because she was in my dreams last night. For all those out there who don't know what a Beenie is, it's my best cousin. And last night, I dreamt that she and I and my nephew Sean were in the ocean. And I was really afraid they would get hurt. I was totally in mom-mode instead of cool older-cousin mode. It was a total nightmare!
And when we went into the locker room (because in my dreams oceans are like swimming pools) Barack Obama was there and he had a son who was Sean's age. Barack Obama is becoming quite the fixture in my dreams. Three times in two months!
Oh yeah, and Beenie, dream-you can speak French.
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
03 December, 2008
01 December, 2008
When you dream about your armpits
what does that say?
Last night, I had another dream in French. It was a short one, and a bizarre one. I dreamt that my armpit hair was grown in. A lot. And although I clearly hadn't shaved in a loooong time, I chose to wear a tanktop. As I was pointing something out to someone, this old old man noticed my little problem. So he screamed as loud as he could, while pointing at my underarms, "Tu es célibataire! Tu es célibataire!" (You're single! you're single!) I was embarassed and I looked down at the ground.
Well, I don't get embarassed much and I'm pretty candid on my blog. But this dream, for some reason, makes me feel like blushing. So, since I don't know what else to say, here's a funny deodorant ad:
Last night, I had another dream in French. It was a short one, and a bizarre one. I dreamt that my armpit hair was grown in. A lot. And although I clearly hadn't shaved in a loooong time, I chose to wear a tanktop. As I was pointing something out to someone, this old old man noticed my little problem. So he screamed as loud as he could, while pointing at my underarms, "Tu es célibataire! Tu es célibataire!" (You're single! you're single!) I was embarassed and I looked down at the ground.
Well, I don't get embarassed much and I'm pretty candid on my blog. But this dream, for some reason, makes me feel like blushing. So, since I don't know what else to say, here's a funny deodorant ad:
12 November, 2008
Something's in the water
because I've been having the weirdest dreams ever. From rock-climbing with Barack Obama and John McCain to singing karaoke in a ballgown to getting killed by an ex-Nino's employee, I've certainly had some crazy ones. But this one is definitely the strangest. So far. Don't read on if you want to know what actually happens in Ashley's head. You might get scared.
November 6, 2008
I was doing something at my house. Housework or something. And I leaned over to pick something up off my couch, and my eyeball fell out. Just rolled right out of the socket! It didn’t hurt or anything, I was just worried because I wanted it back inside. And I was worried it would get dirty, and I wanted it to stay sanitary, so I put it in my mouth. I meant to just keep it there till I found a better place for it, but I accidentally ate some of it. It tasted awful. It sort of looked like an egg, and the top layer had come off.
After calling many numbers in the phone book, I finally found someone who would do the surgery on my eyeball. She said she was very busy but if she could find someone to watch her children she would be able to do it. She told me to meet her at the beach. I went to this beach that looked like the one at Deauville with some friends. People were surfing there. I laid in the back of the pickup truck bed with someone who felt exactly like Tapan but he had lighter skin and red hair. But it was him. I laid my head on his chest and noticed that his body was a puzzle. I was putting in the last piece – the corner of his heart – but it wasn’t correct. Someone had clearly put the puzzle together wrong before and now I would have to take it all apart and start again.
Finally I saw the woman who was going to put my eye back in. She was sunbathing! I asked her if we should, you know, go to her office. She said it was a good idea, so we went there. Barack Obama was the door man. Once in her office, I told her that I didn’t have any insurance right now. She explained to me that I had two operations to choose from. I could choose either the brand new $15,000 state-of-the-art eye with 20/20 vision that would look just like my own eye, or I could choose the other model – the eye of a dead world war two soldier. The vision wouldn’t last long and it wouldn’t look like my other eye in the least. This model cost $150,000. I thought that it was obvious which eye to choose, but Barack Obama disagreed with me. He encouraged me to buy the WWII eye, saying that it would be a great privilege and honor to wear this eye. He was so enthusiastic about this eye. I explained that I had no insurance and couldn’t afford it. He told me it would be no problem, and I thought he meant he would pay. So I went ahead and got the surgery.
In the end, Barack Obama did not pay my bill. I was left with a $150,000 bill and waning vision in a decrepit dead man’s eye.
November 6, 2008
I was doing something at my house. Housework or something. And I leaned over to pick something up off my couch, and my eyeball fell out. Just rolled right out of the socket! It didn’t hurt or anything, I was just worried because I wanted it back inside. And I was worried it would get dirty, and I wanted it to stay sanitary, so I put it in my mouth. I meant to just keep it there till I found a better place for it, but I accidentally ate some of it. It tasted awful. It sort of looked like an egg, and the top layer had come off.
After calling many numbers in the phone book, I finally found someone who would do the surgery on my eyeball. She said she was very busy but if she could find someone to watch her children she would be able to do it. She told me to meet her at the beach. I went to this beach that looked like the one at Deauville with some friends. People were surfing there. I laid in the back of the pickup truck bed with someone who felt exactly like Tapan but he had lighter skin and red hair. But it was him. I laid my head on his chest and noticed that his body was a puzzle. I was putting in the last piece – the corner of his heart – but it wasn’t correct. Someone had clearly put the puzzle together wrong before and now I would have to take it all apart and start again.
Finally I saw the woman who was going to put my eye back in. She was sunbathing! I asked her if we should, you know, go to her office. She said it was a good idea, so we went there. Barack Obama was the door man. Once in her office, I told her that I didn’t have any insurance right now. She explained to me that I had two operations to choose from. I could choose either the brand new $15,000 state-of-the-art eye with 20/20 vision that would look just like my own eye, or I could choose the other model – the eye of a dead world war two soldier. The vision wouldn’t last long and it wouldn’t look like my other eye in the least. This model cost $150,000. I thought that it was obvious which eye to choose, but Barack Obama disagreed with me. He encouraged me to buy the WWII eye, saying that it would be a great privilege and honor to wear this eye. He was so enthusiastic about this eye. I explained that I had no insurance and couldn’t afford it. He told me it would be no problem, and I thought he meant he would pay. So I went ahead and got the surgery.
In the end, Barack Obama did not pay my bill. I was left with a $150,000 bill and waning vision in a decrepit dead man’s eye.
17 September, 2008
Français Update
I used to have this line that divided excitement and nervousness. It has faded into oblivion. I can't really verbalize how I'm feeling. I'm stoked to see another country so intimately. I mean, I've seen other countries before, but I sort of flirted for a few days, used them, and left without really getting to appreciate much, use Spanish, or get to know any citizens. Semester at Sea was a whirlwind; France is going to be much, much different.
I imagine it will be a slower pace (once I ditch Paris and settle into Caen). I'll have to use the fraction of the language I know and develop it as much as possible, which really intimidates me. But hey, I dreamed in French last night. I think I was saying, "No, you can not put the chicken in the car. I have a room reserved. Please, I have nowhere else to stay. Give me my chicken." And yes, I have full faith that the opportunity will arise for me to say all of that to someone.
I booked my hostel for the first three days I will be there. Hella awesome. Apparantly, it's a great place to go to meet young, hip travellers like myself, but I shouldn't expect to shower. Oh, and they have a Volkswagon Beetle mounted to the wall. Be still my heart.
On my last day in Paris, I have plans to meet some other assistants at the Eiffel Tower. Could I ask for more? I get to meet people who are in this country, doing what I am so pumped to do, and see one of the most talked about sites in Paris at the same time! Genius. After that, I am off to my town, Lisieux. And that's where I start to freak a little, but only because I don't know exactly where I will be staying yet. There doesn't seem to be a hotel or hostel there that fits my budget. I did get a letter from the principal at my school that said I shouldn't worry and it seems that he will try to help me find some housing. So I guess the plan is to just show up with my bags and hope for the best.
It still doesn't feel real to me. Each time something happens - when I got my arrete de nomination, when I booked my plane ticket, when I reserved my hostel, even Monday when I went to get my visa from the consulate - France feels closer, but it still doesn't exactly feel like I'm going yet. I guess I won't get that feeling until I get on the plane next week.
I have so much left to take care of. First thing on my to-do list is to make a to-do list.
I imagine it will be a slower pace (once I ditch Paris and settle into Caen). I'll have to use the fraction of the language I know and develop it as much as possible, which really intimidates me. But hey, I dreamed in French last night. I think I was saying, "No, you can not put the chicken in the car. I have a room reserved. Please, I have nowhere else to stay. Give me my chicken." And yes, I have full faith that the opportunity will arise for me to say all of that to someone.
I booked my hostel for the first three days I will be there. Hella awesome. Apparantly, it's a great place to go to meet young, hip travellers like myself, but I shouldn't expect to shower. Oh, and they have a Volkswagon Beetle mounted to the wall. Be still my heart.
On my last day in Paris, I have plans to meet some other assistants at the Eiffel Tower. Could I ask for more? I get to meet people who are in this country, doing what I am so pumped to do, and see one of the most talked about sites in Paris at the same time! Genius. After that, I am off to my town, Lisieux. And that's where I start to freak a little, but only because I don't know exactly where I will be staying yet. There doesn't seem to be a hotel or hostel there that fits my budget. I did get a letter from the principal at my school that said I shouldn't worry and it seems that he will try to help me find some housing. So I guess the plan is to just show up with my bags and hope for the best.
It still doesn't feel real to me. Each time something happens - when I got my arrete de nomination, when I booked my plane ticket, when I reserved my hostel, even Monday when I went to get my visa from the consulate - France feels closer, but it still doesn't exactly feel like I'm going yet. I guess I won't get that feeling until I get on the plane next week.
I have so much left to take care of. First thing on my to-do list is to make a to-do list.
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