5 Dead Guys I Love

My current Facebook status reads:

I had this really elaborate dream where I was sneaking a group of mythical monsters out of a Gothic castle to escape the evil Dr. Frankenstein who was running experiments on them all. We saved the mermaid by dropping her off at Sea World, but the gentle ogre had trouble keeping pace, and the wingless fairies kept complaining and taking rest stops, so we couldn’t make it indoors before the sun came up, and whatever organs the zombie had left started imploding. I held his hand and cried while he died, (again) and then his rotten body turned into the form of a gorgeous prince, which was very upsetting because he was already dead. Story of my life, really. All the men I love are already dead.

 

This is true. I think the real reason I have not yet been in a serious relationship with a man is because all the ones I would allow to woo me have been dead for some time. : P My coworkers were making fun of me last week about the type of man I require since I flirt more with those over 65 than anyone in my age group. I don’t remember everything that was said, but this ideal man chopped wood, lit lanterns, tended baby animals, and wore 19th century linen shirts and boots. (Sounds just fine to me!) Honestly, I don’t require all that–though it would be a bonus–but I do want a very old fashioned man at heart.

In light of that, here are ten dead guys I love. (When I say dead, I mean not among the earthly living. Most of these I’m really hoping to find in heaven, someday.)

1. Prince Albert
The Victorian man. I mean, he married Victoria! Husband, father, social reformer, well-rounded in art, science, religion… *sigh* I want a Victorian man.

2. William Wilberforce
I had an historical crush on this man since I was about ten years old; before Ioan Gruffudd portrayed him in the 2006 Amazing Grace film. But you know, that just sealed the deal.

3. Charlton Heston
Ben-Hur. The Ten Commandments. Either one of his roles in those films would enough. But he was lead in both of those epics, and just all around an awesome guy. In my opinion, he’s cooler than Chuck Norris. Oh yeah. I went there!

4. Alexander Hamilton
Can’t say that I’m fond of all his policies and moral ambiguity, but dang, that man was fine! I’m sure he was quite the charmer in his day, and by George, his signature was lovely! If I had it my way, I’d change all the 20 dollar bills to 10′s. Then our currency would be as beautiful as can be.

5. Joshua
Maybe this is The Ten Commandments influencing me again, but… okay, no. Even when I was a wee lassie and had not yet seen the manly specimen of John Derek playing him, Joshua was always my favourite Biblical hero. One of only two spies who did not grow faint of heart while surveying the land of Canaan; a ready soldier, a faithful leader; God stopped the sun and the moon to win him a victory at Gibeon. And who could forget the battle of Jericho?

“Now therefore, fear the Lord, serve Him in sincerity and in truth, and put away the gods which your fathers served on the other side of the River and in Egypt. Serve the Lord! And if it seems evil to you to serve the Lord, choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the River, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you dwell. But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”
Joshua 24:14-15

Panera Dream. What?

I must be still dealing with manager shift anxieties.

-x-

Some unshaven guy with a sloppy old t-shirt and a gross pony tail came to the back door of Panera (the alarmed, no-entry one) and asked if he could come in and use our panini press for his homemade sandwiches he kept in a plastic bag. I said I couldn’t let him in that way, and I didn’t feel comfortable putting elements on my press that I wasn’t fully aware of their content in case of food allergens that might transfer to the customers. He started threatening to throw out all the bread he found in the dumpster. I was like, “Well, sir, it was in the dumpster because we already threw it out, so what you do with it is your business.” Then he got mad and tried to shoulder his way in, but I said, “Hang on. Let me run this by one of my superiors; I’ll see what we can do for you.” And I closed the door on him yelling about my supposed rudeness. I went to Lauren and explained the situation, and she said, “Are you serious? Let me deal with this guy.” So she went and told him basically the same thing I did, but with a little more force. He refused to budge, but we locked him out.

A little while later, I went through the dining room and this girl in a pink mini skirt, stockings, and a sparkly headband (very ShinWa High) called me over to her table and knocked over her soda in front of me, then said I shouldn’t be so clumsy and to clean it up. I said, “I’m sorry, Miss. Is there a problem?” She said yes, she couldn’t believe how judgmental and uncaring I was not to let that man in, when all he wanted was a hot sandwich. I said, “What are you? That guy’s fan?” She was like, “Actually, I am.” When I tried to placate her, she stood up and slapped me in the face. HARD. Then when I tried to block the next blow, she grabbed my hair and slapped me again. Apparently that was enough to satisfy her and she sat back down with her arms crossed.

On my way back to the registers (and my face was bright red and my cheek was bruised and my bottom lip swollen) I ran into Mike who scolded me for not saying yes to a customer and then fighting with another one. He said: it’s Panera policy to break any rule for a customer, and I wasn’t following that train of thought, and HE let the guy in to make his hot sandwiches on our press. “Now. Having heard all that, do you think you might have acted differently in the past hour?”

I was so close to stamping my foot, but I settled for a definite, “No.” I explained that I felt allowing that man in was a possible threat to our other customers’ safety, I didn’t know if he was clean enough to be using our equipment, and I would do the exact same thing if it happened again. Mike kind of sighed, but didn’t say anything else, so I left, cradling my cheek and about ready to punch someone.

Lauren met me halfway to the hand washing station in the BOH and said, “Whoa. What happened to your face?” When I told her, she got super mad and was like, “That’s it. I’m gonna kick that girl’s ass. I don’t care what Mike says. That’s not okay.” So she totally went Korean drama and dragged me along to confront the crazy girl. She said she had better leave before she ended up getting beat to death with a sparkly flower (Lauren really has a heavy sparkly flower on her keychain she threatens people with) and she’d ship her body to North Korea, because it just wasn’t possible that someone like her was South Korean.  She ran away, fast.

Unfortunately, we still couldn’t get rid of Panini guy, who was in the back, now using OUR ingredients to create his own sandwiches and grill them. So I went to glare at him for good measure, and he’d taken off his “disguise” and turned out he was Russell Crowe, and the crazy schoolgirl was his rabid fan. So I just said, “I wouldn’t have treated you any different if I had known, except I would have demanded an autograph before I sent you away. I hate that you’re here right now, defiling my work station and getting in our employees way during lunch hour.” He chuckled and continued adding basil to his made-up Panini.

I’m super disappointed in Russell Crowe right now. I mean, really? Go buy yourself a huge kitchen with a personal Panini press. It’s not like you can’t afford it. So rude.

A Lesson on Marriageability

Last night I dreamed I was engaged. Then he broke it off because I made a negative comment about his driving. I believe my exact words were, “Wasn’t that a stop sign?” Of course, I was clutching the seat and my eyes were bulging as I killed our love with those words, but still. The message is clear. If you want to keep your man, do not remark on his driving in anything less than a sincerely complimentary tone.

That was a lesson for you ladies.

Now, for the gentlemen. I will use an example from work.

Male Employee #1: Sees me carrying a busing bin to the kitchen with something like double my own weight in ceramic dishes, trays, and silver wear. Watches as I precariously try to balance half of the bin’s weight on the counter in order to push aside lids and plastic things to fit said bin on said counter, praying every moment that I don’t pull a muscle in my neck or back. With me still huffing and panting from the backbreaking work I accomplished, Male Employee #1 stares at the loads of dirty eating implements and merely says, “Wow. That’s a lot of dishes.”

Male Employee #2: Sees me carrying a busing bin to the kitchen with a few large bowls in it. Says, “Oh, princess!” and rushes forward before I make it across the BOH line, taking the bin from my hands and placing it on the counter for me. Then proceeds to thank me for bringing the dishes back to him and declares that I am the best.

Note to men seeking girlfriends, wives, or desirous to keep female relatives in good humour. Don’t be a Man Fail. Be a Male Employee #2.

Dark Have Been My Dreams of Late

“I had a dream… you were insulting me, Dave. Repeatedly.” -Balthazar Black

If life wasn’t crazy enough, (can you tell by the lack of blogging that it’s been busy?) I now have been experiencing a string of really weird dreams that come from seemingly nowhere.

Okay, not exactly truthful. I suppose they could come from amusement park withdrawals, thinking about Charleton Heston before I go to bed, (happens more often than you’d think) and listening to the Oklahoma soundtrack on the way home from work after I stayed up too late the night before to listen to more of Phil’s Lord of the Rings audio book. <-Pretty much one of my favourite parts in the films. Pretty much done excellent justice by Phil.

First, I was trying to enter an amusement park with my dad. Apparently he had offered to take me on a belated birthday excursion and I chose Six Flags even though we both knew it was late in the season and there was no guarantee we’d get in. When we got there, it was closed to everyone except people with a season pass and a moderately annoying female park attendant was the only security. The last time we had a season pass to Six Flags was… more than two years ago at least. Probably five. Or more. Anyway, I lied to the lady and said we had one but we left it at home. I wanted to ride the new roller coaster that badly, and it was actually working!!! She just wanted some ID to confirm my age (??) …and then I woke up.

You must be this high ^ to ride the roller coaster

In the next dream I was affianced to a guy who looked eerily similar to Captain America, but somewhere between Steve Rogers and his Captain America form. So… Chris Evans from Cellular? Yeeaaah, let’s go with that. Anyway, the earth was being overrun by Nazis, and I mean the entire earth. So a bunch of people were evacuating the planet in enormous space capsules (or ships) in groups of three or four. Each ship only had the oxygen and supplies to carry that small number of humans, while the rest of it was filled, flown, and powered by oblong robots (they were like minions meet EVE) which were meant to test soil, air and other important things on the planets we were escaping to. If all else failed, the escapees would float around for a couple years and land back on earth after the Nazis had (hopefully) started to kill each other off for lack of races to conquer.

We'll let them fight each other off, like in Jurrasic Park.

Yeah, I don’t think the guy in charge had really thought this through…

I was standing on a landing strip, watching my two guy friends and another girl board one such capsule and I knew my fiance was out fighting Nazis in a dangerous war zone and within those few short moments I had watching the boarding ramp close, I decided I wasn’t going to scamper off to hide while everyone else I knew was helping in any way they could for the good of mankind. I dove onto the ship just before the ramp closed.

At first it was this great feeling of doing the right thing and the minion bots were cheering adorably and the guys were all, “Huzzah, you’re coming along!” The other girl ignored me.

Then we took off and we all got really sick because we were IN SPACE and there was no gravity so everyone was floating and one guy said he was going to hurl and the other said, “Don’t do that or the stuff will be floating around for weeks.” So he went to throw up in a special tube.

But then the gravity field kicked in and we were okay and I said something ridiculously optimistic and one of the guys scratched his head and gave me this half-squint and said, “What if we’re floating out here in space for years? I mean… it’s not really up to us. We can set a course back for earth, but the bots decide when it’s safe to land.”

And then I realized I had probably just caused the end of Captain America to happen to my fiance back on earth. (Don’t ask. I don’t want to talk about it.) And suddenly running for cover and waiting it out didn’t seem like such a bad idea. I had this horrible, horrible vision of him winning the unwinnable war with his heroics and then rushing to find me, only to discover that I’d jumped on board a space capsule and was floating around the universe indefinitely.

“If only... must be the two saddest words in the world.”

I think that is actually the worst dream I’ve ever had. Because it was my fault. And it ended there, with all of us floating in space and me knowing I made the worst mistake of my life. *huffs* I want to kick me.

And the most recent dream was just me running through a cornfield with Curly from Oklahoma (in fact, we were in Oklahoma) trying to dodge bullets. These three bad dudes–a sheriff and his two… side… persons–were after a group of little boys who saw the sheriff kill someone and Curly and I were trying to get to the boys and bring them to safety before the criminals killed them dead, and it was very hard to run in all those petticoats. Then the cornfield ended and I panicked because the only thing to hide behind were hay rolls and overturned barrels and the goons were still shooting at us and Curly shot one but then we got separated and I had to find two of the boys by myself.

I totally found them both and saved their lives, though. And I did it without Curly’s help. Anyway… it still didn’t make up for my stupid space capsule dream, but at least I did something useful.

*sigh*

I’m almost afraid to sleep tonight. :/

Once Upon Another Dream

It feels like cheating to keep posting dreams, but they amuse me and perhaps you fair readers enjoy a dream post more than no post at all?

I’m finding a piece of wood to knock on.

-x-

I was taking a class on “Computer Business,” which is strange because those are the last two subjects I’d choose to take a class for, let alone commit to studying such a weird mesh of both. All the students had their laptops out in a classroom that looked a lot like the one in Legally Blonde.

That explains how I got into class in the first place.

In case it matters in the least, I was wearing my glasses and had a short haircut and a gray pencil skirt and looked at least five years older. But I wasn’t. I was still 20-almost-21.

There was one other student who had his back turned to the professor and was sitting just in front and to the left of him, almost like a court reporter. His seating position didn’t seem at all out of place in the dream. I guess they were out of other seats. Anyway, this oddly-placed student was Ben from Parks and Recreation, and I was thinking how cool it was to share a class with him and I’d better not answer any questions out loud in case I made an idiot of myself.

I had a question on an essay we were assigned to write on “Consumer Appeal.” (I’m actually surprised it wasn’t on something less relevant, like “War of the Bongos: Drum versus Antelope.” And perhaps slightly disappointed.) I walked up to the professor to ask if there was a limit on word count, hoping Ben’s close proximity didn’t mean he could hear our conversation.

The professor, by the way, looked and dressed almost exactly like Percival from Little House on the Prairie.

My name is Professor Percival and I will be teaching you about the various forms of business you can conduct on computers. Sit down, Miss Woody. Your questions are foolish.

Oh yes, and he was convinced I was in love with him. Anytime I had a question or offered any insight (which wasn’t often because again, I was too afraid to look stupid) he’d give me this knowing little smirk like he thought I was sending him subliminal messages of my love. Thankfully, he couldn’t say or do anything about it because of his position.

I may have received higher grades than I deserved in that class. But I really couldn’t be sure.

Anyway, here I was at the professor’s desk, asking about word count, when he lit up and started babbling about another student’s essay and how he wanted me to look it over and give my opinion. At first I said no, because I didn’t think it was my place to grade anyone’s papers unless the whole class was grading each others, but he kept pressing it. Then he mentioned it being Ben’s essay and I was really against it because I barely knew a thing about business or computers and I figured if anyone did know it was him. Plus, I had a crush on Ben and didn’t want him annoyed at me for editing things I had no business editing. (But I didn’t say that last part out loud. ) The professor said he wasn’t interested in my expertise on the soundness of the essay, but he wanted an opinion on the writing style and how it might grab the attention of your everyday consumer. (Flashback to Confessions of a Shopaholic.) So I very warily obliged and peeked at the paper.

I don’t remember much about it, but I did make a suggestion that the title be changed to elicit more immediate interest. I thought the professor was going to make a note of it and send me back to my seat, but much to my embarrassment, he called over to Ben and said, “Your essay title should be changed to…’Whatever My Suggestion Was.’”

If any of you watches Parks and Rec, you should know the look Ben gives when he has no idea what’s going on. He gave that look right then.

That's not quite it, but it's similar.

And I responded with an awkward grin/wince/thumbs-up gesture which produced yet another confused eyebrow-raise from Ben. Then he came over to get his essay and I just shook my head at everything the professor said, hoping Ben would believe I had not willingly critiqued his essay title.

He changed it though. And he didn’t seem to mind. When he went back to his seat the professor turned to me with his creepy smirk and said, “Thank you for doing that for me.” I just blinked at him and said, “Riiight.” But I was thinking: I only did it because you forced me to!! GAAAAHH!

Needless to say I was very upset at Professor Percy.

The end of it was Ben and me walking out together, making awkward jokes about the awkward incident and deciding to eat lunch together.

So that was nice.

But I would still never take that class.