<?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-30856265</id><updated>2011-09-12T04:22:19.739-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sleepy Seconds</title><subtitle type='html'>Dream (b)logging for anyone interested in reading and/or writing about dreams. Anyone may be a contributor! Leave a comment if interested in tracking your dreams.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>412</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7637691364549336590</id><published>2008-06-27T14:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T14:25:38.897-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Off With His Head</title><content type='html'>I was lying in bed with Theo. Andrey came into my room and asked we could switch beds with him so that we would sleep in Andrey's bed and Andrey would sleep in mine. I said no, thats ridiculous. He and I started arguing and so I grabbed his head and smashed it into a mirror. I noticed he had a lot of glass shards sticking out of his skull. Then I chopped off his head and threw it out the window. I looked at his head lying in the street outside, and his body lying on the floor, and didn't really think much of it. I got back into bed with Theo and started to realize I was going to be in a lot of trouble for this. Theo brought up Andrey's mom and how she would feel. That crushed me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I scare myself sometimes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7637691364549336590?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7637691364549336590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7637691364549336590' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7637691364549336590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7637691364549336590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/06/off-with-his-head.html' title='Off With His Head'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-5099535902227547261</id><published>2008-06-01T13:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-01T13:34:24.070-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ghosts</title><content type='html'>lauren - friend from class&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was trying to go surfing with a random guy with blond dreads and Lauren. Low tide was some time in the evening, but it kept working out so that it was dark by the time we were finnaly able to surf. This happened a couple nights in a row and I was getting frustrated.&lt;br /&gt;There was some kind of war going on. I ran up a huge hill and hid in a glass box with Pika, Almond, Sean, and some other people from my last backpacking trip. I could see the war happening way below us, and it was sort of like this wave of destruction was moving across the landscape, leaving everything destroyed or in flames. There were different stages of this war, and eventually we got to a stage where there were ghosts outside and we had to stay away from them. Sean and I were alone in this glass box now, and it was dark outside and the ghosts were coming. I hung blankets and blinds up around the walls of the box, but Sean said we should leave a little bit uncovered so that we could see the ghosts coming. I decided that this was a good idea, so we left an uncovered spot. We waited, and everything felt very tense. A ghost floated up to the window, and I felt absolutely terrified. All I could do was point it out to Sean, who reached up and hit the side of the box a couple times to scare it away. Another floated up, and I yelled to Sean, who turned around and scared it away. This went on for a while, and eventually all of the ghosts disappeared. It got lighter outside, and someone said it was okay to leave the box now. The only thing we had to worry about were some Lions that were around. I was walking along a dirt road, and started to feel kind of scared, so I decided I should fly to make myself less vulnerable. I pushed off from the ground, and was having some trouble staying up. There was a fat kid with curly hair walking underneath me, and I was afraid he was going to try to grab my feet. I got higher and higher, and started to sing as I flew. I saw my shadow, and I was dressed like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-5099535902227547261?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/5099535902227547261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=5099535902227547261' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/5099535902227547261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/5099535902227547261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/06/ghosts.html' title='Ghosts'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4998064492826151924</id><published>2008-05-30T11:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-30T11:36:07.329-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Snowboarding With Francesca</title><content type='html'>I took my...second cousin snowboarding, but she didn't look like her at all. She was getting bored of the easy runs, so we went up to one of the harder ones. While we were doing this run, i was doing all kinds of tricks on these planters that were placed on the sides of the run. And, by "all kinds of tricks" i mean "running into them and tumbling over them."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4998064492826151924?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4998064492826151924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4998064492826151924' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4998064492826151924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4998064492826151924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/05/snowboarding-with-francesca.html' title='Snowboarding With Francesca'/><author><name>Briggity Brak</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14879958720524914437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3vwhuG1_Sk/SPhbuMHFxvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/few6nNPxeuM/S220/cape_cod.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7102977802647385704</id><published>2008-05-29T09:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T09:57:16.494-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Radio Shows and Dance Teams</title><content type='html'>Gretchen - friend at SC&lt;br /&gt;Sean/Tampsen/Pika - backpacking friends&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at Gretchen's dorm in Porter, except it looked really big and resembled a cabin in the woods. Pika and the Felton kids were having a party at their house, and we decided to go. Gretchen, who was wearing kid's sunglasses that had a unicorn horn attached to them, and I were standing with a couple of her guy friends, and she started crying. I asked her what was wrong, and she said that her radio show was supposed to start tonight, but that someone who worked at the place was trying to mess it up for her. I tried to comfort her and assured her that everything would be okay. We all started getting ready for this party, but the guys were taking really long. One of the guys was gay, and he had to put a bunch of makeup on before he would leave the house. I decided to call Sean to see if he wanted to come with us. The other guy friend asked me why I wanted to call him. I thought this was a stupid question, and said "because he's my friend". Tampsen was there now too, and I was getting really anxious waiting for everyone.&lt;br /&gt;I was on a dance team with a bunch of other girls. A woman called me into another room to talk to me. The woman was the mother of one of the girls on the team, and tried to bribe me to spy on her daughter for her. I told her I wasn't really interested. This mom was pretty hot, however, and I decided that I would do it if she offered me sex. I tried to think of a way to suggest this, but I got too nervous and never asked. Instead I sat next to her on the couch talking for a while. When I started to leave to go back into the other room, the mom protested, and tried to get me to look through her daughter's school books.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7102977802647385704?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7102977802647385704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7102977802647385704' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7102977802647385704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7102977802647385704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/05/radio-shows-and-dance-teams.html' title='Radio Shows and Dance Teams'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-6729013607936697019</id><published>2008-05-28T12:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-28T13:02:30.552-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wild Wild Bus</title><content type='html'>I was in a gunfight. It had a wild west feel to it, but we were on a school bus. It was basically 2 against 1 as a guy (mexican looking guy with a thick black moustache) that i didn't much care for and i had found a common enemy (a Clint Eastwood type). Our enemy was at the front of the bus, and my partner and i were both taking cover in the seats. I was about 4 rows back, and he was a couple rows further back. I wasn't very comfortable with this arrangement as i wasn't sure if i could trust the mexican, but i figured our common goal would keep him in line. There were also plenty of innocent bystanders strewn about on the bus. We were exchanging fire, but nobody was connecting. I saw an opening and tried to make a bold move to take a clearer shot by standing up high from behind my cover. However, before i could get my shot off, i was shot through the back and fell to the floor in the aisle of the bus. I tried to stay completely still so that they would think i was dead and wouldn't shoot me again. This strategy seemed to work. I slowly opened one eye and noticed that the bad guy was not looking at me, and i could see his profile with his mouth open like he was talking. I realized i had the strength to lift my gun, so i decided that this was my chance. I slowly lifted my gun and took aim. I fired, and the shot went straight through the empty space where his mouth was open--like Pacman gobbling a pill...except he didn't gobble it. Before he had time to react, i quickly readjusted and shot him straight through the head. Unlike me, he did NOT have the strength to retalliate after his mortal blow. I took a sigh of relief and resigned myself to my fate. However, i started to feel stronger, and i even thought i had the ability to stand. I stood up and headed toward the back of the bus to approach my "friend," the mexican. But before i could ask him why he shot me, he answered my question by asking the very same thing. I quickly denied the accusation as i couldn't remember shooting at him. He said, "it was before [The Clint Eastwood Guy]." I said, "oh, like...WAY before?" Because we were kindof enemies before, so i thought there might have been a time that i shot at him that i didn't remember. He shook his head, "no." He reminded me of a time when he was holding his baby, and The Clint Eastwood Guy was wrestling him. I remembered this altercation, and i assured him that my shooting was to PROTECT him and his baby, not harm them. I admitted that i had failed in this endeavor. By this time, we were both in tears. I decided i needed to find a way home so i could tell my mom what had happened, and before i headed back down the aisle, i told him, "hug your kid for me." I got to the front of the bus with the full intention of jumping out of the moving vehicle and then trying to find a way home. Someone else was blocking the door, so i gave up on that idea. Then, the phone on the bus rang, and the driver said that it was for me. I answered it, and it was my mom. She told me that the Teskes and someone else were there, and she asked if i got selected (to a jury, perhaps?). I told her no, and i tried to figure out if there was a way to tell her i was going to die over the phone. Before i could think of one, i woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-6729013607936697019?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/6729013607936697019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=6729013607936697019' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6729013607936697019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6729013607936697019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/05/wild-wild-bus.html' title='Wild Wild Bus'/><author><name>Briggity Brak</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14879958720524914437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3vwhuG1_Sk/SPhbuMHFxvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/few6nNPxeuM/S220/cape_cod.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7536158968549497620</id><published>2008-05-22T14:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-22T14:51:41.588-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bike Trouble</title><content type='html'>I was trying to ride my bike home from campus but I couldn't figure out a route to get off the hill. For some reason everywhere I tried to go was either not accessible by bike or there were too many pedestrians. One of the women from my motorcycle class told me I should just take the monorail.&lt;br /&gt;I was with Nina in an apartment. I walked through the living room, which had no furniture in it. When I got out to the balcony I felt like my vision was cloudy and I was having trouble focusing on things. I dropped my calculator on the deck, and because I couldn't see very well I was having trouble picking it up. Then I started to lose control of my balance, and the deck started swaying. Now picking up the calculator was not only difficult but actually kind of terrifying because when I got close to the edge of the deck I felt like I was going to fall off. The calculator kept sliding farther toward the edge of the deck, and eventually I heard it fall off onto the floor underneath us. I figured it was probably broken.&lt;br /&gt;I was out trying to ride my bike but it was really windy and I couldn't figure out where to go. I was in Santa Cruz, but all the streets were perfectly laid out and there were big industrial complexes along the side of the road, so it was really a lot like Irvine. The wind had cleared all the clouds and smog away, and I could see San Francisco from where I was standing. Nina walked by me and asked what I was doing, and I told her I didn't really know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7536158968549497620?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7536158968549497620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7536158968549497620' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7536158968549497620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7536158968549497620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/05/bike-trouble.html' title='Bike Trouble'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-5886503270894373582</id><published>2008-05-15T11:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-15T11:37:30.581-07:00</updated><title type='text'>School</title><content type='html'>I was with Sean, Shayna, and some of Sean's friends on a terrace somewhere at school, but the surrounding vegetation was reminiscent of a jungle. School was out for summer now, and we were trying to think of something to do. I had ecstasy tablets with me, and Sean thought we should take them. I told him that it was 5 o'clock in the afternoon and that we would be up all night if we took it now. He said he didn't care, and so I decided I didn't care either and we took them. We hung around for a little while and I was disappointed because I wasn't feeling much. Shayna showed up and I asked her what she had done with my bike. She said she had put it in my car, but that she hadn't locked it. I got really mad at her for this and gave her my keys and told her to go back and at least lock it up. She left to go do that, but she didn't come back for a while and I was worried that she had forgotten.&lt;br /&gt;I was outside of the library, finishing a bottle of white wine. I needed to get my homework done, so I was drinking the wine in a hurry, and as a result got some of it on my shirt. I saw Phil sitting outside on a bench, and hoped he wouldn't notice me because this whole situation felt kind of gross to me. I finished the wine and went inside. The library was packed full of people, which worried me because I thought I wouldn't be able to check out the textbook I needed. When I came up to the counter and asked the lady for a chemistry book, she said they had it. I was trying to stand far away from her because I was afraid she would smell the wine on my breath. When she handed me the book, she asked if I really needed the whole thing. I said that I was only studying a couple chapters, so she tried to go find these versions of the book that were just little pieces, so that other students could use the book too. This ended up being too much of a hassle, so she just gave me the textbook.&lt;br /&gt;I was staring at a piece of paper trying to solve a chemistry problem. I looked at what they had given me and tried to piece the problem together. It was an equation to find the activation energy of a reaction, and I had the two rates, the activation energy, and I knew R was a constant, but I only had one temperature. I started to panic because I didn't see any way to do the problem without the second temperature.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;School = life. If the library was open all night, I would just sleep in it and save money on rent.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-5886503270894373582?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/5886503270894373582/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=5886503270894373582' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/5886503270894373582'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/5886503270894373582'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/05/school.html' title='School'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4604257563485262490</id><published>2008-05-13T11:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T12:11:51.855-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost Heroes</title><content type='html'>I went back to work at Blockbuster, and we had some sort of employee meeting upstairs. I found out that Nickie was working there again too, so we talked a while about how long we've worked at Blockbuster and stuff. I think something blew up outside, and i noticed a black smoke edging toward us. I yelled, "It's the smoke monster from Lost!" I was joking around, but soon enough it would become less of a joke. The smoke came in through our broken window and started making shapes. It made the shape of a bear and started attacking me. I didn't know what to do. I saw Ben from Lost, and i told him to call off the smoke monster, but he told me it wasn't his. I immediately assumed he was lying, but then i decided he had no reason to hurt me, so i believed him. Soon after that, the smoke monster kinda subsided and went away. For some reason, Lacey Wegner was there, and i was talking to her for a while, but then she went outside, and i thought she turned into someone else, but it turned out that they were both out there. I don't remember who the other girl was. Somehow, this turned into me hanging out with Jenni in a place that looked like the Marquis' house, but i don't remember much of that part. Ben found me again and basically told me we had to get back to the Island. He asked me who my friend was, and i told him to be more specific. He seemed interested in taking someone to the Island. He said his name was Jim, and i knew he was talking about the store manager at Blockbuster, but nothing came of it. I think Jenni turned into Claire from Heroes at this point, and when the three of us got outside, Ben showed her what he could do...by picking up a foosball table and throwing it across the yard. Apparently, he had super strength. She, of course, showed him that she could regenerate. I used the same thing she used to cut herself to show that i could not be cut. I had impenetrable skin. It started to rain, and i went for shelter under a tree, but the branches just spread out over me so i got rained on anyway. The three of us needed to get back to the Island, but that's about when i woke up to my window shaking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4604257563485262490?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4604257563485262490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4604257563485262490' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4604257563485262490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4604257563485262490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/05/lost-heroes.html' title='Lost Heroes'/><author><name>Briggity Brak</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14879958720524914437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3vwhuG1_Sk/SPhbuMHFxvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/few6nNPxeuM/S220/cape_cod.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7025604672876598222</id><published>2008-05-08T15:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-08T15:11:50.035-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ponies</title><content type='html'>I had two ponies that someone had given to me. I drove out to a ranch to see if I could keep them there. When I got out there the guy who worked there said they had a stable for them, but it would be 120$ a week plus the cost of food. I thought that was a lot of money, but I didn't really have a choice so I decided to keep them there. I wanted to ride them and I needed the rancher guy to show me how, but he went to do something and didn't come back.&lt;br /&gt;I went to the mall with my mom. I bought a lot of clothes that I thought were nice, but I knew I would never actually wear them. I got back into the car with my mom to leave (her sister was with us now too), but then I decided I had to pee really bad so I went to find a bathroom. I found this really grungy bathroom by the parking lot. I sat down in one of the stalls, then I noticed there was a boy watching me pee through a hole in the bottom of the door. I yelled at him to go away, but he wouldn't listen to me. I finished peeing, and lectured the kid about giving people privacy. I ran back to the car and felt bad that I had taken such a long time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't written down my dreams in weeks, and when I finally decide to this one also happens to be about peeing... ?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7025604672876598222?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7025604672876598222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7025604672876598222' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7025604672876598222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7025604672876598222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/05/ponies.html' title='Ponies'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7272367836459870445</id><published>2008-03-30T10:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-30T10:47:59.389-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Peeing in the Shower</title><content type='html'>I was in a guy's run-down apartment. He didn't have a toilet and I had to pee so I decided to just use the shower. I went into the shower and tried to pull the curtain closed but it kept coming off the rod, and there were two old guys sitting in the living room so I wanted to make sure they couldn't see me. Another girl showed up and held the curtain up for me. When I tried to pee it shot in random directions, and some of it got on my face. I turned on the shower to rinse myself off. I was trying to keep from getting my hair wet but failed, so I got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself and one around my hair. The girl there had done the same, and we stood in the bathroom talking as we got dressed. There wasn't a lot of space in there, so to open a package I needed I had to put my arms around her neck and open it behind her head. She thought this was funny and in a mock sexy voice said "oh here" and put her arms around my waist. I found this amusing, but at the same time it was actually turning me on. I started fantasizing about having sex with her, and was trying really hard to ignore this urge.&lt;br /&gt;I was outside on a balcony and had just finished my finals. I was waiting for Lauren so that we could go to the beach. She showed up and looked really beautiful. We rode our bikes over to a beach and sat down on the sand. The water was crystal blue like in Hawaii, and I sat right above the water and put my feet in it. A little kid came and sat down next to me. He was very cute and we started talking about random things. My mom and dad walked up behind me, and the kid continued to talk. Only now he started saying really weird things I couldn't understand, but I managed to catch the words "dad" and "penis". I hoped my parents didn't hear, and just hugged him to pretend like he didn't say anything upsetting.&lt;br /&gt;I was on the same beach talking with my dad about either what I had done last night or what I was going to do tonight. He was upset with me for drinking. I told him that I had only had about four beers and was very responsible about it. He seemed to think that four was a lot, and then started asking me about hookah. I told him it wasn't a big deal and that I feel I should be entitled to smoke it every once in a while if I want to. He kind of gave up arguing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7272367836459870445?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7272367836459870445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7272367836459870445' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7272367836459870445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7272367836459870445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/peeing-in-shower.html' title='Peeing in the Shower'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-1829742706070326043</id><published>2008-03-29T09:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-29T09:58:38.812-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dead Mice on the Dirty Ground</title><content type='html'>I was walking with Justin and some other people through a parking structure. Justin put his arm around me and asked if I saw a future for us. I said yes, but that it was difficult for me to just come home once in a while and then leave again. He nodded and continued to listen. I told him that maybe someday there would be a better situation for us. We walked outside onto a balcony that was like a castle rampart. Someone started to explain the rules of a game we were all going to play. It was like a scavenger hunt and some kind of sport mixed together.&lt;br /&gt;I was running down a sidewalk following a bunch of people. It was starting to get dark and I was afraid of tripping on something. We got to the bottom of a hill and got in line in front of a tree. Someone asked me what my team name was going to be (as in a name for my individual self while on the team). I don't remember what I picked anymore, but after someone wrote it down I wanted to change it to "tangerine". One by one someone would walk up to a tree and pick a tangerine off of it and throw it. Someone's tangerine went into the bushes and I went to go get it. I spotted some poison oak, and despite trying to avoid it I got some of it on my hand. Then I accidentally used that same hand to scratch my neck. A girl on my team handed me a different kind of bush I could use to get the poison oak off. I started hitting myself with the bush.&lt;br /&gt;The game we were playing was supposed to provide us with food, and I think we lost so we didn't get to keep any of the tangerines. I found a dead mouse that I would have to eat for dinner. I started to walk home with the mouse, and I didn't want to pick it up with my hands, so I tried just kicking it down the street. Kicking it made some of it's guts start to spill out, and suddenly I felt like I had part of the mouse in my mouth. It felt fleshy and dry and absolutely disgusting and I started gagging. I wondered how I would ever eat the whole thing. I brought it the rest of the way home by scooting it with a stick.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-1829742706070326043?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/1829742706070326043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=1829742706070326043' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1829742706070326043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1829742706070326043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/dead-mice-on-dirty-ground.html' title='Dead Mice on the Dirty Ground'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-888654511336640648</id><published>2008-03-27T17:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-27T17:59:04.333-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wedding Rings for Cancer Kids</title><content type='html'>I found out that Anastasia was engaged, and it affected me a lot more than it should have. I was talking to her about it, and she was having some sort of fundraiser to pay for a lot of the things for the wedding (ie. the Ring, Dress, etc.). I was debating whether or not i should pay for something. As i was talking to her, i turned away, and when i turned back, she didn't have any hair. At first, i thought she just shaved her head while i was looking away, but then i decided she had already shaved her head, and she was wearing wigs now. I wondered if it was a medical issue. After i stopped talking to her, i kinda collapsed on the floor reminiscent of the way i spent the lunch when i found out that Jenni was going out with Art in 12th grade.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-888654511336640648?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/888654511336640648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=888654511336640648' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/888654511336640648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/888654511336640648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/wedding-rings-for-cancer-kids.html' title='Wedding Rings for Cancer Kids'/><author><name>Briggity Brak</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14879958720524914437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3vwhuG1_Sk/SPhbuMHFxvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/few6nNPxeuM/S220/cape_cod.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-958326037296713293</id><published>2008-03-26T22:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-26T22:32:47.778-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mario Kart</title><content type='html'>Night of: March 25&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Phil Phan&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to have people over, and decide to play Guitar Hero until they showed up. I barely start playing when Phil Phan walks up to my door. I'm at my old house, in my room, and my door is almost shut all the way. I wait for him to walk up, and tell him he can come in. We play Mario Kart, racing each other and all the computer characters. As I'm lapping Phil, my character, Yoshi, turns into a gigantic egg (the Yoshi egg with the green spots), but continues to roll towards the finish line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: This is pretty obvious (Chris' bday celebration coming up=Phil Phan, guitar hero mentioned between Brian and I that night, and pre-ordering Mario Kart that day).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-958326037296713293?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/958326037296713293/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=958326037296713293' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/958326037296713293'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/958326037296713293'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/mario-kart.html' title='Mario Kart'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-6889964124007003948</id><published>2008-03-23T23:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-23T23:23:41.960-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Loose Cannon</title><content type='html'>I was playing handball with Brad outside our church (but it wasn't really our church). I noticed a big guy who looked vaguely familiar and a girl entering the area, and he had a baseball bat. I was nervous and thought some bad stuff was about to go down. I tried to ignore the situation and continue playing handball. It had been a long time since i had played, so i felt very awkward trying to do a lot of things. While we were playing, Bruce Wegner walked up to us and looked very angry. I was a little freaked out by this because he's like NEVER angry. He said something like "the ONE time we don't lock the church..." I immediately knew what happened. The two people i saw earlier were robbing the church. For some reason, i felt responsible for this like i should have done something before, but i was too afraid. I was still afraid, but i decided to go inside the church to see what happened. There was a closed door somewhere, and i somehow knew that the guy and the girl were behind it. I hesitated, but eventually opened it to find them there. I realized who the guy was at around this time. It was the guy we called "The Loose Cannon" at the men's retreat this year. His name escapes me at the moment. I decided to approach him, and i put my arm around him saying, "why are you doing this?" I continued on, "do you know who you are? You are Jesus' beautiful son." He looked a little shocked when i said this, and i felt like it really got to him. I think he started to tear up about this time, and he decided not to rob the church. He started unloading the stuff that he stole and putting it back in the church (which, in the dream, was just a bunch of wooden pallets). I was really proud of myself for doing the right thing as a started to walk away, and then i felt guilty for being proud of myself, so i said a quick prayer thanking God for helping me to do the right thing and making everything turn out right. Then, i went back to help the guy put the stuff back in the church.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-6889964124007003948?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/6889964124007003948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=6889964124007003948' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6889964124007003948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6889964124007003948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/loose-cannon.html' title='The Loose Cannon'/><author><name>Briggity Brak</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14879958720524914437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3vwhuG1_Sk/SPhbuMHFxvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/few6nNPxeuM/S220/cape_cod.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-2719688430276469496</id><published>2008-03-13T16:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-13T16:21:27.467-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Guitar Hero</title><content type='html'>Night of: March 12&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in my apartment and someone's knocking at the door. I look through the peephole and see about 4-8 kids, and remember that they were supposed to come over to see someone else, who isn't here right now. They need help with a project. I let them in, and they start walking around, looking for their helper. I tell them, "He's not here... you can play video games in the meantime."&lt;br /&gt;They get happy and come into my room to play. I try to get them out 'cause the video games are in the family room... and 'cause I farted in that room.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone rushes to the guitars in the family room, and I grab one of them. At first, I think I'm second player, but I see the Wii Remote turn blue on the first square when I hit a button, so I'm happy I'm first. We start selecting characters, and people are surprised that I have weird things unlocked. I pick Jesus as my first character, then pick a black superhero--he looks like a black Captain America. I then notice there are two black guys in the room, and they're excited I picked him. I tell them that he's a really good character and start talking about Donkey Kong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I miss Guitar Hero.... Brian.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-2719688430276469496?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/2719688430276469496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=2719688430276469496' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2719688430276469496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2719688430276469496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/guitar-hero.html' title='Guitar Hero'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-109444434816651846</id><published>2008-03-11T14:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-12T00:08:51.464-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Joe Rogan's Show</title><content type='html'>Night of: March 10&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: my brother, Tracy Morgan, Joe Rogan, Eric T., Chris P., Kyle H., Phil Mastroianni (high school friend), Tracy Steel (ex)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm hanging out with some friends and my brother. He suggests we get tickets to see Tracy Morgan. I find out that Joe Rogan is doing stand-up, so I decide to see him instead. The line to get tickets is huge. Luckily, me, Eric, and someone else get there early, so we're at the front of the line. Chris and Kyle come later, when the line is huge. Some people are cutting in line, and I tell Chris and Kyle that they have a good chance of cutting in with us. They try, and Chris gets caught and pushed out of the line. He immediately says, "Red jacket," and takes Kyle down with him.&lt;br /&gt;We're now going in. Eric and I see that we're allowed to put a word into a box, and Joe Rogan will define it or come up with something to say about that word. Eric picks a weird word and tells me I should pick "Pepperdine." I tell him that's genius and debate putting "USC vs. Pepperdine."&lt;br /&gt;Eric runs in to find seats. We're with another friend. The three of us sit with a seat in between us in hopes of saving them for Chris, Kyle, and whoever is with them. Phil Mastroianni comes up and asks if it's taken. We say we're trying to save the seat and I say, "Phil!" He looks at me with some recognition and asks, "Who are you?"&lt;br /&gt;"Justin. We went to high school together. We built a house in English class."&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, I remember."&lt;br /&gt;"The last time I saw you, you had a huge beard," I add.&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, it was crazy, wasn't it?"&lt;br /&gt;I remember that when I saw him, he was married, too. I try to see his ring finger, but can't make out if he has a ring on or not.&lt;br /&gt;It's later now, and I'm driving to go to the show. I look at something on the passenger seat, look back up, and all the cars are stopped. I swerve to the left, but still hit the car in front of me. I pull forward about 8 cars and stop in between double yellow lines. The car I hit pulls in front of mine. It's a middle-aged woman. I apologize right away.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm sorry," we both say at the same time. I wonder why she's apologizing.&lt;br /&gt;"It's totally my fault 'cause I hit the back of your car," I add. I look to see the damage, and there's barely any. I'm pretty happy about that.&lt;br /&gt;She says, "I looked down, and all of a sudden the cars were stopped."&lt;br /&gt;"That's what happened to me," I respond.&lt;br /&gt;"I'll have to get this fixed for you--get all these nuts and bolts."&lt;br /&gt;I look at the back bumper of my red Saturn (my old car) and see the license plate fell off and there are a bunch of holes from nuts and bolts coming off. The damage is much worse than the damage to her car. I then realize that she hit the back of my car--the person I hit must've driven off.&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, I guess if you can get the nuts and bolts and get the license plate back on," I tell her.&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm walking the rest of the way to go to Joe Rogan's show. I see a friend driving with Tracy in the passenger seat. I talk to them at a light, but when the signal turns green, they drive off. I wonder why they didn't give me a ride. I start running. I text message Kyle at the same time to see if he ever got tickets to the show. He says he did.&lt;br /&gt;I'm now at the show, in line again, and Chris says that Kyle got a ticket for 5:00 p.m., and ours is at 8:00. I see people coming out and say, "Oh, we'll probably see him coming out then." We see him and he says the show was good. He asks all of us in line if we have tickets to the later show, and when we all answer in the affirmative, he says, "Dang."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-109444434816651846?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/109444434816651846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=109444434816651846' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/109444434816651846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/109444434816651846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/joe-rogans-show.html' title='Joe Rogan&apos;s Show'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7569970314690370030</id><published>2008-03-10T13:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T13:57:49.877-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chem Lab</title><content type='html'>Theo - friend at SC&lt;br /&gt;Sean - backpacking friend&lt;br /&gt;Cory - Sean's Friend&lt;br /&gt;Shaney - high school friend&lt;br /&gt;Court - weird kid I knew in high school&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in a new Chemistry lab. I got to the lab and everyone was starting the first assignment. I had left my backpack in another part of the building. I ran back along a bunch of corridors to find it. When I finally got it and got back to the classroom I was really behind in the lab. The teacher looked like Cory and she was really strict. She yelled at me and told me I couldn't do the lab anymore. I tried to negotiate with her to see if there was any way I could make it up. She eventually agreed to let me do the lab another day.&lt;br /&gt;I came back on another day to do the lab and Theo showed up in the class. He sat down next to me and was talking to me and being really obnoxious as the teacher was talking. I asked him a few times to shut up and was getting really worried. Eventually the teacher got really mad at Theo and kicked us both out of the lab. I was really upset with Theo and scared I would fail the class.&lt;br /&gt;Sean was in the lab as well and said he would help me with it. For some reason we had to go to Point Reyes to work on it. I suggested that we ride our bikes there. Sean pointed out that it was really far away. At first I decided I didn't care, but then I changed my mind so we rode a bus there.&lt;br /&gt;I was on a beach with a bunch of people. The people eventually left and I was just sitting with Shaney and Sean on some rocks. We were talking about people we knew in high school. Sean talked about Court and how weird he was. I said it was really strange that Sean knew Court. We started climbing around on these rocks by the water. Shaney jumped off of them onto the sand. It was a really long drop and I was worried she had hurt herself. She seemed to be alright, but I wasn't going to do it too. I climbed down off the rocks really slowly. As I was climbing I felt really afraid that I might fall. I got down and the water was coming right up to our feet and we were stuck in front of the rocks. Shaney and I decided to just swim. At first the swimming was fun, but then the current started to get really strong and we were getting pulled further and further out into the ocean. Eventually we realized that we were stuck out there. I told myself to just calm down and slowly swim back toward shore. I wondered if Sean would save me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"In Retrospect": I went backpacking again this weekend, and the last backpacking trip I took was in Point Reyes. And I didn't actually go to high school with Sean, but he really reminds me of my friend Ryan that I did go to high school with.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7569970314690370030?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7569970314690370030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7569970314690370030' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7569970314690370030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7569970314690370030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/chem-lab.html' title='Chem Lab'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-1980968996137171484</id><published>2008-03-08T16:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-08T16:38:47.349-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Group Camp</title><content type='html'>Night of: March 7&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm at a group camp thing in New York. We're right next to the statue of liberty, but it's gone and replaced with a child version.&lt;br /&gt;I see some kids playing a dodgeball-like game on a tennis court, where two people on one side of the net try to bean a bunch of kids on the other side. The kids have tennis rackets to block with. I think about how it's kinda lame to want to play a game where you get beaned, but at the same time, I think it would be exhilarating.&lt;br /&gt;The leader of our group camp thing wants to have a talk with me, and I can tell he thinks I'm an anarchist.&lt;br /&gt;The group is going somewhere else, and I follow a group of kids to get a ride, but their car is full. I'm now driving a fire truck and trying to follow the leader. I hear what exit I'm supposed to take, but the leader took the carpool lane, and it goes a different direction, so I get confused. I take the exit, and don't know which way to go, so I pick left, which is towards the carpool lane. I end up stopping at a house and pulling up the driveway. It's so steep that the fire truck starts lifting up off the ground. I try to maneuver and end up sideways, and at that point, the truck tips over. A family comes out of the house to see what's going on. I realize I'm at the wrong place and have no ride and no way to get a hold of anyone from the group.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-1980968996137171484?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/1980968996137171484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=1980968996137171484' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1980968996137171484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1980968996137171484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/group-camp.html' title='Group Camp'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-773093506335662574</id><published>2008-03-07T20:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T21:23:41.660-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Old House and Poker</title><content type='html'>Nap on: March 7&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: my brother, my sister, my niece, Minnie, Bob Kircher, Janet Kircher, Miles Kircher, Kristy Kircher, Brian, Phil Helmuth, Daniel Negreanu&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm walking with my brother, my sister, and my niece. We're walking towards a pool, and I figure we're just going to hang out there, but they all get in. I don't really feel like going in, but I do anyway. The pool is warm, which makes me realize how cold it is outside. There's a bit of a wind chill. I debate telling my sister that I hate going in the pool sometimes because it makes everything feel colder. I'm throwing a ball around with them and my niece starts getting sad.&lt;br /&gt;It's time to get out now, and my sister is consoling my niece. I'm walking back in what is now my backyard at my old house. As I'm getting to the side door, my niece is running up and throwing the ball. I'm afraid it's going to go on the roof. Instead, it goes over the side gate. My brother gets it quite easily, even though the gate is locked. I lock the gate back up. We then see my next door neighbors (when I lived there): Bob, Janet, Miles, and Kristy. Janet says, "Happy Birthday!" I assume she's just telling me late 'cause I haven't seen her in a long time. She then adds, "It is today, right?" My family chimes in and corrects her, and everyone laughs and has a good time. As we're about to go in, Minnie peaks her head over the wall, which scares someone in my family. She says, "hi" and tells us about how she got her wisdom teeth out (not in real life--no idea where this came from). Her face isn't swollen at all.&lt;br /&gt;I'm somewhere else now and find a note from my sister that says to come find her and return "the ball" and "the owl."&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I wake up and Brian shows up. It's all dark in my apartment. I tell Brian that I need to check my lottery tickets, and that I need to tell him a crazy story about it: 2 guys won the lottery on March 3rd, but they repeated numbers too frequently (which is against the rules in my dream world), so the lottery took away their prize. So now I have to check my old lottery tickets to see if I'm a winner for March 3rd. I find my old lottery ticket, and notice it has numbers on both sides. I also see that the ticket says Kyle and I bought 300 numbers, so it would take forever to check them all. I think about how Brian is sitting in the other room, doing nothing. I actually have The Family Man dvd menu playing on tv, but that's it. I come back in the room, and I see Brian sitting in the dark, watching the dvd menu. I tell him how I love The Family Man, and he says he does, too. We're going to watch it after I check my numbers. I tell him I still have to tell him the crazy story, and he says, "Oh I know!" and I go back to check my numbers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: Kinda weird that Brian just came over and is in my family room alone right now as I'm typing this.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm waiting for Brian to come over and I find out that the game he wants to buy tomorrow is coming out today, so he's not going to come over. I'm bummed.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm playing poker with Phil Helmuth and Daniel Negreanu. We're all standing up in a circle, and the pot is in the middle. I have a ton of chips. I go to raise Phil, who is to my left, by 1 red chip and he points out that I barely raised it, and he has to call no matter what. I'm a bit embarrassed.&lt;br /&gt;It's my turn again, and I again raise by 1 red chip. He points it out again, and I feel like an idiot. I claim that I meant to raise by a green chip, but I don't know if I really meant to or not, or if I just forgot the values.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-773093506335662574?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/773093506335662574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=773093506335662574' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/773093506335662574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/773093506335662574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/my-old-house-and-poker.html' title='My Old House and Poker'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4412799743920533617</id><published>2008-03-07T07:23:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T07:43:26.148-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid Kids</title><content type='html'>My mom and i were watching TV. I was waiting for the sun to go down so i could head up to Justin's. I noticed that this seemed to be taking longer than normal. Suddenly, the door bell rang. I went to answer it, but no one was there. I was a little angry, but decided to ignore it and went back to the TV room. The doorbell rang again, so i went to answer it again. Again, there was no one there. This time, i looked around outside before giving up. It was raining pretty hard. I noticed there was an umbrella sticking out of my mom's car (her old car...i miss that car...). I walked over to it, and i found a kid from down the street in the car. He got out and followed me into the house. I tried to figure out exactly how to ask him "What are you doing here?" and just as i started, he began to speak as well, so i cut myself off and just decided to let him tell me what was going on. "PLEASE take care of me!" he shouted. He repeated this a few times, and i said "No." He had some sort of papers about it too. I read on them something about "Deferring responsibility." I told him, "I defer responsibility to my mom, who will, in turn, defer responsibility back to your parents." I think i told him to get out at that point. In any event, he left soon after. A little while later, i decided that it was a bit odd how easily we had gotten rid of him, so i thought i might check outside to see what was going on. It wasn't really raining anymore, but i saw the umbrella sticking out of the car again. I walked over there, and i was shocked to see not one, but many of the kids from down the street in the car, but not only that, they all had luggage. "What the hell is going on here???" i exclaimed. I gathered that they were planning some sort of road trip or something to get away from their parents, i guess. I told them to get out of the car. I raised my voice a bit as i asked them, "What are you hoping to accomplish here? None of you can drive; you don't have a license; you don't have the keys--" one of them interjected here by handing me the keys to the car, which really freaked me out. However, i seemed to be accomplishing my goal as they were all filing out of the car and bringing their crap with them. One kinda fat kid was getting out, and he was right in front of my face, so i decided to try and make a lasting impression to avoid this situation again, and i yelled, "I SAID GET OUT!!!" right in his ear. As he scurried by, two cops walked up, and asked if there was a problem. I told them that i &lt;br /&gt;thought i had everything under control. The kids had pretty much all left by now, and the cops asked me if we had ever had a problem with these kids before. I started to say, "no," but then i remembered a previous incident involving one of the kids (may have been the part earlier in this dream). They started examining the car, and i was shocked to see a bunch of wet towels and junk in the car. I thought they had taken all their crap with them. The cops helped me get it all out of the car, and some of the kids came back to retrieve their stuff. One of the things that remained in the car was a set of orange ski goggles. I told the cop that these were mine, but he seemed pretty suspicious for some reason. He asked me if the sunglasses were mine too, but i told him they weren't. I don't really remember what happened next, but for some reason, the name "Brooke Johnson" woke me up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4412799743920533617?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4412799743920533617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4412799743920533617' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4412799743920533617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4412799743920533617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/stupid-kids.html' title='Stupid Kids'/><author><name>Briggity Brak</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14879958720524914437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3vwhuG1_Sk/SPhbuMHFxvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/few6nNPxeuM/S220/cape_cod.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-2444467779615022487</id><published>2008-03-05T15:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-05T16:04:06.914-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Identical Twin and Tests Becoming Real</title><content type='html'>Night of: March 4&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in class and I have an identical twin (who happens to look nothing like me). An essay was assigned: to write about something frightening. My twin, being lazy, wrote two handwritten pages about derogatory names. To help him out, I decide to read over the essay, comment, and add parts. When the teacher comes in, she asks my twin to read his paper. He does, and the class/teacher love it. He then has to rewrite it to another sheet of paper, so I help with that--but when I'm done, it all fits onto half a sheet of paper--he must've written really big to fit it onto two sheets. Now I'm going to have to rewrite it again.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm in a group of people who are trying to pass an obstacle course test to receive a new status--like getting a black belt. The obstacle course is just a straight path with people kneeling on each side, swinging fake swords downward. The way to get past them is to slap them, which makes them swing, and then slap them again to keep the sword down, and quickly roll past them before they swing again. I try this once, and get to the last couple of guys who are grouped together. One of them touches me with his sword, so I have to try again. I get to the end again and the obstacle changes. I now have to guide people across a street. Every time I walk a group over, some more people start walking. I'm running back and forth with my arms out to protect them. One group comes over, freaking out, and says, "We need help! Call an ambulance!" I see that a few of them are really old, and it looks like an old woman in the group is dying. I hold their hands, guide them across the street, and put them in a white van. I get in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-2444467779615022487?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/2444467779615022487/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=2444467779615022487' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2444467779615022487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2444467779615022487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/my-identical-twin.html' title='My Identical Twin and Tests Becoming Real'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-5008177222285483291</id><published>2008-03-03T17:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-03T17:53:18.871-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Poker</title><content type='html'>Night of: Mar. 2&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Carl, Jeff S., Brian&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in class, and everyone's getting up to leave. I run into Carl, who shakes his head at me, as if I've done something wrong. I ask him what the matter is, and he says that we haven't hung out and I haven't talked to him in a long time. He suggests playing poker at my house in Laguna, and Jeff says he's in. I call Brian on my cell phone to ask, but the connection is bad, so I can't tell what he's saying and vice versa. To make it worse, as I'm talking, I'm losing my voice. After saying one sentence, all I can do is whisper. I stop talking for a minute, but it barely helps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: Brian and I have a "disconnect" about poker.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-5008177222285483291?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/5008177222285483291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=5008177222285483291' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/5008177222285483291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/5008177222285483291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/poker.html' title='Poker'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7319037652629800469</id><published>2008-03-01T16:15:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-01T16:24:57.995-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Unreal (Games and Chasing)</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 29&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Chris &amp;amp; Jeff (Patti)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm driving my car and get into an accident. My car then reappears somewhere else, completely fixed. I'm now in a restaurant that looks like Subway, and I'm trying to explain to some people about my car, but they don't believe me. This turns into a video game dream: I know it's not real and I'm controlling a character, but that's all I see (there's no tv or controller or anything). The character is me. I can hear Jeff commentating my moves. I'm driving my car, chasing another guy, and trying to get him to stop before time runs out. I ram the back of his car, and in the very last second, his car flies off the screen, on fire. My car crashes and flips out of control, but finally comes to a stop. I see that my life is very low. For some reason, I'm now kicking a public mailbox, and a pedestrian comes up and starts slapping me. I see a life pack right next to me, but it's too late. The weak pedestrian has killed my character. Jeff finds this amusing.&lt;br /&gt;I'm now playing a video game with Chris. It's Mario-esque, with characters trying to jump from platform to platform. I'm racing Chris' character vertically.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: The duplicating thing may have come from the fact that Kyle, Brian, and I were talking about the movie, The Prestige.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm climbing up a spiral staircase with no railings inside of a lighthouse-like structure. All of a sudden I feel that someone is behind me. I start to turn and he grabs my leg. I quickly try to kick him off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I actually kicked violently in my sleep, which woke me up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7319037652629800469?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7319037652629800469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7319037652629800469' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7319037652629800469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7319037652629800469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/unreal-games-and-chasing.html' title='Unreal (Games and Chasing)'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4491926700180776774</id><published>2008-03-01T16:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-01T16:15:14.144-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ellen Page's School</title><content type='html'>Night of: February 28&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Brian, Ellen Page, Carley&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brian and I are walking with &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0680983/"&gt;Ellen Page&lt;/a&gt;, following her to class on a college campus. She's a friend of ours and we know that she's recently become famous; however, all the people on campus don't even look at her as we're walking. I say, "Man, if I went to this school, I'd be staring constantly."&lt;br /&gt;We're now in what looks like a hotel room on a bed, and Carley is with us--we're playing games.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4491926700180776774?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4491926700180776774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4491926700180776774' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4491926700180776774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4491926700180776774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/03/ellen-pages-school.html' title='Ellen Page&apos;s School'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7991953971726802018</id><published>2008-02-28T16:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-28T17:04:39.467-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Lamborghini</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 27&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: my mom, my brother&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in a store with my family and we get to a model car section. My mom points out that I've always wanted a lamborghini, and intends on buying a model for my birthday. This turns into me, my brother, and someone else getting into a real lamborghini. My brother is going to drive, so I get in the back seat. There are two rows of back seats, and I take the one in the very back. We start driving, and I can tell we're speeding almost instantly. I look at the speedometer and see we're going between 80-100 mph in a 45 zone. As we're approaching a red light, we don't slow down. I ask, "Are we really going 80 mph?"&lt;br /&gt;My brother confirms this, slows down a little, and runs the red light. I then see lights flash; we're getting pulled over. We decelerate very slowly in the right lane and approach another traffic light. We're getting close to it--I wonder if it's too close and we'll be stopping in a turning lane. I then see that we're about to pull over at a bus stop. A bus comes up to the left and cuts in front of us, forcing us to stop. I'm somewhat relieved.&lt;br /&gt;The police officer tries to open my door (yes, the car has 4+ doors for some reason), but it's locked. I hold onto my model car tightly, which is also a lamborghini. I'm excited that I'm going to get to drive it soon after all this is over.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7991953971726802018?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7991953971726802018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7991953971726802018' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7991953971726802018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7991953971726802018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/lamborghini.html' title='The Lamborghini'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-6471680951592630315</id><published>2008-02-27T20:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T20:51:06.265-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Soccer and Friends</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 27&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Brian&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just getting to Brian's house, and I enter through his backyard. He greets me and I ask him about Mario Strikers. He says he's not good at it, but it's pretty fun.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm playing in a soccer game with at least 40 people. Our team is winning 6-1, and we're rubbing it in the other team's faces.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm at my dentist's office, only there to support Kyle, since he switched doctors.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-6471680951592630315?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/6471680951592630315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=6471680951592630315' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6471680951592630315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6471680951592630315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/soccer-and-friends.html' title='Soccer and Friends'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-2001168032762312680</id><published>2008-02-24T22:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-24T23:12:17.822-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gender Role Confusion and Feeling Sick</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 23&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Michael Cera (youngish actor in "Juno," "Arrested Developement," and "Superbad")&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have an audition to be "the friend" in an upcoming movie starring &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0148418/"&gt;Michael Cera&lt;/a&gt;. I'm running, racing him to a hotel room. When we get there, two people start asking me questions as I'm sitting on a bed next to my new friend, who's kinda there supporting me and letting me know that this is all normal. They people ask me what my nationality is. I respond, "Indian." They ask if I've been involved in any Indian activities. I feel like they're asking if I'm a terrorist. This is confirmed when they ask how often I hang out with other Indians. Additionally, they ask if I know anything about the U.S.--can I name random things about it? I'm starting to blank, and they add, "...or name anything confusing about the U.S.?"&lt;br /&gt;I say, "Well, the government is confusing, with the House of Representatives, the branches, the senate..." They agree and add their thoughts. I tell them that I was born here and they finally stop asking questions.&lt;br /&gt;I get a script and try to find my part. It's hard to find--I can't read well. Finally I realize my part is the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;female&lt;/span&gt; friend. I put a short black wig on and look in the mirror. I have long sideburns, so I don't look very feminine. I wonder if I should recite my lines with a girly voice, or if they want a funny character--a girl with a deep voice.&lt;br /&gt;I try to find my lines in the script, and instead see that my name is associated with a different character. I ask my new friend, who doesn't look like Michael anymore, why my character is different. He takes the script, looks at the cover, and I see that it looks exactly like Cliff Notes. He tells me that it's old and hands me the new, correct script.&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm trying to find my lines again, but the whole thing is still hard to read. Everyone's gone now, rehearsing, and I'm in the room by myself. The room looks like my room in my old house. I think, "Why didn't I memorize and rehearse my lines a long time ago? I usually practice these things." I decide that this job isn't for me. Why am I even here?&lt;br /&gt;I put my Reebok pumps on, gather my Converse shoes and dirty laundry, dropping some articles of clothing in the process. I'm rushing because I don't want people to see me walk out. I pick up the fallen clothes and feel sad that I'm leaving my new friend--so I grab a black ball point pen (like the kind I write my dreams down with) and a yellow sticky note (the kind right next to my bed) to leave a note for him. I walk out of the room. As I'm walking out, I see on kid look at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: Chris P. mentioned that it's funny that Michael Cera is now kinda the most famous person from Arrested Development, and he's just a kid. That's where he came from.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm lying in bed next to a guy, and he starts kissing me. I feel his scruff, and he sticks his tongue in my mouth. I gag and fall out of the bed. I gag again. Seconds later, my mouth fills with fluid, so I run to a sink and spit it out.  It feels very real (I actually wonder when I wake up if I threw up in the bed). I see that it's mostly orange-ish water, but there are chunks of what looks to be chicken in it. I can't wash it down the sink. I almost gag again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: This dream, and the dream above, are transcribed from what I wrote in the middle of the "night." I now see that both involve a sort of gender role confusion, which I find interesting, but am unsure what it relates to.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm in a plane that's traveling so fast, the G-force is making all of us black out. As I've heard, you have to force your breathing very heavily in order to stay conscious (which is true, according to Joe Rogan). I am doing this, so that I won't pass out. The pilot and anyone else in the plane are doing the same. My view is backwards; I am in the back of the plane, looking out, so it's making me feel sick. We're moving through metal octagonal sphere frames, and I feel like the pilot is going to crash into one of the bars. It seems very Mario Bros.-esque. Seeing all this backwards and at super speed is really making me feel sick and think that the pilot is going to kill us all. Why am I on this plane?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I remembered this, but never wrote it down. Interesting that I felt sick in this dream and the last... maybe I was actually feeling sick.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-2001168032762312680?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/2001168032762312680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=2001168032762312680' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2001168032762312680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2001168032762312680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/gende-role-confusion-and-feeling-sick.html' title='Gender Role Confusion and Feeling Sick'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-1576436806057222197</id><published>2008-02-23T16:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-23T17:19:22.797-08:00</updated><title type='text'>GPS Alternate World/Upset With Family, The Dunk Tank, and Brittany's Goodbye</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 22&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Chris Tsutsui, Brittany (Rachel's friend), Kyle, my sister, my niece&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm using my GPS system in my car, and it's telling me to turn onto a street and make a u-turn. It doesn't really make sense, but I try to follow the directions. I see that if I do what I'm supposed to do, it's going to take me to a secret area.&lt;br /&gt;I'm now walking with my GPS thing and it takes me into an alternate universe. I end up at my family's house, which looks totally different since it's a different dimension. My dad is alive and my family is hanging out without me. I get upset. I start realizing that this isn't right, but wake up.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm with a bunch of other people and we're all trying to hit a target on a dunk tank and drop an older man into the water. Chris Tsutsui is upfront--like a foot away--and hitting the target. After dunking the guy like 5 times, he finally misses, even though he's right next to it. The ball is somehow thrown back to the big group of us, and whoever gets it, gets to throw at the target. I finally get the ball and it's incredibly heavy. I wonder how everyone else is able to throw it so easily. It seems to be water-weight, so I squish the ball to get the water out, but that doesn't help very much. I get the ball a couple of times, but miss all shots.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;Brittany is at my house with Kyle and someone else, and she's leaving to go home. I'm lying on my couch, and she comes over to hug goodbye. This turns into us making out and she starts taking her clothes off. It's very awkward because Kyle and someone else are still in the room. Also, my mom is expected home any minute.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm with my sister, my niece, and some other people, and we're all on the ground. I'm sleepy and my sister is mad at me. I start avoiding everyone, and my niece slaps me on the back a few times really hard to get my attention. I yell, "WHAT???"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-1576436806057222197?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/1576436806057222197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=1576436806057222197' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1576436806057222197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1576436806057222197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/gps-alternate-world-dunk-tank-and.html' title='GPS Alternate World/Upset With Family, The Dunk Tank, and Brittany&apos;s Goodbye'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4837096314441370570</id><published>2008-02-23T16:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-23T17:15:25.858-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wait, I Need Yogurt</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 20 or 21&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Stephanie (Stater Bros. clerk)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in line to get groceries and realize that I want yogurt. I tell Stephanie to hold on for a sec, 'cause I want to grab yogurt, and there's no one in line behind me anyway. She seems bothered by this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4837096314441370570?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4837096314441370570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4837096314441370570' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4837096314441370570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4837096314441370570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/wait-i-need-yogurt.html' title='Wait, I Need Yogurt'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-514997821578851793</id><published>2008-02-18T16:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-18T19:09:46.234-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Alcoholic Halloween Sex Bicycle Pee</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 17&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Kyle, Raakhi Kumar, Chris P.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to pee and I'm in a men's public bathroom. There are a bunch of urinals everywhere, but wherever I go, Greg keeps joking around and trying to peek. It makes me not go to the bathroom at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I remembered this after reading about Brian's pee dream.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;It's Halloween, and Kyle knows some people hanging out, so we go. He's driving, and there are people all over the streets--he almost hits them multiple times. We finally get out and meet his friends, one of which is fat. I recognize one of their friends (Raakhi)--she's a family friend that I've known for almost my whole life. We all take a picture together, and I noticed that Kyle's costume is a penis with balls on top of his head. I also notice that there's something on my head, but I'm not sure what kind of genitalia it is, if genitalia at all.&lt;br /&gt;Kyle mentions that he wants to play poker and also go somewhere else. This worries me because if we play poker and want to leave, chances are we're going to lose our money. I explain this to Kyle--that I'm going to take my time at poker. He understands.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm in a wine bar of some sort, and the waiter offers me something with a really long name and description. I have no idea what he's saying. He then says something like, "Or if you like ----, you can have ----." I just go for that 'cause it makes more sense to me. He brings the drinks back and everyone says it tastes really good--like lemonade.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm having sex with a really fat girl. My wiener is like a foot long. She bleeds, and is happy about that.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;Kyle and I get a bicycle and him and Chris get into an argument about who can get somewhere the fastest. This turns into a race, and now I'm driving Kyle around. Chris is in front of us, hits a green light, and we miss it. Kyle is upset. We're now with the bike, and I'm doing most of the work. We hit stairs, and I carry it down. It's very obvious that Chris is going to beat us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-514997821578851793?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/514997821578851793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=514997821578851793' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/514997821578851793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/514997821578851793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/alcoholic-halloween-sex-bicycle.html' title='Alcoholic Halloween Sex Bicycle Pee'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4148467630082540292</id><published>2008-02-18T13:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-18T13:58:20.825-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Daddy, why are you hurting mommy?"</title><content type='html'>I found  a bunch of the guys i play poker with on thursday nights eating Pizza, so i joined them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was driving in a residential area at night admiring the Christmas decorations on all the houses and didn't notice that there was a cul-de-sac, so i drove right up someone's lawn to their front door. I had to turn around to get back on the&lt;br /&gt;road, and by the time i did this, there was a rent-a-cop person waiting for me. She told me she wasn't gonna do anything, but the people in the house might press charges or something. Someone came out of the house, and they did not seem too pleased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I randomly showed up at a Krikorian down south with my mom and sister, and Lucas and some other people were there. Scott Haddad and some other people ate all my Graham Crackers. Somebody there was talking about how they didn't even look at Brawl, and i told them it was because they were an idiot (does that make sense gramatically? because it doesn't seem like it).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, i was doing something that looked like i was "hurting" Shelly. At least, that's what Lam (and, i believe, justin) said. I explained to Lam that she was the girl who i visited for a week on my road trip. I think there was actually more to that because i remember talking to somebody about getting money from people when i went on my road trip (not WHILE i was on my road trip, but like...before...in support? or something? Like how people give people money for graduation, apparently? something like that). They seemed to think i should've got money from everyone i know, but i told them i only got money from like one person. I think the weirdest part about it was that as i was explaining these things, i said that &lt;br /&gt;Shelly had sad goodbye to me before i left for my trip or something. It was like...she was out here going to school with my before i left, and by the time i made it to the east coast and back, she was at home in New Mexico where i visited her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up and went pee in a toilet that was in my mom's room for some reason. That, of course, woke her up, and she told me i wasn't supposed to go in there (because that would wake her up, of course). It was too early for me to wake up for reals, so i was debating whether or not to write my dreams before going back to bed. Then, i woke up for real and had the same argument with myself (until i realized it was actually 1:40, so i should probably just get up).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4148467630082540292?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4148467630082540292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4148467630082540292' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4148467630082540292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4148467630082540292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/daddy-why-are-you-hurting-mommy.html' title='&quot;Daddy, why are you hurting mommy?&quot;'/><author><name>Briggity Brak</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14879958720524914437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3vwhuG1_Sk/SPhbuMHFxvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/few6nNPxeuM/S220/cape_cod.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7756284841523220317</id><published>2008-02-18T12:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-18T12:58:51.062-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It Worked!</title><content type='html'>Ellen - another lesbian friend at UCSC&lt;br /&gt;Chris/Neema - friends from SC, who also happen to be from Irvine&lt;br /&gt;Matt- high school friend&lt;br /&gt;Sean - friend from backpacking club&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something about Justin, Brian, and playing cards.&lt;br /&gt;I was in another country walking around with Chris, Neema, and Matt. We went inside a room and Matt showed me some of his artwork. They were paintings done on pieces of cloth, and in between some of the paintings were plain pieces of cloth. I laid the pile down on a bed to look through it. As I moved through the cloths they made weird rustling noises. I told Matt that I had never seen a piece of artwork that could whisper like that.&lt;br /&gt;I was in a car with Ellen and she also had a twin sister that was with us. Ellen and I were sitting in the back seat, and she said we were going to play a game where I had to kiss her neck and then say names of people that I knew. I didn't really understand how this game worked, but that didn't really matter to me. I straddled her and started kissing her neck. After a while she started to moan, and I could feel something move inside of her pants. This went on for a little while, then out of nowhere she yelled "fuck!" and seemed really agitated. I asked what was wrong, and she said she was about to orgasm but then it went away.&lt;br /&gt;I saw Sean riding his bike around. I ended up inside a room with him, and his sister came in to say hello. Sean said his family was about to have dinner in a little while but he needed to go get something. I asked if I could go with him and he said sure. I didn't have my bike with me so I just walked along side him as he rode down the street. As we were walking we noticed a lot of black smoke coming from an area just head of us. When we got there it was on fire, kind of like the way lava rock is. The whole top of the ground was white, and underneath little cracks you could see magma kind of stuff. It also smelled really strange, like burning sulfur.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7756284841523220317?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7756284841523220317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7756284841523220317' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7756284841523220317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7756284841523220317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/it-worked.html' title='It Worked!'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-2307444176957735867</id><published>2008-02-17T17:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T17:25:56.213-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Music Class Interview</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 16&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Phil&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in a music class, and we're all sitting in a grass field. I'm missing my sheet music. There's a girl and a guy next to me who are totally flirting and are now arguing about who kissed who. It's pretty irritating.&lt;br /&gt;I ask the person in front of me to hand me my saxophone case. I can see two girls are interviewing people for yearbook and they come to me. One asks, "How do you help people?"&lt;br /&gt;I'm already feeling stumped. I ask, "People help other people?" with an attitude like, "Why would they do something like that?"&lt;br /&gt;She responds, "Why don't you?"&lt;br /&gt;I say, "I think because I kind of despise the human race."&lt;br /&gt;"Why? You're from Laguna..."&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah... I like to go out and have fun. If that includes dancing, then I like to dance like an idiot would, just to have fun."&lt;br /&gt;Now one of the girl embraces me to dance, but it's too formal and not the non-serious, hands in the air, kind I'm talking about. I pull away and come back. She starts dancing with Phil, who elegantly spins about 8 times around on one foot. I debate saying, "And that's why everyone falls in love with Phil."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-2307444176957735867?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/2307444176957735867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=2307444176957735867' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2307444176957735867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2307444176957735867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/music-class-interview.html' title='Music Class Interview'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-6979794015204638824</id><published>2008-02-17T12:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T13:30:47.196-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Theo Intervention and a Red-Headed Slut</title><content type='html'>Theo - friend, ex&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was with Theo and he made me ride the bus with him up to campus. When we got there he said he needed to go to the computer lab to get some stuff done. He hadn't told me this was on his agenda, and I felt like he had tricked me into coming up there with him. I started yelling at him saying I had a lot of work to do to, and it was really selfish of him to be wasting my time like this. He was being an ass hole about it and wouldn't apologize to me. I grabbed his shirt collar and pulled his face right in front of mine and yelled in his face saying he had no respect for me, or the fact that my schoolwork is just as important as his. Some kids hanging around the computer lab started looking over at us and making comments. I pulled him down the hall away from the people saying that he better come with me unless he wants his friends to see him get his ass kicked. Once we got to the end of the hall way I punched him in the face, and proceeded to beat the crap out of him.&lt;br /&gt;I went to the bus stop to go home. I was walking down a small green-belt next to the road. There wasn't very much ground there for me to walk on, and I was afraid I was going to fall off the side of it down the cliff. A biker went by me and I had to stand with my toes on the edge of it in order to let him pass. I eventually started crawling on the ground to make sure I didn't fall. I got to a fallen log and started walking across that. My jeans were covered in grass stains, and I gave them to an Indian woman standing next to me. She washed them and gave them back to me.&lt;br /&gt;I got to the bus stop, and was still in tears from the whole experience with Theo. I didn't want to draw any attention from the other people waiting, so I kind of hung back in the corner. I saw a bus coming and waved my arms so it would stop. After I had gotten the driver's attention I realized it was a route 20 and so I couldn't take it. I pretended that I had never seen it and waited for it to leave. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and noticed that Theo had been trying to call me. I started getting a call from him just then, and argued with myself in my head as to whether or not I should pick it up. I knew that if I answered it, it would absolve some of his guilt to talk to me about what happened, and I didn't want that. On the other hand I really wanted to talk to him. I answered it and told him where I was. A route 16 came up after that, and I got onto it. Theo got on right behind me. I sat down on a little ledge behind the driver's seat. As I was sitting there I was surprised that the driver wasn't telling me to get off because I knew people aren't allowed to sit there. Right when I thought that the driver said "that is a no seating area you're going to have to move"*. I thought the driver was an ass hole for giving me trouble, considering I was still teary. I didn't want to sit down next to Theo, so I walked to the back of the bus and sat next to a random girl.&lt;br /&gt;I got back to my house (which didn't look like my house), and sat down at the kitchen table. I put my head in my arms and sat there thinking about what happened. The door opened and in walked Theo, his mom, and another random person. My mom sat down next to me at the table. Theo's mom said that we were going to figure this all out right now. I was really not excited about this but I agreed to try since we were all here anyway. I started talking and said that I felt that Theo was not recognizing how much work I have to do and how difficult it is for me, because he always thinks that his course load is infinitely heavier, and is willing to waste my time as a result of this mentality. The whole time I was talking Theo had a smug grin on his face and was shaking his head. I pointed to him and said see, he's not even taking me seriously right now. Theo started to defend himself, and I just couldn't deal with it, so I picked up a candle/candle holder that was sitting next to me and threw it at him. It smashed into his face in a very satisfying way, but aside from making him look slightly disfigured it didn't seem to do any real damage. Everyone was shocked at what I had done. I said "everyone just get the fuck out of my house right now".&lt;br /&gt;After everyone had left, my mother, who was now a middle-aged black woman, started to comfort me. My dad, who was now Barak Obama, walked out of the room next to us, zipping up his pants. All I wanted was for my dad, Barak, to walk over to me and put his hand on my back to comfort me. My "mom" said something to him, but he just walked outside.&lt;br /&gt;There was something about a kid getting hit in the mouth. Everyone found him lying on the ground. Barak said that this was terrible, and obviously a result of racial violence.&lt;br /&gt;I was walking around with some kids. There was a red-headed girl with us, and she was putting her arm around me and kind of hanging on me. I really didn't find her attractive, but the guys that were with us kept pushing her on me. One of the guys started slowly pulling down her shirt. At first I didn't really want to look, but I gave in and glanced over at her boobs for a second. After I did that they were all convinced that I liked her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*On the buses in Santa Cruz there is actually a little ledge behind the driver's seat that is perfect for sitting on, but the drivers always make me get off of it. When I was sitting there in the dream and realized that, it was almost like I forced the driver to tell me to get off.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-6979794015204638824?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/6979794015204638824/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=6979794015204638824' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6979794015204638824'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6979794015204638824'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/theo-intervention-and-red-headed-slut.html' title='Theo Intervention and a Red-Headed Slut'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-2777872828083007424</id><published>2008-02-16T16:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T03:57:02.965-08:00</updated><title type='text'>System of a Kitten and Behind the Back</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 16&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Kyle, Ian (Kyle's brother), Kyle's dad, Kyle's mom, Kristy (next door neighbor and best friend growing up), my brother, my mom, Kristy's mom&lt;br /&gt;Special: Hear music and can kinda hum it; somewhat precognitive: I haven't listened to System of a Down in a looong time, and I ended up listening it today by chance--going bowling and putting it in the jukebox. I didn't plan it at all, and just realized when I came back to this blog to review dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in Kyle's house, and he keeps making anti-Christian remarks. It makes me uncomfortable because I know his parents must think he's getting it from me. We're in the backyard now, which looks exactly like my old backyard. Ian is walking behind us; Kyle's dad is walking in front of us and System of a Down is playing--a really hardcore part comes up, which makes Kyle happy--but I can tell that Kyle's dad is thinking, "What is this crap?" A softer chorus is now playing, and I'm a bit relieved. Part of the lyrics are, "Why are you so mad/bad?"&lt;br /&gt;While the song is playing, Kyle and I see a kitten in the wooden planks above us, chasing a bird. For some reason, the System song fits with what the kitten is doing. The bird is now following the cat, and lies face up right in front of the cat's head. That cat puts his head close, and bird puts its claw very close to the cats eye. I warn Kyle that the cat might lose its eye. The birds claw is now in the cat's eye, but the eyeball itself is recessed, so I can't see if they eye has been scratched. Someone narrates, "The cat has an eyeball that can turn completely around--it's a magnificent thing."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kristy is over and is dating Neal. For some reason, she keeps talking to me. She gives me a gift of something she sewed herself with my initials on it, and I just happen to have a gift to give back to her, with my initials. I'm not sitting next to Kristy, and my head keeps bobbing because I'm falling asleep. My mom sees me very close to Kristy and asks what I think I'm doing. Kristy's mom is also there and disappointed; it is obvious to everyone, even Kristy's mom, that we're "messing around" when Neal's not paying attention. I can tell Kristy likes me, but I don't have any special feelings for her.&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going through the pantry, and all of a sudden I spill nestle chocolate chips. They start coming out really fast, until the whole kitchen is covered in them, and there's a giant pile to my waist.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-2777872828083007424?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/2777872828083007424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=2777872828083007424' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2777872828083007424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2777872828083007424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/system-of-kitten-and-behind-back.html' title='System of a Kitten and Behind the Back'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4566655672498842854</id><published>2008-02-15T10:39:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-15T10:52:52.716-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Pick The Grass</title><content type='html'>Theo - friend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in physics class and my professor was writing things on the board about the midterm. The professor came up behind me and said something about what he had written. I didn't really care about what he was writing, so I wondered why he thought it was important to talk to me about it. I went up to a table to get something. A girl walked up next to me and said something. I recognized her from one of my biology classes, but she introduced herself as Molly (the girl from my biology class was named Christine).&lt;br /&gt;We walked to her house and sat on the couch. She pointed out that her and I had the same kind of shoes. They were blue suede vans. At first I thought this was funny, then I realized that I didn't own blue suede vans and wondered how I had gotten these. I told Molly this, and we realized that we must have switched her shoes with mine. I took them off and put on another pair, but they were still blue suede vans.&lt;br /&gt;Molly, myself, and a random guy were walking in one of the fields on campus. We sat down on a couch under a bus stop and started picking the grass in front of us. A cop drove up and told us that we were trespassing on protected land. He told us to get out of that area and meet him on the other side. As we were walking we talked about what a douche bag this guy was. I said that we could probably make a run for it and get away if we wanted to. I told them that if I was alone I probably would have done that.&lt;br /&gt;I was in the car now and the cop gave me my ticket. Theo was sitting in the passenger seat. He took the ticket and read to me that my court judge was really conservative and if I rescheduled the date I would probably have a better chance of winning. The other judge was a lesser-known democratic candidate in the 2008 primaries. I was now watching a scene of what it would be like if I went to court. The people in the court were mostly wizards and when they came up to testify they did all kinds of crazy spells and things. I decided that wizard courts must be mostly about show rather than presenting a good case.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4566655672498842854?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4566655672498842854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4566655672498842854' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4566655672498842854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4566655672498842854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/dont-pick-grass.html' title='Don&apos;t Pick The Grass'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-8867040361332119795</id><published>2008-02-14T20:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-15T10:38:34.613-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sea Creatures</title><content type='html'>Sam/Mattie - sisters&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was swimming in a pool with Sam. She was picking up little sea anemones  and throwing them at me. They were going down my shirt and it was really grossing me out so I kept asking her to stop. For some reason she wouldn't listen so I had to scream at her multiple times to stop.&lt;br /&gt;I was sitting next to some very intimidating sea creatures. They were like shark-eels and they were swimming right next to my legs. Sam or Mattie told me not to worry about them.&lt;br /&gt;I was staying somewhere in the woods with assorted friends. I sat next to Skylar on a big stone wall surrounded by some trees. I was trying to hold one of my legs out in front of me without falling off the wall.&lt;br /&gt;Some people were flying planes in the forest and someone crashed theirs into a tree. They climbed out of it and the plane fell out of the tree and crashed.&lt;br /&gt;Someone was in a room crying.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-8867040361332119795?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/8867040361332119795/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=8867040361332119795' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8867040361332119795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8867040361332119795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/sea-creatures.html' title='Sea Creatures'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4113272152513841596</id><published>2008-02-09T12:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-09T12:11:35.954-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Kids Can Fly</title><content type='html'>I was at a retreat of some kind, and all of the kids there (myself included) had the ability to fly. However, none of us could fly whenever any parents were around. I think Bill Cosby's son came up to me and told me not to tell his dad that he flew because he thought he would be mad or something.&lt;br /&gt;All of the parents came, and it was time to go. I went with my mom, and we started to head off. Before we left, we saw one of those Mobile &lt;br /&gt;Lunch Cart things coming down the hill. It made a sharp turn and almost fell over, but it was miraculously able to right itself by turning in the opposite direction. It stopped right near us, so we decided to buy something. I gave the kid a 20, and he put it in the 5's slot and closed the drawer. I alerted him that it was a 20 that i had just given him and asked for my change. My mom told me to just let it go, but i thought it would be easy enough to fix, so i didn't listen to her. He seemed worried that he didn't know what the correct change was because he didn't enter it correctly. I told him to just add 15 dollars to whatever it said, but then he ended up giving me more than 20. I gave him 5 dollars back and just kept 16, and at that point, i took my mom's advice of letting it go even though what we bought was only about 2 dollars. I figured that it was close enough now. I took a nap and didn't wake up until we got home. I &lt;br /&gt;was mad at my mom when i realized she didn't stop at In-N-Out on the way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4113272152513841596?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4113272152513841596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4113272152513841596' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4113272152513841596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4113272152513841596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/kids-can-fly.html' title='Kids Can Fly'/><author><name>Briggity Brak</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14879958720524914437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3vwhuG1_Sk/SPhbuMHFxvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/few6nNPxeuM/S220/cape_cod.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7677161351690847155</id><published>2008-02-08T00:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-08T00:32:47.877-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Back in School and Transparent</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 6&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Kyle, Chris P., Brittany Beebe (went to elementary/junior/high school together), Steve Carell, Brandon Olson (went to high school together; he's a couple of years younger and was in my first band "Alias Anything" aka "Allergic to Soy"), Jeff Stoner (Brandon's friend)&lt;br /&gt;Special: Transparent, like a ghost&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in rushing with friends at school to go into a nutrition program of some sort before everyone else gets there. A man at the front of the line says it costs $100. All of us are about to leave, when someone asks another man, who says he'll only charge $1. Kyle, Chris, and I pay and show our licenses. Mine is on paper and all wrinkled up. I pull out a $100 bill first, and notice I have a lot of money in my wallet. I find a $1 bill and notice the pattern on the back corner--a pyramid.&lt;br /&gt;We're near the front of the line and I can see Brittany sitting in a spot that I have been in before. It's close to the exit. I tell someone about how I'd sat there before and that it's easy to go out fast from there. Steve Carell is there and people are sharing a story about him getting in a fight.&lt;br /&gt;I'm waiting with everyone else for the event to start. It finally does, and everyone starts pushing, including me. I push Brandon and Jeff somewhat playfully (at least in my opinion), then find my saxophone and start putting it together. I'm slow, even though it's practically done already. As I'm doing this, Brandon is pushing me, which is irritating [hypocritical, I see now]. I walk quickly in the direction everyone else is moving.&lt;br /&gt;Brandon asks me if I want food 'cause Chris said he'd get it for him. I say yes, but Brandon isn't calling Chris, so I call him. As I'm doing that, I see Chris already eating a subway sandwich and another meal with a bunch of other people. His phone is ringing, but he can't see who's calling, so he cups his hand around his phone and looks through it. He says excitedly, "It's Josephine! She's here!"&lt;br /&gt;He then answers the phone and I respond, "Not it's not..." He seems disappointed. I ask him about lunch and he makes an excuse about how he meant he'd have dinner with Brandon--not lunch. We're still talking on cell phones, even though I can see him.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I'm in a room with a girl and someone else, and I'm making it haunted. I am being told by some power, an outside voice, what to do. I put a hockey mask on and am somewhat invisible, so I am able to scare the other people. I come up to the girl and push her around. I knock her over, and land on top of her. She can see me. I say, "Hold on, let me pee." While I'm still on top of her, I pull out and try to pee, but nothing comes out. She seems impatient. I think about how it might be stage fright. Instead of saying that, though, I tell her it's just because I'm attracted to her. She buys it, so we make out [and I have memories of sex, but I don't know if it was with her for sure or not]. She and the other person both say they know the whole haunted thing is fake and were just playing along.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7677161351690847155?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7677161351690847155/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7677161351690847155' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7677161351690847155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7677161351690847155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/back-in-school-and-transparent.html' title='Back in School and Transparent'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-3933443625735960966</id><published>2008-02-06T17:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-06T17:11:52.517-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Duck Hunt</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 5&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Brian&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm playing Duck Hunt with Brian, and my cord is super tangled--Brian wonders how that could happen. I try to untangle it, which takes a few minutes, and then once it's untangled, I see that the cord is only like 3 feet long, which makes it difficult to play. I ask Brian if that's right, and he says it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I remembered a lot more dreams and more detail, but I was too lazy to write it whenever I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-3933443625735960966?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/3933443625735960966/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=3933443625735960966' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3933443625735960966'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3933443625735960966'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/duck-hunt.html' title='Duck Hunt'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-9213782619110102836</id><published>2008-02-06T17:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-06T17:09:14.335-08:00</updated><title type='text'>More Friends, More Games</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 4&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Phil, Ryan Wheeler (friend in elementary/junior high/first couple years of high school), Miles Kircher (next door neighbor at old house), Lauren (ex), Erin (Lauren's friend), Chris P., Kyle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm playing a show with MFB and I can hear the music start--but the song is Less Than Jake's, "Nervous in the Alley." I hear the intro and someone says, "Who's playing that?" I stop and wonder, "Yeah... who IS playing that [especially since it's a trombone in the beginning]?" I go to check it out on stage and Phil is somehow using a voice changer/megaphone to make the sound of the trombone. Now I'm playing a saxophone and trying to see what Phil's doing at the same time. I'm somewhat hidden on stage, but it's quite awkward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm playing WAR with Ryan. I get a 2 of diamonds, and he gets a 2 of spades, so he wins. He then says that he's going to pick my next card from the deck. I reply, "That's not fair--you're just going to give me the lowest card." "Yeah, but that's a new rule." "You can't make up rules." "You made up a rule that says we can make up new rules." "No I didn't." "Yeah, I just didn't want to lose."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miles invented a couple of games and his parents are proud of that. I figure I'll test them. They both suck. One involves kicking balls past the other player, but anywhere past the player, so it's incredibly easy. I'm chasing 4 balls down a street, hating this game.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm talking to Lauren and Erin online and ask if they want to play poker. Right as I'm getting responses from them, I get kicked offline. I wonder how they replied. I remember I have history, so I try to log back in and check it... it's a bit later now, and I see that Lauren said something like, "Ok... save me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm hanging out with Chris, Kyle, and a girl. We're sitting on a couch, watching something on tv. The girl, talking to Chris (I don't remember which), is pointing out how Kyle and I have erections. Kyle shows how his is just an optical illusion that his pants is giving. I try to do the same thing, but I have a semi-erection, so I can't. I try to think of other things to make it go away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-9213782619110102836?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/9213782619110102836/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=9213782619110102836' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/9213782619110102836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/9213782619110102836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/more-friends-more-games.html' title='More Friends, More Games'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-3856024574482793453</id><published>2008-02-06T16:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-06T17:05:10.028-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Teaching Geometry Class</title><content type='html'>Night of: Feb. 3&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in school and it's my turn to walk the class through a geometry problem. It doesn't start great--I draw the problem (a circle) on the white board, but draw it too small and on the bottom, so I rewrite it in the center and bigger. I then drop the black marker I'm using and can't find it on the ground. I pick up another--one with a black cap, but yellow marker. It barely shows up. I try red, but it, too, is hard to see. The class is getting frustrated. One girl with curly brown hair actually speaks out about how I'm taking too long. I respond to her and the rest of the class by saying that I'm sorry I'm not a good teacher, and we're probably doing exercises like these to get better at teaching. When I'm done talking, I notice no one's even paying attention.&lt;br /&gt;I finally find the marker, but write the problem with the wrong information. I correct it and start solving the problem without knowing what it is I'm trying to solve for. After what seems an eternity, I ask someone in the front what the question is asking for, and he says it's the area of the circle. I had already been given the radius, so this was the easiest question ever, but I had turned it into what seemed a 15-minute problem. The good news is that I wasn't nervous being up there.&lt;br /&gt;I quickly put 225pi up. I see that a red marker is attached to my key chain, so I unhook it, and then walk around the classroom to avoid walking straight by students. I make up an excuse that I need to go to the trashcan to throw away stuff. I empty my back pockets, which contain papers from blockbuster (I guess I worked there). I think Blockbuster has something to do with me being dumber than usual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I woke up very frustrated and depressed; this dream really affected my mood, and I'm glad I remembered it, because I was able to pinpoint why I felt so crappy, and change that by reassuring myself that it was all a dream.&lt;br /&gt;The problem that I remember drawing on the board was a circle with diameter of 3, and radius of 3 (which makes no sense). Then it changed to diameter of 30 and radius of 3 (still makes no sense, but when I solved it, I actually picked the diameter, and solved it correctly: 1/2 of 30 = 15. 15 squared = 225, so Area = 225 pi). I also remember writing 7pi/4pi, but I don't remember how that came up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-3856024574482793453?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/3856024574482793453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=3856024574482793453' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3856024574482793453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3856024574482793453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/teaching-geometry-class.html' title='Teaching Geometry Class'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4726592373332987747</id><published>2008-02-03T16:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-03T17:15:22.962-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Justin's Surgery, Kyle's Accident, and Brian's Sweater</title><content type='html'>Gretchen - friend at SC&lt;br /&gt;Brazil Cafe - restaurant in Santa Cruz&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came back to Irvine to visit Justin and Brian. I went to Justin's house and his hair was shaved all weird and he had some staples in his head. I asked him what happened and he said that he had brain surgery, but that everything was okay now. He seemed very happy so I didn't worry too much about it.&lt;br /&gt;I was walking with Gretchen back in Santa Cruz. I stopped by a little shack that was painted blue. The sun was out and the sky looked really beautiful, so I climbed on top of the shack to admire the scenery. After sitting out there for a while Gretchen joined me. We went back inside her house and I heard music coming from behind a door. I was pretty sure it was My Favorite Band. I opened the door and it led to  Justin's hallway (but it didn't actually look like his apartment). He walked over to me, and I said that I had no idea he lived next-door to Gretchen.&lt;br /&gt;I went to Brazil Cafe with Gretchen, and saw Justin, Brian, and Kyle sitting in there at a table. Brian had shoulder-length straight hair and was wearing a pink woman's sweater. I said hello to them and we were all very excited to have run into each other. Kyle said something that I didn't really hear, and then Gretchen turned to me and asked "is he always like that or is something wrong with him?". I had no idea what she was talking about, but then I looked over at Kyle and noticed that his eyes were kind of droopy, his speech was slurred, and he seemed like something was really wrong with him. Brian explained that he had been in an accident and that he's just like this now. Everyone started leaving the restaurant.&lt;br /&gt;I was walking down the street the next morning around 7 am and decided to call Justin to see if he wanted to get breakfast with me. I realized he probably wouldn't want to go because he just went to Brazil Cafe yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- It was a while before I could actually write this dream down so I'm not sure this is actually the order that the dreams occurred in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4726592373332987747?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4726592373332987747/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4726592373332987747' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4726592373332987747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4726592373332987747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/justins-surgery-kyles-accident-and.html' title='Justin&apos;s Surgery, Kyle&apos;s Accident, and Brian&apos;s Sweater'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4935045860479894600</id><published>2008-02-03T03:05:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-03T21:30:31.875-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Time For Everyone to Go Home</title><content type='html'>Night of: February 2&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Kyle, Rachel, Carley, Chris P., Brian (in conversation)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a couple of things I want to show Kyle about MFB, and debate texting him. Instead, I go into his room. I'm now playing Guitar Hero, but for some reason, it looks like Grand Theft Auto, except with motorcycles. Rachel is in there, sleeping, but wakes up and starts finishing off a bottle of malibu coconut rum on the bed stand. Disgusted, I make a comment like, "Geeeeez." For some reason I can't see perfectly--my contacts must not be in.&lt;br /&gt;Rachel responds with something like, "Oh, be quiet," which makes me feel like I'm being quick to judge.&lt;br /&gt;"Sorry... I was being douchey... until now, " I reply, as I'm now on a computer, resizing the edges of a calendar--the Saturday and Sunday days--as if they're cells in Excel.&lt;br /&gt;Kyle and Rachel get up and are going to leave, and apparently Rachel's going to drive them. It doesn't seem like a good idea on account of the malibu.&lt;br /&gt;Chris and Carley are now over, and Carley's going to leave, too. She hugs me, as if she's about to leave and asks, "Are you going to walk me down?" As she's asking, I'm already replying, "Yeah."&lt;br /&gt;We're walking, and it's really in the morning. So early, that it's still dark. I notice that it's quite cold outside. Carley yawns, "I'm really tired... and I'm having one of those Saturdays."&lt;br /&gt;"What Saturdays?"&lt;br /&gt;"Well... I'm your and Brian's sponsor, so I read everything you write [on Sleepy Seconds], and you both wrote a ton."&lt;br /&gt;"Oh... if it's ruining your day, you totally don't have to read it... it's really only to help you remember, and if it's not fun, it's not worth it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I think Guitar Hero came up 'cause I had just played it and I got an email from Brian about playing just before going to bed. Excel came up because I just bought the Excel Bible. This was transcribed from the notebook I keep in my bed. It sleeps next to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4935045860479894600?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4935045860479894600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4935045860479894600' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4935045860479894600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4935045860479894600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/time-for-everyone-to-go-home.html' title='Time For Everyone to Go Home'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4278730171438215449</id><published>2008-02-01T17:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-01T17:32:53.079-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dating Game</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 31&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Chris, Dana Chambers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm at a party and everyone's playing a dating game. By the looks of it, a guy picks a girl, and a girl picks a guy, and they see if they picked each other. To help pick, make out sessions occur. I don't really understand the game, but I know I have to pick a girl.&lt;br /&gt;I recognize Dana and pick her. Chris then says, "You picked HER? She looks a little young."&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah... she's not, though," I reply. She's my age or maybe a year younger.&lt;br /&gt;"Well I have pictures of you making out with fifteen year olds."&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm upset at Chris and embarrassed about the whole thing. I can see that it's Dana's turn to pick, and Chris is trying to make her pick someone else. I don't understand what he's trying to do, unless he likes her. Just as she's picking, I decide to walk away... but I know she's picking someone else, anyway. I pack up my things and leave. If Chris sees me leave, I'll just say something obscene.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: The book I'm reading says to write in the present tense, so I'm trying it. I'm finding it difficult... it's quite different.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4278730171438215449?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4278730171438215449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4278730171438215449' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4278730171438215449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4278730171438215449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/dating-game.html' title='The Dating Game'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-6542000117279976321</id><published>2008-02-01T12:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-01T12:49:22.247-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Joke Gone Wrong</title><content type='html'>Joseph- kid from the teen center&lt;br /&gt;Sam - my sister&lt;br /&gt;Gretchen - friend from SC&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to go for a run but the sun was already setting. I could see the beach outside and a little walkway between the sand and the street. Little lights were starting to turn on on the walkway.&lt;br /&gt;I was with my dad and Sam. My dad was standing outside holding a cup of beer in his hand, and I could see him through the window. I had a ping-pong ball, and I was trying to toss it into the cup, but it kept hitting the window.&lt;br /&gt;I was sitting on a couch with Justin. He had his arm around me and we were listening to someone talk.&lt;br /&gt;I was with Gretchen and we drove into some kind of new student-housing complex. They were all track-housing apartments, but for some reason Gretchen and I thought they were really cool. I think there was another person with us, and the three of us walked up to a door and knocked, hoping the people who lived there would let us come in and see what the places were like. We knew that this was a ridiculous question, but we all thought the whole thing was kind of funny. No one answered, and we started to walk away. I noticed there was poop all over the front yard (which was covered in cement) and figured they must have a dog. A random guy showed up asked if we were all interested in having a tour of the houses. We said yes, and he told us where the sales office was. I ended up laying down in the street next to this guy, and we were talking about something. I pushed his shoulder playfully, and he insinuated that I hadn't washed my hands after the last time I went to the bathroom, then left. I thought this was very funny, seeing as this guy was obviously crazy.&lt;br /&gt;I went to a gym with Tyra Banks and two other random girls, who I believe were also famous. I went into the bathroom to change or something. There was a two-way mirror in the bathroom, and I could see Joseph on the other side of it in an elevator with another random kid. They were messing around, and the other kid was pretending to choke Joseph. I was kind of keeping an eye on them and I heard Joseph start asking the kid to please let go of him. Joseph started to pass out, and I ran out of the bathroom to find the elevator. I pulled Joseph out of it, and he turned into a white fluffy stuffed animal with multiple red eyes. I dragged him up to the front desk, calling for help. The lady at the front desk started shuffling some papers around looking for someone to call. I told them to just call 911. Just as I said that, the stuffed animal started turning back into Joseph, and once he was back to his normal form he seemed fine. People started laughing at me for having been so worried. My dad was there, and I was suddenly dressed in formal clothes, and was picking up black articles of clothing off the floor and putting them into a box. I told my dad that this wouldn't have been funny if he were in my position, and that it's terrible to watch something like that happen to someone who you love so much. Everyone in the room had heard me say this, and responded with a unanimous "awww". I was completely pissed now and left the room.&lt;br /&gt;I walked upstairs to a hotel room that my friend was staying in. Apparently I had been in this place because my friend was getting married here. She was standing on a little stool dressed in black and looking quite elegant. There were people all around her fixing her hair and clothes. I started to tell her what happened, and by the look on her face I could tell that she already knew. I asked if she had put Joseph up to this, and she said yes. I acted like I wasn't that upset, just shocked, and went into the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had long hair again that was soaking wet, and I was wearing a nice dress with flowers on it. I started to brush my hair.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-6542000117279976321?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/6542000117279976321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=6542000117279976321' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6542000117279976321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6542000117279976321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/joke-gone-wrong.html' title='A Joke Gone Wrong'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-5614316749602089352</id><published>2008-02-01T02:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-01T03:29:36.230-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Dysfunctional Band &amp; Running With Movies (plus some side stories)</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 30&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Kyle, Brian, Carley, my sister (in conversation)&lt;br /&gt;Special: 2 records of hypnagogic hallucinations&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in a new band/group with a guy and two girls that I didn't know too well. We sat at a booth in what looked like a train cabin. Both of us guys were wearing dark clothes and we understood each other on a different level than the girls did--the girls talked about food and used French words. The guy and I were upset. Apparently we hadn't made it or did something wrong. We were blaming our hats. He was wearing the green Luigi hat, and I had on the cadet Tool hat. We took our hats off and tried to threw them on each other's head. We had a red band button/pin that we threw around, too. I threw it at the guy and it almost went down his shirt, which was funny. I mentioned that it would be amusing if it went down the girl's shirt, so I threw it at her chest. I got it back again and made the same joke except with it going up her skirt. I tossed it under the table and noticed she was wearing blue jeans. At that point, somewhat disgusted yet tickled, the girl got up to order food. She asked for a "broccoli machete."&lt;br /&gt;The girl sitting next to me asked, "broccoli mittete?" implying that the other girl didn't say the right word.&lt;br /&gt;The girl verified, "Machete," and I figured it meant "chopped broccoli."&lt;br /&gt;Music was being played on the radio, and at some point, the guy was controlling it quite simply--he played a Radiohead song (which I don't believe was actually Radiohead. I don't remember what it sounded like).&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;Apparently I had read that to wake up, you should look at a long, horizontal red line bit by bit on a digital clock, and then a long vertical line of any sort in the same fashion. This would get you to wake up and log your dream... so I was looking at a long, horizontal red line on a digital clock bit by bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Warning: Explicit content&lt;br /&gt;Kyle, Brian, Carley, and I were on the same bed (yep, I'm going there. Feel free to not read on). Playful fighting began and everyone but me got pushed off the couch (I'm transcribing right now, and realize that I wrote "couch," not bed. Interesting).  Kyle had fallen on one side of Carley, and Brian on the other. Kyle had shaving cream and was using it to get himself off. Half way off the bed, I used it to rub Carley through her underwear, and kissed her. She said, "You're adorable." Then Kyle and Brian came up to me with their tongues out, ready to kiss me. I sat back, denying them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I woke up and was trying to motivate myself to write down my dream, 'cause I totally remembered it. However, I started falling back asleep (twice), and these are what I was "dreaming" about. I'm 99% sure that these were "hypnagogic hallucinations," as opposed to real dreams, and I'm sure they only lasted a few seconds to a minute each, because I woke up and remembered the dream I wanted to write down in the first place--the dream below--as well as these. Also, I definitely wasn't actually looking at my digital clock because it's angled so that I can't see it right now... not to mention that there's no way I could see it without my contacts in. They could've been full dreams, but I doubt it because I woke up remembering all of what's written below, and it seemed like I was only asleep for a second.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I was outside and saw Kyle on a small concrete bridge (like the ones at UCI). He was talking to what looked like a convict. I walked by and noticed that Kyle had a book of my dvds and I heard the convict ask about Blade 3. Apparently it had just come out in theaters and Kyle was turning the pages of the case, looking to see if I had it. The convict put a knife up to Kyle and said he needed to know if it was there. I came up and said that I didn't have it. I also told him that he was right about it being very difficult to get a movie so early. He seemed satisfied with my response, but just then, a cop with "Mission Viejo" written on his hat grabbed the folder from Kyle's hands. He looked through it for a second, turned the case upside down, shook it slowly, and asked, "See... what happens if you were to do this?"&lt;br /&gt;I cringed at the thought of the dvds falling out and breaking, but I was more worried about the fact that I had them... so was Kyle--he ran. I thought it was nice of Kyle to divert the cop's attention. I took the opportunity to zip up the dvd case and run.&lt;br /&gt;I saw Kyle briefly; he was just running in circles around the bridge. I ran into a room and noticed there was only one girl in there. I  kept running through, and opened a door going into a garage. I hid right next to the door, in the dark, because I thought the girl was following me. She walked in, right past me, and the lights turned on. I startled her.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm sorry... I just wanted to see if you were following me," I said, and hid the dvds in a freezer. I remember wondering if it would damage them. I talked to the girl for a bit and she said she knew my sister. She also said that if I was lucky, she might be able to get me into Pepperdine. I realized that she was flirting with me, but she was not attractive, and quite gross looking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-5614316749602089352?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/5614316749602089352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=5614316749602089352' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/5614316749602089352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/5614316749602089352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/02/new-dysfunctional-band-running-with.html' title='New Dysfunctional Band &amp; Running With Movies (plus some side stories)'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-8991319422859274055</id><published>2008-01-29T22:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-29T22:20:13.391-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bombs and Backpacking</title><content type='html'>Shayna - friend at SC&lt;br /&gt;Skylar - friend at SC&lt;br /&gt;Robert - used to be my boss at the teen center&lt;br /&gt;Megan - used to be my manager at the teen center&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was on the backpacking trip with everyone. For some reason we were all in Shayna's house waiting to leave. Skylar was following me around and I really wanted him to leave me alone. I wanted to enjoy the trip for what it was, and I didn't want Skylar to think I was going to sleep with him.&lt;br /&gt;I was at the teen center but somehow I knew I was going to get fired that day. I went around to all the kids I knew, hugging them and saying goodbye. I just tried to have a good time and enjoy the day like it was any other work day. I saw Megan through the window. She was standing on stilts and spying on me to see if I was doing anything wrong. I was in a locker room with her later and I told her that I saw her and that I was really mad at her for doing that.&lt;br /&gt;I broke into the teen center at night and blew it up. After I did it I immediately regretted it because I knew they would figure out that it was me. Robert called me in to have a meeting. I walked off and hitch-hiked somewhere thinking there was no life for me here anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"In Retrospect": I'm going on a backpacking trip this weekend, and I got fired from the teen center (it's a long story, but basically I got screwed over by my boss, who's a douche-bag).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-8991319422859274055?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/8991319422859274055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=8991319422859274055' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8991319422859274055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8991319422859274055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/bombs-and-backpacking.html' title='Bombs and Backpacking'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-3519516691211730149</id><published>2008-01-28T04:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-28T04:31:14.079-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to Work</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 27&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Chris Church, Rachel Thompson, Jerome Kahn (VP)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was working at Hot Topic again. I received an email about an allocation, and replied to it. For some reason, Chris and Rachel didn't think this was a great idea. Jerome came up to my desk, and I figured this was not good. But instead of talking about the email reply, he said that the company has decided to carry beverages, and wanted to see when I could lead a meeting about it. He said that he was sorry it was my first day back and things were already crazy.&lt;br /&gt;I opened up Outlook's calendar, and a bunch of days were highlighted, instead of just the current day. I noticed that the first day highlighted was Tuesday. At first, I wanted to schedule the meeting the following week, but Jerome hinted that it needs to be soon, so I figured I could schedule the meeting on Thursday. Before I could say that, he said, "We could do it Saturday..."&lt;br /&gt;I wondered what that meant. He added, "It's showing today as Sunday."&lt;br /&gt;I looked at the calendar, totally confused. I tried to change the date to Tuesday, but I couldn't figure it out. I woke up while clicking a dropdown menu and searching for an option to change the current date.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-3519516691211730149?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/3519516691211730149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=3519516691211730149' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3519516691211730149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3519516691211730149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/back-to-work.html' title='Back to Work'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-2895373189468869352</id><published>2008-01-27T17:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-27T17:44:11.074-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Friends Being Unfriendly, Except for the Frisbee Part</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 26&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Eric T., Chris P., Kenley, Rachel T., Chris M. (childhood friend of Chris P.'s and mine)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at a park with Eric and a bunch of other friends and we were tossing a frisbee around.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I was at my old house with Chris and Kenley. Chris kept asking to see me naked. Him and Kenley were completely naked, and I was covering up. Chris tried to move my hand away, but I didn't want to.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;There were red fruit juice cups in a box in the fridge, unopened. Someone opened them up and drank a couple. Chris P. and Rachel weren't happy about this--not because someone drank them, but because the box was opened, and according to them, the fruit juice would spoil faster.&lt;br /&gt;Chris M. and I tried to explain that opening the box wouldn't make the fruit juice spoil--each fruit juice is sealed individually. After hearing this Chris P. said that the box opened up would require more space in the fridge. Chris M. and I argued that opening up a box doesn't make the contents take up more space. Chris P. didn't believe us though, so Chris M. drew it on a white board.&lt;br /&gt;After that, he drew a graph with the x-axis as Time and the y-axis as something like "Chris' ability to argue." The graph looked like the upper portion of a sideways parabola.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: These were late and not transcribed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-2895373189468869352?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/2895373189468869352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=2895373189468869352' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2895373189468869352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2895373189468869352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/yay-friends.html' title='Friends Being Unfriendly, Except for the Frisbee Part'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-1469031859021960563</id><published>2008-01-26T17:25:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-26T18:14:46.518-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaks, Fire &amp; Privacy, Bowling Bullies, and the Grocery Store</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 25&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Kyle, Tracy (ex), Brian, Carley, Parker (drummer from Up For Grabs--who we played with a few times, guitarist for Tucker--who we played with a few times and called our "brother band" for a while, and now the keyboardist for the popular band: Say Anything), Chris, Shalane Spence (friend I met when I met Brian), Davey Guy (kid from high school), ??? (guy at OCTFCU bank)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream 4 - Leaks&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was raining and there were leaks all over the apartment. I saw that Kyle had already put buckets and cups down, but they were completely full. I tried to empty one of the buckets into the sink, but Kyle had a ton of buckets in there, and was covering the drain because apparently the sink leaked, too. I wondered why Kyle didn't tell me about the leaks before; we could've had them fixed.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;Dream 3 - Fire and Privacy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in New York and thought I saw Tracy walking with some people. I thought about stopping by her place and leaving a note.&lt;br /&gt;Brian and Carley were now there and we were all talking outside. I started playing with a lighter, and this turned into all of us trying to light things on fire. I saw Parker walk by as Brian was trying to light a tree's leaves. Parker acknowledged me, saying, "Justin" and I replied, "Parker," giving him the nod. He saw what Brian was doing and told us we shouldn't do that... so we stopped.&lt;br /&gt;Kyle showed up and told Brian and Carley about how I was excited about having a date. I was confused by this, as I had no idea what he was talking about, but he kept going on about it. Brian kept asking, "With who?" and not getting an answer, while I persistently asked what he was talking about.&lt;br /&gt;I was now in my room at my old house. I could hear someone peeing, and it was either Brian or Carley. I then came to the conclusion that everyone must hear me pee when I go to the bathroom, because it was quite loud.&lt;br /&gt;This turned into me on the toilet, except the toilet was in my room. Brian and Carley were with me, but behind me, and not really watching. I just kinda sat there... then Carley walked into the next room. Brian started following, and this was a relief because I was completely naked on the toilet. As Brian was walking in to the next room, Carley appeared with a green bathrobe about to come off. She looked at Brian and said something along the lines of, "A little privacy?" So Brian came back in my room as I farted.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;Dream 1 - Bowling Bullies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at a bowling alley. I remember throwing one ball and missing the head pin completely, yet I knocked 9 pins down. I was playing against a few people, and everyone kept resetting the pins as another person was bowling, but luckily no one hit the ball rack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: In the middle of the night, I wrote down a key phrase to this dream: "My brother Sam is dead." I don't remember why this was in the dream, but I remember someone listing a bunch of things, and this was one of them.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;Dream 2 - the Grocery Store&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in a place that looked like a hotel ballroom, but it turned into a grocery store. I was with Chris, Kyle, and an older man that I had never met. Apparently it was some sort of "meet a stranger" program, but Chris and Kyle got paired up, and I got paired up with the guy I didn't know. I tried to think of something to do with him, so I figured we could make french fries or something. I got a potato and started peeling it, but I did a really bad job.&lt;br /&gt;The man said, "You really don't know how to peel a potato."&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, I suck," I replied. But I thought this was good for me because I was learning new things and in a new situation.&lt;br /&gt;He asked me, "How's business?"&lt;br /&gt;I figured he didn't know about the stuff I was working on and said, "Well, I was working at Hot Topic. Do you know what that is?" Before he could answer, I added, "It's a mall-based retailer."&lt;br /&gt;He asked, "Oh... they have Nirvana shirts, and ----?" (He said something else, but I don't know what)&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah," I answered. I then saw the image of the famous yellow and black Nirvana shirt (circle smiley face with x's for eyes and tongue out).&lt;br /&gt;"I've been there. I was thinking about jacking some stuff for my kid."&lt;br /&gt;"Haha... I don't care. They're a rip off, anyway. Like $24 a shirt--a shirt like this." I grabbed the shirt I was wearing. "A t-shirt! Long-sleeve would be like $40."&lt;br /&gt;The man got on his cell phone, and while in the middle of a conversation, he asked me, "What are you doing after this?"&lt;br /&gt;I replied, "I don't know."&lt;br /&gt;He said, "We're smoking in the parking lot."&lt;br /&gt;This didn't sound like any fun. I didn't know if he was talking about marijuana or cigarettes, but in either case, I wasn't interested. I then saw some girls walking around and talking about hanging out, and one fat girl kept following us. One girl said that Brad Bobinski was working tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;The man pushed me into a girl, who I recognized as Shalane. She told me, "You look like you could be that guy's dad," and pointed to a kid sitting down next to Davey Guy. Someone else had already told me that I looked like this kid. He must've been at least 21 years old (he was familiar to me, and I now know who he was--a kid that works at the bank I go to... and he looks nothing like me. He's white). I took Shalane's comment as a compliment because the kid is a good looking guy, and I didn't realize in the dream that she was implying that I am old.&lt;br /&gt;The kid was now gone and Davey took his place. He agreed that we look alike and said, "We should interview each other! We'll just sit around and go like this: [he showed his buck teeth]." I mimicked him, laughing. Now the kid was back again, and I noticed we were all wearing beige Dickies pants and Converse shoes... but Davey and the kid we wearing white long-sleeve collared shirts, too, so they looked even more similar. I told them we should take a picture together, since we all look alike (in reality, none of us look alike), but I just needed to find a long-sleeve collared shirt. Then I woke up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: Most of these were written in the middle of the night. I read that the best recall happens through writing (preferably with eyes closed) right when you wake up from a dream. People have tried tape recorders, but supposedly making yourself talk actually hurts your recall. And whenever you wake up on your own, as opposed to waking up by alarm clock, etc., you are coming out of a dream, and in this moment you have the best dream recall. I wrote most of it with my eyes open, as I don't have the skill to write with my eyes closed. A couple of things were remembered later (The whole dream about leaks and the part about Tracy).&lt;br /&gt;The transcribing process, according to what I've read, is critical to the dream recording process. I can see why--I find that it's so easy to analyze as I'm rewriting it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-1469031859021960563?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/1469031859021960563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=1469031859021960563' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1469031859021960563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1469031859021960563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/leaks-fire-privacy-bowling-bullies-and.html' title='Leaks, Fire &amp; Privacy, Bowling Bullies, and the Grocery Store'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-8698422639958980928</id><published>2008-01-25T23:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-25T23:31:01.201-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Plane Crash</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 24&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was on a plane, and all of a sudden it started diving at the ground. I was standing, and everyone was freaking out. Somehow I lived, and didn't bother thinking about how that was completely impossible.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-8698422639958980928?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/8698422639958980928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=8698422639958980928' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8698422639958980928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8698422639958980928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/plane-crash.html' title='Plane Crash'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-8787506811250234232</id><published>2008-01-24T11:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-24T12:02:25.626-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Underwater Cinema</title><content type='html'>I was in a room somewhere with Justin and Brian. We decided to play a game, and apparently I didn't want to play that one because I asked if they had any other games. Justin opened up a cupboard full of tons of different board games. As I was trying to look at them Brian sat right in front of me so I couldn't see anything. I got the distinct feeling he was doing it on purpose. Somewhere in my periphery a woman asked us if we would like to try using her underwater camera. I immediatley said yes, and then Justin and Brian also said yes.&lt;br /&gt;I was in the same room the three of us had been in before, but now it was completely filled with water as if it had been dropped into the ocean. There was a faint green light cast around the room. I paddled around and the camera had a propeller on it that pushed us along. It was really fun and I had a lot of mobility. It was Justin's turn to try next. I sat cross-legged at the bottom of the room as he tried out the camera. For some reason we could talk and breathe normally even though we were underwater. Justin said something about how it was easier to film near the top of the water, and I said I had noticed the same thing. He swam down to wear I was sitting and pointed the camera toward me. I smiled and we talked while he swam around my face, filming it from different angles.&lt;br /&gt;I was in my bed sleeping when Theo and Nina came into my room. I started to wake up and I could hear them talking about me. I tried to open my eyes or speak but I couldn't, all I could manage was to moan or whine. They both laughed at me because they figured I must be dreaming or something. I had to try with all my effort to wrench my eyes and mouth open, and I flung my body so I would be sitting upright in bed. The effort wolk me up.&lt;br /&gt;I was had stolen a motorcycle and was driving around with it. I answered my cell phone while I was driving, and sat on the handlebars of the motorcycles. As I was riding around like that I went by a cop, and promptly got off the bike because I thought we would give me a ticket for driving like that. He was busy with another car.&lt;br /&gt;My mom showed up at my house dressed in West-African garb. She had brought a bunch of woman and my sisters with her. She told me all about her amazing adventures with these people, whom she had met in Alaska, and said she was going to Africa with them and that I should come. I was trying to cook dinner while all this was going on, and it was very difficult to keep track of what I was doing, and Andrey kept putting his dinner with mine. I told my mom that I had always wanted to go to Africa, but this was really catching me off-guard. Phil showed up with his parents. They walked into the kitchen singing happy birthday to my mom, and gave her a gift, (which was one of those menus from a service that picks up food for you from any restuarant and brings it to your house). My mom was so flattered and amazed by this that she started to cry and hug them. I was tottaly wierded out by all this. I said hello to Phil and asked how things were going at the Teen Center. We went into another room I didn't recognize, it had a pool table and a ping pong table. Me, Phil, and some other guy sat in there for a while drinking beer and talking.&lt;br /&gt;My dad had bought one of those pools that has a constant stream of water coming out of one end so you can do lap swimming in a really small area. I was swimming naked in it, and trying to grab onto the wall that has the water coming out of it, just for the hell of it. My dad and one of my sisters came outside and said they were going to swim in the pool. I got out and put a towel on as fast as I could and went upstairs to put a bathing suit on. I had nipple piercings, and I wanted to put earrings in them. When I looked down at my boobs I noticed there was a metal thing on each one, that covered my boobs almost completely. I tried to put the earings on those, but it didn't look good. I started to put my bathing suit on.&lt;br /&gt;When I went back outside there was a woman who was running away from her husband. I tried to help her, and the cops came. It turned out that the woman's husband was gay, and when he showed up he started kissing the guy he was in love with. For some reason this made me really happy because now I could be with his wife.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-8787506811250234232?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/8787506811250234232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=8787506811250234232' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8787506811250234232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8787506811250234232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/underwater-cinema.html' title='Underwater Cinema'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-6244507268642845893</id><published>2008-01-24T02:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-24T02:55:28.696-08:00</updated><title type='text'>MFB/Racing</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 22&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: my brother, Phil Allen, Kyle Hart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was running, racing my brother. He started asking questions about Phil, and I started not caring about winning. While running, I said that Phil was majoring in Business/Marketing and Recording/Producing (not true). He also brought up my business and getting money from other countries. I thought about bringing up other ideas I have, but didn't.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;A friend wanted to make money, and help My Favorite Band (the band) out, so he offered to buy a whole case of MFB cds for $5 a piece and sell them for more. I thought it was a great deal for the band, but I felt sorry for him, 'cause I figured he wouldn't be able to sell them. Kyle was there, but I don't remember how he was involved. The friend was now making new cds for us, by compiling ten of our unreleased songs together. I was afraid he wouldn't know what he's doing and put a song on that we had already released... but he did fine. One of the songs was called "10 p.m."&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I was in a game, but don't know the object of it. I was in a Mustang and in line with about 10 others. All of a sudden we were driving and everyone was crashing into each other. I felt like I was the only one trying to keep the car in good shape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I find it interesting that often when I write these dreams down and type them up later, and I'm coming up with titles, it all seems to make sense to me. Right now, I feel like I'm racing against time with MFB (and I'm not talking about the band). I've started keeping a notebook and pen in my bed. It takes less motivation to write when I wake up in the middle of the "night."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-6244507268642845893?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/6244507268642845893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=6244507268642845893' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6244507268642845893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6244507268642845893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/mfbracing.html' title='MFB/Racing'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7084518097651354391</id><published>2008-01-22T18:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-22T19:05:49.689-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Interesting People to See</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 21&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Jim Carrey, my mom, my brother, Chris Patti, Lauren (ex)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in line to see a movie, when I saw Jim Carrey. He started talking to me, and was really nice about everything. When the line got shorter, and I was entering the theater, I wondered if I should sit next to him. I looked to see where he was sitting, but he was gone. I didn't see anyone I knew, so I walked around for a bit. The theater was jam packed and people were raising their hands all over the place to signal their friends. One of the hands in the air belonged to Jim, and he was waving to me. I was happy and walked up to him. He had a baby stroller next to his seat, and it didn't look like there was enough space for me to fit. He squished over and told me to share the seat with him; he said he liked sitting like that. I sat down and was pretty uncomfortable. I ended up sitting on the cup holder, but an usher came up and told me I need to move. She pushed me over into the "kid section." My mom and brother were there, but they didn't have seats open next to them.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I was hanging out with Chris and some other people. Chris wanted to hang out with some more people, so he asked if Lauren was around. We went to her house, and I was self-conscious because I hadn't seen her in about 3-4 years. She looked the same. Someone brought up her age, and that made me feel even more self-conscious.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7084518097651354391?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7084518097651354391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7084518097651354391' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7084518097651354391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7084518097651354391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/interesting-people-to-see.html' title='Interesting People to See'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-516191775584273829</id><published>2008-01-21T04:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T04:54:56.586-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Family Fights With a Hint of Jessica Simpson</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 19&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: my brother, my mom, Jessica Simpson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in a huge fighting war with Neal, including bows and arrows and paint balls. It was like a video game: I ran for my life while trying to shoot, and collected life packs around my old house to get my energy back up.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I was going to drive Phil, Francis, and Chris somewhere. Somebody had called shotgun very early, but Francis took the front seat. I said it wasn't that big of a deal because Phil had done the same thing before. I went inside my house to grab things to take back to my apartment. There were a bunch of papers I needed to bring along with a cereal box and a cereal box full of papers. I wanted to save space, so I tried to fit everything into a ziplock cereal box. While I was trying to do that, my mom kept asking me questions about school credits. The situation made me feel very overwhelmed. My mom offered me accounting software. I said "no" because I knew that if I took it, I'd install it and it'd be the most basic thing ever--for 7 year olds.&lt;br /&gt;This turned into my having a fight with my mom about my wanting to be treated like an adult. I said that if it didn't happen, I'd be willing to live completely on my own, with no support.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I saw calendar of Jessica Simpson and this somehow turned into sex with her.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I was in a car with my family, and Neal was afraid to drive up a gigantic hill. I said I would do it, but we went somewhere else, instead. We were at a house with a pool and lots of pigeons. Neal and I fought verbally while in the pool and he said that I have violent tendencies. I said I didn't and scratched him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-516191775584273829?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/516191775584273829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=516191775584273829' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/516191775584273829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/516191775584273829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/family-fights-with-hint-of-jessica.html' title='Family Fights With a Hint of Jessica Simpson'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-8135191798370807899</id><published>2008-01-21T04:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T05:02:26.859-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Seinfeld, Ball Games, and Sex With an Inanimate Object (Lucid)</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 18&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Jerry Seinfeld, my mom, my dad&lt;br /&gt;Special: Quite Lucid, but difficulty changing surroundings&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was watching Jerry Seinfeld perform with people sitting in chairs behind him, who were part of the routine. One guy sitting took a shot. Everyone found that funny. I noticed that it looked like orange juice. Jerry's routine was good, but different--it became sad, and everyone in the audience started crying, even a clown. It made me teary-eyed.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I was watching some kids play a sort of ball game with four teams: red, blue, green, and slime green. I wondered how the kids knew the difference between green and slime green. I noticed that a dad was coaching his kid's team. His son said "bitch" and mouthed a word that everyone except me thought was "fucking."&lt;br /&gt;This morphed into me playing a ball game at my old house with my mom and dad. I sensed we didn't have a lot of money. My dad wanted us to organize everything, so the game turned into us trying to tape down stuff in a drawer (I don't know, either). My dad basically let me tape down a case for markers, which meant I won the game, and he said he was just happy to see me organizing.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I was chasing rabbits with someone and caught one. Whoever I was with started choking it with a leash-like thing. I realized that this wasn't real and decided to change my surroundings. In order to do this, I sort of closed my eyes and just thought I'd be somewhere else--the first thing I thought of was a basketball court, and sure enough, I was at one. I played, and still recognized that I was dreaming, so I was able to slam dunk. I then thought, "What am I doing?? I should be having sex or flying... or BOTH!!" I tried my hardest to start with sex, by using the same technique of closing my eyes. When I opened my eyes, I was humping the basketball pole. I tried to turn it into a girl, but this woke me up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-8135191798370807899?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/8135191798370807899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=8135191798370807899' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8135191798370807899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8135191798370807899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/seinfeld-and-ball-games.html' title='Seinfeld, Ball Games, and Sex With an Inanimate Object (Lucid)'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-1682056232946907482</id><published>2008-01-21T04:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T04:36:26.821-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hanging Out With Friends?</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 17&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Eric Talevich (friend), Chris Patti, Tracy Steel (ex), Kyle Hart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was learning to play a card game called "Sociopathic Killer" with some friends. Eric was the only one who knew how to play. The game turned into something like hide and seek.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: Half asleep, I wrote things I remembered about the card game, but looking at it now, it makes no sense: "A-I = 1" "T-R-A-V = own set"&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I was with Chris and he was saying that I was implying that guys should always break up with girls. I argued that I didn't imply that at all, and became very upset. I slapped him, and brought up how Tracy broke up with me.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I was at some sort of olympic-like event, but for normal people. There was a pushing contest, and I helped Chris' side, which won every time. After the games, I met two girls, Ashley and Fade. I had trouble remembering their names, which I thought wasn't like me. Fade told me that she didn't like the way I talked about Ashley.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I was on a foam-padded playground with Kyle.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-1682056232946907482?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/1682056232946907482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=1682056232946907482' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1682056232946907482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1682056232946907482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/hanging-out-with-friends.html' title='Hanging Out With Friends?'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-1933466937700682135</id><published>2008-01-17T19:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-17T19:20:55.764-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Violence</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 16&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: John M. (elementary school), my mom, my brother&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at a party, and there was a fight circle outside. I came out, and saw that there was one guy who could knock anyone out with one punch--it was John. He started coming after me, and I backed away, saying that I'm probably the worst fighter. He pointed to some other kid, and said I have to fight him, and that he has never won a fight... so I fought. The kid swung awkwardly and was able to block his punches for the most part. I punched back, lightly at first, but then started hitting him really hard in the face. It was strange that my fists didn't hurt at all. After about ten punches to the face, the kid went down.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I was in Boston, on the Green Monster at Fenway Park. I was on "vacation" with my mom, and when we came back, she said that someone in the family died, so we had to go away again. This made me upset, and I tried to think of excuses to stay.&lt;br /&gt;I was at my old house, and something was going on in the other room--I noticed that there were a bunch of people there, and a few guys killing everyone else off one by one. When I realized this, I ran to my mom and brother, told them that we have to leave, and that I was going to jump out the window. I opened the window, grabbed my bed sheet, tied one end to the bed, and used the other end to drop down to the ground below. It was strange because the ground was only like 4 feet below, despite me being on the second story. I hopped down and ran.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: The punching (especially one-punch knockout) is because I fell asleep earlier watching Snatch. I guess the violence also went through to the second dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-1933466937700682135?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/1933466937700682135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=1933466937700682135' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1933466937700682135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1933466937700682135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/violence.html' title='Violence'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4202841060979346625</id><published>2008-01-16T17:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T17:44:38.502-08:00</updated><title type='text'>bowling/drinks, drinks/girls/music, girls/music, music/?</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 15&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Kyle, Rachel T. (ex boss), Shanielle H. (ex coworker), Alicia B. (ex coworker), Prince, Chris P., Eric T. (friend), Camellia M. (friend)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was on a trip with Kyle, Rachel, Shanielle, Alicia, and some other people. I think we were in a hotel room in Hawaii. We decided to drink, and this made Alicia basically the opposite personality--instead of appearing shy and reserved, she wanted to make out with everyone. She started with me, then went to Kyle. Shanielle did the same thing, so the room turned into a make-out/sex party.&lt;br /&gt;In the same Hotel room, Prince walked in, and I noticed the similarity between us. I also noticed the dissimilarities, and when I did, a guy walked in who was similar to Prince in every way that I wasn't... so he was white and had the same facial hair. A couple of more of these guys walked in and practiced singing harmonies together.&lt;br /&gt;------&lt;br /&gt;I went bowling with Chris, Kyle, Eric, and possibly someone else. Four huge guys didn't like the way I was dressed and started taunting me. One came really close like he was going to hit me, so I laid flat on the floor. We started bowling, and I was drinking. Two of the four guys came up, and were pretty nerdy looking. They shook my hand and walked away. Instantly, I got really dizzy and realized that they must've put acid in my drink. The world was really blurry, and I tried to tell my friends what happened, but I figured the same thing happened to them. I felt super sick, as I was dizzy, and fell on the floor. I "woke up" still feeling sick and threw up a little. I wondered if I had just drank too much. The four guys were still there and the bowling alley workers were getting mad about the situation.&lt;br /&gt;------&lt;br /&gt;I went to a restaurant/bar and saw Kyle sitting with people I had never met. He was sitting on the edge, and as I was approaching, got up and walked away. I sat down at the table anyway, where a couple people recognized me.&lt;br /&gt;We were now walking around, and a girl kept following Kyle everywhere he went. I could tell she was trying to hit on him, and he kept playing it cool. I then found a note in my pocket from Camellia that was written in code. I somehow figured out that she was talking about liking me and My Favorite Band and that if anything, the bass should be louder during guitar solos on the album "Monkey Business."&lt;br /&gt;------&lt;br /&gt;I was at home and saw that I hadn't opened a new guitar that I bought. It looked like Phil's Telecaster, but weirder. It was taken apart (like Wii guitars), and I peaked in the box to see if screws were included. I saw a bunch of nails and one screw. I figured that would be enough to put the neck onto the guitar. I touched the strings and they were nylon, which seemed like it would be difficult to play. I played a chord and it had a really metallic sound, which I thought was kinda cool. I played a little more, and realized that I suck at guitar, as I haven't played in months.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4202841060979346625?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4202841060979346625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4202841060979346625' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4202841060979346625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4202841060979346625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/bowlingdrinks-drinksgirlsmusic.html' title='bowling/drinks, drinks/girls/music, girls/music, music/?'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-375299473673330708</id><published>2008-01-16T02:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T02:46:30.453-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Recording Famous People</title><content type='html'>Night of: January 14&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Chris Patti, Natalie Portman, my mom, Lindsay Lohan, my brother, Brian Dexter Holland (singer of The Offspring), John Stewart, Stephanie Games (ex co-worker)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was on a nature hike of some sort with Chris and some other guys. We worked our way up a hill by spiraling around it. I saw a bunch of plants watering themselves heavily, and this was apparently normal. I asked Chris if the water was drinkable and he said no--that's when I realized the water wasn't coming from the plants at all, but sprinklers. As we walked around, the water kept spraying in my mouth, and since it wasn't safe to drink, I kept spitting it out.&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I know, Natalie Portman is there and I decided I'd try to throw her in the mud created by the water from the sprinklers... and videotape it all. I didn't have a video camera, but I was holding floppy disks, which would obviously be sufficient (note sarcasm)--so I started numbering the disks so that I'd be able to play back the event in the correct order. As I was doing this, I told her my plan to throw her in the mud and she playfully laughed, "Are you serious?" When I wrote "6" on the sixth disk, I figured it was enough and started chasing her.&lt;br /&gt;------&lt;br /&gt;I had braces and an appointment with the orthodontist at 10 a.m. I was told that a package would arrive, and I should open it before the appointment, so when my mom told me where it was, I opened it. Inside were clay models of my face with my mouth open and braces on my teeth. I was supposed to change the teeth to match mine, but I left it as is. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and overheard Lindsay Lohan talking in the next room. She was going to the orthodontist, too, and was late like me. I figured I'd tape the conversation she was having because drugs would probably come up. While trying to record her with a computer, I accidentally submitted the audio files to a site.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I wrote both of these dreams in a notebook right when waking up. I didn't realize the connection of these dreams before--both are about recording famous people, which I have a perfectly logical explanation for!&lt;br /&gt;------&lt;br /&gt;I tried on a pair of sunglasses with orange lenses.&lt;br /&gt;------&lt;br /&gt;I was in a bar-like setting with my mom and my brother. My brother and I were wearing leather jackets, and I had won mine on a website. Two guys were staring at us, and I figured it was because they wanted to see if they should order the same prize. When we left the bar, I put my jacket on (I guess it came off somehow) and picked at a pimple on my nose. It bled.&lt;br /&gt;------&lt;br /&gt;I was at some sort of city council meeting, where a man was showing how all pollution from house chimneys was sent to one place and released at that location.&lt;br /&gt;------&lt;br /&gt;I was either witnessing or watching an Offspring documentary, but I woke up when Brian Dexter Holland (singer) was explaining how the band got their first international tour. I heard "Gotta Get Away" being played.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: Hmm... a famous person involved with a media format--in this case, documentary.&lt;br /&gt;------&lt;br /&gt;I was in a law school or something with a large role to fill--I needed to supply notes to everyone, including higher-ups such as John Stewart. John was on a high stage, trying to work robotic stairs so that he could get down.&lt;br /&gt;I found some papers rolled up and discovered that they were notes that I needed. They were written by Stephanie and had a cover with a Simpsons sticker on the front. I figured Stephanie planted the sticker there to insinuate that I am really good at taking notes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: John Stewart + notes = another way of recording? I'm freaking myself out. Dee vee dee ees!&lt;br /&gt;I realized through this that it totally helps to see the dreams in new light if read all together, a long time after the dream has taken place. I don't think I've ever come to this conclusion, as I rarely go back to read my dreams. I should do it more often.&lt;br /&gt;There are so many dreams because I woke up many times and had the motivation to write them down in a journal next to my bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-375299473673330708?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/375299473673330708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=375299473673330708' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/375299473673330708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/375299473673330708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/recording-famous-people.html' title='Recording Famous People'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4115748418100179583</id><published>2008-01-10T10:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-10T11:19:32.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Bar, The Prom, and Hogwarts</title><content type='html'>John - mom's boyfriend&lt;br /&gt;Katherine Leslie - girl from highschool&lt;br /&gt;Brian - kid who used to go to teen center&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was with my family (mom, sam, mattie, john) and some other random people. We were all in a car together going somewhere. We pulled up next to another car that had a couple of hot girls in it. One of the guys we were with, who was some sleeze ball with silver aviator sunglasses, a sport jacket, shoulder length hair and a moustache; offered one of the girls 2000 dollars if she would show us her boobs. The girl happily accepted, and lifted up her shirt. We all cheered, and drove on. We got to our destination, a random bar, and went inside. I knew I wasn't supposed to be in there because I'm underage, but when we sat down at our table there were already 15 or so cups of beer at it, so I just drank those. We were all hanging around having a good time, and john asked me if I wanted to go see where the "hotties" were. I said sure, and followed him outside. We came to a patio where a ton of teenage girls were hanging around. They were all really good looking, but I was wondering why the hell john is interested in girls this young. One of them had some plastic silver stars that she was trying to place in a plate of water, but the plate was set on top of some playground equipment, so she couldn't see or reach the top. I could, so I took the stars from her and placed them in a plate. She thanked me.&lt;br /&gt;I somehow ended up in a pool with one of these girls and we were having sex.&lt;br /&gt;I was going to prom. I had a really nice white dress with green beads and stuff on it, and someone had done my hair and put makeup on me. I got there with a few girls who I knew in high school. When I walked in the door I was greeted by Katherine Leslie. I said hello to her and we made small talk. Mrs. Brand walked up to me and told me how amazing I look, and went on into a dramatic rant about it. I escaped and walked over to what was somehow my dad's living room. A bunch of kids from the teen center were sitting in it watching tv. I sat down, and all the guys stared at me. I pretended not to notice, but I was sitting right next to Brian who was staring with his mouth hanging open and it was really distrating, so I told him he looked nice.&lt;br /&gt;I was with Brian and we were walking toward some mountains covered in trees. Signs had been hung all over the place that said stuff like "save our forest" and "say no to logging". I wanted to walk over there are see what was out there, and somehow help the cause, but Brian held me back. I got really mad at him because I didn't understand why he didn't want to go out there. I argued with him for a while, but there was really nothing I could do since he was capable from physically keeping me from going out there, so we started to walk back. As we were crossing the street to go back where we came from, I kicked some rocks around because I was pissed. One of them bounced up and hit a parked car, leaving a dent. The sun was setting, and a bunch of teachers were out walking around the arboretum, among them was Professor McGonogal. Brian said we were going to be in trouble now, but I told him not to worry about it and we would just walk around and get inside another way. He said there is no other way in, and I realized he was right. I decided we should try anyway, and we hopped some fences into an area I had never been in before. We were moving very fast, Brian in front of me. As Brian was hopping one of the fences, I noticed there was an open door in it so he could have just walked through. We got separated, and I came to an area that was just a maze of slides. I climbed up some, and went through a door leading to a very sterile-looking office building, which was the Ministry of Magic. I just kept running up all different kinds of slides and through different doors, hoping I would get to a place I recognized. Some walls started closing in around me, and apparently the staff of the school knew I was there. I went through an area with some sort of magical demonstration going on. A bunch of girls in USC cheerleading uniforms were seated at a long table having a tea party. At this point I was Hermione, and I started climbing up a slide but it got to steep. I sat and waited in it, trying to remain out of sight. I heard someone whispering my name, but I couldn't tell where it was coming from, and I was too afraid to look out from the slide. At first it sounded like Brian, but then I couldn't tell, and wondered if it was someone trying to trick me. I tried to think of some way I could escape out of here, but I figured that I probably wouldn't be able to do magic in here. I was so scared that I forced it to happen anyway, realized it was a dream, and said "levicorpus". I started to rise up out of the slide toward the open air.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4115748418100179583?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4115748418100179583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4115748418100179583' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4115748418100179583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4115748418100179583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2008/01/bar-prom-and-hogwarts.html' title='A Bar, The Prom, and Hogwarts'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-864607562861633239</id><published>2007-12-16T10:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-16T21:49:20.068-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Experiment</title><content type='html'>Shaney - highschool friend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An organization built an underground city. There were a lot of students down there walking around checking the place out. I heard about people that were volunteering to live there permanently as part of a study. For no particular reason I volunteered to do that. Right after I signed up to do it, I walked over to a table where they were selling acid. I bought the last tab, which said "chill" on it. Right after I popped it in my mouth, Shaney walked up and said "I heard that is a really strong strain, so maybe we should share that tab". Because I had never taken it before I thought that was a good idea, so I took it out of my mouth, found my pocket knife, and started cutting it in half. I put the half tab back in my mouth, and continued to wander around the city. I saw another kid who had taken acid a minute ago. He was sitting on the floor in the corner, with the saddest expression on his face. I noticed other kids on the same stuff who were running around having the time of their lives. I didn't notice much of the effects. I ran into a couple of friends from school who were walking around down there. We were all talking about how cool the place was and I mentioned that I had to stay here permanently. They were shocked and asked if I was afraid. I told them not really, then said goodbye and walked away. I met another guy who was to be in the same study. He was afraid, and decided that he didn't want to be a part of it anymore. We walked to the elevator that took us back up to the real world, and both took off our clothes, which identified us as participants in the study. I got into the elevator and realized that my ID necklace was still on. Just as the doors were closing, I ripped it off and through it through the sliver that was still open. The doors shut, and the guy pressed a button. The elevator started to move. I mentioned to him that there was some high-tech stuff involved with this place and it probably knew that we weren't supposed to be in here. Then the elevator stopped, but the doors didn't open. I decided that we were probably going to die in here, and started looking around at the place to see what we had to live on for what would be the remainder of our very short lives. There was a little kitchen in the elevator, and there was half an apple, some fig newtons, and other assorted small bits of food. I promised myself right there that I wouldn't eat any of it, I just wanted to die and get this over with. The guy I was with started talking to me, I was looking at him and not really listening to anything he was saying. He had a blonde curly fro, and acted like someone who goes to a lot of parties and generally ignores the women there until he wants to sleep with one of them. I realized that maybe he and I should have sex since we were gonna die in here anyway, then I decided that I really didn't want to. Then I realized that this was an awful dream, and wolk myself up.&lt;br /&gt;I was back in the underground world, but this one was much prettier; there was a lake at the end of the city, some palm trees, and the sun was out. I was walking around on the balcony of my apartment, thinking about how I had ended up here and why I ever volunteered to be a part of this experiment. Some of the people I lived near were talking about how they were getting "work leave", and this meant that they got to go back to the real world for a few weeks. I was talking to this beautiful girl who said she was going to be leaving. I had really liked  her for a long time, and I wanted to tell her that before she left. When she and I had finished talking she walked away to go to work. After she left I sat in my room thinking about her, and decided to go tell her how I felt. I caught up to her, and she was really confused and awkward about why I was there. I couldn't really think of anything to say, and I wanted to kiss her but I knew she would think that was weird, so I just left. I decided I should fly, I took off and rose over the lake, and then I realized it was a dream and I could do whatever I wanted, but I decided that this was kind of an interesting dream so I would rather just let it take its coarse. As I flew around the lake, I noticed that there was a giant fence at the other end of it, and some houses beyond it. I decided that that must be part of the real world. I looked down at the edge of the lake and noticed that people were gathering there, some of them were swimming into the lake. The cops came, and apparently the sight of me flying had stirred some people, and there was a protest about the study. I went back to my apartment, and the cops were arresting some people. One of them came up to me and pointed some kind of strange weapon at my face. I told them that I had nothing to do with the uprising and that I hadn't done anything wrong. I explained that I just went out flying, and while I was out there people started to get upset. The cop had this evil look smeared on his face, and then said something like "oh I see, so you were just doing what you wanted, and it happened to kind of upset people so they started this protest". I was reluctant to agree with his statement because it made it sound like I could still be pinned with instigating this uprising even if it was unintentional. I didn't respond to him. He said he had to do something to me, and pointed the weapon at my ear. I saw a flash of light and heard a loud sound next to my ear. When I could see again, the world was spinning and then I noticed a really loud ringing in my ears, and the cop was gone. There were still a lot of people at my apartment, so I decided I should offer them all some beer. I went to the fridge and grabbed as many as I could hold, and walked around passing them out to everyone. The people were all very greatful. The last few people I handed beers to were a group guys standing on the balcony. They all seemed really cool so I wanted to come back to talk to them. I noticed that I had some how managed to finish my own beer while I was passing all the other ones out, so I went back to the fridge to get another one for myself. When I came back to the balcony the guys were gone. I stood there by myself leaning against the railing, thinking about the whole experiment. I was angry with myself for randomly decided to participate in something without really thinking about the implications of it. I was also angry that I was being controlled by some bureaucracy, and that all of my captors were faceless people and I had no idea how to get in touch with them or deal with them at all. I felt very hopeless, and just sat out there drinking my beer watching the palm trees.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-864607562861633239?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/864607562861633239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=864607562861633239' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/864607562861633239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/864607562861633239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/12/experiment.html' title='The Experiment'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-2142862161196020238</id><published>2007-11-30T09:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-30T12:49:49.169-08:00</updated><title type='text'>We I.D.</title><content type='html'>Mr. Keith - apush teacher&lt;br /&gt;Alex Salazar - high school friend/teammate&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in high school again and I was on the tennis team. Mr. Keith was my coach and Alex Salazar was my doubles partner. I took a really long time in the locker room before the game.&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't a normal human being, I was a fairy or something. Every normal person had an ID tag tattooed on their wrist, and I didn't have one so people could tell I was a fairy. I was with Theo and I wanted to go into a store with him. The moment I walked inside a bunch of alarms started going off and I had to leave. Apparently we weren't granted the same rights as normal humans. I was also not allowed to buy clothes, so I was dressed in a lot of random rags that I had assembled and I wore big sunglasses so people wouldn't know who I was, and my hair was all fluffy and stuck out everywhere. There was a movie playing in the store that I wanted to see with Theo, so I somehow managed to get inside and sit down. The movie started to play, and I thought that maybe I had gotten away with it, but then I saw some employees standing in a corner making a list and looking up at me every so often. I tried to keep my head down so they couldn't see me. One of them walked up to me and said, "you're Carla Jennings aren't you?". I said "no, actually I'm not", but I knew that they had figured out I wasn't a human either way, so I got up and started to leave. Theo came with me and as I was walking out I turned to the woman and called her a few choice words, while Theo held me back and continued to lead me out of the store. When we got outside we both started complaining about how unfair the whole thing was. I told Theo he could go back inside and watch the rest of the movie, and he decided to. After he left I kind of regretted telling him that because now I would have to walk home through the woods alone. But being a fairy or whatever I was gave me the power to fly. I pushed off from the ground and rose over the trees. It was nighttime and the sky was perfectly clear. I sang to myself as I flew. After a little while I looked down and noticed a girl following me. I pushed up a little higher into the air to keep some distance, but it was hard to maintain that altitude. I looked to the left of me and saw a big glowing orb about 50 yards away. It was smokey or misty looking and just kind of hovered there. Then it shot toward me and went right underneath me. The girl and I were both really confused. It turned around and positioned itself directly in front of me. I got the impression it was trying to hurt me.&lt;br /&gt;My dad was getting married again, and my mom was going to get married the day after that. The whole family had been spending a lot of time preparing and I was getting tired of thinking about weddings. There was something about a witch that had put a spell on my dad, and he had to eat graham crackers to keep from falling asleep. I showed up to the place where one of my parents was supposed to get married. I was wearing a nice dress and shoes and had my hair all done, but I had gotten all dressed up like that a couple days ago and had been preoccupied with the witch thing and I was sort of falling apart now. The place they were getting married was a French resort, and there were little birds hopping around and music playing. The quaintness of it was kind of nauseating. I sat in line with some other women and we talked about how I could fix my hair.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-2142862161196020238?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/2142862161196020238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=2142862161196020238' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2142862161196020238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/2142862161196020238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/11/no-id-no-humanity.html' title='We I.D.'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-9143334706530142972</id><published>2007-11-26T10:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-26T11:11:40.228-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Girlfriend, New Chorus, New Hairdo</title><content type='html'>Theo - ex, friend&lt;br /&gt;Daniel - friend at SC&lt;br /&gt;Chris - highschool friend&lt;br /&gt;Nadiah - childhood friend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Theo had gotten a new girlfriend. I think she was some blonde girl named Allison. I was really not taking the whole situation well and I couldn't stand being in the same room with her or seeing them together. I was sitting in someone's kitchen trying to do something and the girlfriend walked over and was being very friendly and trying to talk to me. I basically just grunted responses and rolled my eyes a lot. Theo came in and I asked him if he could help me with my chemistry homework later. He said sure, and then walked over and put his arm around the girlfriend. I felt like he would probably forget because he was going to be with her. I told him to make sure he remembered and he said he would. I left the room as fast as possible.&lt;br /&gt;I ran into Daniel later and he tried to warn me about Theo's new girlfriend. I told him I already knew and that it was okay.&lt;br /&gt;I was wearing a pretty white dress and lacey gloves.&lt;br /&gt;I shaved my head again and was having some regrets. I kept saying "oh my god why did I do that", but at the same time I was kind of enjoying it and I kept running my fingers through what little hair I had. I went to an audition for a chorus. Everyone in the room took a turn singing something for the conductor. All the people there had excellent voices, and some of them sang opera. I had a friend, a random black girl that sang right before me and did alright. I was the last person to go and I was insanely nervous. I couldn't get my lips to move the right way, and as a result my singing sounded kind of muffled. But I took deep breaths and did the best I could and the song came out okay (I sang "Do Re Me" from the Sound of Music). The teacher loved it and said that it was great.&lt;br /&gt;Chris had auditioned as well and we left the chorus together. We walked outside and the beach was only a few hundred yards away, and the beach was covered in grasses that had turned gold because of the winter. The sun was setting too and the waves were gigantic. I said "we live in the most beautiful place in the world". We started walking toward the ocean, but the waves were so big that the water was already coming up to us where we were. Nadiah was with us now, and a giant wave came. She had her back to it so it knocked her over and she got completely wet, which Chris and I thought was very funny. We stood in the water and talked about the sand moving around our feet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-9143334706530142972?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/9143334706530142972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=9143334706530142972' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/9143334706530142972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/9143334706530142972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/11/new-girlfriend-new-chorus-new-hairdo.html' title='New Girlfriend, New Chorus, New Hairdo'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-3849913970368995253</id><published>2007-11-23T12:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-23T12:36:03.374-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Scary Face</title><content type='html'>Mark - kid at teen center&lt;br /&gt;Shayna/Skylar/Pika - friends at SC&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was with my sisters driving the Jetta around East side Santa Cruz. The car was able to split into two separate drivable halves, and Mattie had disappeared with one of them. I drove around with Sam trying to find her. I was having a hard time seeing, and for some reason the roads were all giant hills. We eventually found Mattie and I was really pissed at her. I grabbed her arm and yelled right in her face. I had been really worried about her, and I wanted her to know that what she did wasn't okay.&lt;br /&gt;I had a meal plan for the dining hall that was somehow monitored through the teen center. I went to the teen center to go in t he dining hall, and my boss wouldn't let me in. I knew I had 20 or so meals left, so I didn't understand what the problem was. My boss told me that they were the wrong kind or something like that. I thought that was total bullshit and got really upset. Mark tried to comfort me.&lt;br /&gt;I was riding my bike around Santa Cruz. I stopped at a random store that sold really nice vintage clothing. I couldn't decide whether to leave my bike at the front of the store or if I should lock it up somewhere. I compromised by locking it to a clothing wrack inside. I walked around the store looking at all the nice dresses, as the lady who owned the place followed me around telling me about every dress that I touched. I didn't have the intention of buying anything. I got to the back of the store and they had pictures of different tattoos all over the wall. I started talking to the owner about the pricing on their tattoos, and asked if they had any artists who did ladybugs.&lt;br /&gt;I was riding my bike through some dark mountain road in an unfamiliar part of Santa Cruz. Shayna was eventually with me, and eventually we were walking. It was nighttime now, and we were on a dirt road that was covered in trees at random intervals. Each time we came to a clump of trees, we could see something spelled out in its branches. The first clump we came to had something pleasant written on it. We walked farther and farther, and by the time we got to the next clump of trees Shayna felt like we were lost. This clump of trees spelled out the words "scary face". In the dream that was frightening.&lt;br /&gt;I was in a big house with random people. I had sex with a guy that had two penises. Once that was over I was walking around the house with Skylar, and apparently this was his mansion. We were standing outside talking, enjoying the view of the forest around us. I looked up and saw that one of the balconies was on fire. I then heard Pika scream and everyone in the house was running around in a panic. The whole house started to go up in flames, and someone said their was a rocket heading straight for the house. Skylar and some other people ran toward one side of the house to get away from where the impact was supposed to be. I felt like it was going to be coming from the opposite direction so I went the other way. We saw the rocket approaching, and it was headed for the other group of people. Skylar turned to me and said "well, you were right", then the house exploded.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-3849913970368995253?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/3849913970368995253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=3849913970368995253' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3849913970368995253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3849913970368995253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/11/scary-face.html' title='Scary Face'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-1068018336112379257</id><published>2007-11-17T10:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-17T11:00:29.094-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The American Dream</title><content type='html'>Sam/Mattie - sisters&lt;br /&gt;Brian/D.C. - kids at teen center&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was staying at my grandma's house with my family, but she lived in some strange place I didn't recognize. My family upset me for some reason and I decided to run away. I took the screen off one of the windows in the room I was staying in and climbed outside. Earlier Sam and I had locked our bikes somewhere in the city so I started running to get mine. I ran pretty far, and when I got to the spot the bikes were missing. I decided to just forget about the whole plan and go back to my grandma's. When I got there I looked to see if I had actually brought the bike there, and I had, then I felt really stupid.&lt;br /&gt;I went to the grocery store with my family (my mom and my dad were still married). We got in line with all of our stuff, and we had multiple shopping carts full of groceries. I was really angry that my parents thought we needed so much stuff. Standing in the line with all of that stuff was a pain too because I would have to walk down the line of carts and push them all forward every few minutes. Sam and Mattie kept grabbing more stuff and bringing it back. Sam dropped a juice container on the floor and it rolled into another customer's feet.&lt;br /&gt;I had a view of a random family driving somewhere for vacation. They had so much stuff with them that they were bringing multiple cars, all liked by a chain. The dad was driving the front car, which was one of those big trucks that shreds up trees. The mom was driving the one behind that, and the kids were in the one behind her. The tree-shredder thing got turned on somehow, and was now spitting shreds out the back of the truck at the mom. Her car was slowly being filled up with grass and she was yelling at her husband to turn it off, and the kids kept yelling "you're killing mom" over and over. The dad was lying down in his truck not really paying attention to anything, and didn't hear any of them.&lt;br /&gt;My mom decided to take a trip to New Zealand and I went with her. I brought her to the beautiful beach we stayed next to in Warkworth. I wanted to take her down there, but the tide was too high so there wasn't any space to walk.&lt;br /&gt;I was walking down the street with Brian and D.C. D.C. was going to paint something, and we were trying to help him decide what he should paint.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-1068018336112379257?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/1068018336112379257/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=1068018336112379257' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1068018336112379257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1068018336112379257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/11/american-dream.html' title='The American Dream'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7136786592947447092</id><published>2007-11-08T16:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-09T16:43:23.759-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Skateboard</title><content type='html'>I was with my Dad at a strange park on the side of the road in Irvine. He had a skateboard that he really loved and someone stole it. I went to go get it and apparently I succeded. I was riding back on it and was able to go really fast and I was riding well. I realized that skateboarding is all about confidence and not worrying about the ground. I got back to the park my Dad was at and my Grandpa was with him now too. I saw my Grandpa wave at me and smile. I beamed at them both as I rode back, feeling like a hero. I got there and handed my dad the skateboard. He got mad at me because it wasn't the right one. I told him that his must still be at the park somewhere. I spotted it lying in the grass a few yards away. My dad picked it up and we got into a truck and drove away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7136786592947447092?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7136786592947447092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7136786592947447092' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7136786592947447092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7136786592947447092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/11/skateboard.html' title='Skateboard'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-5135942003721550002</id><published>2007-11-07T11:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-07T12:20:16.726-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Carlie the Zombie</title><content type='html'>Brian, D.C. - kids from the teen center&lt;br /&gt;Felton - rural/forest town north of santa cruz&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was with Brian and D.C. at some kind of public pool or resort. We were hanging out having a good time.&lt;br /&gt;I was at the teen center. I kind of fell/jumped off one of the balconies but I was alright. No one seemed alarmed about it.&lt;br /&gt;I had gotten bit by a zombie a little while ago and I was starting to feel the effects. I was getting dizzy and it was hard to control my body. It felt kind of like I was falling asleep mixed with waking up the next morning and still being drunk. I knew a woman in Felton who was supposed to drive me to a place where someone could cure me. I called her house, but she wasn't home yet, so I spoke to her husband for a while. He was rather rude to me considering my condition, but he told me what I could do. He started to give me directions so I could drive out to Felton but I realized there was no way I was going to be able to drive. I asked if the woman could pick me up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-5135942003721550002?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/5135942003721550002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=5135942003721550002' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/5135942003721550002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/5135942003721550002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/11/carlie-zombie.html' title='Carlie the Zombie'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-1023781250268589961</id><published>2007-11-04T10:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-04T11:16:18.127-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost In New York</title><content type='html'>I was with a friend trying to drive through New York to get to the airport so I could fly home. My dad gave me directions but I misplaced them, so I was reading signs as I drove by them and waiting to see one that sounded familiar. We went further and further down the freeway and I still didn't recognize anything. All along the freeway there were bus stops, and some of them went to an airport in Indiana, where I had a layover. I pulled over a couple times to look for the directions, and the people at the bus stops kept telling me to just take the bus to the airport. For some reason I really didn't want to do that, and I was getting really irritated with people suggesting that. I had my laptop with me and checked to see if I had saved the directions as a word file. I was having a really difficult time using the computer, and there were so many other files open that I couldn't get enough of them closed to see the word file. I looked through my cell phone to see if I had it saved in a message. I tried calling my dad a few times and for some reason he wouldn't pick up his phone. There was some kind of accident on the road, and I just decided to turn around and try going back the other way. When I tried to go in reverse the friend I was with pointed out that there was a line of those do-not-back-up spikes behind us. At this point I was so frustrated I started crying, and somehow picked up the car and moved it around the spikes.&lt;br /&gt;For some reason I was now in a car with two random guys. They were driving really fast so I couldn't read the freeway signs to find my exit. I asked them to slow down and they said no.&lt;br /&gt;I was back stopped in front of one of the freeway bus stops with my own car, and I saw my aunt getting on to a bus. I decided I didn't want to say hello to her. I finally got a hold of my dad on the phone, and I told him in tears that I couldn't figure out where I was going. He laughed at me and told me it wasn't that big of a deal. This really upset me. I felt very alone and like I was going to be stuck out there forever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-1023781250268589961?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/1023781250268589961/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=1023781250268589961' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1023781250268589961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1023781250268589961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/11/lost-in-new-york.html' title='Lost In New York'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-6504601981783878753</id><published>2007-10-28T11:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-28T11:24:49.905-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Mango Enforcer</title><content type='html'>Theo - ex, friend&lt;br /&gt;Aaron - Theo's roommate&lt;br /&gt;Mango - my guinea pig&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at school with Theo and Aaron. Aaron had somehow gotten Mango and was holding her and being cruel to her. He kept pulling her hair and putting her down on the ground, which made me worry that she would run away. I told him to stop, and when he didn't listen to me I started punching him in the face. I had trouble getting my body to cooperate with my demands; my arms felt like they were battling twice the normal force of gravity. Whenever I tried to punch with my right arm it didn't work very well, but I could hit really hard with my left arm. So I punched Aaron in the face a few times and eventually some people pulled me off of him. I realized I was late to my chemistry lab and that I had already missed last class. I got there and there were only about 20 minutes left, but there were also a bunch of other people sitting outside who had come late. I decided I was going to go anyway just so people would see that I came. The TAs had previously decided that I was required to wear certain clothes to lab so that they could recognize who I was easier. When I went inside the TAs pointed out that I wasn't wearing my uniform like I was supposed to.&lt;br /&gt;I was with Theo by a gigantic mansion. There was a baseball stadium near by and there were teenage girls playing baseball, but there were thousands of fans there watching. I wondered why so many people were interested in watching teenage girls. I went inside the mansion and climbed out onto a big open platform on the outside of the house. It was sunset and I could see part of the baseball stadium in the background. I started dancing around the balcony thing, waving around a shawl that I had. One of the people who worked at the mansion leaned out the window and told me I wasn't allowed to be out there, so I went inside.&lt;br /&gt;Theo apparently had some kind of doctor's appointment at this mansion, and had left in the middle of an exam. When we went back to the room he had been in they were cleaning everything up. He explained to the nurse what had happened and she went to tell the doctor that Theo was back. I went into one of the bathrooms there, and started picking up a bunch of stuff that I had left in it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-6504601981783878753?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/6504601981783878753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=6504601981783878753' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6504601981783878753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6504601981783878753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/mango-enforcer.html' title='The Mango Enforcer'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7505668542072870850</id><published>2007-10-27T09:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-27T11:18:41.521-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Drink and Drive</title><content type='html'>i was at a party of some sort, and i got pissed because justin got wasted even though he still had to drive down to my house for the Guitar Hero 3 release.&lt;br /&gt;There was something about me getting free clothes and packing up my old binders, but i don't really remember anything else.&lt;br /&gt;I also dreamed that i was even more bald than i already am. My receeding hairline met in the middle, leaving an island of hair out front (like that guy in that show "The Winner"), and i also had that common bald spot in the back. It was pretty legendary.&lt;br /&gt;I also dreamed that i was at Justin's and saw he had someone aliased as "The Girlfriend" on his gaim, and i wondered who it was. In the dream, i decided it was Carley.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7505668542072870850?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7505668542072870850/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7505668542072870850' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7505668542072870850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7505668542072870850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/dont-drink-and-drive.html' title='Don&apos;t Drink and Drive'/><author><name>Briggity Brak</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14879958720524914437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3vwhuG1_Sk/SPhbuMHFxvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/few6nNPxeuM/S220/cape_cod.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-6189731783985134027</id><published>2007-10-24T10:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-28T11:26:27.917-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Road Trip and Lesbian Prostitutes</title><content type='html'>Theo - ex, friend&lt;br /&gt;Adam Goldberg - guy from dazed and confused&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was with Theo and Adam Goldberg and we decided to do a road trip around California. It was kind of a spur of the moment decision, so the three of us Just hopped in Adam's car and started driving. I was looking at the map and told them that I would like to come back down the coast on the 101 if that was okay with them. I also mentioned that we should buy some antifreeze, water, and a some gas to keep in the car. We were driving up the 5 somewhere pretty far north because I had never seen this stretch of land before. We got to some fields were they were growing these amazing flowers. Every direction you looked there were just miles of these tall pink and yellow flowers. Some of the plants were those Japanese trees with pink blossoms. We kept driving and Theo and Adam wanted to stop at this burger place we drove by. I wasn't very hungry but it was getting late and this would probably be my last opportunity for dinner. Theo and Adam got out of the car to use one of the bathrooms they had, which were outdoor stalls. I was now driving my car for some reason and I tried to park in front of the last empty stall. The car was turning funny and I couldn't park straight. Theo was making fun of me. When I finally parked and got out of the car, Theo started explaining to me how to park. That was really irritating, and I told him it was the car not me.&lt;br /&gt;We went inside the restaurant and found out that the people who ran it were prostitutes. Three of them, who happened to be really hot lesbians came downstairs. They were very nice to us and our food was good. There were some strange customers in the restaurant with us. One guy was standing by some washing machines in the corner, with a hose in one hand. He was waiting for his wife to come out of the bathroom so he could spray her with it. Everyone got upset with him for this and kicked him out.&lt;br /&gt;Theo and Adam left and I somehow ended up upstairs with the three lesbians. I laid down on the bed and one of the lesbians came over and laid down next to me, eventually another one that I particularly liked came over and we had a threesome. Adam called me in the middle of it wondering when I was going to leave so that we could all get on the road again. I told him it would probably be only another half an hour or so, and all the girls laughed at me. I told Adam I would call him later, and then went back to the threesome. That went on for a while, and then one of them got up and left so it was just me and the girl I really liked. She and I had sex for a while and eventually she orgasmed. She told me she had never had an orgasm before, so I was feeling quite proud of myself. Then she seemed really embarrassed. I felt bad for her and told her it really wasn't a big deal, but I think she left because she was upset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I had another dream but I forgot it in the process of writing this one ... damn it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-6189731783985134027?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/6189731783985134027/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=6189731783985134027' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6189731783985134027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6189731783985134027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/road-trip-and-lesbian-prostitutes.html' title='Road Trip and Lesbian Prostitutes'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-3396633098501269969</id><published>2007-10-18T17:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-18T17:54:40.916-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Folding Ta-Tas and Snagglepuss?</title><content type='html'>Night of: October 18th&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Kyle Hart, Michelle (Kyle's friend from New York)&lt;br /&gt;Number of Dreams Remembered: Tons early, but now 2&lt;br /&gt;Length of Sleep: 10 hours&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started a new class, and I could tell I wasn't going to like it. Presentations were common, and the order was chosen by a blindfolded person throwing a ball at the class. Someone threw the ball, and it landed in the only empty chair in the room. It just so happened that I hadn't sat down yet, so that would be my seat. I looked around for somewhere else to sit, but couldn't find a place.&lt;br /&gt;This skipped forward to a group project assignment. We were to act out something, and a member in the group would have to figure out what it was. I couldn't hear what we were going to do, and we were first up. Right when we were about to start, I heard that we were acting out "Snagglepuss being interviewed by Conan O'Brien." I was to be Snagglepuss, and whoever played Conan would have to figure out who I am.&lt;br /&gt;I got up there, and for some reason, Snagglepuss was actually a cat from the Simpsons (either Snowball or Scratchy), so that's what I started describing. I jumped onto the desk, and talked like Stewie from Family Guy--I don't know why. In his voice, I said, "I'm sad because a different cartoon show has beaten our ratings... purrrrr." The guy playing Conan instantly said, "Snagglepuss?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in someone's house, and Kyle, Michelle, and I were hanging out with some other people. For some reason, Michelle decided to show her boobs to everyone. They were enormous, as she has had breast implants; however, these were obscene. Her melons were the size of, and actually looked exactly like, pillows. Kyle went over and said, "I like to sleep on them!" and put his head down on one tit. It actually looked quite comfortable.&lt;br /&gt;A young kid walked in, and it was his birthday. I looked to see if Michelle put her jugs away. Not only were they away, but they were about 1/5 the size. I asked Kyle what happened, and he said, "Oh... she folded them up." I looked closely, and noticed that her hooters were pulled up, but her nipples were totally showing. They looked like gigantic pacifiers. I told Kyle that she should hide that, so the kid doesn't see her fun bags.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-3396633098501269969?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/3396633098501269969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=3396633098501269969' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3396633098501269969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3396633098501269969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/folding-ta-tas-and-snagglepuss.html' title='Folding Ta-Tas and Snagglepuss?'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-1716504561731900720</id><published>2007-10-16T11:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-16T11:34:10.098-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Shallow Lake</title><content type='html'>I walked into a room and there was a really hot blonde girl laying on a bed wearing red lingerie. Apparently she was my girlfriend because I laid down next to her on the bed and asked her how she was. After talking for a while we started making out and eventually had sex.&lt;br /&gt;I was staying at a house with my mom and sisters that was right on the beach. I saw people surfing out there and decided to take a walk down the beach to check it out. Mattie came with me and she was lagging behind. Her and I stopped to pet a dog.&lt;br /&gt;This turned into being at a lake with my family. We were on a cliff next to the lake, and the water below us was really shallow. Sam decided to jump off into the water. The second she did it I knew the water was going to be too shallow and that she would hurt herself. I looked down over the side of the cliff and saw her laying there in the rocks. I started running down to her on some stairs, and yelled back at my grandpa to call 911. I got to Sam and turned her onto her back. She started regaining consciousness and I asked her what she had hurt. She said aside from her leg she was fine. I looked at her leg, and where her knee should be there was a mangled cell phone joining the upper and lower parts of her leg. The paramedics got there and she turned out to be okay.&lt;br /&gt;There were some men on the lake doing some kind of construction. They had a big raised platform about 20 feet over the lake. I went and stood on it with my Dad and a few other people. The construction guys started moving the platform, and I hung onto it while it turned and flew through the air. It was really fun.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-1716504561731900720?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/1716504561731900720/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=1716504561731900720' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1716504561731900720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1716504561731900720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/shallow-lake.html' title='Shallow Lake'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-855260555359067828</id><published>2007-10-15T11:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-16T11:39:00.117-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Grandmas</title><content type='html'>My grandma was living in a house while the people who owned it were on vacation. My sisters, my Dad, and myself drove to visit her there. It worried me that she was doing that and I told her she should just go home. She seemed a little crazy. When we were leaving we had to tie mine and Erin's surfboard onto our car.&lt;br /&gt;I was sitting in a fancy restaurant with my other grandma. I was looking at the menu and then I got a text message saying I had missed a job interview. I decided it didn't really matter that much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-855260555359067828?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/855260555359067828/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=855260555359067828' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/855260555359067828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/855260555359067828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/grandmas.html' title='Grandmas'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7444089085123399984</id><published>2007-10-14T11:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-16T11:36:49.968-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blind Date</title><content type='html'>I was at some kind of lecture. I found out that there was a guy who went around taking women on dates and then torturing them afterward. For some reason I was his next victim. I was forced to go to his house. I got there before he did, and I realized that I should try to run for it. I was completely petrified, and as soon as I had made that decision he showed up there. I tried to defend myself but had this feeling of complete helplessness that kept me from doing anything. I think the way he tortured people had something to do with ripping out their teeth and then killing them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7444089085123399984?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7444089085123399984/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7444089085123399984' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7444089085123399984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7444089085123399984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/blind-date.html' title='Blind Date'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-3035312756091403286</id><published>2007-10-13T10:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-13T10:47:46.199-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Scared For Shayna</title><content type='html'>Shayna, Erin, Anna - friends at SC&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in some kind of fancy store with Shayna, Erin, and Anna. Anna and I were talking and Shayna and Erin were sitting a few feet away from us having their own conversation. Shayna had a cigarette in her hand (she doesn't smoke), her eyes were open wide, and she was running around frantically doing things. I was really worried about her but I couldn't go over and talk to her because I was stuck with Anna.&lt;br /&gt;Some people were in my house and they were leaving and thanking me for something. One of the ladies who was leaving kept handing me left-over jars of food. Some of them had really good stuff in them so I took them all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-3035312756091403286?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/3035312756091403286/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=3035312756091403286' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3035312756091403286'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3035312756091403286'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/scared-for-shayna.html' title='Scared For Shayna'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7048617649810241833</id><published>2007-10-13T09:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-13T09:49:50.674-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Frisbee Movie</title><content type='html'>I was in the hospital with my Great Aunt Delly alone for some reason. I guess i was the one that got the call that she was there or something. We were talking for a while, and she asked me what my "IMID" was. I didn't understand her at first, and then i realized she meant my AIM screen name. I told her what it was and that it should be in her buddy list. She was in there because of some sort of false alarm, so she was feeling fine. She compared something to Marijuana saying "you always wanna get that last bit whenever you can." I didn't really understand, but then i said, "like my oreo shake!" And i finished drinking the oreo shake i had (which i almost left in the waiting room). Walking around the "hospital" which looked more like a mall, i saw a lot of people that i recognized, but i couldn't tell you who a single one of them was now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was playing some night frisbee with some people, and we had a sweet glowing red frisbee. It was weird because when we started, there was a glowing red dog that caught the frisbee and a glowing red car that drove by, but they were gone later. Somebody threw it to me, and i was having trouble throwing straight. One of my throws curved horribly and kinda came back to me but to the right. I chased it down, and threw a swinging kick at it off the first bounce. This sent the frisbee high into the air, and &lt;br /&gt;i could see the shadow of it in front of me (don't ask me how this worked, i think it was light &lt;br /&gt;out for a second all of a sudden). Without looking at it, i put my hands behind my back and caught &lt;br /&gt;the frisbee. It was pretty much the coolest thing i had ever done with a frisbee, and i was really stoked about it. We kept playing, and we were being really loud. Or, maybe it was just me. I started yelling and cussing because i couldn't throw straight. A park ranger or something came over to tell us we have to be quiet. He said if we could play for like 4 minutes quietly, he'd leave us alone. I made another errant thow, and i went to go chase it down. When i was over there, an old lady looked at me angrily and said, "YOU!" I didn't recognize her at first, but then i remembered her from a previous dream a long time ago where i was in an elevator, and the doors were closing, but i didn't hold the door for her. I seem to remember that at the time it wasn't my fault. Like...the button was broken or something, so i COULDN'T open the doors. However, she had already passed me by before i could remember this and plead my case. As i walked back to my Frisbee game, i could hear her telling people what a horrible person i was for not holding the elevator.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7048617649810241833?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7048617649810241833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7048617649810241833' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7048617649810241833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7048617649810241833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/frisbee-movie.html' title='Frisbee Movie'/><author><name>Briggity Brak</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14879958720524914437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3vwhuG1_Sk/SPhbuMHFxvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/few6nNPxeuM/S220/cape_cod.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-9095010108775116512</id><published>2007-10-12T10:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-12T10:41:16.208-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fake Fighting Champion</title><content type='html'>Mitch - kid at teen center&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was supposed to watch Mattie for the weekend but I forgot and so I just went off and did my own thing the whole time. It was the last night before my mom was going to come back so I decided Mattie and I should do something together. I called her to see what she was up to and she was really bitchy to me and didn't want to do anything. I gave up and went to hang out with some friends. But before I left I went to the corner store and bought tampons.&lt;br /&gt;I was walking down a street with a big group of people, some of them were old friends and some of them were kids from the teen center. Mitch and I were mock-fighting as a joke. People came up to me after we had stopped and were all saying how Mitch kicked my ass. I tried to explain to them that it wasn't a real fight and that if it were I probably would have destroyed Mitch. For some reason it really got to me that people thought Mitch could beat me up, so I went over and started another mock-fight with Mitch and this time I won. Everyone was giving Mitch a  really hard time about it, and I think I made him feel bad by doing that. I went up to him and apologized but he still seemed sad.&lt;br /&gt;I was at a pool with some of these same people and Justin and Brian. There were these little skim board kind of things next to the pool. I decided I was going to take a running jump onto one and try to surf on it. I tried and completely failed. After swimming around for a while I got out of the pool and went inside. Apparently we were at Justin's house because he was in the bathroom wearing a towel. I walked in there and asked if he had a contact case I could borrow. He gave me one but it was very complicated and had different compartments in it and there were already some contacts in it. He showed me how to use it, and I started taking out my contacts. For some reason I had to light them on fire to clean them or something. I was using a match to light the contact and I couldn't do it. I got it to light a couple times but it just sort of made the contact shrivel up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-9095010108775116512?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/9095010108775116512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=9095010108775116512' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/9095010108775116512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/9095010108775116512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/fake-fighting-champion.html' title='Fake Fighting Champion'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-6658745577019372877</id><published>2007-10-11T20:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T20:16:43.375-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Losing My Temper at a Bowling Alley</title><content type='html'>Night of: October 10th&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Chris Patti, Kyle Hart, Adam (Chris's friend), Matt (Chris's Friend)&lt;br /&gt;Number of Dreams Remembered: 1&lt;br /&gt;Length of Sleep: ??????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went bowling with Chris, Kyle, Adam, Matt, and some other people for a birthday or something. There was a group of guys next to us who had really bad bowling etiquette. One of the guys was Indian, and was worse than the rest... occasionally, he'd bowl for me and he'd always stand in our lane. He bowled for me once, and I yelled at him. He bowled for me again, so I brought to glasses of red fruit punch over and dumped it in front of his lane (and ours). I realized that I was probably going to get kicked out, so I quickly left the bowling alley.&lt;br /&gt;I walked down to what looked like a mall, and went inside Macy's. There was a bowling alley in there, so I checked it out and debated bowling by myself. I then realized that everyone was probably leaving the other bowling alley, so I left. Kyle was my ride, and it took me a while to find him--I thought he might've left without me. He looked really tired, but had only been waiting for a couple of minutes.&lt;br /&gt;The dream somehow fast forwarded to us going back to the bowling alley, and I was afraid they wouldn't let me come in. There was a different guy working, so I was a bit relieved... but when we said we didn't need shoes, he asked to see my ball. I showed it to him, and he said,"Matches your pants." I was wearing one of my favorite pairs--the pants Kyle gave 'cause he grew out of them. I laughed and said, "Yeah..." and he asked to see Kyle's ball. He looked at it and said, "Oh... is this from the year ____?" I saw the serial number on the bowling ball under the word "Columbia" and knew that the last 4 digits were the year it was made, so I corrected him.&lt;br /&gt;It looked like he didn't remember that I threw fruit punch everywhere, so everything was going to be fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: Stomach virus. My stomach still hurts, almost 24 hours later...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-6658745577019372877?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/6658745577019372877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=6658745577019372877' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6658745577019372877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6658745577019372877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/losing-my-temper-at-bowling-alley.html' title='Losing My Temper at a Bowling Alley'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-8265630879555663717</id><published>2007-10-11T10:05:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T10:10:15.749-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Carley Lewinsky</title><content type='html'>I was hired to be Bill Clinton's secretary. A big part of my job was preparing his meals. My first day on the job I made a salad that he really liked. During my second day on the job I got distracted. I had a salad that I was supposed to make for him, but I stopped at my friend's house to say hello to her. I messed up the salad I was supposed to make by putting some kind of gross dressing on it. She convinced me to make him a steak that was shaped like the US. I did, and decorated it with red and gold seasoning. I was pretty sure they were going to fire me for doing this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-8265630879555663717?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/8265630879555663717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=8265630879555663717' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8265630879555663717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8265630879555663717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/carley-lewinsky.html' title='Carley Lewinsky'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-9183488820766870760</id><published>2007-10-10T15:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-10T16:08:01.939-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trambampoline and Some Old School Friends</title><content type='html'>Night of: October 9th&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Shawn Chaudri (long time family friend), Shawn's mom, my sister, my brother-in-law, Tracy Steel (ex), Tracy's boyfriend, Neeraj Kapoor (long time family friend)&lt;br /&gt;Number of Dreams Remembered: 3-4&lt;br /&gt;Length of Sleep: 8.5 hours&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was having fun diving on the ground head first. Shawn wanted to learn how, but he kept belly-flopping, so I tried to teach him. My brother-in-law and sister were there--my sister and I were worried that he was going to hurt himself and my brother-in-law was getting irritated with his whining. I saw a trampoline and thought it would be easier to teach him on that... however, he would be more prone to injury. He did well and wanted to show his mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This turned into his mom showing us the sliding trick instead. She got on the trampoline and fell between two springs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This turned into me having a project about trampolines due at school, and I was very unprepared.&lt;br /&gt;-------&lt;br /&gt;There was a macromedia flash competition, and Tracy won. Her boyfriend accepted the prize, which was one airplane ticket--he was going to give it to her. She said she would use the ticket to come back to California.&lt;br /&gt;-------&lt;br /&gt;My alarm clock kept going off, and I told Neeraj to force me to get up if it went off again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I kept hitting snooze, and this was definitely a dream from a 2 minute nap in between alarms.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-9183488820766870760?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/9183488820766870760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=9183488820766870760' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/9183488820766870760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/9183488820766870760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/trambampoline-and-some-old-school.html' title='Trambampoline and Some Old School Friends'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-6789505858179162770</id><published>2007-10-10T15:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-10T15:47:34.300-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Hills</title><content type='html'>I was in a house with Theo, he got pissed at me about something.&lt;br /&gt;I had a pet mouse that had a baby. In order to keep the baby and the other mouse together, I had to hide the baby mouse in the mom's body. I stuck the baby mouse in the mom's ear and it climbed down to the inside of her stomach. The process was really painful for the mom and I felt really bad for her.&lt;br /&gt;I tried to go into a store to buy something. I was in a hick town and I felt like someone was out to get me.&lt;br /&gt;I was with Andrey in a strange place and we had to bike back home. We were in the forest on huge hills with dirt trails. The hills were so steep I was kind of afraid to go down them but it was really fun. I got to a fence at one point and I had to climb over it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-6789505858179162770?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/6789505858179162770/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=6789505858179162770' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6789505858179162770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6789505858179162770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/big-hills.html' title='Big Hills'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7923909404745801854</id><published>2007-10-09T17:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-09T18:17:47.274-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Too Many Dreams to Title Effectively</title><content type='html'>Night of: October 8th&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Babe "Straps" Poyyak (waitress at a couple of bars in Fullerton), Jaime Poyyak (her sister), Carolyn Baker (high school friend), a manly sister of Babe/Jaime, my brother, my mom, my dad, Emma Watson, Kristin McPherson (pregnant coworker I nicknamed "Kristin McPregnant")&lt;br /&gt;Number of Dreams Remembered: 6-7&lt;br /&gt;Length of Sleep: 10.5 hours (but I woke up 5 hours in and wrote a couple of dreams down on paper)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in Babe's room. It looked like a hotel room because it had two beds and the walls were yellowish. There was probably crappy art on the walls. We were talking about a sexual progression between us for some reason--like what would happen when. The next thing I know, she's acting it out as I'm saying the progression. I said, "Then I would take my shirt off and you would do the same." I then took my shirt off, and she hesitated... but she did the same eventually. We then started making out. She said, "I bet you didn't think this would happen," which made us both realize that we should probably stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jaime and Carolyn were now in the room, and Babe was being distant and weird. She kept zipping herself into her bed sheets so that I couldn't see or be near her. She asked me about another girl, as if she was jealous, and wanted to know her name. I couldn't remember, so I said the first name that came to my head--"Babe." I realized that was her name, so I said, "just kidding!" as a cover up. It worked. I then said the girl's name was "Casey," but I realized this was wrong, too. Babe stuttered, "That's the name of my dad who passed away 30 years ago" which obviously makes no sense, since she's 23, but it made sense in the dream. It seemed like she was lying when she said it, because she smiled and stumbled over her words. I told her that "Casey" was the wrong name anyway and I was thinking of someone in San Diego instead. She said, "That's ugly town." I said, "Yeah it is."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jaime and Carolyn tried to distract Babe and get her away from me. Carolyn was getting frustrated because she was bored and started humping Jaime's face. Babe got mad and punched Carolyn really hard in the shoulder. The pushed each other out of the room, into a hallway, where I couldn't see what was going on--but there were now around 4-5 girls fighting. I stared in awe and saw what appeared to be a guy breaking up the fight and punching everyone. I then realized that I should've been stopping it. The big, punk guy was actually a girl and was another sister of Babe. All the girls fighting locked themselves in bathrooms, and the manly girl introduced herself to me. I decided that I should leave, and debated leaving a note for Babe that said "I &lt;3 U" just to make her feel better. Just then, my eye started hurting, and I realized my contact popped out. The dream then changed to me looking for my contact while driving.&lt;br /&gt;------------&lt;br /&gt;I was in some sort of group discussion/class and the topic of unique band names came up. I thought about saying "My Favorite Band," but I figured everyone knew I was in it anyway. I tried to think of some witty names. I came up with "Just Do It" and "Got Milk" so that the band shirts would already be made. No one was impressed.&lt;br /&gt;------------&lt;br /&gt;My old house was getting cleaned and the backyard was getting dug up. There was something about toothpaste, but I can't remember now.&lt;br /&gt;------------&lt;br /&gt;It was my brother's birthday. He had lost his watch, so my dad bought out Best Buy's collection of watches and we were going to set it all up in Neal's room as a surprise. While setting it up, I found a vibrator, lube, and condoms. I tried to cover it up so my parents wouldn't see. When it was time for Neal to see his present, my mom trained a bird to lead him to his room. My brother said, "This is it?" and pretended to be happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got a goody bag with a bunch of watches. My parents had thrown it into a box with my stuff already in it. That box was full of condoms and cards, so as I looked through it, I tried not to show my parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This turned into me trying to find a regular deck of cards with my dad. I opened a pack, and we started organizing the cards by rank. At the end of the deck, there were a bunch of Terminator 1 and Terminator 2 cards.&lt;br /&gt;------------&lt;br /&gt;I was in a class that had to read Harry Potter. Emma was in a group of mine with some other girl. I was going to read by myself, but the girls started taking turns reading. It was difficult for me to concentrate with them reading out loud--they read quietly, and I preferred to read alone, but I just went along with it. I noticed that Emma's book was pretty damaged from her bending the cover. I told her that in order to pass the class, the book has to look new. I think she figured out that I was joking.&lt;br /&gt;------------&lt;br /&gt;I took a shower and got in car without a shirt--just a towel. As I was driving, a girl yelled from a van, "How are you not married?" I figured it was flirting and kept driving. I ended up at a party, and the girls in the van were there. One of them was Kristin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mixed a few shots of vodka into a Corona for a drink. It tasted gross, so I added a bunch of Coke. Kristin had me feel her belly (since she's pregnant) and she wrote a bunch of stuff on it. I thought she was quite good at writing upside down/backwards. When that was done, she started touching me, which was awkward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: If you're reading this, I just wasted a lot of your time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7923909404745801854?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7923909404745801854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7923909404745801854' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7923909404745801854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7923909404745801854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/too-many-dreams-to-title-effectively.html' title='Too Many Dreams to Title Effectively'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-6108021351038060365</id><published>2007-10-09T09:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-09T09:54:52.024-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Roommate, The Knife Thrower</title><content type='html'>Andrey - roommate&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in the kitchen with Andrey and he was throwing knives at me for some reason. He said that because he was too small to fight as a kid, his dad taught him how to throw knives. Eventually I started throwing them back and trying to stab him with forks. At one point I had a clear shot at his neck, but I kind of hesitated because I didn't actually want to stab him, so I sort of missed. After a while I think I ended up having to stab him anyway out of self-defense. Once he was on the ground I grabbed some ceramic plates and started smashing them on his head. I smashed three or four plates on his head to make sure he was unconscious. I called the cops because I didn't want him to die or anything. Andrey eventually came to and when he did he was a little off. He was acting really weird and I had to talk to him like a child to get him to listen to me. My skin felt like there were millions of tiny shards of glass stuck in it from the fight. The cops got there and commented on the fact that there was debris everywhere. The cops sat me down on the couch and I told them what happened.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-6108021351038060365?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/6108021351038060365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=6108021351038060365' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6108021351038060365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6108021351038060365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/my-roommate-knife-fighter.html' title='My Roommate, The Knife Thrower'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-8936652145871096889</id><published>2007-10-08T08:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-08T08:32:46.229-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pirates of the Catalinas</title><content type='html'>Anastasia and her friend (who, i believe, changed people a few times) got kidnapped by pirates. One of my friends (who ended up being Ryan) also got kidnapped. I don't think i &lt;br /&gt;was kidnapped, but i was also in trouble with the pirates in some way. I was on the boat, and i found&lt;br /&gt;where the three of them were being held. They were in some sort of cage thing. I think there was someone else in our group as well, but i don't remember who. Ryan somehow squeezed out of the cage, and then we helped Stasia and her friend out as well. We all tried to escape with Stasia and her friend out front. Ryan, the other person and i all kinda stuck together as we made our way to safety. However, by this time, i was worried that Stasia and her friend had NOT made it out since i couldn't see her. I started looking around for her and then i lost Ryan and the other guy. I found Anastasia and her friend (who happened to be Naomi at this point), and stasia yelled "hey you!" Then, we all ran out to the middle of the street for a three-way hug. This got us into some kind of trouble with a rent-a-cop type guy. He was mad because we ran out in front of a car or something, but i thought he was full of crap. I was worried because Stasia kept giving him attitude, so i thought for sure we were gonna get a ticket or something. Then, some other people started harassing him, and we just kinda walked away. At this point, i was worried that Ryan might've gone back on to the pirate ship to look for Anastasia and her friend, so i called him with my cell phone (which happened to be my OLD cell phone). I got a hold of him and told him, "Mission Accomplished." He said that was good and that he was safe and all that jazz. I noticed that the sky was really beautiful with colorful sweet shaped clouds and stuff. Not only that, but the clouds were low enough that i could touch them! I reached out and grabbed a little of the bubbly cloud, and that was really cool. While i was talking to Ryan on the phone, stasia was taking a shower at my house, and her friend was now Kristen. While i was admiring the beautiful sky/clouds, i noticed a couple of flaming boats as well as a flaming bus floating toward my house (in the water which was next to my house for some reason). I started to head for my house because i saw people in them, and i was scared, but they cut me off. People started crawling out of the boats in front of me, and i yelled "ZOMBIEEEEES!!!" I thought Ryan would be excited because he's obsessed with zombies, but i think he hung up right before. Anastasia had just finished her shower, and she ran out to me and said, "help me!" To which i responded, "no, YOU help ME!" Nonetheless, i carried her up the street and presumably away from danger. While i was carrying her, i made an inside joke between her and i, and Kristen giggled, which i thought was weird. While we were trying to figure out where to go next, i woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-8936652145871096889?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/8936652145871096889/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=8936652145871096889' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8936652145871096889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8936652145871096889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/pirates-of-catalinas.html' title='Pirates of the Catalinas'/><author><name>Briggity Brak</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14879958720524914437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3vwhuG1_Sk/SPhbuMHFxvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/few6nNPxeuM/S220/cape_cod.JPG'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-6955630774647058486</id><published>2007-10-07T10:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-07T23:42:45.900-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Star Signs and Lesbian Aunties</title><content type='html'>Meghan - manager at teen center&lt;br /&gt;Sam - sister&lt;br /&gt;Lenna - step mom&lt;br /&gt;Ryan - friend from high school&lt;br /&gt;Shayna - friend at sc&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at the teen center. I had a stomach ache so I went to get some pain pills. I got some out of Meghan's box. The bottle was PMS pills mixed with Tylenol, so I fished out a couple Tylenol and took them. For some reason when I took them I got like 5 or 6 other pills in my mouth, and they started dissolving so I couldn't spit them out. This turned into Sam having them in her mouth and me trying to get her to spit them out. I eventually got them out of her mouth, and dragged her off to a room with me. I kept asking her to tell me what had happened and why she had done that but she wouldn't talk. I told her that someone was coming here to talk to her and that she would have to tell us sooner or later so she might as well tell me now.&lt;br /&gt;I went on vacation with my Dad, Lenna, and sisters. We were in the desert somewhere and we were walking down a hill to go do something. The ocean was right next to us, and there were people swimming laps in it. I looked out across the water and saw the moon. It looked gigantic like at the harvest moon but it was just a crescent and it hung right on the horizon. I pointed and told everyone to look at it. Lenna and my sisters saw it and said how beautiful it is. My dad hadn't looked and I kept telling him he should see how pretty it is. He finally looked but by the time he had the moon was kind of obscured by clouds so it really didn't look as cool, which frustrated me.&lt;br /&gt;I went inside this place at the resort we were staying at and some friends of mine were in there. We all started walking through these corridors. Ryan and Shayna and some other people were with me. We got to this really little doorway and it opened up into what looked like a dark closet just big enough for two people to fit in to. There was a little boat inside of it, and when I opened the door the boat unfolded so that people could stand in it. I got really excited and said that it was like Harry Potter, and everyone laughed at me for being a nerd. Shayna and I got in the boat and the door closed behind us. Shayna asked me if I remembered what my star sign is, because I would have to tell the lady at the bottom. I said that I remembered; mine is Cancer. Shayna said hers is Sagittarius. We were each standing on either end of the boat and we held hands. The boat started to spiral downward through the air. I had long hair again and I could feel it flying out behind me, and I knew Shayna's was doing the same.&lt;br /&gt;We hit the bottom and came out into a pretty normal-looking room. Two ladies asked us a bunch of questions to see if it was alright that we go inside. I felt like the interview was going well, Shayna was nervous or something though because she kept screwing up her answers. Shayna kept saying that her star sign was Cancer, and I had to keep reminding her that it was Sagittarius. Eventually the lady let us go through.&lt;br /&gt;My aunt Marianne was there and we were all just hanging out. There was a bowl filled with candy that had m&amp;amp;ms, some weird gum, raisins, and some mushy candy that looked really good. A really hot blonde woman walked through the room and I looked from the friends I was with back to her, and back again. Then the woman turned to the side and I saw that she was pregnant. I was really wierded out by that because I hadn't noticed a second ago. Then my aunt said "yeah she's pretty hot, huh? Or else I wouldn't have knocked her up".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-6955630774647058486?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/6955630774647058486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=6955630774647058486' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6955630774647058486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/6955630774647058486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/star-signs-and-lesbian-aunties.html' title='Star Signs and Lesbian Aunties'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7567977367872209327</id><published>2007-10-06T07:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-06T07:22:59.244-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tea Time With Rock n' Roll's Greatest</title><content type='html'>I was with my Dad and we went to Lulu's to get some tea. They were about to close but they served some to us anyway. I think I ordered Chamomile, and my dad ordered a tea called "eighteen leaves". The lady at the counter told him that one was very expensive and that he should get something else. I told my dad that Mint tea was the best one ever and he should get that. I think he did and we sat down. Robert Plant, Bob Dylan, and some other guy were sitting at another table playing music together. The third guy had put on a lot of weight, and I didn't recognize who he was supposed to be. I felt really bad for him because he was probably the only one not doing a bunch of drugs anymore, but now he's fat. The three of them were playing incredible music, but they kept playing the same song over and over. After a while it was really getting on my nerves.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7567977367872209327?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7567977367872209327/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7567977367872209327' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7567977367872209327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7567977367872209327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/tea-time-with-rock-n-rolls-greatest.html' title='Tea Time With Rock n&apos; Roll&apos;s Greatest'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-4944327222332994455</id><published>2007-10-03T08:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T09:58:18.385-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Mouse Machine and a Fairy Tale Battle</title><content type='html'>I was going to leave school and go home for the day. I was walking toward the bus stop when I remembered I had brought my bike to school so I should just ride home. As I was walking back to the bike racks I saw a girl go by on a bike that looked exactly like mine, carrying a lock and a helmet that looked exactly like mine. I called out to her to stop but she ignored me and just kept riding. When I got back to the bike racks I saw that mine was still there so I guess it was just a coincidence.&lt;br /&gt;I was walking down the street with Justin and running away from some kids with a machine who were threatening to use it on me. Eventually they caught up to us and used the machine on me. Although these things were actually happening to me, I also had a view of what was going on inside my body as it happened. There were two mice that were released into my stomach, and they crawled into my arm, and started gnawing away on the bone. The machine's function was to harvest the bone so the materials could be used for something else. After the mice had chewed off all of the good parts, all that was left was a little wire, which they wrapped in some string.&lt;br /&gt;I went over to Justin's house with a couple of my friends. I had just gotten back home, and Justin didn't know I was going to be there. He was at the gym, so I was sitting at his kitchen table with some of his family members. I turned around and saw a toddler walking around behind me. They said that was Justin's nephew. I said that he looked like one of the Wii characters Brian made. I was still in my clothes from work and I decided to take a shower so I would look nicer. When I got out of the shower my hair was long again, and for some reason I had a bunch of shirts with Simpsons characters on them. I didn't really want to wear any of them but I picked one. I looked out into the kitchen and saw that Justin had gotten back from the gym. One of my friends that I was with walked out to talk to him, and I sort of hung back behind her. It took Justin a couple seconds to realize that I was there but when he did it surprised the hell out of him, he jumped and his face turned pale. I apologized for scaring him, but he said it was okay and was happy to see me. Justin and I hung around in his room for a while talking and, catching up...&lt;br /&gt;Kids at the teen center showed up at Justin's house later, and apparently there was some kind of battle going on that the kid's parents were involved in. Justin had gone next door, so the kids and I were watching the battle through a spyglass kind of thing. There was a big ancient-looking room, with concrete pillars and vines growing all along the walls, and the ground was covered in about 12 feet of water. There was a big creature that looked kind of like an aquatic dinosaur with legs, which was apparently the bad guy that the kid's dads were fighting. I only caught a couple glimpses of what was going on, but when I looked I saw a fairy yelling instructions to a little water snake, that would jump out of the water and bite the dinosaur thing. From the place we were watching, there was a tree and one branch had yellow leaves on it. Each time a leaf fell off, it meant that the kid's parents were closer to losing the battle. The branch lost a lot of leaves throughout the battle, and eventually the last one fell off. The kids told me that this just meant the battle was over and that their parents actually won.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-4944327222332994455?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/4944327222332994455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=4944327222332994455' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4944327222332994455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/4944327222332994455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/10/mice-machine-and-fairy-tale-battle.html' title='A Mouse Machine and a Fairy Tale Battle'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-1378933163367226915</id><published>2007-09-29T12:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-29T12:40:29.127-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Animal Car</title><content type='html'>Mango - my guinea pig&lt;br /&gt;Peanut - my mom's cat&lt;br /&gt;Jack - cat we used to have&lt;br /&gt;Diamond - dog we used to have&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the beach with Nina. Her and I were leaving to go to the airport in a few hours so I went to get the car so I could pick her up. When I went back to where I had parked it it wasn't there. I walked around not knowing what to do and happened to come across a place where they took cars that got towed. I went inside and described my car to the guy there. I thought I saw it so I asked him to bring it over. He used a crane and dropped the car into a pool in front of me. I realized it wasn't actually my car, it just looked like it because of the surf racks. I eventually found it and left.&lt;br /&gt;I was driving a bunch of my pets from Irvine to Santa Cruz. The ones I had in the car with me were Mango, Peanut (except he was orange), Jack, and Diamond. I was holding them all in my lap and they were all falling asleep. Jack wolk up and started walking toward the window that was rolled down. Theo was now in the car with me and I asked him to roll up the windows and turn on the air conditioning. He did and we kept driving. I was having a lot of trouble steering the car so it was swerving around a lot. The brakes also didn't work very well. A cop behind me turned his lights on and I tried to pull over. When I did I saw that there was another car in front of me pulling over too, and that he was actually the person in trouble. I couldn't make the car stop moving forward and I almost ran into him.&lt;br /&gt;I went with my Dad to his friend's house. We were going to some kind of class. I had to leave the animals from earlier to go to it, and this was making me nervous. My Dad's friend, who was really obnoxious told me he left the animals in my car in the garage. I freaked out because they were all going to get overheated and die, and told the friend that I had to go back and get them. The friend said I would need the key, and that it was hidden somewhere in his front yard. He told me where exactly but I didn't really understand him. I got to his house and was looking in all the things he had in his yard to find the key. There were little seashells embedded in a piece of wood, and I took them out to look underneath them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-1378933163367226915?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/1378933163367226915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=1378933163367226915' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1378933163367226915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1378933163367226915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/09/animal-car.html' title='Animal Car'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-3432905179661015402</id><published>2007-09-28T16:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-28T16:46:21.597-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tennis Competition, Except Without Actually Playing</title><content type='html'>Night of: September 27th&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Chris Patti, Kyle Hart, Carley Jennings, some Asian guy&lt;br /&gt;Number of Dreams Remembered: a couple, but I'm writing this too late&lt;br /&gt;Length of Sleep: 10 hours&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was going to play tennis with Chris, Kyle, Carley, and some Asian guy (sorry Brian). It was going to be me and the Asian guy vs. Chris and Kyle... I don't know if Carley was going to be sitting out or what. I told my teammate that Kyle will try to play front-man, and the key is to lob it just over his head. I also explained that if you don't make the lob, then move to the middle-ish of the court so that you can recover an angle shot.&lt;br /&gt;The Asian guy was missing so Chris, Kyle, and I rallied a little, but it turned into Kyle trying to be front-man and me trying to get the ball past him. This then turned into me trying to hit it as hard as I can at Kyle's face. Chris and Kyle hit the ball back hard at me, too, and I'd have to run to get the ball, so that was irritating. Also, Kyle was cocky about being front-man, which was lame.&lt;br /&gt;The Asian guy was back, but now Kyle and Carley were reading something on the ground, in the middle of the court. The Asian guy, Chris, and I tried to play, but I stopped because it was difficult to play with Carley and Kyle sitting in the middle of the court. I saw that Kyle was reading instructions to Carley on how to play tennis. The instructions were two pages long in fine print, with a picture of the human body. When I went over there, Kyle was pointing to the thigh and explaining it.&lt;br /&gt;I sat down and said that with them sitting in the middle of the court, it was difficult to play, and that I could quickly explain the rules that Carley didn't already know. I said something along the lines of, "You're not allowed to touch the net." I was then going to explain that you can't hit the ball when it hasn't crossed over the net yet, but I thought I should demonstrate it. As I went to the net, and started explaining, Kyle tried to jump in to explain it at the same time, which was frustrating, and I felt was competitive. I don't think we got to play before I woke up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: This dream seems to be alluding to the fact that it's difficult to get to play tennis with Kyle because he's always doing something else (with women). That would be crazy if Brian had a dream involving tennis last night. I'd say it's strange that Carley and I did, but I have a lot of tennis dreams.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-3432905179661015402?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/3432905179661015402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=3432905179661015402' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3432905179661015402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3432905179661015402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/09/tennis-competition-except-without.html' title='Tennis Competition, Except Without Actually Playing'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-305023324378517042</id><published>2007-09-28T08:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-28T08:44:30.787-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Brian's Speedo</title><content type='html'>I was home for one night in Irvine. I really wanted to see Justin but I wasn't sure if I should call him or not. Brian showed up at my house to play tennis, so apparently we were all hanging out anyway. Brian was wearing a blue speedo. I asked if he wanted to play guitar hero and he said alright. When I got up to my room Mattie was already playing it. It was like Mattie and I were kids again because she wouldn't give up the guitars, and I had to wrestle them away from her. When I finally got one I jabbed it into her side, and then I felt kind of embarrassed that Brian had seen me act like that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-305023324378517042?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/305023324378517042/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=305023324378517042' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/305023324378517042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/305023324378517042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/09/brians-speedo.html' title='Brian&apos;s Speedo'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-1347707207684845112</id><published>2007-09-27T08:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-27T08:57:29.844-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Broken Log is Burning</title><content type='html'>Jared - ex-boyfriend&lt;br /&gt;Tyler - high school friend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I visited my grandparents in Washington, but there house looked different than usual. It was much bigger and on a larger piece of property. We called my Uncle to say hello to him. He sounded very disjointed and upset throughout our whole conversation.&lt;br /&gt;Harry Potter went to see Dumbledore about something. Dumbledore apparently didn't give him what he wanted or said something upsetting because Harry left very upset and moody.&lt;br /&gt;I was with Jared and Tyler and we were drawing on a piece of paper using honey and other random objects. Tyler drew a person and I put hair on it and wrote "Carley", which pissed him off. We found a frog and we were trying to feed it flies. Then we ran around trying to find something to put it in. The frog lived in salt water so we had to find salt water.&lt;br /&gt;I was going to a really ugly all-girls private school called something like "Broken Log". I had transferred there from UCSC for some reason. All of the girls were visiting a boy's school or something like that and there was a dinner party. Throughout dinner guys were walking around and sitting down with the girls they were interested in. No one sat with me, which didn't really bother me at first, but once I started to think about it it was kind of upsetting.&lt;br /&gt;We were on a bus ride back from the event, and all the guys were now sitting in pairs with the girls and I was sitting alone behind a very happy couple. My friend and I noticed that the most attractive guy out of all of them had paired up with a really fat lady.&lt;br /&gt;Later on everyone went out on dates and I was just wandering around. I ran into a group of four girls with a group of four guys. The girls were wearing matching shirts, which i thought was really tacky. Throughout the entire night I kept asking myself, "how did all of these girls manage to get dates and I didn't?"&lt;br /&gt;When we got back to the school it had been set on fire by someone. I was really upset about it and started crying. My Dad came to get me and see if I was alright. I was sitting on a ladder under a tree drinking a New Castle that I had brought back from dinner, and watching the fire fighters try to put out the fire. My Dad seemed really relaxed and his normal self considering how chaotic the situation was.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-1347707207684845112?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/1347707207684845112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=1347707207684845112' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1347707207684845112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/1347707207684845112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/09/broken-log-is-burning.html' title='Broken Log is Burning'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-8266526963618090188</id><published>2007-09-26T08:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-26T09:34:37.447-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bums With Bombs</title><content type='html'>Michaelangelo/Devin - guys I met at a party last night&lt;br /&gt;Brittany Taylor - elementary/high school friend&lt;br /&gt;Annika - girl i used to work with&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at a party with Michaelangelo, Devin, Brittany Taylor, and a few other people. Michaelangelo was really drunk but I was enjoying talking to him, and eventually he and Devin's band was going to start playing. Once Michaelangelo started setting up his drum kit I said I was going to go. He hung on to my arm and asked me not to leave but I politely refused. Brittany was leaving with me, and for some reason when we were about to walk out a bunch of guys were telling her to kiss me. I wasn't excited about the prospect of being some kind of lesbian spectacle, but Brittany was pretty hot. So she gave me a long kiss and as we kissed I heard cheers from guys in the background. Then she grabbed my hand and we left the party.&lt;br /&gt;Me, Brittany, and a few other girls were walking home now. We walked by a lot of bums, and one of them planted a bomb on us. I noticed it on one of the girls I was walking with, but before I could tell her a cop showed up. The cop was a young woman who looked like a hot detective/cop in a tv show would look as opposed to an actual female cop. She put her hands on her hips and angrily asked us what the hell we thought we were doing. I told her the bomb was planted. She didn't believe us, but as we were arguing with her another bum walked by and picked up the bomb off my friend. We all told the cop "see! it was them", and then I looked up to see Annika (who had apparently been with us the whole time) chasing down the bum. She tackled him to the ground and they were now in an all out brawl. I was really worried at first, but then I remembered that Annika is huge and she plays rugby so she would probably be able to hold her own. She fought off the bum and gave the bomb back to the cop.&lt;br /&gt;I was biking home and going down Westcliff. I looked out at Cowell's and noticed that the surf was huge. Apparently I got in some guy's way because he yelled at me out his car window. I stopped at the supermarket and I was trying to buy some yogurt and some cherry juice and a few other things. Everything I tried to buy was sold out and I was getting irritated. Me and one of the employees started joking about how they have everything but what you need. As I went to get in line I noticed a woman who had found the type of yogurt I wanted, which pissed me off. I ran back to get some cherry juice.&lt;br /&gt;I biked over to Shayna's house and somehow got involved in sneaking around an apartment with a friend of hers. The apartment complex was very nice, all made of paneled wood and it was the afternoon so all the rooms were filled with a lot of sun. I think the guy and I were trying to get to an object we needed to steal. We were sneaking through a room that an old man lived in. The old man was passed out on the table. A nurse or a maid came in and in order to hide we kind of just passed out on the table with the old man. She came over to the table and started picking up the trash that was around us. She said "Hi Carley", and I looked up in confusion to see that this woman was an old friend of mine. We started chatting and apparently since I knew her it was okay that I was there. The old man wolk up and started talking to me and the guy that I was with. He was just telling us stories about his life and some problems he was currently having. I listened like a psychologist, and I think I made the old man feel happier. Eventually we left. I went outside and it looked like we were in Manhattan. Shayna was outside at a market buying some fruit. She talked to me as I went to get my bike. I walked over to where it was locked up and saw that someone had messed with it to try to get the wheels out of the lock. They had let all the air out of the tires, the screws were missing, and the chain was off. I went over to Shayna with a really pissed expression and she thought they had stolen my bike. I told her it wasn't that bad then showed her what happened.&lt;br /&gt;I had just bought a machine that tested something about the ocean, maybe the tides. It was made up of strips of metal and wires and I had to prop it up on the sand. I used a couple of rocks to hold it up in the ground. When the waves washed up they almost completely covered my device, so I decided I should move it back. I couldn't get it out of the rocks I had stuck it in, and now the water was getting much higher. I just said fuck it and went in up to my waist to get it out, but I was eventually completely submerged in water. The current was strong and I felt like I was getting pulled out. I tried not to panic, and after a couple more dives under the water I got the device out and swam back to the shore. When I got out some guys commented on the machine I had bought and I said that yeah it was nice. I was just hanging out on the beach and met some students there. It was a really nice day and we were all enjoying ourselves. At one point my bathing suit came untied and I couldn't get it to go back on so I asked one of the guys to help me. Instead of just helping me he kind of took an extra long time to tie it and made a bunch of comments to his friends about my boobs. I got pissed at him and told him to actually help me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-8266526963618090188?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/8266526963618090188/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=8266526963618090188' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8266526963618090188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/8266526963618090188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/09/bums-with-bombs.html' title='Bums With Bombs'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-7545202595825402532</id><published>2007-09-26T00:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-26T00:44:23.020-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Conan's Autograph</title><content type='html'>Night of: September 24th&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Brian Imbach, Conan O'Brien&lt;br /&gt;Number of Dreams Remembered: a couple, but I'm writing this too late&lt;br /&gt;Length of Sleep: a lot&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at Disneyland in the middle of a parade. I looked up at a second-floor window of a building and Conan O'Brien was waving hysterically.&lt;br /&gt;This morphed into me trying to get his autograph. I went into a place that was going to announce where he was autographing. I talked to one woman, and she said to ask the food lady. I went up to the food lady, asked where Conan was going to be, and she said something along the lines of, "I'm not supposed to tell anyone yet, but the line will form by the cricket." I was about to walk away, but not knowing where that was, I figured I'd ask her to be more specific. She said something like, "It's not North or West... so it must be..."&lt;br /&gt;I then saw a compass on the ground right next to us, with a stone cricket on the South side, but unfortunately a railing was in the way. I started running to get in line, and saw Brian running towards the same direction. By the time we reached the line, there were already about 50-75 people in front of us.&lt;br /&gt;All of a sudden we were near the front of the line. Brian had a bunch of stuff for him to sign and I had nothing. Brian said I could use one of the things he brought--a picture of My Favorite Band. I thought it would be weird to have Conan sign a picture of my band, so I figured I'd have him sign the back of it. I asked Brian if I should ask him something, and then remembered that I had sent him letters--so I'd ask him if he got them.&lt;br /&gt;Right when we were about to get his autograph, Conan stood up to go on break. An Asian guy sat down for him and continued autographing. We were next in line, so the Asian guy autographed the back of the MFB picture. The autograph was very circular.&lt;br /&gt;I was sad and didn't understand how another person could autograph for him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-7545202595825402532?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/7545202595825402532/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=7545202595825402532' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7545202595825402532'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/7545202595825402532'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/09/conans-autograph.html' title='Conan&apos;s Autograph'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-3471136331375076016</id><published>2007-09-25T08:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T09:28:41.160-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Sex Lives of John Turturro and Amanda Bynes</title><content type='html'>I Flew!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in a room with John Turturro and we were supposed to have sex. Saddam Hussein was  sitting in the corner of the room supervising the event. I was completely disgusted and freaked out so I ran away and locked myself in the bathroom. While I was in there trying to clean myself up I was having a lot of trouble breathing. I figured it was because the room was really steamy from someone taking a shower in there. I frantically tried to finish washing my face, and every second I was in there it got harder and harder to breathe and I was eventually wheezing. As I wrestled with the door handle to let myself out I wondered why Theo wasn't there to help me.&lt;br /&gt;When I got out of the bathroom Amanda Bynes was in the living room with an entire camera crew. She had decided she wanted to do something nice for her boyfriend and so they were going to film some kind of porn together. She walked around the room and put on a dildo that she came across. She walked up to look at herself in the mirror while wearing it. Upon seeing herself wearing a dildo she had some kind of epiphany, and was suddenly mortified that she was doing this in front of all these people. She started crying and ran out of the room. Her manager was standing there watching it all happen, and as Amanda ran by her I caught a glimpse of the managers face. She was crying and felt so bad for Amanda.&lt;br /&gt;I decided I had to get out of here before they tried to make me do anything else. When no one was looking I pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt, and when I looked in the mirror I noticed my head was shaved again, and I liked it. I decided to escape out the window, and looked out to see if I could make it. We were on the second story but there was a big awning that I could grab on to. I scaled down it and made my way into a side yard, and after climbing through some plants I was out on a residential street. I decided that running wasn't fast enough and that I had to fly.&lt;br /&gt;I pushed off from the ground and kind of swam up into the sky. Eventually the harder I tried the better I got at flying until I was moving pretty freely around the sky, going higher and higher and then occasionally diving down back toward the ground. As I flew, people on the ground pointed in amazement. I told them I could show them all how to fly, and a lot of people were interested in doing so. They climbed up onto a telephone wire and I began instructing them.&lt;br /&gt;I was rescuing a little boy from his house. His family had been infiltrated by bad people who were trying to kill him and his little brother. The three of us were now on the roof of his house while the family was inside eating dinner. We were trying to climb off the house without them seeing us. The boy's name was Doobie, and for some reason his little brother was just a plastic doll. I told Doobie to put his arms around my neck and I would just carry him that way as we climbed. I also told him to do exactly what I say. I was trying to give him instructions, and for some reason I couldn't get my words straight so I was confusing him a lot. Eventually he just got so upset that he decided to leave and try to make it on his own. I tried to hand the little brother to Doobie, but he left before I could get the brother to him. I was now alone in front of a window and for some reason to avoid being seen I had to jump inside and hide in there. The good members of the family saw me go by and tried to carry on the conversation as if nothing had happened. I hid on a bed in the corner of the room that was covered in soda cans and bread. One of the bad guys was also sleeping there. A big yellow truck pulled up outside and the bad guy sitting at the table tried to read what it said on it. He squinted and slowly read "C...S...I...", then everyone freaked out because this meant that they were caught. The house started to explode, and I had a view of flames being reflected in the visor of the CSI's riot gear, with the bad guy's face in the background wearing a sneer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-3471136331375076016?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/3471136331375076016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=3471136331375076016' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3471136331375076016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/3471136331375076016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/09/sex-lives-of-john-turturro-and-amanda.html' title='The Sex Lives of John Turturro and Amanda Bynes'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-5005267506171214299</id><published>2007-09-24T08:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T08:54:12.237-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Surfing With Justin and Brian</title><content type='html'>Sam - my sister&lt;br /&gt;Aleasha - childhood/highschool friend&lt;br /&gt;Jared - ex-boyfriend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was with Justin and Brian and we were trying to think of something to do. Brian said he wanted to go surfing, which I was fine with, and we coaxed Justin into coming along. Brian found this really nice board on the ground next to him and decided to just use that. I told Justin I had a wetsuit and a board for him. We were at Doheney (even though it looked nothing like it), and we walked to the edge of the cliff to look at the break. The water was perfectly blue like it is in the tropics, but the waves were breaking right on the sand. I told Brian that we couldn't surf on that, and after arguing with him for a while he gave in. We all started walking along the beach.&lt;br /&gt;We came to some kind of exhibit that was supposed to be the site of some paranormal activity. There was a bedroom with carpet on the floor. Someone had written on the carpet by making indents with their fingers, and the bedsheets were all slashed. This all looked staged to me, and none of us were very impressed with the display.&lt;br /&gt;We all walked a long the beach some more and decided to go swimming. Sam, Brian, and Myself all walked as far from the water as we could toward the cliffs behind us. Then we lined up and on the count of three we all raced to the water. For some reason I had really delayed reactions and by the time I noticed Brian say go I was already way behind. I just gave up.&lt;br /&gt;I was riding on a train traveling next to the coast. I ran into Aleasha, and apparently we had some dating history together. I told her she looked beautiful and kissed her neck, which made her uncomfortable. We started talking and she mentioned that she had dated another girl named Carley, to which I said something to the effect of "you just can't resist girls with my name?". She turned to me, pushed me onto the bed behind us and started kissing me. There were plates of food underneath us but we didn't really care and had sex anyway.&lt;br /&gt;I was walking down the train and ran into Jared and some other people smoking cigarettes. They kept offering me some and I refused numerous times. They were dropping their lit cigarettes on the floor of the train and I had to keep stamping them out. I walked away, and noticed that there were guys following me. Jared had told them to kidnap me and make me smoke. Everywhere I turned there were bigger and bigger groups of guys. I decided that there was no way I was going to resist so I just let them tackle me. They were all talking to me and laughing like this was supposed to be fun, but I really wasn't enjoying myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-5005267506171214299?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/5005267506171214299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=5005267506171214299' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/5005267506171214299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/5005267506171214299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/09/surfing-with-justin-and-brian.html' title='Surfing With Justin and Brian'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-281553940586498889</id><published>2007-09-23T16:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-23T19:28:47.263-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Exactly How Much Marijuana Did You Smoke??</title><content type='html'>Night of: September 22nd&lt;br /&gt;People Involved: Rainn Wilson (Dwight from "The Office"), my mom, my sister, my brother&lt;br /&gt;Number of Dreams Remembered: 2&lt;br /&gt;Length of Sleep: 11 hours&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rainn Wilson was living in my house... my old house. I remembered exactly what this dream was about earlier, but now I have no clue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I had a few dreams that I remembered when I woke up during the night, but I was too lazy to get up and write them down. Also, I haven't watched "The Office" lately, but I'm still having consistent dreams about it.&lt;br /&gt;I just wrote the title of this blog, referring to the Dwight and the fact that I can't remember my dreams from last night... but the title reminded me of another dream I had, and you'll see why.&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;My mom and brother took up smoking, and offered me a pill. Since they started smoking, I didn't trust what the pill was for. It was smooth and electric blue, and about 3 inches long. I showed it to my sister, since she's a doctor, and she didn't know what it was. We concluded that it was a pill that made regular smokers get a marijuana high whenever they smoke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Retrospect: I find it very strange that I took the Dwight dream and came up with the marijuana title, only to realize that I actually did dream about marijuana. Was marijuana buried in my mind/subconscious because of the dream? Was it chance? Did I dream about marijuana because of Dwight/the marijuana episode?&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;I had to get rid of a cat, so I put it in an envelope and sealed it. I put the stamp on, but thought it might not ship because it weighs too much and I'd need more stamps... so I put the cat in a cage.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-281553940586498889?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/281553940586498889/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=281553940586498889' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/281553940586498889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/281553940586498889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/09/exactly-how-much-marijuana-did-you.html' title='Exactly How Much Marijuana Did You Smoke??'/><author><name>Justin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://members.cox.net/justinmalik/justin7.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30856265.post-9044718440740084132</id><published>2007-09-23T15:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T15:49:23.265-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Beads In Boxes</title><content type='html'>I was supposed to drive someone to southern California. I didn't for some reason, and I ended up in a kitchen at a sleepover party for Marissa's birthday. We tried to cook something but the oven was full of other stuff. We started cleaning it out, and it was full of tons of plastic beads. We organized the beads in boxes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/30856265-9044718440740084132?l=sleepyseconds.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/feeds/9044718440740084132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=30856265&amp;postID=9044718440740084132' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/9044718440740084132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/30856265/posts/default/9044718440740084132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sleepyseconds.blogspot.com/2007/09/beads-in-boxes.html' title='Beads In Boxes'/><author><name>bravlittltoaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17719740220572397696</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
