity by baby sitting asses who have single-handedly screwed their OWN lives up and feel like others should "have a bleeding heart and help them out"...or the rich bitches who got dinged on DWI's and think they can march into the court and tell the judge a thing or 5 about why they think they "don't NEED an occupational DL"...ummm, ok...so you don't go to jail the next time you're pulled over, BUT, it's TOTALLY up to you, bitch. Stop asking me "why ...why...why"....JUST BECAUSE. THAT'S WHY.

I've tried to find that meditation spot, the one where you shut it all down and focus on your core, or some shit...and figure out your ying and yang, your 'zen' your 'fung shwaaaaaay' er, something super hippy dippy. I've tried. I can't do it. I feel like I should be doing something other than what I wake up for in the morning...and I want it to consist of really funny people who don't give a shit and share all their salty snacks with you. Who don't expect beyond what you are physically, emotionally and mentally able to give them. Who pay you what you deserve and know they can't live without you and want to keep you happy.

There are not a lot of people out there who genuinely try and give a shit about their jobs. It just isn't the human way. There are so many whiners and blah-ers and bitchers, and I'm not talking about THIS kind of bitching...I'm talking about the "gimmies" and "I'm owed" and "fuck that, I didn't do anythings" and "I don't want to come to court" assholes that remind me, every waking day of my life, why people annoy the shit out of me.

Stop asking me where the fucking light switch is in the restroom. If you can't find it, you have to pee in the dark. Too damn bad.

What. The. Hell.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 02:20:00 +0000

How the fuck do people "forget" to drop their kids off at day care?

Explain this to me, in a way, that I shall understand, and I MAY shut up.

you can't? well fuck off, then. Because holy cow...Jezek Lane would NEVER EVER be left in a damn car because I was so fucking stupid as to not "REALIZE" that I "forgot" to take him somewhere. He is a piece of me. A part of me. I can't not know he is not there.

Those poor little boys who lost their lives in cars. Holy shit. Tears.

Ahem.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 01:54:00 +0000

A clean blog sheet is dangerous, specially after some Pinot Noir.

I have often thought how awesome it would be to say the things in public that are only said on sitcoms. You know, everyone is standing around, someone does something stupid, and without being judged, someone throws them down in their place and it's wonderful. I know you know what I'm talking about. No fear in commenting on the retarded. Nothing bad will happen or be said about you if you just say what you feel. We don't say what we feel enough. That's where all this PC shit comes into play, too. (stream of consciousness will get away from me soon)...I shouldn't expound on that too much.

It's nice to have the tv off for a night. Nice to hear the clock ticking on the wall. Nice to have a buzz for once, b/c when you drink wine all the time, the buzz gets a little tough to find. I must have a slightly empty stomach.

I would like to also take my fucking hat off to Christina Applegate who, at 36 years of age, was diagnosed with breast cancer...elected to have a bi-lateral mastectomy (not 1, but 2, folks...) just to fucking make sure that that shit was GONE. Awesomeness to her. I know it's way in my fate to possibly face this someday, much like my mom, and I have to say, I think I would do the same. Why the hell does it matter now, my boobs are smaller than they have EVER been in my life, so what's the difference if they're gone to save my life? We'll see what happens in a few years. Ladies, at 30, get a mammy. I don't care what your Dr. says, get one. Trust me.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 15:11:00 +0000

I am frustrated because my kid is almost 2 1/2.

I have worked since he was 2 months old. I feel like I have missed so much. I know people do it all the time, but it's not normal human nature to internally, deep down, think this is somehow normal for a mom, unless they are criminal drug addicts. You get my drift.

I see my kid for about 3 hours before he goes to bed. Then for about 10 minutes in the morning. It's worse now because he's old enough to say "Mommy, don't go work". It breaks. my. heart.

I am in a very bad mood. I'm trying very hard not to be. I want to lie in bed and shut everything out and just be. Be. Yeah. So much for that.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 14:15:00 +0000

I'm sooooooo damn irritated, I could actually throw a brick at a something I shouldn't and not give a shit.

I don't like being like this.

Reality TV

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 14:18:00 +0000

I was watching the Real World last night.

Stop laughing.

But, here's my thing...reality shows, as we all know, are not reality. Yet, we watch them because we are all inner freak-o's who like to people watch. It's like sitting at the mall or the airport...watching humanity at it's best. Ok, not so much like that...the actual people watching is better than TV, but I digress. My question is this: why do reality shows have to have reunion shows to watch themselves some more? Reality diving into reality to show the "realness" of the Real World, which is not, by any means, real. As I get older, the shit I watch on TV really surprises me. I don't watch anything because I truly enjoy it. I watch because it's so stupid, for lack of a better term. Everyone is a TV star these days. It doesn't take much.

I'm having a bad blogging day. I have blogger's block...but I'm needing to vent...I just can't pinpoint what ABOUT. It's Thursday and I'm brain dead. I've had the same headache for 2 days, it's finally decided to leave me alone, I think. I still have lost some feeling in my right thumb from my bowling throw-down a few weeks ago and I'm starting to think I may have damaged a nerve or two.

I'm going to stop right now because I am THAT incredibly boring.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 20:05:00 +0000

Nonie Pie Chart Review.

We have a love/hate relationship.

She won't even look at the camera. Bitch.

I'm sipping on a ginger lemon iced tea at the moment...had a night of throwin' down at Boondoggles and I'm feeling it right about....now. Blue Moon x 6 and no dinner. No bueno. I'm old and so is my liver.

Clank!

seriously.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 17:50:00 +0000

I realize this is a "blanket" statement...but I can't shake the bitch inside of me today.

Perhaps it is PMS. Perhaps it's just so hot outside, it's melting our brains, causing us to move slower, act stupidER and even just seem asshole-ish. So, I apologize, just so I can say I did, even though I'm not talking to anyone in particular.

I hate when I go to buy a book and it's not there. Because I want to read it so bad, that's when I get online and hit up AMAZON.

I hate early morning drinkers that think they need to sue everyone and everything that comes into contact with them, BUT, they don't have any money for a consultation fee and think it's unheard of to pay ANY attorney for anything, because they are crooks. And, it doesn't help when the call is prefaced with "nobody in Yellow County will take my case, I need a laaaaaayur" sooooo mobile-home-spectacular.

I also hate the fact that Highway 105 is turning into 1960 and Houston is slowly making its way up towards no-mans-land...and that it takes me over 30 minutes to get home, a whopping 10 extra than it should, b/c the traffic lights do not accommodate the number of cars on the road.

Yes, I could be sitting in the pit of hell traffic I used to sit in, but I'm not and I can bitch where I please.

I also hate being so bitchy. Argh. Blah. Bleeeee.

I hate people that think they are cute when they take my candy out of the candy dish in HEAPING handfuls at a time, whilst saying with a shit-eating-grin "I'm just a gonna steal some candy her, dur dur"....and you know they have wiped their ass with that hand in the last hour.

Here's my thing. Don't call an attorneys office and think you're going to get free legal advice over the phone. You don't call a Dr.'s office and ask to speak to the Dr. to ask him what the hell that fungus is on your ass, do you? And actually expect to talk to THE Dr.....and NOT be charged for it? Think about it, people. Also, the internet is a LOVELY resource that can answer 98% of your legal questions, if you just. google. search. the. shit.

I have no good shows to watch on the tube. I'm reading a book that isn't um, quite what I thought it was going to be, and I'm not sure if I actually enjoy or I'm more disturbed. I should figure that out soon.

Luby's. What are you doing? Why do you insist on employing bus people and staging them as 'waitors' and 'waitresses'?...No, I don't need any butter, I didn't forget the butter, I didn't WANT the butter, now stop asking me.

Another thing I can't stand. Obnoxious women who have little harmless babies in their care, who insist on being loud as hell in very crowded, public lines, blurting out nonsense about how old their child is, what the child is doing milestone-wise at this age and REPEATING the same information to the point that you wish you could stick a damn fork in your eye.

I could go on, but I have to actually work.

ciao!

Bowling.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Sat, 14 Jun 2008 00:19:00 +0000

I did it. Well, I didn't bowl a 217, but I damn sure bowled a 202...and it's been OVER 3 years since I have bowled at all.

I'm so FUCKING sore, you have no idea.

And tired.

But uuuuuber happy.

I'm off to puke now.

I can't stand...

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 19:57:00 +0000

...when people talk with really thick "s" sounds.

It DRIVES ME FUCKING CRAZY.

you know EXACTLY what I'm talking 'bout.

are they not aware of it? I mean, do they think it sounds "prissy" (which it does, in the most annoying of ways) or cute? Or sexy?

Ugh.

stop it!

Pina colada...caught in rain...not into yoga...I have half a brain.

noreply@blogger.com (d.a.h.n.y.a.) — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 15:56:00 +0000

That damn song. Will. Not. Get. Out. Of. My. Head.

I had the craziest dream last night. I have a bad habit of dreaming about the Houston roadways. For example: I was supposed to go to Star Pizza with some ex-co-workers of mine (in my dream)...and I was driving one of those Smart Cars...(wtf?) and sitting in I-10 traffic, then trying to remember WHERE Star was. It then starts raining on me, and just like on a roller coaster ride when you're at the top, slowly about to shoot down, well, I shoot down faster than hell and I'm riding I-10 in my Smart Car, steering, flying, rolling....and after about 10 min. of this, I stop abruptly. I wake up.

Help? what the hell?

I hate dreams like that.

I wish, sometimes, I didn't dream.