Monday, February 23, 2009

One…Two…Freddy’s coming for you…

I heard this thing on the radio this morning about how all dreams MEAN something. It got me to thinking about this recurring dream I have of Freddy Kruger and Nightmare on Elm Street. First of all, let me just say that I fucking hate talking about this damn dream. The more I talk about it, the more it lingers in my mind, and the more scared I am to fall asleep...because in case you have been living on another damn planet and don’t know about what Freddy does, he slaughters you in your god damned sleep….and it’s a dream, but it’s real…like you really, truly, friggen die, people! So, instead of writing all the details of the dream here and making it all more real in my mind…let’s just say that in the dream, Freddy would like me to die…there is much running and hiding and screaming and fiery hells involved. Enough said.

Anyway, I went to dreamzone.com which is supposed to have this free dream dictionary. I type in Freddy Kruger. I get nothing. I type in dying and get this:
Death/Dead/Dying: Change, the old dying off in order to make way for the new. The end of an issue or relationship. A part of yourself, a part of your life, something in your world coming to a close. Fear not. Rebirth is around the corner. Dead people in a dream usually refer to issues that are dead, that you should no longer give any energy to. Ask yourself if you are holding a grudge that you need to let die. Actual dead people you once knew often refer to that point in your life when they were around. Is there anything about who you were then that you need to bring back to life now?
Then, I type in fiery hell and get this:

Hell: May symbolize a very difficult time you are having to go through. Fears, anxieties, feeling trapped. An evil force.
Then, I type in fire, because evidently the phrase FIERY HELL is not in the dictionary -- and I get this:

Fire: Often means rage and anger or burning passion. If house is on fire it's a warning of frazzled nerves, a nervous breakdown. A destructive force in your life.
Hmmmm….well, I do a lot of running in this dream, too, so I type in running and get this:
Fleeing/Chased/Running: Running from an issue. What or who are you avoiding right now? The message of this dream is "stop running, the more you run from this issue the longer it will last."
Running: Do you need to pick up the pace somewhere in your life? Are you trying to keep up? Things may be going too fast. Slow down. If you are running from something then you are probably avoiding something or someone in your waking life.
I type in screaming, but as it turns out, I’m the only fool who screams in her dreams because the word was not in the dictionary. I make one last search…the word hiding…I get this:
Hiding/Hide/Hid: A good indication you are avoiding an issue, you are afraid of confrontation or perhaps you are hiding a secret? What is it you don't want to be "found" out?

So, in case you are having a hard time keeping up, this dreamzone chic is basically saying I feel trapped, angry, and nervous and that I’m running away from something (or avoiding something…or things are moving too fast for me or some shit) and that there’s some big fat secret in my life that I’m keeping. And that something in me is dying to make room for something new. Huh? Yes, I'm confused, too. (That part about death said something about dead people in your life...and sometimes I dream non-Freddy dreams about my great Aunt - Tia Julia. I see her head sitting on the on the bathroom counter of my grandma's old house, her eyes following me across the room. Tia Julia used to spank the shit out of us when we were kids. She'd sit in this scary little chair and every time we'd pass by her, we'd run so she couldn't swat us...sometimes with a rolled up church bulletin. But, that's a whole other dream to dissect.)

It's all very interesting, though. The only things I agree with are the anger and the frazzled nerves. I can be one angry bitch! And nerves!!! Holy Crapoly! I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown every day at 4:30 p.m., Monday through Friday!

I have this exact same dream at least 2 or 3 times a year…and when I’m dreaming the dream, I try telling myself to do something different so that the dream isn’t the same, but part of me LIKES being fucking scared out of my god damned mind so I do the same things anyway… knowing damn well that the end will be the same. Which reminds me, I forgot to look up the word burning. Oh, fuck me – that word isn’t in the dictionary, either. I’m the only loser who burns in her dreams, too.

I’m totally screwed up.

I should totally be medicated.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Face it, ladies...chivalry is dead.

The damn hippy feminist movement screwed everything up for us. Men don't buy dinner...they don't buy flowers...hell, they don't even open doors for us anymore! Sure, I believe in equal rights and equal pay and shit like that...and I consider myself to be pretty independent...but damn, it sure would be nice to feel the love once in awhile. Ladies, we need to start making it harder for men to get into the panties! Make them bend over backwards...lift heavy boxes...open doors...do car maintenance...pay for the pleasure of our fabulous company! Shit like that! I mean, what is up with the world these days?! THIS HOO-HA COMES WITH A PRICE, DANGIT!

I'm talking shit, but I find myself opening my own doors....opening my own jars...getting my oil changed in my car...buying car batteries and getting car brake checks. I find myself buying my own damn flowers...hoisting my own heavy boxes up and down stairs. There is something wrong with this picture. Now, if the men in my life were answering my phone for me...taking my messages...washing my clothes...buying my groceries...bathing my kids...scrubbing my toilet, etc. etc. then I wouldn't be complaining so much. I would be accepting this flip flop in expectations and moving on with my damn life. But, shit is NOT going down like that. Shit is all messed up. And men are lazy fucktards. And we're dumb ass bitches for letting them get away with it. We need to start a new movement...one involving men on their knees, groveling, ready to be at our beck and call. Yes. That's what we need.

I know we can't change them all overnight, though. But, we can start small...using Hubber.

Friday, February 6, 2009

When there's nothing else better to write about...

I can't think of one damn thing to write about except for my new favorite word, "fucktard" (thanks, Clay!). Everything is now fucktarded and everyone is now a fucktard. (Except, of course, for me and anything I do. But, that probably went without saying...since I'm perfect and my shit don't stink. Duh.)

The jackass in the black truck who blocked two lanes of traffic on Jones Rd. this afternoon trying to make an illegal left turn, causing me to swerve and almost friggen kill myself due to being smashed to bits by oncoming traffic....fucktard.

The cop who thought it was prudent to ride up my ass for 5 miles just waiting for me to goof up so he could flash his lights (which let's face it, might as well be his big blue balls up there waiting to explode around his pencil dick)....fucktard.

The pimple-faced-idiot working the cash register at the pharmacy who thought it was ok to ask if the tampons I was buying "work good"....fucktarded fucktard.

The doctor (and master of the friggen obvious) who likes to point out that I'm overweight like I'm so goddamned delusional that I couldn't figure that one out for myself....fucktard.

And finally, the genius with the wrong number who keeps calling my cellphone just in case it magically turns into the number of the poor bitch he's desperate to talk to...fucktard:

*ring...ring*
Me: Hello, again.

Genius: Jennifer?

Me: Nope, you STILL have the wrong number. Face it, buddy, that chic played you.

Genius: Are you sure there's no Jennifer there?

Me: Uhm...let me check AGAIN....yes, I'm sure.

Genius: But this is the number she gave me.

Me: Ok...well, she gave you the wrong number. Sorry.

Genius: Really? I don't think so. Let me try it again. *click*

WTF!? Is this fucktard for real? Maybe he has some loose screws...the lights are on but no one's home...he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer....

*ring.....ring*

Me: Dude. YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER.

Genius: Is Jennifer there?

Me: AHHHHHHHHH! You're a fucktard.

Genius: Huh?

Me: A fucktard.

Genius: Is Jennifer there?

Me: *sigh* Nope, she died yesterday....she had massive hemorrhoid flare ups that ruptured and killed her.

Genius: Oh my god. I'm so sorry. Is she going to be ok?

Me: Yeah, she's chillin up there with baby Jesus. She said to tell you to fuck off.

Genius: Can I leave a message for her?

Me: Not with me, honey...I'm probably going to hell. *click*

I blocked him from calling when I finally gave up trying to convince him that he's a fucktard. Some people are simply clueless and don't have the capacity to understand just how fucktardish they really are. A guess that's why I'm here...to enlighten all the fucktards. Hell must be a million dollar mansion full of super hot men and bad ass fat chics with tattoos and killer handbags.