<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467</id><updated>2011-11-27T16:14:51.090-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreaming in Color: A dreamlog by Mauve Shirt</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>285</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-9170857785416848100</id><published>2011-09-11T06:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-11T06:06:04.670-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In which I meet the Avatar and almost drown.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Ok, so first, I had to find my parents. They were participating in some contest that involved hang-gliding and finding objects caught in a giant net. I was mad at my father for some reason. I found my mother, then together we hunted down my father. We all went to a house next to the beach. Everyone was doing what they usually do at the beach, getting drunk. Katie Ballard approached me and complained that the wine wasn't doing anything for her and asked for a shot of vodka. I told her to ask my parents, who of course said no. Satisfied that Katie wouldn't get drunk on our liquor, I went out to the beach.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Outside it was nighttime, and there was a full moon. I met 3 friends who were never named, but could only have been Aang, Sokka and Katara. Aang and Katara worked out some way for us non-benders to walk on water with them. It was really pretty cool. I got to climb over waves and everything, but the ocean was strangely still for the most part. I was wearing a bathing suit, so I was fine with falling in, which I did somewhat often. Sokka began to worry that if we got too far out we wouldn't be able to get back, so we went back to the shore. He then worked with Aang to devise a way for us to find our way back. They found a rope, a ridiculously long rope, and put a cushion of air about it. Using waterbending Aang sent it out into the ocean, just under the surface, stretching it straight from the beach out as far as the horizon. Then he set it on fire so there was a glowing orange line under the water stretching as far as the eye can see. We started walking along the water again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Suddenly a giant wave comes toward us. Larger than any wave I've ever seen. I dive under it to avoid having it crash on my head. The other three do the same, two having apparently forgotten their waterbending abilities. Huge waves started coming from every direction, I kept diving and getting buffeted about. Suddenly everything was calm again. We'd lost our light. I lost the magic waterbent shoes or whatever that let me walk on water, out in the ocean where it was too deep to swim. I found Katara, who helped me out, and we went searching the dark ocean for Aang and Sokka. We deliberated about what had caused those giant waves. Eventually we decided it was a waterbender using the full moon to enhance his power. Or else it was the moon itself. Someone was upset that we'd used fire underwater. I had the brilliant idea of using the stars to find out which way to get back to the shore. The problem was we weren't really sure which ocean this was, whether to go west or east. I figured we must have been at Corolla, because that's where the beach always is, and this is my dream...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Upon thinking of that, I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-9170857785416848100?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/9170857785416848100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=9170857785416848100' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/9170857785416848100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/9170857785416848100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/09/in-which-i-meet-avatar-and-almost-drown.html' title='In which I meet the Avatar and almost drown.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-4339817421612023488</id><published>2011-09-10T05:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-10T05:59:55.608-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You can tell I went to sleep hungry.</title><content type='html'>It was the middle of the night, and I'd just come home from work starving. So I ordered Chinese. I was surprised Hunan Manor was open, but it was, and I ordered some dumplings. While waiting 15 minutes, I inquired to Madeline where Mom and Dad were. Madeline said they'd gone out to some restaurant in Baltimore. I was annoyed at this because I had a very important question that needed answering right away. I called both of their cell phones and found both of them in the house. I got in the car and drove all the way to the restaurant. I got something to eat, and while I ate I lectured Mom and Dad about not taking their cell phones anywhere. Halfway through the meal I realized that it had been more than 15 minutes. In my dream Hunan Manor delivers, so I rushed back home to meet the delivery man if he was indeed there. He'd already been there, Madeline had paid for my food. I told her that I'd pay her back when I got my paycheck, she said too bad and took money right out of my savings account. More than the amount needed to pay her back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-4339817421612023488?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/4339817421612023488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=4339817421612023488' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4339817421612023488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4339817421612023488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/09/you-can-tell-i-went-to-sleep-hungry.html' title='You can tell I went to sleep hungry.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-619436655754713495</id><published>2011-09-08T06:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T06:33:26.749-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Photography class. With wizarding. And tea. And then Cribbage.</title><content type='html'>So, in this dream I was a wizard, but I'd gotten in trouble for using my magic so Erin made me promise to stop. This was hard for me because I was used to doing so many daily tasks with magic. I was kind of annoyed, but I didn't want Erin mad at me so I stopped.&lt;br /&gt;I had to take this class with Ballard. It was a photography class, and I needed to bring my own camera. My camera is lame so I asked dad if I could borrow his new camera and he said yes. I met Ballard at the classroom. There were 2 boys in the class, the rest were all girls. None of them had cameras, so the professor wouldn't teach us anything. The girls sat at the other end of the table and started conversing about bra sizes. Andrew and I got bored, so we left. My camera was completely empty of pictures.&lt;br /&gt;We exited the classroom and found ourselves in the mall. I wanted a warm drink, and we were closer to Teavana than Starbucks. I ordered some kind of coconut chai latte from the guy behind the counter. He was totally sketchy, he had a face you couldn't trust. A goatee and everything. I got my drink. While I was advising Andrew to try the free samples before deciding what to order, the guy asked me about my photography class. I asked him how he knew that's what we were doing in the mall. He pointed at the camera hanging around my neck. I told him it had no pictures in it. He said "Good" and snatched it off of my neck and ran for the door. Andrew tried to stop him leaving, but he froze Andrew with a weird purple magic, and shot some kind of spell at me. I jumped behind the counter to dodge. I wanted to use magic to attack him back, but I had promised Erin. But then the guy set the store on fire and I had to use magic to escape. I set Andrew free, then we ran back to my apartment.&lt;br /&gt;I told Erin and Meredith about the guy. Erin was irritated with me for using magic. Mer pointed out that I'd lost my father's camera, and he was not going to be happy. I knew I was going to have to find this guy, and despite Erin's protests I was going to have to use magic. I teleported all 4 of us to old town. There was a version of Diagon Alley in old town, and I figured the guy would go there to sell my camera. Andrew said he'd probably sell it online. After walking for a while, I noticed that we were being followed by something dangerous. We had to run.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the dream changed and I was playing Cribbage with Meema. I got so many points on this one hand that I had to keep counting, and I found myself unable to wake up. I was on 163 when I woke up enough to check the clock and pull myself out of bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-619436655754713495?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/619436655754713495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=619436655754713495' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/619436655754713495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/619436655754713495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/09/photography-class-with-wizarding-and.html' title='Photography class. With wizarding. And tea. And then Cribbage.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-1183048950257061606</id><published>2011-08-11T12:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-11T12:52:26.453-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Some kind of fantasy fairy tale thing with a handful of Ghost Story and a lesson about preserving languages.</title><content type='html'>There was this young man, I'm pretty sure he was a prince, but he was also a ghost. He was trying to save his family and his language, both of which were dying out. While he was still alive he'd managed to teach it to some surviving members, but they were failing in their efforts to pass the language on. The ghosts of his family also needed saving from some sort of afterlife demon. He had blond hair, blue armor and some sort of magic, but every time he used his magic a bit of his ghost disappeared (like Harry in ghost story) and whichever words he cast the spell with disappeared from his memory. He had to go all over the world to find out who could speak any languages similar to his. He found one on a remote mountain (of who could basically understand him, and asked him how he could get to the underworld. The man told him of a cave at the bottom of the mountain that could lead him there, but he had to be especially careful as a ghost. The world of the afterlife was more dangerous to those who are dead and didn't make it there than even to living mortals who tried to venture there.&lt;br /&gt;Down in the cave, our hero faced a few monsters. He took care of them with his magic, without realizing that by doing so he was making his eventual goal even more difficult. The cave sloped downward, and got darker and darker. At the bottom were some human-looking guards, but they were asleep. There didn't seem to be anything they were guarding, just a dead end. Our hero (ok, enough, I'm naming him Chad) could hear something on the other side of the cave's wall. Being a ghost, he just slid through the wall and was almost blinded by light. He was standing on this floating platform in a blank space. The sky had a sun in it, so he called it the sky, but it was everywhere. There was nothing beneath him, other than the sun nothing above him. The sky was light pink. The sun reflected on the platform, which was made of glass. After his eyes adjusted, he saw the platform stretch ahead of him. Every few feet was a fire, burning nothing, just there. And a bit of a distance away was an archway. The platform looked the same beyond it, he couldn't determine what it was for. The arch was made of etched glass, pieces of it glowed with the same orange color as the fires scattered around. After taking all this in, Chad moved forward.&lt;br /&gt;He inspected one of the fires. It wasn't fire. It was similar, it moved like fire. It was gaseous, and it didn't burn. Chad  decided that as a ghost he was invincible to most elements, so he stuck his hand in it. When he did, he heard screams, screams of people speaking his language. He pulled his hand out quickly, the screams were so horrible and heartbreaking. He noticed he'd gained some solidity that he'd lost from using his magic, but his hand bore several glowing scars in the shapes of letters. He didn't recognize them.&lt;br /&gt;Chad went through the archway. Something appeared above him. It was a map of the world, sort of. A different world of course, none of the continents were ours. He could see the continents, but they were flipped upside down. It was like he was viewing the map from below it. As he watched, one of them dissolved. The one he'd lived on. He heard a laugh and turned to face the edge of the platform. A witch was standing there. His family was behind her, bound by silver chains, the only cool color in this entire landscape.&lt;br /&gt;The witch laughed at him again. She told him that no one in the living world spoke his language anymore. It only existed in the memories of the ghosts she had captured, those of his family. And she'd trap Chad here too. Chad tried to cast magic at her, but when he tried to speak his hand burned horribly. He was somehow cursed by that fire. He looked at the letters on his hand, still not recognizing which ones they were, but he found a word that did not contain any of those shapes. He used it to cast a spell at the witch. He heard his father scream something like "Chad, no!" Chad fell on his knees. His ghost was fading faster now. He looked at his family, they grew blurrier. He couldn't understand what they were saying to him. He couldn't speak his language anymore. I could feel his regret and dispair. Then I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-1183048950257061606?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/1183048950257061606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=1183048950257061606' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/1183048950257061606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/1183048950257061606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/08/some-kind-of-fantasy-fairy-tale-thing.html' title='Some kind of fantasy fairy tale thing with a handful of Ghost Story and a lesson about preserving languages.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-7990939507762824562</id><published>2011-08-07T06:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-07T06:36:45.856-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm sure this was cribbed from something.</title><content type='html'>In the prologue to this dream, my family has to act in a variety show so I'm searching for a play to put on. All of the plays I have are in German. My father tells me to try something Shakespearean. I didn't want to, so I just start making one up in my head.&lt;br /&gt;So the time period is sort of Shakespearean. I'm the main character, who is male in this "play", and I'm in the army. The monarch is an evil queen who picks up husbands at the drop of a hat, and beheads them when she is disappointed. I'm required to be at the ceremony when she announces who she is going to marry. The army is in uniform, assembled at the front of this large hall, in front of a dais on which the queen is sitting. The families of the soldiers are standing rows behind us. There are no chairs to sit on. The queen presents her newest suitor, who is handsome but clearly a jerk. I think to myself, he's not going to last long. &lt;br /&gt;Sure enough, while the queen eats her dinner and we watch, he's back behind us flirting with the members of our families. I sneak out of line to make sure he doesn't do anything to get himself beheaded, but when I get back there he's trying to convince my wife to cheat on me. She doesn't want to, but he eventually coerces her. They sneak off. I turn around to find the queen right behind me, furious at her fiancee but even more furious at me and my wife. She starts shouting about how we're all traitors and we're going to be executed. I turn tail and run out of the hall, and keep running til the palace is no longer in view. The queen chases me for a while, but I crest a hill at one point and she's as fat as a stereotypical monarch. None of the soldiers chase me, probably because I'm one of them.&lt;br /&gt;I get out of sight of the palace and into a forest. I run into a band of men, all played by members of my family. These men are also escaping the wrath of the queen. They're ex-suitors, or men in the same pickle I was in. I tell them that the queen is going to execute my wife and I have to rescue her. Some of the men are sympathetic, but no one wants to do anything. "She's already cheated on you," they say. "She's not worth the danger." After a week of staying with these guys, I manage to convince a few to help me. We have to hurry, it's been a week, executions happen on Saturdays.&lt;br /&gt;We sneak into the city, then into the palace. We run into a problem when I have to use the restroom (a sure sign that I'm about to wake up). I sneak into a movie theater to find one. Then I go into one of the theaters and run into Andrew Ballard. I sit down to watch the film he's watching. Ballard points at a Wanted poster on the wall with my face on it. He tells me to run, hurry because there's a beheading today. I run, but I get spotted by some palace guards. I head to the sewers and try to get into the prison unseen. I'm followed by some guards into the sewer, there's a bit of a chase. I wind up in the right place eventually, I pop right out of the floor of my wife's prison cell.&lt;br /&gt;Then I wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-7990939507762824562?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/7990939507762824562/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=7990939507762824562' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7990939507762824562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7990939507762824562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/08/im-sure-this-was-cribbed-from-something.html' title='I&apos;m sure this was cribbed from something.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3832452072088596668</id><published>2011-08-06T12:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-06T13:05:51.240-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nap dream</title><content type='html'>Intense naptime. This whole dream took place in 3 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;I was visiting a government location in a different city. I think it was Baltimore, because Madeline lived there, but it looked like downtown Charlottesville. I'd been briefed on how to get past security before I got there, but I was really nervous about something, and I completely forgot. I needed a passcode. I talked to a security guard about Harry Potter and the weather, eventually he trusted me enough to let me use his passcode. But then I got a text from Judi, it was time to meet her for lunch. I saw a security camera tape of her trying to find the entrance to this building. I asked her if it was raining, she said no.&lt;br /&gt;I exited the building again, using the code the dude gave me. Outside I met Adrienne and Stephanie, and we went to a pub. While we were in the pub, it began to snow. I wondered if I had work off. The conversation got onto the topic of Reece's impending visit. We started talking about airlines, I learned that there was one called "I'm Sorry You Had To Use This Airline" that was super-cheap.&lt;br /&gt;Outside we met Madeline and Will. It was still snowing. They asked me to make a decision about what to do next. I couldn't decide if we should stay in Baltimore or go back to EC. Madeline got on the phone with someone, probably one of our parents, to rant about how I can't decide where we're going next. I explained that I didn't know the way around town, and that all I knew is I wanted to hang out with my friends. A pub was all we could think of.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3832452072088596668?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3832452072088596668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3832452072088596668' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3832452072088596668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3832452072088596668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/08/nap-dream.html' title='Nap dream'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-4765817334996226320</id><published>2011-07-24T06:16:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-24T06:27:39.486-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mixing up my wizards.</title><content type='html'>First dream, Reece texts me and is like "I'm sick and unhappy", so I decide to buy tickets to take a plane to TX, visit for a few hours and then come back in time for work. I have enough graduation money left to do this. I buy the tickets, get on the plane and it takes me about 5 minutes to get there. I'm surprised by how short the plane trip was, so I determine that I must have fallen asleep.&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm at DFW. Reece doesn't know that I'm in Texas, and I want to surprise him. So I ask a nearby person with a laptop how far it is to his house. The guy uses Google Maps, I look at the distance and decide that it's not too far to walk. I'm unable to print the directions out, though, so I get horribly lost. I end up at a bus stop, talking to the people there, trying to find directions. One of them suggests I just get a taxi, I decide that that's the best idea because I have to be at work in 4 hours and if I want to see Reece at all before I have to get on the plane home I can't waste my time walking. I ask anyone if they have the number for the taxi service, no one does. One guy tells me to press #4 to call the information line. I try to, but my phone is out of battery and can't handle calls. I decide to suck it up and text Reece and try to get a ride. I send him a "Guess where I am!"&lt;br /&gt;Then I wake up, thinking "I'm at home in my bed because of course taking a day trip to Texas makes no sense and I was dreaming."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next dream, Harry Potter has died and is running around as a ghost. He visits the Dursley's, but only Petunia can see him. He talks to her about Godric's Hollow. She says she's never visited Godric's Hollow because she's worried her sister's ghost will appear around there and bother her. She waves at Harry and says "Of course it doesn't matter, because you've shown up at my house. If she'd left a ghost she would have visited a long time ago." Harry leaves and goes to his parents' old house, sees the memorial that's there but does not see any other ghosts. He is disappointed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-4765817334996226320?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/4765817334996226320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=4765817334996226320' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4765817334996226320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4765817334996226320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/07/mixing-up-my-wizards.html' title='Mixing up my wizards.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-6729466900225483505</id><published>2011-06-28T05:42:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-28T06:08:37.258-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The first part comes from what will happen Wednesday. The rest just took off.</title><content type='html'>I was in a building, some sort of school with a lot of rooms. I was there to take some tests. They told me I'd signed up to have the muscles in my right hand tested by this expert. But first they decided I was too short. I was worried I'd have to get surgery for leg extensions, but instead they fitted me for these stilts that screwed into the bottom of my feet. Other people were getting this done as well. The procedure was taking place behind the building, in someone's van. I was disturbed by the amount of rusty saws in the back of the van, but the person (I think it was a woman) laughed when I asked if my foot had to be cut off for this to work. It didn't, and I didn't feel pain at all, but I had these stilts sticking out of the bottoms of my feet. I had to wear special shoes to stabilize myself. These "shoes" were planks of wood with ropes on them, tying my false leg down, like a tent pole.&lt;br /&gt;I was like "That's great." and took the things off immediately. I went back into the building, and found myself in a large hallway with windows on one side that took up most of the wall. It still looked kind of like the hallway of a school, the floors and wall and ceiling were all the sort of tile that they use, but it was massive. There was a line of people there to have their blood taken, I guess for donation. I stood in line and got my blood drawn. After they'd taken a few tubes of the stuff, I told them that it probably shouldn't be donated because of the medication I'm on.&lt;br /&gt;I then went to have my hand tested on, what I was there for in the first place. The test was held in this small room with red carpet and beigey-yellow walls. A large square wooden conference table took up most of one side of the room. The other side had a projector and a screen. Some people sat at that end of the table and watched what was on the screen. I went to the other end to sit with this "expert" (a guy in a lab coat with crazy goggles, naturally) and one of my coworkers, also there for the test.&lt;br /&gt;I watched him perform the test on my coworker first. I doodled. "You're Gonna Go Far Kid" by The Offspring was playing on the radio. The test seemed to involve a lot of needles and a sledgehammer. I was relieved when suddenly Erin appeared and told me we had to go. There was someone we had to catch. He'd stolen a bunch of scientific data from the experiment Erin had been doing, and he'd just driven off in a van. We took an RV from the parking lot and gave chase.&lt;br /&gt;On the way we met this guy with a mustache and a foreign accent who had a vendetta against the guy we were chasing. Our thief had also stolen all of this guy's gold. I told him we'd help, and he joined our party. Turns out this guy had done some research, and knew that the thief was heading for the shore, and his big fancy boat. After looking at a map and discussing things (someone else was driving the vehicle) I asked Erin what data the guy had stolen. She told me it was classified.&lt;br /&gt;We reached his boat, which was huge, it had 3 floors. I decided to search for the gold instead of for the data. I followed Mustache Guy down to the lowest level, which looked like the lobby of a fancy hotel. There was a waterfall fountain near the stairs, and hanging behind the waterfall were a bunch of garlands made of gold coins. I said "That must be your treasure! We've found it!" Mustache guy looked sad and said "Don't touch it. It's a trap. He knew I was coming and he laid a trap on my gold. If I take it, I will be stuck on this ship forever, as its captain, with no use for my gold, and he will be free to go."&lt;br /&gt;Then music started playing, a song I didn't recognize. The lyrics were relevant to the end of this guy's story, but now I've forgotten them. I remember the song was in C# major.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-6729466900225483505?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/6729466900225483505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=6729466900225483505' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6729466900225483505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6729466900225483505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/06/first-part-comes-from-what-will-happen.html' title='The first part comes from what will happen Wednesday. The rest just took off.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-303825232914883814</id><published>2011-06-20T04:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-20T04:41:46.461-07:00</updated><title type='text'>=(</title><content type='html'>I was at the Giant. It was about closing time. All the lights were out except one over the help desk and the light above my register. I started wandering through the aisles putting groceries back in their shelves. I remembered that there was a party later at Madeline's place. Then I got a text from Reece saying he was breaking up with me. I tried to call him, but of course he wasn't going to answer. He didn't answer any texts, he'd probably blocked my number. I started crying, which was bad because though it was almost closing we still had customers. I texted Madeline asking what I should do. She suggested I go to the party anyway. I said I couldn't, because I was too depressed. Around this point I fell down and couldn't move. I woke up, and started thinking about changing my relationship status on facebook and how the playgrounders would react. And wondering whether my father would "like" it. Then I realized I was awake, and Reece hadn't broken up with me.&lt;br /&gt;Then I had a dream about spaceships that was far more interesting, but all I remember was being in a tight enclosed space, and being relieved that my bed had a wall on its left instead of its right.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-303825232914883814?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/303825232914883814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=303825232914883814' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/303825232914883814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/303825232914883814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/06/blog-post.html' title='=('/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-281572633368365782</id><published>2011-06-16T06:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-16T06:43:22.854-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A rather dull dream within a dream within a dream.</title><content type='html'>I dreamed that I woke up in my sister's bedroom. I was sleeping in there because we had guests. They'd replaced the bathroom with a maze, which was a problem. Then I "woke up" again in my sister's room, found that the guests hadn't arrived yet and the bathroom was the same as usual. There weren't any stairs, though. Where the stairs downstairs should be was a wall, with a rocking chair leaned up against it. I sat on the rocking chair. My father asked me if I was having a seizure. I was confused as to why he was asking the question, but then I "woke up" again to find myself sitting in the rocking chair. It was daylight out, the windows in my sister's room were open and the lights in the hallway were off. I wondered how long I'd been asleep. I went into my room, checked my phone for the time, then put it in my pocket without registering what time it was. I left my room and the stairs had rematerialized, the rocking chair had disappeared. I went downstairs and made some toast.&lt;br /&gt;Then I actually woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-281572633368365782?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/281572633368365782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=281572633368365782' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/281572633368365782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/281572633368365782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/06/rather-dull-dream-within-dream-within.html' title='A rather dull dream within a dream within a dream.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-8982307710301419088</id><published>2011-06-03T03:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-03T04:03:25.957-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I miss both MK and Mel.</title><content type='html'>I was on a train with my sister on my way to Baltimore for a party. The train had no seats, only sleeping bags and pillows. Meredith met us at the train station in Baltimore and led us to the party. The party was for Mary Katy, who'd finally responded to our many queries regarding her visiting. We met her in the hotel lobby, and began discussing stuff like jobs and moving and things. Then I got a text on my phone from Rachael, saying that tonight was the only night Mel would be in EC and I had to get there now if I wanted to see her. I texted back that I was at a party for one of my other missing friends, and I was torn between going back to see Mel or staying at the hotel with MK and Mer and Erin.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-8982307710301419088?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/8982307710301419088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=8982307710301419088' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8982307710301419088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8982307710301419088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/06/i-miss-both-mk-and-mel.html' title='I miss both MK and Mel.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-5440107627711306063</id><published>2011-05-31T05:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-31T05:46:37.596-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaving things we're uncertain about leads to alienation in real life.</title><content type='html'>It was the last semester of school. I'd been forced to befriend a girl from my class named Catherine, and it turned out we were suited for each other and we became the best of friends.&lt;br /&gt;Move out day came, and I was determined to not let Meredith down like last time (though the time I really let Mer down was already the last semester of school, so this is silly.) Our apartment was arranged differently than it actually was. Instead of having rooms, it was a series of long hallways with furniture lining the sides. In one of the "rooms" (it was considered a separate room because it had a door at each end, but it was a hallway) there was the dining room table. On a chair beside it I found a plant that looked like my Swiss Chard, but it wasn't Juergen because the pot it was in was decorated with yellow ducks. Erin wasn't sure whose it was, so we left it for Meredith to deal with.&lt;br /&gt;I grabbed my boxes and bags and took them out to my parents. We'd parked on Jefferson Square. Our long string of hallways was inside Combs, turns out. They were setting up a big fest tent to celebrate our graduation. I went back inside to use the restroom. The restroom was on the far end of the apartment. I passed through about 3 hallways til I got to the last room. It was a big grey room, with a shallow circular pit in the middle of the room, and in the pit was a giant chair. The pit was only there so that the chair could fit in such a small room. Atop the chair was Odin. He was just chilling. I said "How long have you been here?" and he said "All semester. Way to go, clueless. Bathroom's over there." The bathroom was bright red with a black and white zigzag-patterned floor. All of the fixtures were black. It was very similar to the Black Lodge in Twin Peaks. I finished as quickly as I could and went back out to Odin, and asked him why he had the Black Lodge in his bathroom. He didn't answer. I tweeted God and told him that Odin had installed the Black Lodge in our apartment.&lt;br /&gt;I went back out to my family and friends in the fest tent on Jefferson Square. I grabbed a hamburger from the grilling area and went over to where my friends were coloring in pages from coloring books. Alice gave me a picture of a seahorse with tiger stripes. Meredith said that I'd never accept such a gift, that I'd never ride it because I'd be afraid of getting wet. I told her "Only if it's raining."&lt;br /&gt;Then Cyrus shrieked and I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-5440107627711306063?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/5440107627711306063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=5440107627711306063' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5440107627711306063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5440107627711306063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/05/leaving-things-were-uncertain-about.html' title='Leaving things we&apos;re uncertain about leads to alienation in real life.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-7050969360224950410</id><published>2011-05-28T06:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-28T07:00:53.684-07:00</updated><title type='text'>There was something involving a Nook too.</title><content type='html'>I went to Target to check out Kindles, and I thought they were pretty cool. But then I was kidnapped, along with a bunch of other people. We were taken to this giant mansion and ordered to give a musical performance. No one was a musician but me. I deliberated over what song to play on the piano before deciding on "On The Rise". I didn't have any music, and needed one that I'd memorized.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-7050969360224950410?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/7050969360224950410/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=7050969360224950410' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7050969360224950410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7050969360224950410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/05/there-was-something-involving-nook-too.html' title='There was something involving a Nook too.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2027836005366656101</id><published>2011-05-23T05:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-23T05:36:09.885-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Of course, murder is the only sensible way.</title><content type='html'>It was the last week of classes. Seacobeck was celebrating by serving food from Chipotle. I had to write a paper on how awesome this was or I'd fail all of my classes and face certain doom. But I had to work the day the paper was due. So the only solution, of course, was to poison a Chipotle burrito and give it to my professor. Meredith and Adrienne were all about helping me with this idea. I followed Meredith to the art building, where a few of her friends (who looked like my soon-to-be-coworkers) were working. She went off to hang with them. I asked where I could find some paint, because I wanted to put some in the burrito. They pointed me toward a shelf of acrylics but of course they were non-toxic. All I could find were some erasers. They looked enough like beans, and I figured that they'd probably at least choke somebody. Adrienne agreed and helped me unfold and repack the burrito. It looked smaller after we were done, not at all like a Chipotle burrito. I threw up my hands and declared the whole project a miserable failure. Erin appeared next to me, said something along the lines of "y'think?" and handed me a phone. I called my boss and told her about the scheduling conflict. She said something about how I didn't mention that I was still taking classes. I apologized profusely, and she changed the schedule so I didn't work during that class period.&lt;br /&gt;I sat in Seacobeck with this sad-looking eraser burrito. I wanted to get a new one, but each student could only get one burrito, so I went hungry.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2027836005366656101?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2027836005366656101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2027836005366656101' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2027836005366656101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2027836005366656101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/05/of-course-murder-is-only-sensible-way.html' title='Of course, murder is the only sensible way.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-6896644874283802820</id><published>2011-04-30T06:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-30T06:33:03.129-07:00</updated><title type='text'>At our graduation ceremony,</title><content type='html'>there was a bird race.&lt;div&gt;They'd built some rickety wooden scaffolding around Jefferson Square. It crossed the street to circle part of Double Drive and the clock tower too. The ramp to enter was on the steps of combs. The contestants were an ostrich and an emu. Someone had tried to enter a giraffe, and someone else had tried to enter a farfetched, but only the ostrich and the emu qualified. As they ran around the scaffold, which kept shaking dangerously, Erin and I sat atop the clock tower, played Scrabble and took bets from people. I was betting on the emu.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-6896644874283802820?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/6896644874283802820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=6896644874283802820' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6896644874283802820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6896644874283802820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/04/at-our-graduation-ceremony.html' title='At our graduation ceremony,'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-4283041223779692941</id><published>2011-04-29T06:24:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-29T06:24:55.490-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kinda have pizza on the mind.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I was eating dinner with my parents, and we were planning my giant party. I made a joke about cancer or something like that, and my mother was like "That's not funny, never make a joke like that again." I responded with something dumb like "I'll make jokes about whatever I want, because I find them funny!" So, my mother didn't allow me to go to my party. Also, she had me imprisoned in my house, I had an ankle bracelet and everything. Luckily, our house was a giant castle, and I had a lot to do. I talked to Erin and Meredith. They said my mother was right to punish me this way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There was a big school celebration going on outside. It was a graduation thing, I think, because it featured the entire senior class. Someone had bought pizza, because the Seaco food was awful. I couldn't go outside and get any, so I hung around inside the castle and moped. The castle was crowded too, and I wanted to avoid people, but I couldn't even get privacy in my own room. So I went to my PM box.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The box was up in a tower. Every student had their own tower, accesible from what looked like the 2nd floor of Trinkle, and at the top was a locked room that contained messages and letters and junk. I decided to go up there and take a nap.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I woke up from that nap, Ralph was at my door. He wanted attention. I tried to take him for a walk, but I'd forgotten about my ankle bracelet, and I set the alarm off. The police came, and told me that I had 3 strikes before they took me to jail, and I'd just used up one of them (disturbia much?).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I used another one the next day. I was able to evade the police and follow Erin and Meredith to this craft sale that was taking place next to Melchers. It was a craft sale and a rummage sale. I bought a box of German word magnets, and some cookie cutters. Then we went back to our building/my house, and I grabbed some pizza from the still-going celebration before the police caught me and sent me back upstairs.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-4283041223779692941?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/4283041223779692941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=4283041223779692941' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4283041223779692941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4283041223779692941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/04/kinda-have-pizza-on-mind.html' title='Kinda have pizza on the mind.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-513970517696933805</id><published>2011-04-22T05:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-22T05:54:35.725-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lots of outside influences in this dream.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;First dream, I was hanging in the apartment's living room with Adrienne, Erin and Meredith. We were going to watch a movie or something. I was unbearably tired, and kept dozing off. I was really concerned about it, I'd gotten plenty of sleep the night before, but I just couldn't keep my eyes open. I thought I might have had a seizure and I was feeling the after effects. Adrienne kept saying to me "No, stay up, we have to do fun things!" and I was like "I know, I'm sorry, I'm just so tired!" Turns out I was tired because I was asleep.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I remembered I had to stay up because my family was coming to visit. I forced myself to start neatening up the living room. My mother arrived first. Later my cousin Robert appeared with a bunch of people his age that I didn't recognize. One of them looked like a pirate. Then the characters from Ouran High School Host Club showed up, and Tamaki started trying to impress Haruhi right in my dining room (the place was much bigger to accomodate all of these people.) He cooked up some plan about tying himself to train tracks and escaping.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The room got incredibly cold, in the dream, and I woke up to discover my comforter was at the foot of my bed and it was freezing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next dream featured me and Adrienne sitting on my couch discussing the merits of Nutella. Then I had to rescue Erin and Meredith from pirates, which took a surprisingly short time. Then I had to teach a baby deer to respond to its name. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-513970517696933805?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/513970517696933805/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=513970517696933805' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/513970517696933805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/513970517696933805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/04/lots-of-outside-influences-in-this.html' title='Lots of outside influences in this dream.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2239927428941957846</id><published>2011-04-21T06:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-21T06:18:30.787-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Today I'll go to the library.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I was at home researching my paper. Except it wasn't my home, it was darker, smaller, and all of the furniture was different. Also, there were huge bookshelves. It kind of was like the living room of my apartment here, but instead of the piano there was a bookshelf, and there wasn't a giant window. I was sitting on the couch reading a book about Buddhism. My father came in, said something about being proud of me for doing homework, then into the hallway. My mother was at the barn. I think dad was taking a nap. I got a text from Andrew Ballard saying to meet him at the library. I told him I didn't have a ride there, he said I should just walk.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I left the apartment/house and found that it was located in the center of a parking lot at the side of a busy highway, where you'd expect a gas station to be. There were trees surrounding the lot. The sun was setting off to my right. I went in that direction, made another right, and ended up at the library eventually. My father texted me a while later and asked me where I was, I told him I was at the library researching my paper. He was like "How did you get there?", I responded "I walked.", he was like "Yay!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I met some of the people from my business class and we started discussing German things.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2239927428941957846?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2239927428941957846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2239927428941957846' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2239927428941957846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2239927428941957846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/04/today-ill-go-to-library.html' title='Today I&apos;ll go to the library.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-7941418286897237363</id><published>2011-04-19T05:27:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-19T05:34:48.172-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wish I remembered more of the second part.</title><content type='html'>First, Ballard and I wanted to go see this movie about China (undoubtedly influenced by my hours playing Marvel yesterday) so we arranged for a time and met at the theater. This theater was in the basement of the art museum in DC. We arrived early, but were detained by some security people. We were let out 5 minutes before the start of the movie, and then Ballard told me that he hadn't bought me tickets. I rushed to an electronic ticket booth, cut to the front of the line and ordered myself a ticket. We got to the theater just as it was starting. The movie was horribly stereotypical, like Mandarin's palace from Marvel Ultimate Alliance.&lt;div&gt;Meredith met me outside when we got out. We decided somehow that we had to go spy on some people on Princess Anne street. We pretended we were friends of theirs and crashed a party. I don't remember what we heard, but we got caught and got arrested. We were imprisoned in our apartment, they gave us ankle bracelets to keep us inside. I told them that we had to get on campus for classes, we had finals and were graduating in less than 2 weeks, and they were like "Too bad, you jaywalked too many times."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-7941418286897237363?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/7941418286897237363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=7941418286897237363' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7941418286897237363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7941418286897237363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/04/wish-i-remembered-more-of-second-part.html' title='Wish I remembered more of the second part.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-281846344036044198</id><published>2011-04-15T06:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-15T06:07:40.057-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You know, like what happens when I try to play piano in front of people.</title><content type='html'>So it turns out on Wednesday when I missed Buddhism, Ambuel had given a pop quiz. When I got to class, I looked around and saw the graded sheet on everyone's desk and I was like "AGH!" Then Ambuel gave me and everyone else who'd missed class (about 10 people) a piece of sheet music and told us to go wait in a different room while he gave a lecture. We went to a room that looked like the creepy basement room in Westmoreland. There was a piano there, and when he was done giving his lecture we were going to form an impromptu choir. We just stood there for a while. The people who knew each other were chatting. I decided to try playing the piano, but when I got up there and tried to start playing "On The Rise" I couldn't get my fingers to play the right rhythm and embarrassed myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-281846344036044198?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/281846344036044198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=281846344036044198' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/281846344036044198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/281846344036044198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/04/you-know-like-what-happens-when-i-try.html' title='You know, like what happens when I try to play piano in front of people.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-7828902818635194608</id><published>2011-04-11T04:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-11T04:58:10.366-07:00</updated><title type='text'>*groan* And now I have to go to tennis.</title><content type='html'>In my dream, I was so nervous about the possibility of getting woken up by the horrific fire alarm for the 1 AM fire drill that I just got up and went for a walk. It was grey outside, and kinda drizzly, but I wasn't annoyed by that. I met Mel in the parking lot. I told her that she was mean for never visiting us, and that it was just as hard to get to Pittsburgh as for her to get to Ellicott City and we should compromise. She told me to take the train. We got onto the subject of the German train system, and from there to the movie Friendship, and from there to German comedies in general. We walked up to William Street, and then I remembered that I needed to get inside and back to my room without Erin noticing so I could pretend to sleep through tennis. I did manage to get back to my room without being seen, but I was sure I had been heard. I looked at my phone, saw that it was only 1:30 (though it should have been more like 6:00) and turned over and went back to sleep. Then I woke up for real, and saw that it was 7:30 and my alarm would ring in 15 minutes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-7828902818635194608?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/7828902818635194608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=7828902818635194608' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7828902818635194608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7828902818635194608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/04/groan-and-now-i-have-to-go-to-tennis.html' title='*groan* And now I have to go to tennis.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3489390397044500472</id><published>2011-04-09T05:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-09T05:33:16.957-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Whenever Eltville is in my dream, I want to go get ice cream.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Our apartment had become infested by tiny living artist models, the poseable wooden guys. We were trying to gather them up and toss them into the dumpster, but they kept fighting back. I put them in a box, put that box inside another box, put that box inside a box with a heavy lid, took that box to the dumpster and shut the door. These little guys were like the toys from Toy Story though, and kept getting out. I was a little disturbed by the fact that I was comparing them to the Toy Story characters (even in the dream) and still bent on their destruction, but what was I supposed to do? They were kind of creepy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I was walking through Eltville ( or an old town that was understood to be Eltville) with Adrienne, Mer, Erin, and Matt. The buildings were taller than they should have been, but I think that's because when I was last there I was much smaller than I am now, and the buildings were indeed taller. We walked past a graffitied wall, and I said we were near the Fussgangerzone and should go over there to get ice cream. Sometime around there, my friends vanished and a person I didn't know turned to me and said "But what will we do about the language barrier?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was wandering about this strange-but-not-strange city with this red-haired person I didn't know. I noticed that the sentence "what will we do about the language barrier" was scattered about the city in a Bad Wolf sort of way. We got to a large green area between two streets with a statue at one end, sort of like that place behind Kenmore Park in Fredericksburg. The actors who play the Weasley twins were there, playing something that looked like Bocce Ball. I went through a secret door in the statue and found myself in my room. It wasn't really my room. It was dark, lit by a single lamp on a desk. It crowded with a lot of useless things, but unlike my room it was underground. There were bunk beds. My computer was on a desk underneath one of the bunks. I got on my computer, logged onto AIM, and all of my friends had IM'd me with "what will we do about the language barrier?" I was quite weirded out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3489390397044500472?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3489390397044500472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3489390397044500472' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3489390397044500472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3489390397044500472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/04/whenever-eltville-is-in-my-dream-i-want.html' title='Whenever Eltville is in my dream, I want to go get ice cream.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-8044260303604744342</id><published>2011-03-30T05:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-30T05:05:20.633-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How outrageously out of character.</title><content type='html'>First, Ghost Story came out months early, and I got a copy of it without having ordered it. The cover was different. And Butters died within the first few chapters. I didn't like that at all.&lt;div&gt;Then, Erin broke up with Matt for some reason, and because of this became an alcoholic.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-8044260303604744342?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/8044260303604744342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=8044260303604744342' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8044260303604744342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8044260303604744342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/03/how-outrageously-out-of-character.html' title='How outrageously out of character.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-4611675745271279713</id><published>2011-03-22T05:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-22T06:01:43.132-07:00</updated><title type='text'>More than a little Twin Peaks.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Soooo many doppelgangers.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in a building with Erin and Meredith and Matt. I think it was Dupont. There was some sort of social gathering. In the middle of it, there appeared in the hallway a rift. Meredith went through, and I followed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We were in a small kitchen. There was a short, skinny, dark-haired man, balding with a hooked nose. Also a kind of heavy girl wearing leather pants and a tank top with a tattoo on her shoulder. She also had dark hair, tied back in a ponytail. Meredith knew these two people from the before times, and started chatting with them. I sort of participated in the discussion. I noticed that Mer had a similar tattoo on her shoulder, and started thinking about what I would get if I got a tattoo. The man went to get us drinks. He brought us glasses of water, and the girl a shotglass filled with a bright red liquid. I leaned over to Meredith and was "What's that?" She said "Nothing." I kept asking, Meredith kept not answering. We took our leave shortly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Back in the hallway of Dupont we met Matt and Erin. I continued bothering Mer about what was in that shotglass,. I asked if it was human blood, she got angry and told me that I didn't need to know everything. She didn't have to tell me about her past if she didn't want to. There was a quake that shook the entire building, and when I turned around the tattooed girl was right behind us. She was smiling a little too emptily. She handed me a yellow box with some sort of foreign writing on it. "You left this in our kitchen." I opened the box and found that it was full of papers, some peices of looseleaf with doodles on them, my flight itinerary from the trip I took over spring break, some old receipts. At the bottom there were some documents that I didn't recognize. One of them was stained with something bright red and kind of lumpy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I turned to Meredith to ask what was up with this, because it might be kind of important. She ignored me and kept staring ahead with a strange look on her face. She and the tattooed girl started walking down the hallway and we followed. Erin and Matt were on my other side, chatting about something. They fell quiet too. Everyone kept moving forward. I heard doors opening behind me. When I turned around the hallway behind us was filling with people, all with the same expression. Some I recognized from classes, some were professors. Some of them appeared more than once in the crowd. They were all blankly moving in our direction. Erin turned to me and asked to see the box I'd received from the tattooed girl. I clutched the box and started running.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I ran down the hallway and up the stairs to Jim Groom's office. There was another man at an opposing desk. I ran over to Jim and asked if he had any matches or a lighter or something. I wanted to burn the box and its contents. Jim Groom wasn't acting like the horde of people downstairs, but he didn't have any matches. Something about "why would they allow me to have those in an academic building?" I went to the desk with the other man and asked if he had any. He looked at me for a few seconds and started laughing. A deep laugh, not the kind of laugh you use when someone asks you something stupid. It started sounding evil. Just then the doors opened, and the doppelgangers of Erin, Matt, Meredith and the tattooed girl came through. They were completely silent, but the halls behind them were filled with the others, and now they were making sounds. Sort of an echoey roar. Some of them had really evil smiles on their faces. The guy at the desk just kept laughing. They converged on me. Jim told me to go out the window. I was afraid, so I did.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, I didn't actually go out the window, but it was understood that I did. I appeared to be in this floating bouncy castle, above the campus. I had no way of controlling it, and no way of getting down. I looked at the sky, which was kind of cloudy, and it started pouring rain. The balloon castle started filling with water. I asked God why he would do this to me. He laughed and gave me an umbrella. The water filled up the balloon to my neck before it reached the meshy windows on the sides of this castle and it started emptying. I still had the yellow box of papers with me, but the box's colors had faded from the water, and most of the papers had disintegrated.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-4611675745271279713?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/4611675745271279713/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=4611675745271279713' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4611675745271279713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4611675745271279713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/03/more-than-little-twin-peaks.html' title='More than a little Twin Peaks.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-307212079494943331</id><published>2011-03-21T05:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-21T05:05:54.831-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ugh, why is school still going?</title><content type='html'>I felt ill, and acted enough like it in German literature that Rotter let me miss German business without using one of my skip days. So I went to go find Erin, but when I left the classroom I was outside of St. Peter's, and had to walk back to F-burg in time to meet Adrienne for lunch.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-307212079494943331?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/307212079494943331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=307212079494943331' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/307212079494943331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/307212079494943331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/03/ugh-why-is-school-still-going.html' title='Ugh, why is school still going?'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-938773572834422947</id><published>2011-03-19T05:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-19T05:09:26.542-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And now I want eggs.</title><content type='html'>Mer and I decided to sell some art and send half of the money to Japan. We tried selling our wares to people in real life, but most of our success came from the playground. Meredith came to me and was stressed. "No one is buying my art!" I told her that tons of internet people were buying her art, and tried to go to giantitp to check my inbox messages and show her. I couldn't log in from that computer, so I went to find another one. The one I found was in an office in Goolrick, above the pool. I logged in, and had 10 or so messages. One person had bought me an ipod instead of giving me money, which defeated the point but I accepted it.&lt;div&gt;Then I went grocery shopping for breakfast. Some pirates arrived and ordered me to make them an omelet, so I did.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-938773572834422947?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/938773572834422947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=938773572834422947' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/938773572834422947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/938773572834422947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/03/and-now-i-want-eggs.html' title='And now I want eggs.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-909180176188677540</id><published>2011-03-15T05:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-15T06:03:45.298-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Argh, missing classes.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;There was more, but this is what I recall.&lt;/div&gt;I slept in through the start of Literature, but only by 3 minutes or so. At first I thought "eh, I'll skip it." But then I started feeling guilty, and I quickly pulled my stuff together and ran to Combs. The class wasn't in the room. They were meeting in another room in a different building. I was like "Yes, I can use this as an excuse as to why I wasn't able to make it on time." But by the time I found the classroom they were in, it was noon and class had ended. Business German was taking place in a different room too, and I missed that as well. I finally found someone from my class in Combs, and asked them what happened. They told me to go see Herr Rotter in his office. I did, he told me how awful my participation grade is. Then he told me that we'd watched a movie in class and I'd have to rent it from Netflix. "But I have 6 movies in my queue already!" I complained.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-909180176188677540?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/909180176188677540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=909180176188677540' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/909180176188677540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/909180176188677540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/03/argh-missing-classes.html' title='Argh, missing classes.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-8780872420550876258</id><published>2011-03-10T07:20:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-10T07:20:59.170-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A cobra named Moses killed Sara Palmer.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;My parents were hosting a party. I was helping clean up. There was this important box that I had to keep safe, as it was vital to the success of this party, so I was carrying it with me. I started putting things in the random stuff drawers all over our house , and over the course of doing this I found a Game Boy Color cartridge for every Pokemon game that ever existed for GBC, and some that have never existed on any system (for example, "Pokemon Sparkly"). I started planning to buy a new Game Boy Color and play every single one of these games in succession rather than replay Soul Silver when I finish.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I was done with my search, because by the end it had indeed turned into a search and not helping clean the house, I was in the basement. I'd wanted to check my old toy box. My parents came down, turned on the light and started yelling at me for losing the box. I showed it to them, and followed them upstairs.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Ballards and the Ashland family were there. The party was taking place outside, in a tent in the backyard. Andrew Ballard, my cousin and I decided to take a walk. We walked for about 10 miles along the side of a 6-lane highway in the middle of nowhere. We found a cobra, and named him Moses for some reason. We put a little collar on him and led him around. Eventually we made our way back to the house without turning around.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I took my comrades down to the basement to show them my plethora of Pokemon cartridges. Then we heard a lot of yelling from upstairs. One of the dogs had fallen ill. The cops came over to figure this out. Andy and Lucy from Twin Peaks were there. The chief suspect in this case was Moses. I looked everywhere for proof that Moses didn't do it, but I couldn't find any and they took him away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At the end of the dream I had to get Andy and Lucy to confess their love for each other.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-8780872420550876258?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/8780872420550876258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=8780872420550876258' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8780872420550876258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8780872420550876258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/03/cobra-named-moses-killed-sara-palmer.html' title='A cobra named Moses killed Sara Palmer.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-985676359618310467</id><published>2011-02-13T06:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-13T06:59:18.847-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shades of Scott Pilgrim, perhaps?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I was in a place that looked like a weird cross between my living room here and my kitchen at home. I had to pack because my parents were picking me up for Spring Break. They were hoping that they could talk me out of visiting Reece. As I packed, I was listening to a radio show. The guy on the radio said that if you're having weird dreams you should either do something creative with them, or go see a psychologist.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I walked back to the apartment from there. I was with a group of people I knew but I didn't know. They were my classmates, I thought. The apartment was not down a hallway this time, it was through centennial park. It was the dark of night right now, though the moon was full. I looked at the sky and noticed that there was a bright moon right above the path, but also a rising moon off to the side. I remembered that we had 2 moons on this planet. As I was looking at them, a shadow passed across the larger one above me. It appeared again, for longer. It was a silhouette of a man playing a guitar. Then a shadow appeared on the other moon, a silhouette of someone playing drums. I turned around to my companions and asked if they'd seen that. They nodded yes, but didn't seem interested. I took out my camera, but then I heard Meredith say "You can't take pictures of the sky with that!" I put it away disappointedly. The rock band continued playing music from the moon, and it was "Knock on Wood" by the Mighty Mighty Bosstones.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got to the apartment with Mer and Erin, who hadn't been there when I started walking, and I invited Adrienne over so we could watch a movie. I wanted to watch all 3 Toy Stories in a row, but instead we watched a movie that was directed by the guy on the radio, and apparently came out of a dream he'd had. It had Wallace from Scott Pilgrim in it. In the movie, the main character had gone on a quest to help some tribe of people, but inadvertantly stole their magical powers in order to do so. These people then called on some mystical creatures for help getting revenge on our hero. The mystical creatures, who I think were called Eroes or something like that (I remember remarking in the dream that it looked a lot like Oreos) taught the tribe how to turn into dragons. The chief then went with his whole group to destroy the protagonist.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The movie stopped there. I looked at my watch and realized I was 10 minutes late for German. I rushed to get to class, which was down a hallway, in a room that looked like it was used for a preschool. The furniture was small and plastic. Herr Rotter was giving an ungraded test meant to see what questions he could put on the midterm. I squeezed into one of the small chairs. Herr Rotter was reading the questions out loud and we were to answer on looseleaf. I didn't have any paper, so I started scribbling the answers on the plastic table. Then I remembered that I had half a sheet from a test I'd taken earlier, and I found that. The questions turned out to be based on the movie I'd watched. Questions like "What did (name of main character) steal from (name of group of people)?" and "Who did (name of group of people) go to for help?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-985676359618310467?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/985676359618310467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=985676359618310467' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/985676359618310467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/985676359618310467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/02/shades-of-scott-pilgrim-perhaps.html' title='Shades of Scott Pilgrim, perhaps?'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3868941127211444891</id><published>2011-02-11T05:42:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-11T05:46:39.431-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe I am a dork.</title><content type='html'>I had to solve a mystery with Nathan Fillion and Stana Katic. Not Castle and Beckett, but the actor and actress. I thought it was some kind of game where the ending is preordained and I can't play through the same mystery more than once, much like the NCIS board game. Except with real people instead of a game board. Then I learned that the mystery involved Red Court vampires and I was the only one who knew how to beat them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3868941127211444891?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3868941127211444891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3868941127211444891' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3868941127211444891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3868941127211444891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/02/maybe-i-am-dork.html' title='Maybe I am a dork.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3859987570586017670</id><published>2011-02-10T06:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-10T06:47:57.406-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Joseph Gordon-Levitt</title><content type='html'>Mer and Erin and I attended a lecture, and ended up having a fascinating conversation about movies with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Batman and Lord of the Rings specifically. JGL was disappointed they didn't have Tom Bombadil in the movies.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3859987570586017670?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3859987570586017670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3859987570586017670' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3859987570586017670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3859987570586017670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/02/joseph-gordon-levitt.html' title='Joseph Gordon-Levitt'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2969636377771094485</id><published>2011-02-09T04:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-09T04:47:39.752-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm pretty sure Gaia doesn't work that way. It was more like the Sims.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I'd signed up for Gaia as a homework assignment for Herr Rotter. I was to walk around the town and visit all the stores. I decided to be funny and put refrigerators on the awnings of the stores, causing the NPCs to look at it. Once they were distracted I started a nuclear war with Russia.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was telling Reece about this over skype. I somehow told him to try these cookies I'd made, and he asked for some milk. I gave him the remaining milk from our carton, but it had spoiled and he got mad at me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2969636377771094485?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2969636377771094485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2969636377771094485' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2969636377771094485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2969636377771094485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/02/im-pretty-sure-gaia-doesnt-work-that.html' title='I&apos;m pretty sure Gaia doesn&apos;t work that way. It was more like the Sims.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-745155993686715927</id><published>2011-01-30T07:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-30T07:11:02.012-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Influenced by my application to that RA position.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I was at a new eatery on campus with Mer. It was like a deli or something, bar chairs around a counter where you order. I sort of fazed out when looking at the menu, plus I didn't have my glasses so I couldn't read it anyway, so when the woman behind the counter asked me what I wanted I couldn't remember what I did want. This got the woman and Meredith annoyed, so I just said "pizza", the first thing I thought of that I figured Sodexho would have. The woman behind the counter looked at me like I was crazy, but she asked me if I wanted a personal pizza or just a slice. I said personal pizza, then turned to Meredith to ask if they even had that, because the woman was acting like this was the first time anyone had asked for it. They did.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We start walking back to the apartment, which involves walking up a lot of hills through grey cobblestone streets like Eltville, or Diagon Alley. The apartments are on a bright green hill at the other end of this town. They look more like motels than apartment buildings, but our apartment looks exactly the same. On the way there I run into some people from German class, and a bunch of other people. They say that there are new people in the German department and there's going to be a big party tomorrow. I promise to attend.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The next day I find out that the big party is in our apartment. I find this out when I leave my room to use the restroom and notice that my entire German class is in my living room waiting for me. I ask how they got in, apparently the door was unlocked. I think most of the discussion was about how easy the German work has been, and jokes about Herr Rotter.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-745155993686715927?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/745155993686715927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=745155993686715927' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/745155993686715927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/745155993686715927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/01/influenced-by-my-application-to-that-ra.html' title='Influenced by my application to that RA position.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-7688292278156997438</id><published>2011-01-24T04:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-24T04:25:45.533-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nervous about my presentation</title><content type='html'>I was in the same class as my father, and we both had to make powerpoint presentations. I had several ideas during the middle of the night before the presentation, so I spent that morning looking for pictures. I had to skip class in order to do it though. My father skipped class as well in order to yell at me. Then in time for my second class I went to the library to finish. The library was Centennial's library, and the computers weren't USB capable so I had to save my work on a floppy disk. When that didn't work on the professor's computer when I was trying to give my presentation, I excused myself and ran back home to fix it. My father accused me of cheating. On the way back home I did have another idea for a slide, and spent an extra few minutes at home creating it before I emailed the presentation to myself. My father called me before I left and told me class was almost over, I'll be giving my presentation tomorrow and I'm a horrible student.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-7688292278156997438?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/7688292278156997438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=7688292278156997438' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7688292278156997438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7688292278156997438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/01/nervous-about-my-presentation.html' title='Nervous about my presentation'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-4062300170226931100</id><published>2011-01-23T06:07:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-23T06:07:52.688-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Jogging is good for you.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I was in a class with Adrienne and one of Adrienne's friends who I didn't know. The professor was late. I started to ask Adrienne what happened on her date last night, but she shushed me and started talking to her other friend. The professor showed up, and gave us a powerpoint presentation explaining his syllabus. On the final slide was a horrible picture, I don't remember what it was but it disgusted several people. I followed some out of the classroom.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A group of four women, including one politician, were accused of murdering someone. I knew somehow that they'd done it, and was trying to catch them. There was a bunch of detective work that happened, eventually culminating in me chasing the four of them through a forest. One of them,who was wearing high heels tripped and fell early in the chase. The politician ran so fast and so long that she fell over out of exhaustion and caught some kind of disease. The news stations were flooded with stories about how jogging is bad for you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-4062300170226931100?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/4062300170226931100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=4062300170226931100' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4062300170226931100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4062300170226931100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/01/jogging-is-good-for-you.html' title='Jogging is good for you.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-473327498545231510</id><published>2011-01-22T06:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-22T06:43:53.247-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Skiing is a complicated business.</title><content type='html'>I had to go on a skiing trip with my parents. I was nervous, since I haven't skied for about 5 years, but also excited. We discovered that my ski boots didn't fit me anymore, but not because they were too tight, they were actually too loose. Instead of getting them tightened as we usually do we decided the best solution was for me to wear cardboard boxed on my feet, inside the boots. I also didn't have any ski socks, only thick plushy socks. And no proper gloves, just my fingerless gloves/mittens. And no hat. My father was understandably frustrated, though I tried to reason with him that I just hadn't brought any serious snow gear to school and he should lay off. This was a strange argument, as I was at my house at the time.&lt;div&gt;They decided I should instead stay home and prepare for the party we were having. Mom's side of the family was coming over. I decided to bake some cookies. Bob and Sally arrived early, and I had to entertain them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-473327498545231510?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/473327498545231510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=473327498545231510' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/473327498545231510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/473327498545231510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/01/skiing-is-complicated-business.html' title='Skiing is a complicated business.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-6512115539068210034</id><published>2011-01-21T05:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-21T05:27:39.026-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bumble's bounce.</title><content type='html'>I was at some sort of camp with all of my friends and family and some people who don't exist. We were building an army and weapons to stop this huge bad guy. I decided we needed airplanes, so Mer, Erin, Matt and I went ahead and built some biplanes. Sheckells and my mom were there too. One of the nameless people made a joke about needing Snoopy to pilot the planes, I told him that for making that joke he would be a pilot.&lt;div&gt;There were two planes, one with the boys and one with the girls. The bad guys had planes too, which led to some sword fights on the wings of the planes, and when we flew past a cell phone tower the fight traveled onto it. Pilots switched out in midair so that the best fencers could do their thing. At one point the guy who'd made the snoopy joke (he was shorter than Mer and had dark hair, that's all I remember about him) had switched out, and he was the one who leaped onto the cell phone tower. He lost his balance while stabbing someone, and fell thousands of feet. A nameless chick, his girlfriend I suppose, started crying.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We got rid of the enemy's air forces, and went back to the workshop/warehouse where we'd built the planes. Shortly the others returned from fighting. I guess we'd won, because everyone was there, and we decided to go out for brunch. The short guy then showed up, with a creature that looked like the abominable snowman in tow. We were surprised and relieved, his girlfriend incredibly so. But then we realized that he had an enormous wound in his side and several broken bones, and someone said we wouldn't be able to save him. I protested that his wounds couldn't be too bad, he'd fallen from the sky several miles from here and had managed to get here. I woke up before finding out if we fixed him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-6512115539068210034?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/6512115539068210034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=6512115539068210034' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6512115539068210034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6512115539068210034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/01/bumbles-bounce.html' title='Bumble&apos;s bounce.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2334716388303606643</id><published>2011-01-19T04:55:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-19T04:55:32.194-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bursting into song.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I was at the mall with my mother. We went to a coffee shop where we met Erin and Meredith. My mom started singing this random show tune. It was from a show that I'd liked, but I didn't recognize the song or remember the name of the musical. It happened to be a song from a show UMW had put on earlier this year. Since this coffee shop was filled with college students, a few people had been in the play and knew the song quite well. They started singing along. A different group of people had been in the orchestra. One guy pulled out his French horn and started to play it along with the music. Soon we had a whole orchestra backing this huge group of people singing. Erin said to me "I love this school."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went to the store, which had changed into this tiny shop. There were really low shelves, almost like desk-sized bookcases. Surprise surprise, all of these bookcases contained books. The only goods the store had were on a high shelf that was attached to the wall and circled the whole room. I wanted some peach tea Snapple, but the only bottle they had was $19.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2334716388303606643?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2334716388303606643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2334716388303606643' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2334716388303606643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2334716388303606643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/01/bursting-into-song.html' title='Bursting into song.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-7621662848134376966</id><published>2011-01-13T06:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-13T06:01:10.816-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It was quite pretty.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;It was evening, I was at home. I was sitting at the kitchen table with my parents and sister. Katie Ballard shows up randomly, even though it's like 9:30 at night, and says she's here to walk the dog. I ask Ralph if he wants to go for a walk, he tucks his tail between his legs and sits down, indicating that he does not. Not wanting to seem rude, we invited Katie to sit and converse with us. I think we were planning my graduation party. I ask Katie how she's doing in school. She tells me she's actually a spy and needed to walk Ralph as part of her cover to spy on people in the park. I feigned interest and turned back to the table to join in the conversation.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I said that I wanted to invite everyone to my party. EVERYONE. So I needed to print out tons of invitations, and pass them out to all of my classmates. Every single one of them. We'd decided to go on a walk anyway, because the sky was doing something interesting. The sun was setting on one side of the lake. It was a stunningly bright disk floating right on the horizon, and the blues and pinks in the sky were reflected in the water. I could look at it without being blinded. On the other side of the lake the moon was rising, and it was also huge and bright, but beyond its ring of radiance the sky around it was improbably dark given the giant sun, and devoid of stars. I tried to snap a picture of both, but my camera failed to take adequate pictures. They were good enough, though, that I wanted to put them on all of the invitations I'd made for my party. I put the picture of the moon on half of them, and the sun on the other half.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-7621662848134376966?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/7621662848134376966/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=7621662848134376966' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7621662848134376966'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7621662848134376966'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/01/it-was-quite-pretty.html' title='It was quite pretty.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-8292476346165377338</id><published>2011-01-10T04:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-10T04:50:53.517-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Short one.</title><content type='html'>I was at a dinner. After I'd eaten, I was told there was LSD in the food. It had no effect, except to make me a little queasy and balance-challenged.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-8292476346165377338?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/8292476346165377338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=8292476346165377338' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8292476346165377338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8292476346165377338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/01/short-one.html' title='Short one.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3692681442315938744</id><published>2011-01-05T05:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-05T05:31:01.215-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Narnia? Animal Farm? Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer?</title><content type='html'>This dream was one where I'm observing, not participating.&lt;div&gt;A bunch of Disney-esque forest animals were preparing themselves for battle against humans. I was watching try-outs for their army, they looked sort of like the Reindeer Games. They were using a series of dog training manuals to train these creatures. Most of them were squirrels and other rodents, only 3 of them were dogs. One dog was the son of two famed soldiers, so he felt the need to impress everyone and prove that he was just as good. Unfortunately, he'd failed all of the animal intelligence tests in these books. The leaders gave him a chance anyway, and his incompetence resulted in horrific failure and the death of 2 other animals.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3692681442315938744?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3692681442315938744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3692681442315938744' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3692681442315938744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3692681442315938744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2011/01/narnia-animal-farm-rudolph-red-nosed.html' title='Narnia? Animal Farm? Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer?'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2061501015709627063</id><published>2010-12-27T05:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-27T06:04:20.382-08:00</updated><title type='text'>UMW: a seedier place than you thought. (I think there's some Die Hard in here)</title><content type='html'>We were back at school for the 2nd semester. I got a job cooking for children at this orphanage that looked straight out of Dickens. They were completely ungrateful, as I didn't make them macaroni and cheese for every meal. I wasn't just there to keep them fed, though, I had to keep them protected from some bad guys. I made some friends among the other workers there, one of them was a guy who always wore a trench coat and a fedora. One of my best friends there was dating this guy too. He broke some rules, and made himself an enemy of the place's management, who made some deals with the aforementioned bad guys with guns who were always milling about. This guy with the fedora was to be shot on sight. So we all started wearing fedoras.&lt;br /&gt;I had to go to classes too. My gym class was in the individual exercise rooms, not the tennis  courts. We had to work on our upper body strength.&lt;br /&gt;These thugs started following me and my friends to my classes.&lt;br /&gt;German literature promised to be very interesting, we were going to be reading science fiction, and we had a field trip planned. For Buddhism, I was supposed to have done this workbook, but I hadn't. It was the first day of classes, so I didn't even have the workbook.&lt;br /&gt;I'd started carrying a gun. One day I was eating in Seacobeck and noticed the bad guys at the door. I snuck out ahead of them, wearing my fedora, and ended up in a room filled with people I didn't know. The room looked like the Combs lobby. Half of the people in there were wearing fedoras. I supposed more people had heard of whatever-his-name-was than I thought. I sat in the corner with my back to the entrance. I pulled my hat down over my face. I heard the guys enter, and turned around to notice one of them pointing a gun at me. He was the only one armed. I took out my own weapon and pointed it at them. His 2 friends seemed a little alarmed, and they told me that I wasn't allowed to have a gun on campus. I looked around at the room and snorted. "How many of you people are carrying guns?" All of those wearing fedoras, and some who weren't, took weapons of various shapes and sizes out of their pockets. I made a mental note to tell Reece about this. The bad guys were outnumbered significantly, so they left.&lt;br /&gt;After class I exited out the back of Combs. College avenue was a snowy street lined with brick buildings, it also looked like something out of Dickens. There was an old-fashioned movie theater across the street a few buildings down playing Scott Pilgrim. I thought to myself, I should buy that movie using my gift card. Then I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2061501015709627063?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2061501015709627063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2061501015709627063' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2061501015709627063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2061501015709627063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/12/i-hope-german-lits-like-that-it-wont-be.html' title='UMW: a seedier place than you thought. (I think there&apos;s some Die Hard in here)'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-274652826950941216</id><published>2010-12-23T05:07:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-23T05:23:02.430-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Next semester instead of last</title><content type='html'>It was the morning of the first day of classes. I didn't have class til 11, so I got up at 8:30. I spent an hour or so talking to Matt about Spongebob before deciding to get ready for class. The shower was unavailable, so I still had to wait. I waited and waited. We weren't in our same apartment by the way, we were in the same old building that looked vaguely like Taunusstrasse 8a, except my room was much bigger and had more impressive windows. We had a patio in almost the same place as the UMW apartment, so while I was waiting I took a walk. The door didn't lead to a parking lot, but instead to a huge expanse of grass and a forest. I was certain I was alone, but I didn't realize I wasn't wearing anything but my underwear until a bunch of girls came over the hill to yell at me. "This is the last time we let you get away with such indecency!" I didn't recall ever doing this sort of thing before. The one who accused me clarified that she was talking about the time I wore a short skirt outside. I was still in my underwear, and I excused myself to go inside. One of the girls mentioned to me that it was after 11:00, and I was going to miss class.&lt;br /&gt;I went inside, and was able to get dressed and 20 minutes of class left. I wasn't able to shower. But this building was further from Combs than the usual apartment. By the time I got there I had indeed missed class. So I went to Herr Rotter's office to apologize and ask what I missed. He wasn't in his office, a woman was. She told me to go through the double doors at the end of the hallway and then go left. This part of Combs didn't exist before winter break. I went through and found the office she spoke of. It was barely bigger than a closet (figures they'd do that to Herr Rotter). Rotter wasn't in there either, but there was a girl about my age sitting at the desk with her back to the door. She identified herself as his assistant, and said she'd give me the work I missed. First I had to take the quick quiz Herr Rotter had given, it was a single question about the dative case and the subjunctive. I got it right. Then I received the syllabus, a leather-bound notebook with a picture of an owl and my name on it, and a pile of scantrons an inch thick that I was to work through over the course of the semester.&lt;br /&gt;After this I walked back through the building, thinking I'd go to the book store for a binder to put these scantrons in, then get lunch at the nest. As I walked through the hallway-that-does-not-exist, which was now full of students, I noticed there were little divots in the walls. I asked a student what these were for, but he ignored me. Then the door I was heading towards started moving forward. The hallway got shorter and shorter very quickly, I was going to get crushed against the opposing wall if I didn't get out of the way. I ducked into a classroom, one that had been on the other side of the double doors when I first went down this hallway. I noticed others ducking into those divots. My question answered, I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-274652826950941216?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/274652826950941216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=274652826950941216' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/274652826950941216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/274652826950941216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/12/next-semester-instead-of-last.html' title='Next semester instead of last'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-7405428685796078098</id><published>2010-12-18T05:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-18T05:55:00.485-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Obviously inspired by The Magicians.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I got a letter. But I hadn't picked up the mail, Madeline had, and she'd thrown the letter away thinking it was somehow related to me getting bad grades, or a terrorist attack, I can't remember. But she thought the letter was somehow bad. I yelled at her, saying that it might have been my paper graded by Niebuhr. Mom took Madeline's side, saying that I should've checked the mail if I thought I was getting something.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The next day I checked the mail myself, and found a hand-written envelope for me. The letter inside invited me to this creepy house for an interesting academic opportunity. I went to check it out. There were a lot of other people my age there. As you might have guessed, this was a school for magic, and I was to be a magician. I made a bunch of friends, but I don't remember what magic I learned.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I still talked to Reece online often. I wanted to go to the playgrounder meetup. I told my sister that I wanted to go to this sushi place in order to trick her into taking me there. I told her I wanted to take some of my new friends from the magic school along as well. Reece was pretty ok with it, Madeline agreed to it. After the meetup, Reece was going to come back with me to visit my new apartment. One of my almost-friend-acquaintances named Tom asked to go with us. I apologized and said that there was no room in the car.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We stopped at a hotel on the way to the meetup. It was also an old, creepy house. It kind of looked like Taunusstrasse 8a, but bigger. Once I settled into my room with my roommate from magic school, I called my parents. They were kind of annoyed that I was taking this trip, but I reassured them that everything was fine. It barely had an affect.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After I hung up on my parents, I went downstairs to party with my friends. It was around 3 in the morning when I got to bed. My phone buzzed again. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Tom. I answered the phone, and told him I was trying to sleep. He didn't say anything for about 10 seconds, then he said "HA! You are a grey magician now!" and hung up, leaving me very confused.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The next morning I asked my friends what Tom might have meant by "grey magician." They all had shocked looks on their faces, except my roommate/best friend, who looked unsurprised. They told me that a grey magician couldn't use magic without corrupting their soul and bringing bad luck. Tom must have worked a spell over the phone. I was angry and scared, and decided I needed to get back at Tom somehow. But Madeline refused to deviate from the plan to go to the meetup. Before I could argue my case for vengeance, I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-7405428685796078098?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/7405428685796078098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=7405428685796078098' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7405428685796078098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7405428685796078098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/12/obviously-inspired-by-magicians.html' title='Obviously inspired by The Magicians.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3180439879031148887</id><published>2010-12-16T07:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-16T08:00:14.279-08:00</updated><title type='text'>All these dreams about exams.</title><content type='html'>It was the night before my Relgions exam, and I fell asleep while studying. The exam was at 7 AM, so I had to get up at 5. I got up at 4 to study more, I had to memorize a list of 5 rules for a nonexistent religion. One of the rules was to only wear sparkly clothes.&lt;div&gt;I left at 6 without eating breakfast. My mother caught me and forced me to eat a peach before going to the exam.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The actual test wasn't in the dream, but the aftermath was. I didn't fail the exam, but I don't think I passed it either.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3180439879031148887?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3180439879031148887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3180439879031148887' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3180439879031148887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3180439879031148887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/12/all-these-dreams-about-exams.html' title='All these dreams about exams.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-6872280760697832851</id><published>2010-12-14T05:45:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-14T05:51:45.793-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Memories fading... curses.</title><content type='html'>First dream, I was challenged to a duel. The weapon was quarterstaves, and Madeline had to teach me to use one.&lt;br /&gt;Second dream, there was some kind of criminal investigation, and I had to cooperate with this PI. Puppies were involved. That is all I remember. If I remember more, I will edit it in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-6872280760697832851?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/6872280760697832851/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=6872280760697832851' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6872280760697832851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6872280760697832851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/12/memories-fading-curses.html' title='Memories fading... curses.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3056073267937432669</id><published>2010-12-11T05:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-11T06:20:30.228-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not failing German, no worries.</title><content type='html'>I was late for German Civilization. I had to be on time, or I would fail that class. So I caught the bus to get from the top of College Avenue to the bottom. College Avenue was much longer than it actually is, so it made sense. It also ran parallel to a river and some train tracks. The bus only had one stop on College Avenue, and it was closer to the top than I wanted. I met my mother there and told her I was going to be late, hoping she would drive me there. But Mom didn't have a car. She started walking with me down the street, practically dragging me. We got on a train and went a little ways. Ahead of our train we saw a bright flash. It was a little confusing.&lt;br /&gt;Then we were kicked off for not having tickets, and started walking again. A bus was stopped perpendicular to the sidewalk, we didn't try to go around it and just walked in one door and out the driver's side door. Well, my Mom managed to. I couldn't cross the bus before the driver came back and started the bus. The bus was a school bus, and it was filled with high schoolers. It began driving in the opposite direction that I wanted to go. I noticed a rocket on the train tracks, and thought oh, that's what the flash of light was. Then I talked to the bus driver. He laughed at me, but then helpfully drove in the correct direction and dropped me off at Combs.&lt;br /&gt;I was 5 minutes late to class, but Niebuhr listened to my story and didn't fail me. I went back to the table I sat at. The arrangement of this classroom was like an elementary school, there were small tables instead of desks, and they each sat four people. Erin, Meredith and some chick from my digital storytelling class were sitting at mine. The girl with no name asked me if I was nervous about the online test I was supposed to do for today. I was surprised that this had been an assignment and started freaking out. Mer asked me if I'd brought all of the pop quizzes we'd been given. Erin asked me if I'd done the workbook. I started panicking, and said that I just need a B in this class oh crap. Erin looked at me and said that if I'd done the work I'd get a B but she didn't know if I qualified for one anymore. I was like I KNOW, then I woke up.&lt;br /&gt;This post took about 40 minutes to write because I'm typing it on my father's goddamned Mac. It is worse than my Windows Vista computer when it comes to the internet. I can't tell him this though.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3056073267937432669?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3056073267937432669/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3056073267937432669' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3056073267937432669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3056073267937432669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/12/not-failing-german-no-worries.html' title='Not failing German, no worries.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-7298367761355737917</id><published>2010-12-09T05:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-09T06:01:11.529-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Yeah.</title><content type='html'>I was using a computer on a space ship to have an argument with some internet people, and then some robots that looked like my family members told me I had to translate everything I'd written for classes this week into Arabic. Also I baked cookies.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-7298367761355737917?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/7298367761355737917/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=7298367761355737917' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7298367761355737917'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7298367761355737917'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/12/yeah.html' title='Yeah.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3599942560242437540</id><published>2010-11-30T05:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-30T05:34:07.078-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Man, history class really worries me.</title><content type='html'>First dream, I got my paper back in History with a B+. But still with comments that a bunch of my content was superfluous, my title was stupid, and he didn't like the pictures I added. I woke up and was relieved I hadn't received my paper yet.&lt;div&gt;Second dream, Adrienne and Erin and Meredith decided we needed to go on a trip, so they bought plane tickets for all of us, plus Stephanie. I didn't know where we were going, but I suspected Berlin. While we were pressing through the airport (a very strange-looking airport, all of the hallways were made of twigs and all of the windows overlooked a river) I realized that I had to go to history today to turn in the book assignment. Erin told me I had to call Ross, and she handed me the phone. I asked Ross to break into our apartment, grab my paper off the printer to hand it in, and see if he can grab my research paper for me as well. Ross gave me a brief lecture about missing class before saying he would do it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Third dream was Gunnerkrigg Court. Because of the current fight they're having, Reynard has the power to leave his doll body. He takes over the body of a strange man in a black hat adorned with a feather.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3599942560242437540?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3599942560242437540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3599942560242437540' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3599942560242437540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3599942560242437540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/11/man-history-class-really-worries-me.html' title='Man, history class really worries me.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-127992620055938905</id><published>2010-11-26T06:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-26T06:53:41.457-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Aladdin with ninjas.</title><content type='html'>I was fighting ninjas with a team of people. Because I don't know who they were, I'll codename them Meredith, Erin, and Matt. These ninjas were trying to steal something precious from us, I think it was a DVD of some Disney movie. Matt had a dart gun, Meredith and Erin and I only had our wits and our amazing parkour skills. We chased them over the roofs of buildings, up and down, through courtyards. I began to recognize scenery from Disney movies. We ended up in a place that looked like Agrabah, except with some buildings from Mulan thrown in. We still had to fight the ninjas. I was momentarily distracted by a band randomly placed in a corner of this yard. Suddenly the ninjas turned into genies, and I was killed and turned into a ghost. I was completely invisible to my friends, but I managed to communicate by stealing one of the instruments from the band. They had to find and defeat the ninja/genie/whatever who killed me so I could return to life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-127992620055938905?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/127992620055938905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=127992620055938905' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/127992620055938905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/127992620055938905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/11/aladdin-with-ninjas.html' title='Aladdin with ninjas.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3375680320837410838</id><published>2010-11-23T05:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-23T06:06:44.244-08:00</updated><title type='text'>History Exam.</title><content type='html'>I was taking my history exam. The short answers were really easy, so I finished them in about 5 minutes. But then the professor told me that if I handed in my work on looseleaf it wouldn't count, and I had to have a blue book. I dug around in my backpack and found a rather beat up one. I copied my short answer questions, then started on the IDs. They weren't IDs anymore, they were matching, but they were still really hard. I looked at the clock and realized I only had 20 minutes to do the essay portion of the test, which is half of the test grade. I looked at the essay question, and was completely bamboozled. It was about one of the books, which I hadn't read for some reason.&lt;div&gt;Then I "woke up", remembered that the test was a take-home test and that it was due TODAY, and I still hadn't done the essay. I had an hour. I forced myself not to used the internet to find the answers to everything.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3375680320837410838?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3375680320837410838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3375680320837410838' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3375680320837410838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3375680320837410838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/11/history-exam.html' title='History Exam.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-8060859777492444203</id><published>2010-11-18T17:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-18T17:12:43.151-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I've been considering updating all day.</title><content type='html'>And just now I get the chance to. So I don't remember too much. =(&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was hanging around my house on a Saturday. Both of my parents were there, and everything was quiet. I said "We should go to Berlin." My mom said "Ok!" like I'd just suggested we go see a movie. We got on a plane for a quick daytrip to Berlin. I wondered why we hadn't done this earler and my mom said "I have no idea!"&lt;br /&gt;Berlin underground for some reason. We had to go down several flights of stairs from the airport, into a place that looked sort of like a subway station. We went to a pizza place for lunch. Then I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-8060859777492444203?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/8060859777492444203/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=8060859777492444203' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8060859777492444203'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8060859777492444203'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/11/ive-been-considering-updating-all-day.html' title='I&apos;ve been considering updating all day.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-4104818758707620908</id><published>2010-11-17T07:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-17T07:04:49.404-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dresden again.</title><content type='html'>I was at a mall, in a clothing shop, with my mother, my sister and Meredith. Somehow by looking at the jewelry we determined that this clothing shop was run by criminals, and the entire mall was owned by the mob. Then we learned from my mother that Marcone had infiltrated the government and was really behind the vampire war and the end of Changes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-4104818758707620908?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/4104818758707620908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=4104818758707620908' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4104818758707620908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4104818758707620908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/11/dresden-again.html' title='Dresden again.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-4613815486369431477</id><published>2010-11-16T08:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-16T11:36:31.346-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gah, don't remember any more.</title><content type='html'>I was at a thrift store with my parents and Reece, and I wanted to try on some clothes. It was a skirt and a top. They had no changing rooms, so I went into the ladies' room to try them on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-4613815486369431477?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/4613815486369431477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=4613815486369431477' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4613815486369431477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4613815486369431477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/11/gah-dont-remember-any-more.html' title='Gah, don&apos;t remember any more.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3665387072692900295</id><published>2010-11-13T07:07:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-13T07:21:32.166-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I hate being sick SO MUCH.</title><content type='html'>There was a playgrounder meetup going on, and I really wanted to go but I was still sick. So I'm in my room, hacking coughing and wheezing (even in my dreams it won't stop!) talking to Reece on IM since he was also unable to go. It wasn't my room though, it was a bright room with yellow walls, and a window that looked out on a green field and mountains. I was pretty high up, the people outside looked very small. Across the field were some trees, mountains in the distance, and to the left of my window was a cliff.&lt;div&gt;Then skype opens up and I get a call from the meetup. Sort of. There wasn't any video, but someone had a phone and they'd called me. The phone, I was told, was attached to someone's backpack and that's why the voices were faint. They were in the middle of rock climbing, up the face of a cliff. The playgrounders tell me that they're coming to visit me. I look out my window, and see tiny people pop up onto the field from the left of my window. They went toward a small fest tent that appeared in the middle of the field. There were already people in the tent. I went outside to meet them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Right outside the house, there were some people I didn't know, walking their dogs. There were 2 Irish Wolfhounds, the size of llamas, with spotless white coats. I hugged one of them and said that I wanted this type of dog when I got one, and Reece could have his Yorktese.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went around the house (I'd exited on the other side) to the tent, and sat down with people. The Orells and the Hensons were there too, as well as everyone who'd been at the MD meetup last October. Including the small children. I wondered how they'd gotten safely up the side of the very high, very steep cliff.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3665387072692900295?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3665387072692900295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3665387072692900295' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3665387072692900295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3665387072692900295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/11/i-hate-being-sick-so-much.html' title='I hate being sick SO MUCH.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-5949398613277547713</id><published>2010-11-06T07:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-06T07:21:15.812-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Doing fun stuff in the middle of the night.</title><content type='html'>It was the middle of the night. Adrienne and I went somewhere, to the playground or something, and we were discussing Doctor Who and how happy we are that 10 is gone. We came back a weird way that led us through several buildings and across a large grassy space, to end up behind the apartments. As we headed towards our buildings, it started to rain. This stressed me out. I ran over to my building, cried out to Adrienne dramatically as we separated, and instead of fishing my key out I swiped my card to get into the laundry room.&lt;br /&gt;Meredith was there. I decided to do some laundry too, and loaded my clothes into a machine (without having to go back into the apartment to get them.) Meredith got upset, because apparently she was washing all of the clothes in the world, and needed the &lt;i&gt;entire &lt;/i&gt;roomful of machines. I apologized.&lt;div&gt;Then I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-5949398613277547713?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/5949398613277547713/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=5949398613277547713' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5949398613277547713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5949398613277547713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/11/doing-fun-stuff-in-middle-of-night.html' title='Doing fun stuff in the middle of the night.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-7489866416706784854</id><published>2010-11-05T05:05:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-05T05:18:52.820-07:00</updated><title type='text'>High school?! Standardized tests?! NOOOOOO!!</title><content type='html'>I was in Trinkle 204, for some reason, chilling with my roomies. Suddenly I remember that I have to go take a standardized test! Erin and Meredith both go "Emily, you should leave NOW! We all have classes to go to." I'm like "Who will look after my laptop while I'm gone?" A blind guy with a puppy comes in and says that he'll do it.&lt;div&gt;I leave Trinkle and end up in the science hallway of Centennial. I go into the room where I used to take Chemistry, and I ask the person there if this is where I take the test. He looks very confused, but he says yes and hands me a sheet of paper. The paper says "Draw a fish." and has a bunch of different drawings of fish on it. I leave the room.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Erin is out there with Sunshine. She says "Emily, that's not the room where you're taking the test! How on earth did you get lost?!" I'm like "I know, I know!" I go from the science hallway to the English one, into the room that was Wright's room. There's my chem teacher, passing out the standardized test. She glares at me for being late. I give her a paper slip with my name, my year and my major. The room looks almost exactly like the room where I took English, except the wall on the far side of the room that had a wall of boxes that looked like the mailroom. The teacher looks at me like I'm crazy for not knowing this, and tells me to go put this slip in my box, though the slip is supposed to be an index card. I do this.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I look at the other desks in the room, and see that they're all freshmen (in college). This test is taken by freshmen and seniors, I was the only senior who'd signed up for this time. The other students look like they're much younger than college students, maybe freshmen in high school. I'm then told that I need to keep this class occupied while the teacher steps out. I go up to the front of the classroom, the other students look really young now, middle school aged. So I start to tell jokes about the first time I took this test, and quickly run out of material.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-7489866416706784854?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/7489866416706784854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=7489866416706784854' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7489866416706784854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7489866416706784854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/11/high-school-standardized-tests-noooooo.html' title='High school?! Standardized tests?! NOOOOOO!!'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3352270110723150917</id><published>2010-11-04T05:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-04T05:33:13.283-07:00</updated><title type='text'>She uses Vaseline. Also Farscape?</title><content type='html'>Merin (Mer and Erin) and I were getting ready to go somewhere, some kind of carnival I think. I was singing "She Don't Use Jelly" by the Flaming Lips. I told Erin that I like the Ben Folds cover of the song better, and she told me she liked the original. Meredith complained that the lyrics make no sense.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I texted Reece and told him that we were going to this carnival, and that I wish he was here. Suddenly he appeared next to me, in the doorway of the kitchen. He gave me a big hug.&lt;br /&gt;But then I received a text from Reece that read ":( I wish I was too." I kept receiving texts from him. I showed the texts to the Reece that was here, and he was also confused. At least, his face said so. He hadn't actually spoken since arriving, and I hadn't noticed 'til now that that was strange. We determined that this guy was a doppelganger and should not be. I didn't want to destroy him though. I was deciding what to do when I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3352270110723150917?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3352270110723150917/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3352270110723150917' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3352270110723150917'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3352270110723150917'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/11/she-uses-vaseline-also-farscape.html' title='She uses Vaseline. Also Farscape?'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-4379620398563160516</id><published>2010-11-03T05:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-03T05:18:25.883-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A POST!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;FINALLY.&lt;/div&gt;I was complaining through IMs that no one commented on either of my blogs. Then a dragon commented on one of my posts. Another dragon commented on the same post, and there was a flame war between these two. Turned into a literal flame war when they decided to meet in Ball Circle to settle their differences.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-4379620398563160516?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/4379620398563160516/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=4379620398563160516' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4379620398563160516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4379620398563160516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/11/post.html' title='A POST!'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-5858346418126798522</id><published>2010-10-03T05:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-03T05:33:54.454-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another tiny one.</title><content type='html'>Me and Reece were at some kind of harbor markety place, waiting for someone to get off of a cruise ship she'd been on. Reece started smoking, which startled me, and I was like "Dude, you're putting poison into your body." He glared at me and put out the cigarette, then we went to meet whoever we were meeting. I think it was Nicole, actually. When we found her, we discussed the Harry Potter movies. Then Erin came and told me to do the Wii fit.&lt;div&gt;Then Erin banged on my window 'cause she'd been locked out. I responded by turning over and ignoring it, then getting up again when I heard Chibi answer the door.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-5858346418126798522?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/5858346418126798522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=5858346418126798522' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5858346418126798522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5858346418126798522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/10/another-tiny-one.html' title='Another tiny one.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-947911207550811831</id><published>2010-10-01T05:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-01T05:42:49.209-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Too much Brawl, I think.</title><content type='html'>Herr Rotter was teaching a class about anime. I was the only one taking it, but I had Alice help me with my homework. She was jealous of me for being in this class. She kept sending Rotter emails telling him he was doing it wrong, under the pseudonym "Pikachu". After a while Rotter figured out it was Alice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-947911207550811831?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/947911207550811831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=947911207550811831' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/947911207550811831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/947911207550811831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/10/too-much-brawl-i-think.html' title='Too much Brawl, I think.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-856326610914119137</id><published>2010-09-30T05:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-30T05:31:32.735-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Escape from what?</title><content type='html'>I was taking a trip down to see my grandfather along with the rest of the family. Through a series of confusing cell phone calls we all ended up at this hotel for the night. The hotel looked more like a ski lodge, and had no rooms left, so we were stuck sleeping in the dining room. Madeline wasn't with us, so we texted her and asked her where she was. She said she was busy saving whales with Will and couldn't help us escape.&lt;div&gt;Freaking alarm went off before it got really interesting.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-856326610914119137?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/856326610914119137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=856326610914119137' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/856326610914119137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/856326610914119137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/09/escape-from-what.html' title='Escape from what?'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-1439613466398125905</id><published>2010-09-28T05:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-28T05:48:36.872-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The theme is "Magic"</title><content type='html'>I can't remember much, but I had drawn an entry for Iron Avatarist that featured Vaarsuvius magically creating a hat for Haley to wear. Also there were dancing penguins.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-1439613466398125905?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/1439613466398125905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=1439613466398125905' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/1439613466398125905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/1439613466398125905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/09/theme-is-magic.html' title='The theme is &quot;Magic&quot;'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2930438578557250790</id><published>2010-09-27T05:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-27T05:20:32.462-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tests aaaaaagh</title><content type='html'>So I "woke up" and I went to German History, which instead of in Dupont was taking place in a room not unlike the lecture hall in Monroe, but much smaller. I was sitting on the right side of the room, and Jenn was sitting next to me. So it was kind of similar to Anthro in sophomore year.&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It turns out there was some homework that I'd missed. I was supposed to do a reading, and answer some questions. The questions were to be answered in one word. And there was a test on the homework worth 50% of my grade. He went over the homework after checking to see if we'd done it, like we were in high school. Also like in high school, I hadn't done my homework and was ashamed. I listened closely as he went over it, and copied down the answers discreetly. He handed out the test, and I forgot everything he just told us.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So like Arabic.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2930438578557250790?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2930438578557250790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2930438578557250790' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2930438578557250790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2930438578557250790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/09/tests-aaaaaagh.html' title='Tests aaaaaagh'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2485232705521411502</id><published>2010-09-24T05:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-24T05:06:54.575-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I probably got a better grade.</title><content type='html'>I got a C+ on the test I took yesterday, and everyone else did equally poorly. So instead of having class, Niebuhr asked me to bring the Wii to class and any games I could think of. I brought the Wii, but didn't want to embarrass myself playing DDR, and didn't want to take Erin's games without asking (though it's her Wii, and I didn't ask about it.) We played Super Mario.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2485232705521411502?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2485232705521411502/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2485232705521411502' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2485232705521411502'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2485232705521411502'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/09/i-probably-got-better-grade.html' title='I probably got a better grade.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-5662131673245915984</id><published>2010-09-17T05:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-17T05:23:24.585-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Can't sleep.</title><content type='html'>I had trouble sleeping last night, so when I finally dozed off 5 minutes after my alarm rang, my dream was about that.&lt;div&gt;In the dream, I stopped trying to sleep and went out into the kitchen to get a cup of water. When I turned on the faucet, the fire sprinkler on the kitchen ceiling (that is not actually there) went off. My cup was suddenly on the floor directly under the sprinkler, where the heaviest stream was.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was trapped at the sink, so I yelled to Matt to fix this problem. He groaned from the hallway that he'd shown me how to use the faucet last week, but he wasn't expecting that the sprinkler had turned on. He started grumbling about how his fellow students ruin everything when suddenly the fire alarm was activated and we all had to leave.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My alarm rang, I turned over and continued dozing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Once again I left my room and went to the kitchen, but there was a sign blocking my way. The sign looked like the ones from Seacobeck, and it warned me to stay out of the kitchen. One of the sodexho people stepped out of the kitchen to explain to me that the pinhole in our kitchen wall was a doorway to another dimension, and they had to fix it or the people over there would keep spying on us. I should explain here that in the apartment during summer school there was a tack in the kitchen wall plugging up a tiny hole that Mer and I joked was a camera. It is not in this apartment.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I put on my roller blades and went to class. As I was skating home from class I ran into Adrienne and Stephanie. It suddenly started pouring, so we took refuge under the bell tower until it stopped, and discussed our classes. Once it stopped I kept skating back to the apartment, but when I entered the complex I noticed that it was full of horse trailers. My apartment had turned into Moonie's barn, and my mother was there brushing him. She asked me how I got there. I explained that this was where I live, and she explained that the UMW apartments were moved 2 blocks down the street.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-5662131673245915984?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/5662131673245915984/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=5662131673245915984' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5662131673245915984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5662131673245915984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/09/cant-sleep.html' title='Can&apos;t sleep.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-6513599343937542912</id><published>2010-09-15T05:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-15T05:24:42.645-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Prison seems like an overreaction.</title><content type='html'>Allison and I were grocery shopping at Wegmans and talking about classes. I made a bad joke about one of my teachers, and Allison laughed. I turned around and saw that the teacher was in line behind me. She gave me a look, then pressed a button on her cell phone. Police officers came and arrested me and Allison. We were taken to a judge and sentenced to a month in prison. The prison happened to be just around the corner from Wegmans. &lt;div&gt;The prison hallway basically looked like the basement of Randolph, except with doors on both sides and everything was made of concrete. My cell was the last door on the right, Allison's was the first on the left.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went into my cell and was quite surprised to find that it was about as big as my apartment. The walls and floor were the same grimy concrete as the hallway, but I had a queen-sized bed up on a platform, a television, a bookshelf, and a minibar. There was art on the walls. A barred window on the far side of the room led outside, and another on the back wall led to another person's cell. I looked through the window and saw that my neighbor was a dude. His cell was much more standard, 9x9 with a toilet and a bed. He was on a cell phone and wouldn't stop laughing. I asked him why my cell was so fancy, he shrugged his shoulders and ignored me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I looked underneath my bed and saw an ant the size of my big toe. I kept myself from yelling and found something to squish it with. When I did, I heard a loud growling shriek like a jaguar and woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fell back asleep and in the next dream I'd been let out of prison, sort of. I was taken to school in a prisoner carriage pulled by black horses. I had bright red shackles around my wrists. I met Reece at my apartment and he was disappointed because I'd missed most of the time he had to visit me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-6513599343937542912?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/6513599343937542912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=6513599343937542912' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6513599343937542912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6513599343937542912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/09/prison-seems-like-overreaction.html' title='Prison seems like an overreaction.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3241519533411714753</id><published>2010-09-12T06:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-12T10:19:17.613-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey look, I remembered one!</title><content type='html'>Sort of!&lt;div&gt;First, I was walking around campus with Erin. We'd just been at seacobeck and had to-go boxes. Campus was greener and had more hills than it does. It was sort of raining, which was putting me in a bad mood. I told Erin we had to go grocery shopping. Erin said that we didn't, because she went and bought new food yesterday. I threw a fit like a five-year-old, whined that I didn't like any of the food she got, and kicked my to-go box of seaco food off a nearby cliff.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I apologized to Erin and went back to my room, which looked a lot like the room I sleep in at Grandpa's house. I sat on the bed, grabbed a random book and read it. I noticed that the clock said 10:45, and it was time to leave and go to World Religions, but I didn't care and continued reading. I didn't check the time again until 11:15. Around :45 I got kind of worried, 'cause I remembered that this was the second day in a row that I'd skipped RELG101 (not really, but in the dream.) I decided to use the Epilepsy excuse, and headed over to Trinkle to catch the professor. Trinkle was different than it usually is, but I didn't notice it. The ceilings were higher, the walls were whiter and clear of bulletin boards, and the huge windows were trimmed in gold. A large spiral staircase with a blue carpet let straight up to the door to room 204. I vaguely noticed that there usually wasn't a staircase there.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The professor was talking to a bunch of other students. I apologized for skipping, and asked for a summary of what I missed. He gave me a little slip of paper that had all of the readings I was to do on it, and told me to read the syllabus. He asked why I didn't come to class twice, and I said that my Epilepsy was acting up, and I'd had seizures on both days. He didn't buy it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I woke up before I had to think of a different excuse.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next dream, the actor who played Chewbacca had been murdered, and we had to follow clues hidden in the Expanded Universe books to find his body. It was in George Lucas's basement.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3241519533411714753?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3241519533411714753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3241519533411714753' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3241519533411714753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3241519533411714753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/09/hey-look-i-remembered-one.html' title='Hey look, I remembered one!'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2503509120296946653</id><published>2010-08-28T07:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-28T07:14:20.886-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A second cyrus. THE HORROR!</title><content type='html'>A second African Grey snuck into our house like a deck toad. He started stomping around the floor while I was at the computer, and I got annoyed because I thought it was Cyrus. Then I realized that another parrot was stomping around in the living room. Since they were both African Greys, which all look exactly alike, I was confused about which was which. I spoke to the one in the kitchen, and he started spouting intelligible English. I spoke to the one in the living room and he went "Ooo! 4, 5, sssss" so I took that one and put him in his cage. The other one I had to find the owner for. I found its owner, but they were an evil cult that wanted to use the parrot in a ritual sacrifice. I had to save it, so I did. I didn't know what to do with him though. I'm pretty sure Erin O'Neal was involved in the solution.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2503509120296946653?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2503509120296946653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2503509120296946653' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2503509120296946653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2503509120296946653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/08/second-cyrus-horror.html' title='A second cyrus. THE HORROR!'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-368730226240464233</id><published>2010-08-18T06:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-18T07:15:33.127-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ick.</title><content type='html'>First dream, I was outside the L.L. Bean side of the Columbia mall, except instead of restaurants and Macys and a parking garage on the one side there was this river. And where the parking lot begins was the shore of a large body of water. And where the fountain is was instead a small wooden building that looked like an information stand but was in fact a pizza place. Reece and Meredith and Erin were in there.&lt;div&gt;I was walking along the outside of the building, looking at the water, when someone grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the mall. I shouted, nobody noticed. He went through a door I didn't know existed and up a staircase and into a small room that looked sort of like the reception area of an office. Except instead of chairs and a desk there were 2 rows of little cots. To each cot was handcuffed a child, their ages ranged between 8 and 13. Some of them had been visibly beaten. The man, who identified himself as "Chester" (of course), handcuffed me to a larger bed. I said to him "I think I'm a little old for you." He sneered and left. &lt;div&gt;I talked to one of the kids, who basically told me the obvious, that this guy was horrible to them. I gained super strength or something, because suddenly handcuffs weren't a problem. I escaped from the room and ran down the hallway. I must have passed Chester, because he started chasing me and yelling at and threatening me with a gun. I ignored the weapon and called 911. I was having trouble with my phone, it kept autodialing the numbers in my phone that began with 9 before I could press the other two digits. I ran out of the mall and around to the pizza place, with the guy right behind me.  I finally reached the police and told them a kidnapper/sex offender was imprisoning kids in an office above the mall, oh and he's threatening me with a gun, could you please come out here. They said they'd be out there as soon as possible, and if I stopped being in danger could I please meet an officer at the front door of the mall at 4:00? I said yes and hung up. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;During the call I'd been running around the pizza place in circles, and as I finished I ran inside and barricaded the door. It was ok, a friend owned the place. Chester couldn't get in.  I went over to the table where my friends sat, and they understandably freaked out. I also told GITP chat, earning me worried emoticons from Trog.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As we sat there it started pouring out. Chester had left the premises, but I knew he'd gone back inside to his room. I looked outside to the door of the mall, and when 4:00 rolled around a female police officer wearing a raincoat appeared. Meredith and Erin prodded me into going out there, but the only clothes I had were not rain appropriate, and I had to change my shoes to something more waterproof before I could go out. Erin looked outside and told me that if I didn't hurry the police would leave and think I'd pranked them. So I braved the storm for 10 feet and met with the officer. She was older than I thought, her hair was grey. I took her to the secret door and she took some spontaneously-appearing minion cops up, arrested Chester, and freed all of the kids.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next dream.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Erin and Meredith and I were trapped in our dorm rooms at the bottom of the ocean, so we had a conversation about music we used to like as children while drawing on t-shirts from the craft store with glitter pens. Erin was drawing these magnificent pictures of mermaids and submarines, I was drawing things I'd doodle during class. She drew a complicated underwater scene that turned out to be the key to our escape from this place, but I didn't stay asleep long enough to find out how.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-368730226240464233?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/368730226240464233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=368730226240464233' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/368730226240464233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/368730226240464233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/08/ick.html' title='Ick.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-517923006186486260</id><published>2010-08-17T06:24:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-17T06:42:29.252-07:00</updated><title type='text'>School is on my mind, I think.</title><content type='html'>It was exam day, and I was doing a lot of running in the hallways to get to my classes. The classrooms looked like the rooms in Centennial, but the hallways looked more like the basement of Chandler.&lt;div&gt;I had a two part exam to turn in to Alan Rickman (who made it clear to us that he was NOT professor Snape, when I pointed out that the name on his office door was Snape he gave me detention), the first part of which was due at 8:00 AM. It was a multiple choice exam. When we were done we were to tack the scantrons to the corkboard on the left side of the room, then return at noon to turn in the essay portion of this exam.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The "essay" part was 2 questions. The first task was to write down everything I knew about Satyrs. I wrote that they were half-goat half-men, but that was all I could remember. I went down the hall to the library. The library was huge, like one you'd see in a cartoon, with bookshelves going up to the extremely high ceiling. I went to the mythology section. The librarian who was helping people was the alien scientist guy from Titan A.E. He was very eager to help, and got me a book about Satyrs. It was a children's encyclopedia. I revised my essay to note that they were depicted with wreaths of ivy around their heads, and that they were companions of Pan and Dionysus. Also that they were half-goats in Roman tradition, but in the Greek tradition they had horse tails.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The second question was an arithmetic exercise. I had to add together a pageful of numbers and divide them by 153. I don't remember the answer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had another exam with a different teacher between Rickman's first and second exams. This exam took place in the bio 101 lab in Jepson. I had to write a brief essay about a music video that was playing on a loop at the front of the classroom. It was a Die Aerzte song I'd never heard, and I found that exciting. Also for some reason Hugh Laurie was in the video. I noticed that the lyrics were clues to a mystery that I had to solve in order to save my family. But first I had to run over to Chandler to give Snape his essay. But Rickman was busy with other students, and wouldn't accept my paper. I was running out of time to help my family, so I tacked it on top of my multiple choice exam and left, hoping it counted.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I woke up before the mystery could be solved.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-517923006186486260?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/517923006186486260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=517923006186486260' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/517923006186486260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/517923006186486260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/08/school-is-on-my-mind-i-think.html' title='School is on my mind, I think.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-4783390634868628274</id><published>2010-08-16T06:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-16T06:38:24.981-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Me?? Unreasonable? Gluttonous? That's pretty far-fetched!</title><content type='html'>So, Erin and Meredith and I had finished moving into our rooms. I invited Sunshine over, and Matt, and we were going to order pizza. Meredith insisted on inviting Titus, who brought over 7 of his closest friends. This of course annoyed me to no end, and I told Meredith that I wasn't going to pay for the pizza they ordered. Meredith got mad at me and asked me why I wouldn't be social. I explained that not only did I not invite them, I'd invited Titus, but also that my money wouldn't go that far. In a cartoonish display of childish petulance, we each crossed our arms and sat at opposite ends of the room (for we were living in the same room) facing the wall, with &gt;8( looks on our faces.&lt;div&gt;Then Reece shows up, and we have to go grocery shopping because we had nothing for breakfast! So we walked up to the Giant. I went to the bread section for bagels, but stopped at the cheap-baked-goods cart to see if they had any muffins. Reece said "Why are you looking for muffins? That is why you hate yourself." I said "I thought you might like some, silly!" But they only had chocolate chip muffins, so we dismissed them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We went around the corner, where the shelves of bread are in the F-burg Giant, and found instead the kitchen in Bushnell. Reece disappeared to go somewhere. Erin said she was making pancakes. I asked her if she could leave the stuff out so I could make some when she was finished. She refused, because apparently I'm super-unreasonable and picky when it comes to pancakes. I shrugged and glanced at the recipe, thinking I would make them anyway, even if she washed all the dishes first. Erin got annoyed with me and ordered me out of the kitchen. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Around the corner I was back in the Giant. I ran into Meredith, and asked her if it was true that I was unreasonable about pancakes. She said it was, but wouldn't explain how so. I was confused. Erin appeared again and explained that I can't have pancakes because I haven't finished my muffin. I looked at my hand and realized it had a half-eaten muffin in it, but I hadn't bought one, and I didn't remember eating half of it, but Erin and Meredith objected to my apparent gluttony and wouldn't let me have pancakes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I turned around and suddenly we were in the apartment and not the Giant. I was still hungry because I hadn't had a muffin, dangit, so I put on my robe (for I was still in my PJs) and went to Seaco for breakfast. They had pancakes there. Then I left and went to my first class, in Goolrick. I don't remember the class itself, but I had a class right after it in the sub-basement of Dupont. The opposite end of campus from the apartment. I had 10 minutes to get there, and I had to run, but I suddenly noticed that I was still wearing my pajamas! I couldn't go to class like that! So I ran back to the apartment. I passed Meredith while waiting for the William Street light to turn green, and she laughed at my situation.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-4783390634868628274?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/4783390634868628274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=4783390634868628274' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4783390634868628274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4783390634868628274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/08/me-unreasonable-gluttonous-thats-pretty.html' title='Me?? Unreasonable? Gluttonous? That&apos;s pretty far-fetched!'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2089541676961689034</id><published>2010-08-12T05:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-12T06:05:46.175-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Part Lucifer, part Lasciel. And a grave made of candy.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;First dream, I woke up, went downstairs and got online, much as I have done this morning. I started getting messages from these people who said they were angels. One was trying to convince me to be evil, one was trying to convince me to be good, and one was just trying to help me do whatever. I couldn't tell which was which. I blocked them all and got off the computer. As I was watering the plants and doing other morning chores, I started to hear voices and laughter in my head. They were bickering. I rolled my eyes and ignored all of them. I went inside and started making a sandwich for breakfast, when the bad guy from last night's episode of Psych starts talking to me. I can't hear him, because the "angels" in my head were trying to instruct me on how to make a sandwich according to Good, Evil and True Neutral instructions. All of them involved bloodshed somehow.&lt;/div&gt;Next dream. I had to research a person for a class. His name was... Anthony something, and he was Jewish, but that's all I knew about him before I started researching. I went to the UMW library, which had changed a little. The computers by the reference area  had been moved so that instead of the wall protecting the staircase, there were more bookshelves. I walked past the first bookshelf and found myself in a graveyard. I began looking for Anthony's grave. I figured that it would have a star of David on it, so I was looking for that. I saw a classmate looking for her person's grave. She picked one up that was shaped like the Star of David and lugged it back to the computers, which I could see from the graveyard. I gave up and went back to the computers to try Googling the guy. A search on Anthony brought me absolutely nothing. I did some skillful searching on the library website and found one book featuring the guy's name. I got the book from the shelves and looked through it. I couldn't find his name in the book until the last few pages. There was a page of Garfield comics, and the last comic on the page had Garfield talking about Anthony and his pet fish. I went back to Google and searched for that, and found that Anthony was not at all noteworthy for being Jewish during the second world war, as I'd supposed, but for a highly publicized incident involving his pet goldfish that would have won him a Darwin-award. I went back to the graveyard to find his tombstone, and just a few rows up from the computers I found his name on a grave made of candy. I brought it back to present to the class. We were all very confused.&lt;div&gt;Then I went back to the apartment and woke Erin up, because she'd been asleep. I told her I'd used one of my meals at Seacobeck. She was happy because she could make a sandwich for breakfast.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2089541676961689034?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2089541676961689034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2089541676961689034' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2089541676961689034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2089541676961689034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/08/part-lucifer-part-lasciel-and-grave.html' title='Part Lucifer, part Lasciel. And a grave made of candy.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2496487600712946867</id><published>2010-08-09T05:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-09T05:14:47.072-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My feet got pretty dusty at the fair yesterday.</title><content type='html'>I had to go to the Giant to get cake mix. I had to take off my shoes to go into the store or I'd wake up the puppies. See, the store was filled with sleeping puppies instead of groceries. So I traversed the Giant shoelessly and got some chocolate cake mix. My father had driven me there in his volvo, but he had to leave. He left the car right outside the door of the giant so I'd have it. I got in the car, but I'd never driven a stick before. The seat was too low and too close to the wheel, and the pedals were about the size of piano keys. There were cars behind me honking. I tried to adjust my seat and remove my shoes so I could hit the pedals with my toes. My feet were covered in dust from the store and kept sliding off the pedals anyway. An old woman came up to the window of my car and asked me if I needed help. I said I didn't, though at this point there were tears in my eyes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2496487600712946867?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2496487600712946867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2496487600712946867' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2496487600712946867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2496487600712946867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-feet-got-pretty-dusty-at-fair.html' title='My feet got pretty dusty at the fair yesterday.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-4624038454151310561</id><published>2010-08-06T05:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-06T05:30:46.045-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Telekinetic.</title><content type='html'>The school decided that instead of apartments they were going to move us all into treehouses. To get to one house to the other we had to swing on ropes. We were distressed because we couldn't play DDR in these houses because the floor was too delicate. I swung over to Alice's room to discuss this. On the way back to our room I found a metal door. I thought this was odd, and went through. There was this huge, dark room filled with computers. And it was AIR CONDITIONED. I thought this was just spectacular. I went up to the only people in the room. They were all mad scientists, and they asked me if I wanted to help them create devices that would allow one to control objects with one's mind. In return I would be allowed to have AC in my treehouse room. But I couldn't tell anyone about it.&lt;div&gt;This of course caused everyone to hate my secretiveness and envy my air conditioning. I told Erin and Meredith about it, and they were both unimpressed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-4624038454151310561?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/4624038454151310561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=4624038454151310561' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4624038454151310561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4624038454151310561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/08/telekinetic.html' title='Telekinetic.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-6282847608870763552</id><published>2010-08-03T05:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-03T05:57:45.927-07:00</updated><title type='text'>As I type this, my desire for breakfast increases.</title><content type='html'>There was a girl haunting a park I was at. The playground equipment was incredibly high up, and she'd fallen to her death. The girl's voice taunted me until I saved a bunch of people from the same fate. I went to talk to her. I was the only one who could hear her, so my family thought I was crazy. I missed breakfast with my family because I was talking to her, but then I went out to lunch with friends.&lt;div&gt;It was Mel, David, Sheckells and I at the Spotsylvania mall. We wanted to get lunch. Sheckells insisted on ordering pizzas, 4 of them. I pointed out that there was a pizza hut right there in the mall, so there was no reason to call them, but Sheckells did anyway. We waited at the counter for our pizzas, but they were taking too long, so we jumped over the counter and went back into the kitchen. The kitchen looked kind of like the bio labs in Jepson, except there was an oven, and every table had at least 5 pre-made pizzas on it. These pizzas were all square and flat crusted, not what we wanted. The people in the kitchen were pretty mad at us for being back there, but since we'd called ahead they couldn't kick us out. I complained at them until they made us some proper round pizzas like the ones on the sign outside.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-6282847608870763552?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/6282847608870763552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=6282847608870763552' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6282847608870763552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6282847608870763552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/08/as-i-type-this-my-desire-for-breakfast.html' title='As I type this, my desire for breakfast increases.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2546372536742712525</id><published>2010-07-30T05:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-30T05:50:26.272-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pirates of the Caribbean meets... I dunno.</title><content type='html'>I was walking from Seacobeck to my last class with Meredith and Sunshine. None of us were wearing shoes, which I found strange. I got to Combs, and had to use the restroom, but instead of the restroom there were a bunch of hospital rooms with toilets and beds in them and no doors. I walked through a maze of them until I found an empty one.&lt;div&gt;I checked my watch. I was afraid that I was late to class, but then I remembered that it didn't start until 10:15. The class that was being taught in there right now seemed to be an art class.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got a phone call from my sister. I had to go grocery shopping. I told her I had a final exam, but she said that this was more important and I should meet her at the Giant (the one in EC, not in F-burg). I did. The aisles seemed impossibly huge, and filled will all kinds of stuff I'd never heard of.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We came across my father playing some kind of cornhole-type game, but with large golden chess pieces. Apparently he was on a business trip that turned out to be the best business trip ever.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then we went to the park. Well, a park anyway, it didn't look much like Centennial park except there was a lake. We met Kenan Thompson there. I fell into the water. I got too far underwater to get back out but I could breathe just fine. I found out that I had to stay in the lake for the next 10 years. I could come out of the water once a year, but I wouldn't be free unless during that time I pulled someone else into the water.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When a year passed and I could come out again, I noticed that my belongings would wash up onto the shore before I could get out. When I finally climbed out of the water onto a bank, I found some UMW freshmen messing with my wallet. Meredith was there, and I told her what happened. I pushed one of the freshmen into the water so I'd be free. A year later I went back to that spot, which was on the UMW campus, you know, the part where there's a lake. The chick I'd pushed in came out of the water, I found her UMW ID card. She'd apparently gone a little loopy while alone under there, because she stared at everyone for the first 5 minutes of her hour-long stay on shore, and then she started threatening everyone. I rolled my eyes at her and muttered to Meredith that I'd managed it so much better than she had. Kenan Thompson reappeared when she was being pulled back in, and the girl pulled him under the water to take her place.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2546372536742712525?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2546372536742712525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2546372536742712525' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2546372536742712525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2546372536742712525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/07/pirates-of-caribbean-meets-i-dunno.html' title='Pirates of the Caribbean meets... I dunno.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-8115676012421453493</id><published>2010-07-28T06:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-28T06:35:03.213-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Linguistics</title><content type='html'>I'm sure there was more to it than this. I was on a field trip to a hardware store. I had to buy a flashlight.&lt;br /&gt;Then I had to do an assignment for linguistics, I had to read an article about language and report on it. There were 2 choices, one about how eating curry results in better language skills, and one about how building architecture is related to body language. I was partnered with this fellow who was way too chipper.&lt;div&gt;Then the phone freaking rang and I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-8115676012421453493?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/8115676012421453493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=8115676012421453493' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8115676012421453493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8115676012421453493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/07/linguistics.html' title='Linguistics'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2240553911960302242</id><published>2010-07-27T05:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-27T06:10:43.718-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I've only been on this diet one day. Bad sign.</title><content type='html'>I was tired of dieting, so I got a bunch of friends to break into a grocery store at night with me and steal a bunch of candy. It was ok, the manager was fine with it. Except he'd switched up everything in the aisles and poisoned some of the bags of candy. He was standing there cackling evilly when we entered.&lt;div&gt;In one of the aisles I found a baby snake. I picked him up to take him back to his home. It was a car ride to a lake, and in the middle of the lake was a house where the snake lived. I remembered a story that said a snake would refuse to go home if you took him there in a boat. So I got an inflatable raft instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;On the drive back I asked my parents if we could get fast food. They said no because we were on a diet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then my father woke me up to check if my windows were closed because he had to turn the AC on. They were. I went back to sleep.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There was some sort of Halloween celebration at centennial. There were shows, and everyone was in costumes. I forgot to wear one, so I picked up some fake vampire fangs. I was introduced to some people. My antisocial behavior started to tick them off. Then I found out they were the children of the guys in the band that was playing. In an attempt to get me to participate I was invited to go on stage and sing songs by The Offspring, and I did. Then I left.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had to walk home, but it was Centennial, so it was no big deal. Just a few minutes into the walk, a Mexican guy in a convertible drove by and offered me a ride. I said no thanks. He asked me to call 9-1-1 because he'd broken his arm and needed an ambulance. I did. I told the operator where I was. I told her I was on century drive by Centennial High School, but she said they could tell from my cellphone that I was somewhere else. I looked around and noticed I was on a dirt path at the top of a hill. The guy in his car was nowhere in sight. A wooden sign at the side of the road said I was on the street she said I was on (I don't remember the name). It was still a close enough walk to my house from there. The woman pointed that out and reprimanded me for not starting from farther away, because I could use the exercise. She ignored my explanation that I was walking from Centennial High School and told me to use a more roundabout route next time to get more distance.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;THEN, I walked down this dirt path and found myself near a pool. I went into the locker room, which was all wood paneling like a sauna. I started looking for a bathing suit to wear and found some of Madeline's, and some that came nowhere near fitting me. Then my mother came in with the kids I'd met at the concert and yelled at me for being antisocial AND for not having a bathing suit when I knew I'd be going to the pool (I didn't, btw).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2240553911960302242?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2240553911960302242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2240553911960302242' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2240553911960302242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2240553911960302242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/07/ive-only-been-on-this-diet-one-day-bad.html' title='I&apos;ve only been on this diet one day. Bad sign.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-51088320036057191</id><published>2010-07-18T07:33:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-18T07:37:29.743-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Once again, bits and pieces.</title><content type='html'>There was some kind of cookout going on. It was a huge party, there were 5 grills going at once. I was hanging around, listening to my ipod, when I accidentally tripped over the wrong cord or something. A sprinkler turned on, a giant one that went up about 20 feet, and it doused my father's grill. He got really mad, so I made myself scarce.&lt;div&gt;Then I had a choice between hiding in my room and playing my gameboy, or going to a children's talent show. The talent show featured a bunch of kids from St. Peter's, so Kirk and MM were there. It also had the advantage of being right before a screening of the latest Pixar movie. However, I didn't want to sit through it, so I asked MM to call me before the Pixar movie began. My mother, and Meredith, who was suddenly there, got mad at me for being antisocial.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-51088320036057191?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/51088320036057191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=51088320036057191' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/51088320036057191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/51088320036057191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/07/once-again-bits-and-pieces.html' title='Once again, bits and pieces.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-1904958765489875438</id><published>2010-07-17T09:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-17T09:54:52.455-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I was competing in some sort of contest with some kids who were younger than me. Oh right, it was a race through an obstacle course. We had to dive off of one precipice into the ocean, swim to a pirate ship, sail the ship over to a different cliff, climb it, and finally fight a lightsaber battle. I won.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I went  on a cruise ship with Mer, Erin and Reece. While on this ship I had to give my final presentation with visual aids. I hadn't prepared a powerpoint, so I grabbed Meredith's purse, rifled through it and found some nailpolish and nailpolish remover. I did my presentation on how to polish one's nails. My audience was bored out of their skulls, so after I was done I went to the computer and through together a quick powerpoint about the Dresden Files, and gave that as a presentation instead.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I went back to the cruise part and hung out with Reece next to a pool.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-1904958765489875438?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/1904958765489875438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=1904958765489875438' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/1904958765489875438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/1904958765489875438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/07/i-was-competing-in-some-sort-of-contest.html' title=''/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-8966426732130445062</id><published>2010-07-16T07:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-16T07:08:48.800-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm such a responsible babysitter.</title><content type='html'>I was on a walk, and I passed a shrubbery. On top of the bush was a baby bird who was crying. I took it home and nursed it to health and put it in a jeweled cage locked with a teeny tiny key that I kept on a rainbow keyring the size of my pinky nail. A bit passed and the bird wanted out, so I gave it the key and it unlocked the door and went out. &lt;div&gt;Then I was babysitting at this house, and I took the kids out to go shopping, and there was a shop full of pillows and I went in to take a nap. The kids went to the toy store across the way. When I woke up, I had no idea where they'd gone. So I went looking for them, and came across my parents who told me that the bird had escaped and I was like "No, I let it go" and they were like "WHAT?!" They demanded that I give them the keyring, so I did. Then I continued looking for the children. I ran across the plot of Toy Story 3, and learned about Lotso's past. Moving on, I found a sandwich shop and ordered a BLT. I was followed shortly by my parents who mentioned that they'd been here earlier and never received their order. The chick behind the counter explained that that was because they ordered something not on the menu.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-8966426732130445062?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/8966426732130445062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=8966426732130445062' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8966426732130445062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8966426732130445062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/07/im-such-responsible-babysitter.html' title='I&apos;m such a responsible babysitter.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2727906551318453228</id><published>2010-07-13T04:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-13T04:28:12.807-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I need new hair ties.</title><content type='html'>I was in a gift shop looking for some hair ties. The only ones I could find were are glittery, or had skulls on them. I picked some glittery ones, but before I could buy them my mother came in and told me it was time to go. Outside the shop was a cobblestoned street, it looked kind of like the Fussgangerzone. We went across the street to a restaurant to meet my dad and sister. Then we got in the car and went on a trip somewhere, we passed a large lake but that's all I remember. I was texting Reece as we drove, and Mom got really angry at me. My sister told me not to stress out about it, but Mom was pregnant. Then I was freaked out. First I thought "That's impossible." Then I though "Wait, why is she keeping it a secret?" Eventually I found out Madeline was yanking my chain, and I was so annoyed that I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2727906551318453228?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2727906551318453228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2727906551318453228' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2727906551318453228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2727906551318453228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/07/i-need-new-hair-ties.html' title='I need new hair ties.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-5502220538688405136</id><published>2010-07-08T03:47:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-08T03:47:44.134-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A vampiric statue.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I missed giving my presentation today because not only did I find myself turning to stone like Amy in that Doctor Who episode, but I'd also been bitten by a Red Court Vampire. I was also visiting with family, who seemed to not really care about my condition. The Ballards were there, too. We went out for pizza.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got on a train to Fredericksburg. There I coincidentally met my public speaking professor. I explained to him what was happening to me, showed him my stone arm and the cut on my finger where the Rampire had bit me (which was somehow able to half-turn me?). He was not at all sympathetic to my plight, and told me I could not make up the speech. I went and visited other public speaking classes and asked those teachers whether they would have let me make up the speech. Some said yes, some said no. In one class, a girl ran from the sight of me. In another, a boy had a cut on his leg and I was unpleasantly overcome with a desire to bite him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went back on the train to talk to my professor. He then said I could make up the speech if I could get off the train. The train was going really slowly, he jumped off and started walking beside it. But I was already half-way turned to stone and couldn't jump off the train.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think I don't want to give this speech.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-5502220538688405136?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/5502220538688405136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=5502220538688405136' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5502220538688405136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5502220538688405136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/07/vampiric-statue.html' title='A vampiric statue.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-5976585116886361208</id><published>2010-07-06T05:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-06T05:15:16.742-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Public speaking.</title><content type='html'>First, in the dream, I almost slept through my public speaking class. I only woke up when someone banged on my door, a guy who I knew in the dream but I don't think exists in real life. He was short, and had black hair. I panicked and texted my professor. He didn't have my number, so didn't know who I was, and I forgot to sign the text message. He addressed me by a few playgrounder names that weren't mine. I told him I was sorry for sleeping through class yesterday and that it wouldn't happen again. He reminded me that I didn't have class yesterday.&lt;div&gt;It was raining heavily outside, and I didn't think I had time to walk to class. The guy who'd woken me up gave me one of those candles from the movie Stardust, and I wished myself into Combs. I landed in the stairwell between the first floor and the basement. It was as black as night outside.&lt;div&gt;I went up the stairs to the classroom. I went in, and asked the professor whether I had a good topic for the persuasive speech. He just looked at me and told me I couldn't use visual aids. Then he started writing anagrams on the whiteboard, and I left the room.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I was playing soccer with some African guys, except instead of a soccer ball we were using 3 pingpong balls, so the only resemblance between the game and soccer was that there were two goals, and only the goalie could us their hands.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I went to dinner at Seacobeck with my family from this past weekend.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-5976585116886361208?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/5976585116886361208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=5976585116886361208' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5976585116886361208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5976585116886361208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/07/public-speaking.html' title='Public speaking.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-5436441592867663228</id><published>2010-07-01T05:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-01T05:33:00.433-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Have I had this dream before? It seemed familiar at the time.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;So, I was trapped in this room with my family. We and some other people had been imprisoned by a mobster. A mob boss, actually, and my brain kept calling him Johnny Marcone, but his disregard for civilian life made me think otherwise. No one ever referred to him by name. So we had to escape. The room we were in had these big display windows, and smaller windows along the bottom of the wall. The big windows had alarms on them, but the smaller ones didn't. There was a table pushed up against the wall in a corner, so I went underneath it and broke one of the small windows so that the glass would be hidden by the tablecloth. The window opened onto a small grassy space which sloped down into to a forest. I snuck around the building and started running through the streets of this random town. The building my family was trapped in was tall, and castle-like. The streets of this town were cobblestoned. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I ran into some guys I thought were cops, but they were security guards, and they worked for the mob. They took me back to the castle, and not-Marcone gave me a lecture about sneaking out, said something like he was keeping us there for our own safety. Then he locked us in a different room. This room had a blue, plasticky carpet, like the kind used in classrooms. There was a clock in the corner, a standard wall clock leaning up against the wall, ticking loudly. My mom was acting like it was a big deal that we kept this clock unbroken. There were windows on one wall, this time high up and unreachable, and perpendicular to that wall was a door on rails, like my closet door at home. I tried to open the door, but there was someone outside, a woman wearing sunglasses and a blond ponytail, and she started shooting at me. The bullets went past me and hit the clock my  mother'd been trying to keep whole. Not-Marcone came in again and said he'd kill one of us if we broke something else.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He left, and I suddenly noticed that on one table there was a bunch of craft supplies. I started drawing with glitter pens. Then I looked up and saw that one of the corners of the room wasn't actually a corner, and that behind a section of the wall there was an elevator. I smacked my palm to my forehead, and felt silly for not realizing that we'd been in Melchers this whole time. Of course! I went to the elevator and found Meredith in there. I said "Thank goodness, you can lead us out of this confusing place!" Meredith took the elevator up to the painting studio at the top of the building, but opened it on the 2nd floor where the drawing studio is first, and pushed me out. There were a few bodyguards of not-Marcone in the hallway. Not-Marcone appeared behind them. I cursed Meredith for betraying me. Not-Marcone locked me in a tiny, windowless room by myself and warned that if I tried to escape he'd shoot Gregory. Madeline appeared out of the ceiling and told me that that was the lamest threat ever. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-5436441592867663228?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/5436441592867663228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=5436441592867663228' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5436441592867663228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5436441592867663228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/07/have-i-had-this-dream-before-it-seemed.html' title='Have I had this dream before? It seemed familiar at the time.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-7262882479417404300</id><published>2010-06-26T07:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-26T07:27:04.820-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Video game-ish</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I was walking Ralph around the neighborhood. I walked him up Century Drive to Centennial Lane without realizing that he didn't even have his leash on him. There was no sidewalk, and Centennial Lane looked like Jefferson Davis Highway, so we were going to have to be super careful. On the corner of Century and Centennial, instead of that large wooden sign with Century on it, there was a really steep grassy hill, with a house on top of it. "Mound" would be a better word than "hill". It was very smooth and round, and the grass on it was very green. Some guy, an old man, came down the hill holding a yellow leash with black and white paw prints on it and offered it to me. I accepted, and he walked with me some of the way, asking me if I was back from school, what my major was, etc. We had to walk single file next to the road, there was no sidewalk and the ground on the other side of the curb was outrageously steep. I was walking faster than he was, and was a few feet ahead of him. He said something about the road we were walking on. I didn't hear him because of the traffic, so I asked him to repeat. He said something like "you young people never listen!" and disappeared. I was concerned because I still had the leash he had lent me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The hill on the side of the road suddenly turned flat, and the houses were now on level with the street. I turned onto a little road to get off of the highway. There was a blue fence with a hole in it next to the first part of this path, and Ralph went right through the hole in the fence. I followed him into a backyard that looked similar to ours, but the house was very different. Ralph bounded right up the deck and went inside. I was slightly horrified and went after him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The room we went into looked like the front room of our house, with all of the old lady furniture. There were some ladies in there with other dogs.  Ralph greeted the dogs, the women offered me tea. I noticed that all of the other dogs had eyepatches. Ralph had an eyepatch too. He was also limping a little, so I looked at his feet. One of them had a ridiculously huge splinter in it, probably from bounding up the deck, so I removed it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then the world sort of reset, like this was a game and someone had turned the console off and on again without saving.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was back at my house, and decided to walk the dog. Mom went with me this time. The first part of the dream, up to the old man's disappearance, happened again in fast forward, because I knew what I was doing this time. Like it was a game. I listened to what the man said about the road this time, but I can't remember what he said now. But then the road turned into a tube, a tube with an open top like a halfpipe. It was on an incline, and it twisted and turned like a waterslide. Instead of water, it was filled with mud, and it was about as wide as Centennial Lane. We all slid down this thing on our feet, we had to take our shoes off. Ralph was ok, amazingly, but Madeline (who was there now) fell down several times. At the end of the pipe, it turned into a video game. This time I was playing it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There were train tracks, and I had to line them up correctly, and fit cars together, as they sped by. And if I pressed the wrong combination of buttons the tracks would fall away completely and there would be a horrible crash. All of this was happening in front of me, with real trains, but I was controlling it. Certain cars would win you points and such. Then a little while later, instead of a car I got an L-shaped tetris piece, and was very confused. The track fell away, and then I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-7262882479417404300?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/7262882479417404300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=7262882479417404300' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7262882479417404300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/7262882479417404300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/06/video-game-ish.html' title='Video game-ish'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-5858675138954686528</id><published>2010-06-21T12:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T12:18:54.927-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A trippy dream while napping.</title><content type='html'>I took an afternoon nap from 1:00 to 3:00. I woke up around 2:25 and tried to force myself back awake, but I decided I could sleep the full two hours, because after all, Meredith wouldn't come back til 3 anyway. So I fell back asleep, like a log. I hadn't slept well the night before.&lt;br /&gt;Then I had a funky dream. You can tell, because I'm here.&lt;br /&gt;In my dream, I forced myself up, and walked groggily to the kitchen for something cold and caffeinated to wake me up. In the hallway, I began to fall asleep again, and fell to the floor. I couldn't get myself back up. I tried to move, and found it impossible. I thought it might be some kind of weird seizure.&lt;br /&gt;But then I "woke up" again. Once again, I forced myself up, this time heading over to my computer. I stopped at the desk chair, and had to hold it to keep from falling to the floor again. Then suddenly I was standing next to my bed, looking at the space between my bedside table and my bed, wondering why it didn't look like the floor. It turned sideways, the room sort of melted and I realized I was still lying down on my bed, and the reason the floor hadn't looked like the floor was because I'd actually been awake for a while and was looking at the wall on the opposite side of the room. This revelation caused me to wake up for real, and get myself out of bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-5858675138954686528?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/5858675138954686528/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=5858675138954686528' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5858675138954686528'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5858675138954686528'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/06/trippy-dream-while-napping.html' title='A trippy dream while napping.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3408030789407978472</id><published>2010-06-19T05:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-19T05:29:05.811-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not as friendly as Kevin.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;First, Meredith had befriended this giant Kevin-like bird. He was frightened of me, and convinced that I would hurt Meredith, so he attacked me every chance he got. Luckily for me he couldn't fly, so I was able to save myself by sitting at the top of a pit while he ran around at the bottom.&lt;/div&gt;I was preparing to go to the party today, but suddenly there was a scheduling conflict, as Meredith was performing in a play at 1:00. So I got excited about that, I'd get to put on a dress and everything, but then I told my mother about that and she was very frustrated, because I would have no way to get to the party. Something was arranged so that Madeline would pick me up when the play was completed, oder was, and I went to see Meredith. But the entire performance was just this one guy sitting on a stool with a guitar. He wasn't playing the guitar or anything, he was just talking to the audience. He started talking to me about my epilepsy. I noticed that he was missing half of his face. I felt incredibly awkward, and overdressed for this occasion.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3408030789407978472?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3408030789407978472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3408030789407978472' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3408030789407978472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3408030789407978472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/06/not-as-friendly-as-kevin.html' title='Not as friendly as Kevin.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-3038031928720562396</id><published>2010-06-18T05:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-18T06:13:05.685-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Art class on my mind.</title><content type='html'>So, I was on a field trip with Di Bella and my art class. We were going to New Jersey. Or so I was told, we didn't actually go to New Jersey, we went to a theme park, and rode on a roller coaster. Then we went back to the bus. We started driving through this city, we were stopped by slow traffic. I saw Mel outside, and she saw me, and waved frantically to get me to come outside. Luckily the bus stopped shortly, and I walked over to where I saw Mel, outside this spooky old house. Mel was trying to find some people, and some other people were after her, but she didn't know who. We were looking through the house, and we passed a rack of clothing. I started looking through the clothes and found a key in the pocket of a shirt. There was a guy who'd been helping us, but he just laughed and told me the key was poisoned and I was going to die a slow and painful death just by touching it. He opened a door behind him and let in some bad guys. I grabbed Mel and we ran towards the other side of the room we were in. The only other exit was a window. The window had a lock on it that the key probably fit. My steps started faltering before I could get to the window as the poison started working. Then this random dog that had been helping us took the key in its mouth and unlocked the window for us. Then the dog disappeared. Mel was also nowhere to be found. &lt;div&gt;I jumped out the window, expecting to fall at least a story, but I landed on my feet in a sort of dingy basement room. The rest of my art class was there, at long tables like the ones in Melchers, and they were drawing. I started drawing what had happened to me, and Di Bella came over and told me that it wasn't 3D enough and I could fix it by doing X, Y, and Z.&lt;div&gt;THEN, Meredith came by and we left together. My parents were going to take us out to dinner at Chipotle. I dragged Meredith to Joann's Crafts so we could apply for jobs. I talked to a few employees until I found the hiring manager and asked her whether they'd seen my previous application. They said they'd be happy to hire me, but they didn't have a position for two people. Meredith said she didn't need a job. She was kind of angry at me for dragging her, because she didn't live here anyway, of course she couldn't work here.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At some point Mer and I got back on the bus with Di Bella, and we ran over Sarah Palin. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-3038031928720562396?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/3038031928720562396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=3038031928720562396' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3038031928720562396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/3038031928720562396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/06/art-class-on-my-mind.html' title='Art class on my mind.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-2835364360310448714</id><published>2010-06-14T05:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T05:44:55.278-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vampires.</title><content type='html'>So, I was talking to my parents about how I wanted a new phone. My mother had gotten a droid, and she said she'd trade phones with me. They didn't want to pay the Verizon people any fees to transfer my numbers and pictures and such over to Mom's phone, so I had to email all 180 of my pictures and copy all 26 of my contacts manually. What a pain.&lt;div&gt;Then in the evening was a dance. It was a "big deal" dance, in the way that prom is a "big deal", so Meredith convinced me to go. I used my new phone to take a picture of my dress, which was this heavy red velvet thing that looked like it came from the Society for Creative Anachronism. Because it had. Mer and I both borrowed dresses from the SCA and we didn't have to pay for them. Erin, meanwhile, did not want to go to the dance. She had read about a different activity happening at the same time in Randolph, one that involved babysitting puppies. So she and Matt went to that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The "dance" took place in the room in Melchers where I'm taking my design principles class. It seemed much more like the Elizabethan feast, as we were all seated, but Mer and I were the only ones dressed appropriately for the Elizabethan feast. And the lights were down, and dance music was playing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As we were sitting there, we were attacked by vampires. And werewolves. Sadly, Robert Pattinson was there, and a throng of girls ran at him and practically begged him to bite them. There were frightening Dracula-type vampires too. The werewolves were much more typical, but small. Meredith and I just walked out of the room in disgust, mostly unharmed, but I got nipped in the elbow by a wimp of a werewolf. Mer told me to wash out the bite or I'd become a werewolf, so I did. In the bathroom I met Erin Kenderish (she's in my art class) who informed me that the bites from the monsters weren't at all contagious or dangerous, not even the vampire bites.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Upon leaving the bathroom, I found myself not in Melchers, but in the basement of Randolph. I looked around for our Erin, but didn't find her. Outside in the parking lot behind Randolph, I met Sunshine, who said I should check her room. I checked our room in Randolph and our room in Bushnell before I remembered that we live in the apartments now. Erin and Matt were in our apartment, playing with puppies.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-2835364360310448714?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/2835364360310448714/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=2835364360310448714' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2835364360310448714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/2835364360310448714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/06/vampires.html' title='Vampires.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-8149226302124058868</id><published>2010-06-13T07:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-13T08:01:17.076-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I've been sleeping late.</title><content type='html'>First, I was attending a family dinner. It wasn't my real family, it was a bunch of people who according to dream logic were my family. A few of my uncles were plotting to kill me and my parents and a few other relatives for some monetary reason. So we had to run. There was a chase scene through a train station. We fooled the bad guys into going on a train in the opposite direction of the train we were on, but we abandoned one of my cousins (or half cousin twice removed or something, I kept calling her my cousin and being corrected) at the train station. I was very worried about her. The train we were on looked like the metro. The entire family (which was a huge amount of people) was bunched into 4 seats at the end of the train. Yet there was enough room, it was kind of like Mr. Weasley's car.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I woke up, looked at my clock, and found it was only 10:20 AM.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next dream. My parents weren't willing to drive me back to school, so I had to take a bike. But first I had to pick up a bunch of neighborhood kids and take them to their schools, on my bike. My bike had a sidecar, so it was ok. But the first kid I had to pick up was an hour and a half late. I spent the whole time sitting in front of his house. I considered riding around the neighborhood for a bit, but then I didn't. Finally we left. We passed a lake and a few high schools before I realized I was completely lost and didn't know how to get to this guy's school. Then we met some other dude who offered us a ride in his car. We took it. My bike broke as we put it in the back seat.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-8149226302124058868?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/8149226302124058868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=8149226302124058868' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8149226302124058868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8149226302124058868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/06/ive-been-sleeping-late.html' title='I&apos;ve been sleeping late.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-1941596922396897719</id><published>2010-06-11T06:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T06:55:17.678-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Die Toten Hosen and Castle.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;The dream started with me sorting through my clothing, and finding that I had 2 Die Toten Hosen t-shirts. I was surprised and a little annoyed, as I had just bought some t-shirts online the day before. I put one on and went downstairs (despite the fact that I was in my room in the apartment, there was a downstairs). I had just met my parents at this fancy place, to prepare for a party-type thing. We were in a garden, and in this garden was a large pool with a fountain in it. It was covered in ants. I had to take a can of Raid and get rid of them all. When I was done, the pool smelled like ant poison and it was disgusting. Without transition I was inside, in a kitchen similar to Erin's in Yorktown, and spraying the kitchen counters. My mother was in the other room, talking to someone I didn't recognize about how I couldn't do anything right. I got really annoyed and punched a hole in the wall. Mom yelled angrily that she of course was joking. I went to play the piano to let off some steam. I found some sheet music for "Hier Kommt Alex" and decided to learn it, since it matched my t-shirt. My sister came in (we were in my living room at home now) and started lecturing me on how to deal with the parents.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There were other bits about the FBI lady from the episode of Castle I watched last night, but I don't remember them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-1941596922396897719?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/1941596922396897719/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=1941596922396897719' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/1941596922396897719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/1941596922396897719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/06/die-toten-hosen-and-castle.html' title='Die Toten Hosen and Castle.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-6480712592746065454</id><published>2010-06-07T05:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-07T05:34:36.778-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This probably has something to do with William Street.</title><content type='html'>So, I was in a lecture class, and I was warned that aliens could possess anyone, and one of my friends might even be possessed. After the lecture I needed to head to Niebuhr's German Civ class. But then I looked in the mirror and found I had grown a mustache and I needed to shave it off before anyone I knew saw it. o_O The buildings were ridiculously far apart in this dream. I had to get on a bus to get to Combs from Monroe. The bus dropped me off at the Fred stop on double drive, which was inconvenient for me since double drive in this dream was an incredibly busy street, and there was no crosswalk. Also, while Combs was only a half-mile walk away, Bushnell was 2 miles from both Combs and the bus stop, and I lived there. I also had to be at class in 3 minutes. I was kind of stressed, and complained about this to some girls on my bus, who turned out to be possessed by aliens and attacked me. While I was fighting them off, a crowd gathered around and laughed at my handlebar mustache.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-6480712592746065454?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/6480712592746065454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=6480712592746065454' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6480712592746065454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6480712592746065454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/06/this-probably-has-something-to-do-with.html' title='This probably has something to do with William Street.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-4977479077752457032</id><published>2010-05-31T06:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-31T06:20:51.616-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This one inspired by Moon.</title><content type='html'>Andrew Ballard and I were taking a trip to the moon. He had to build the moon base, and I had to build the vehicles, entirely out of legos and glow sticks. My moon buggy had a functional microwave and minifridge, and guns that shot lasers and fire. So of course I used it to attack Andrew's moon base. With the help of the armies of Halloween.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-4977479077752457032?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/4977479077752457032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=4977479077752457032' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4977479077752457032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4977479077752457032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/05/this-one-inspired-by-moon.html' title='This one inspired by Moon.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-4087206927087065759</id><published>2010-05-30T07:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-30T07:21:30.959-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Castle inspired.</title><content type='html'>There was a murder. A girl had been killed, and Mer, Reece and I had to find out what was up. We went to this big party at a hotel, and there were all of these rich people that we talked to. Sadly, I don't remember much of this part except that most of these interviews took place in a teeny-tiny cramped diner attached to the hotel. We eventually ended up getting a confession out of one of the old rich dudes.&lt;div&gt;Now for the parts I remember. The hotel had 3 floors, and my family had a room on the middle floor. Madeline and I wanted to go swimming, but were prevented from doing so, because the rich guy's family inhabited the entire bottom floor of this hotel and they were pretty angry at me. So I went up to the third floor, but the grieving family of the girl were on that floor, and I didn't want to talk to them. So our only option was to take Ralph for a walk and go swimming in the lake. We didn't want to go all the way around the lake, so we instead took Ralph around to wear the campfire is. The little pond in that area was completely clear, and they allowed swimming there. But there was a party going on, and a band next to the water. I'd let Ralph off the leash as I usually do, and he joyfully ran up to the band members and knocked them all in the water. I decided to avoid this confrontation by going up the little path at the side of the campsite, that leads to a neighborhood. But the forest was filled with people shooting off fireworks, and that was pretty dangerous. Ralph didn't like that at all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I woke up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-4087206927087065759?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/4087206927087065759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=4087206927087065759' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4087206927087065759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/4087206927087065759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/05/castle-inspired.html' title='Castle inspired.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-6809913028256807617</id><published>2010-05-28T07:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-28T07:22:55.176-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I spent yesterday evening catching up on Sluggy Freelance.</title><content type='html'>Readers of my dream log, I would like to show you http://jarofbees.net/blog, a new blog of mine. I will continue to update this of course. Starting now.&lt;div&gt;First part of the dream, I made my facebook relationship status "married", and didn't specify who.  My mother left an angry comment asking when this happened, and why didn't I have a ceremony because I have some relatives who would have liked to attend such a thing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Second and far more interesting part of the dream. Mom, Dad and I were on our way to Fredericksburg, but instead of using a car we were using a time travelling device similar to Captain Jack's in series 3. There were goons chasing us, Hereti-Corp-looking-goons, but not Hereti Corp. I'm pretty sure they were actually Cyberdyne, but it was never specified. We stopped on an outcropping of rock outside of a cave in this huge canyon filled with waterfalls. It was a man-made platform, we could tell because there was a metal door in the back of the cave, and windows in the rock. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We went inside and sat down next to a window. We could still see the waterfalls, and the sun came through the window even though we couldn't see it through the top of the canyon. My mother found a book of piano songs, and started complaining at me about how she never hears me practice because the volume is always down too low. Also, this book was all arrangements of pop songs and no pretty music. I pointed out some songs that were pretty. The book also had an arrangement of "American Idiot" in it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went back outside and looked off the edge of the cliff. I looked to my right and saw 3 Evil Corp goons riding on the back of giant flying insects, heading straight for the platform on which I stood. They landed, and one of them took off her sunglasses, revealing her identity as none other than Meredith Roane! The other two were Erin and her sister. Mer pulled a gun on me and said something along the lines of &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;"TIME TRAVELLING IS AN ILLEGAL USE OF EVIL CORP TECHNOLOGY!" I ran back inside to hide with my parents. My father stalled a different group of Evil Corp goons by telling them we hadn't been time travelling. I complained that it's never easy to get down to Fredericksburg.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-6809913028256807617?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/6809913028256807617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=6809913028256807617' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6809913028256807617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/6809913028256807617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/05/i-spent-yesterday-evening-catching-up.html' title='I spent yesterday evening catching up on Sluggy Freelance.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-9201120715480566546</id><published>2010-05-22T06:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-22T06:38:30.197-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ghouls and NCIS</title><content type='html'>There was a small closet located where Cyrus' cage is in the computer room. Well, it was the computer room, except instead of a computer and Ralph's crate there was my bed. And instead of Cyrus' cage, there was the small closet. It had a light shining through the crack in the door, but it had always been there, and I had never opened it. Then Meredith came over, and asked what was in the closet. I was a little puzzled, and said that I didn't know. So she climbed over the mound of junk that was in the way, and opened the closet door.&lt;br /&gt;There was a little tunnel, like the one in the Coraline film but less well-lit. As we peered through the tunnel, a door on the other end opened, and a ghoul appeared. Now I don't know what a ghoul really looks like, but this was definitely a ghoul. It had a stretched-out elasticky face, like that in Munch's "The Scream", with sharp teeth and spiky hair on it's head and on the back of it's hands, which looked like rubber except for the rather horrifyingly sharp claws. It didn't look very threatening at the moment, though, it just looked at us, blinked and shut the door. We shut ours, and a second later we heard loud cries, a lot of them, from the other side. I'd never heard sounds coming from the closet before, but now I could. There was a "thunk" sound, and we heard one of them running down the tunnel toward our door. Meredith and I scotch-taped it shut. The light on the other side was brighter than it ever had been, so we covered the crack in printer paper to dull the light.&lt;br /&gt;I called Dad and told him we had ghouls in our house. He sounded more frustrated than scared, and asked us what we'd done about it. I told him we'd taped the door shut, and he said that he'd look into it when he had time.&lt;br /&gt;I had to sleep in the little room that night, and I really didn't want to. My father told me to suck it up, nothing would come through the door. I lay on my bed for a while, the light was very distracting. I was suddenly overcome by a feeling of dizziness, and I sat up. Meredith was sitting there, looking at me. After a few seconds of her looking at me in a kind of creepy way, I remembered that in the Dresdenverse ghouls could take human form. I asked Meredith to prick her finger so I could check that her blood was red. She did, and she was genuine. She told me that my father had given her a number to call.&lt;br /&gt;In the morning, there were a bunch of guys in uniforms out in the backyard, doing what guys in uniforms do when they are in your backyard, talking into walky-talkies and looking at blades of grass and stuff. Also, Gibbs from NCIS was there. He gave a little speech about how to deal with ghouls, I don't remember it, but it amounted to arming ourselves to the teeth and charging through the tunnel.&lt;br /&gt;We came out on the other side into a square concrete room, with a large pit in the center and a door on the other side. And the pit was filled with ghouls, who began to scramble out and charge at us. The pit must have been bottomless, because they kept coming. We were able to keep them back with gunfire, though.&lt;br /&gt;Then I woke up as the battle really began.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-9201120715480566546?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/9201120715480566546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=9201120715480566546' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/9201120715480566546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/9201120715480566546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/05/ghouls-and-ncis.html' title='Ghouls and NCIS'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-5329132794352381318</id><published>2010-05-13T04:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-13T04:53:31.160-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fairy tale meets Dollhouse.</title><content type='html'>There was a prince who was about 10 years old. To prove him a worthy heir to the throne, the king would erase part of his memory once a week, and he would have to use hints provided by his mother and sister to figure out what he can't remember. If he didn't remember, he would be put to death. His sister would always mislead him, but his mother always helped him. His mother had magic powers and a spellbook.&lt;br /&gt;That is all I remember.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-5329132794352381318?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/5329132794352381318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=5329132794352381318' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5329132794352381318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/5329132794352381318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/05/fairy-tale-meets-dollhouse.html' title='Fairy tale meets Dollhouse.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1975582786014865467.post-8548165362067329673</id><published>2010-05-12T06:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-12T06:35:43.599-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Surely epilepsy is useful somehow.</title><content type='html'>I finally got Giant to hire me, because for some reason they wanted to hire someone with epilepsy. After announcing that I had a job, the Ballards and my parents came to the Giant and started celebrating by drinking champagne.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1975582786014865467-8548165362067329673?l=dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/feeds/8548165362067329673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1975582786014865467&amp;postID=8548165362067329673' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8548165362067329673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1975582786014865467/posts/default/8548165362067329673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamlogincolor.blogspot.com/2010/05/surely-epilepsy-is-useful-somehow.html' title='Surely epilepsy is useful somehow.'/><author><name>Mauve Shirt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08166137218227704307</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_WK08sYnfZHs/SIuWaDV7BbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/zyNmpQiu8oM/s1600-R/041-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
