From the archives: July 13, 2003

The book of Elisa, chapter 7, verses 1 - 10

In the beginning Elisa was sleeping. And lo, her mother did call up the stairs, saying "Hark, lazybones, church doth start in half an hour. Thou must getteth out of bed and get dressed." And it came to pass that Elisa did so, and her hair remained unwashed, and her skirt was very wrinkled. And behold, the lesson at church was on marriage, and it was the third lesson on marriage this month. And Elisa bethought herself that perhaps the overriding theme of life was being revealed unto her. And the woman next to Elisa saith, "Behold, my son is a law student at Gonzaga, and his prospects are exceedingly fine, and his face is glorious to look upon, and he is like unto Abraham in his righteousness, and wouldst thou like to meet him?" And Elisa said "Nay, nay, for he is exceedingy old, and I am not in the market for a husband, but thank you." And the woman waxed wroth, and walked away, and her countenance was like that of a sad person. And Elisa kept these things, and pondered them in her heart, and thought to herself the reason why everyone wished her married so quickly, and she could find none. And Elisa went in unto her friends, and they had gone watersikiing the previous day, and their bodies were adorned with the pinkness of the sun. And Juliana was exceedingly sorrowful, for her senior pictures were in two days, and her face was like unto a tomato. And Elisa had not gone with them, because she had been toiling and serving food to the Jews, and she mourned. Then Carlos went with Elisa into the third meeting of church, which is called Sacrament Meeting. And Carlos said "Yea, I have to go to the bathroom." And Elisa saith unto him, "Fine." And he did return to her exceedingly wet, for he had wiped his wet hands on his shirt, and Elisa did roll her eyes. And one hour later Elisa drove home, and ate some nachos, and she did wonder why Cori didst not call her, that they might go for a walk, and partake in other such goodness. And Elisa retired, and napped, and thus ended the day of Elisa thus far.

From the archives: June 29, 2003

So today I went visiting with this woman from church and the following conversation ensued.

Me: So I hear it's really easy to find places in Utah.
Gerry: Yeah, it is, since the streets are on a grid system and most of the streets have numbers instead of names.
Me: Really?
Gerry: Although recently they have been changing some of the street names, I'm not really sure why. The street I used to live on was just changed to Freedom Boulevard, I think.
Me: (making what I think is a very funny joke) Did it used to be FRENCH Boulevard?
Gerry: Nooo... (long awkward silence)
Me: *sigh*

I don't think I'm going to be funny in Utah.

Not all famous Mormons are people I am ashamed of.

Know what's cool? Being smart, and being a writer, and being a Jeopardy champion WITHOUT being a giant pretentious douchebag. Also, being a Mormon who doesn't make me cringe every time someone mentions his name (I'm looking at you, G. Beck).

Although I could be talking about my buddy Alison, currently I am talking about Ken Jennings, who is from the same general area where I now live and maybe was at Emerald City Comic Con when I was also there. I didn't see him, but I saw pictures later.

Ken Jennings did his crazy Jeopardy-defeating streak when I was a freshman in the dorms at BYU, and lemme tell you, we were FREAKING OUT. I was on the Honors Floor, though, so we were kind of nerds.

Anyway, Ken was on Reddit (which I infrequent) answering questions, and he was so charming and real and high-fiveable I just wanted to share some highlights. If you have lots of time you can read the whole cotton-pickin' thing here, but it's awfully long. It's worth it, but if you read the whole thing you may or may not be late for whatever you are doing next.

Here are some screenshots that are just funny:

Click to enlarge!

See how funny he is? In such a inclusive way. His humor has a little bit of something for everyone.

This bit, I think, was my most favorite, and summed up quite accurately how I feel about the disconnect I sometimes feel between being "a Mormon" and being myself.

Who could say it better? Only Jesus.

Here are some other choice Mormon jokes/comments. All well done.

This is the kind of stuff that should be on Mormon.org.

I just like this guy so much. The End.

From the archives: March 13, 2004

Embarrassing Story Time!!!!

Probably everyone in the ward has either heard of or played Bryan Robison’s game known as “Good Idea/Bad Idea.” I will now utilize his method of storytelling to relate an embarrassing incident that happened, oh, about fifteen minutes ago.

Nancy calling the IT services office to get help with her computer, which was not working = GOOD IDEA

IT services sending a male type to the girls’ dorm to fix the computer in question = AS YOU WILL SOON SEE, BAD IDEA

Elisa returning home from Frisbee and deciding to take a shower = GOOD IDEA

Elisa entering the hall clad only in a towel = BAD IDEA

Elisa remaining silent so that the male type will not turn around and see her, then ducking back into the room as the male type exits the floor = GOOD IDEA

Rachel laughing at the expression on Elisa’s face = BAD (ALTHOUGH UNDERSTANDABLE) IDEA

Elisa enacting revenge by chasing Rachel down the hall, still only wearing a towel = SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME

Elisa (not realizing that the male type was, in fact, still on the floor, waiting for the elevator) running right past him = BAD IDEA

Elisa ducking behind the wall and waiting for the male type to leave as Rachel mocked and mocked and mocked = THE BEST IDEA AVAILABLE

Writing this up for the ward journal = ???????????

Some Really Obvious Things.

1. I watched the movie Babies today. I loved it. Babies are so cute! At first they can't do anything except just lie there and be squishy, but then they learn how to do things! And when they mess up it's adorable because they're little! I never get tired of babies.

2. It's getting colder! I think fall is coming! Fall is usually really fun, because I love the first day of school, but since I'm not in school right now mostly fall is just cold. My birthday is happening soon, but mostly that just indicates that after I turn 26 it's going to be cold all the time for a long time. I just really hate being cold!

3. Know what I like to read? Books. Especially the Classics. So timeless! You should definitely check them out.

4. Sufjan Stevens is a great singer. I know, he has a funny name, but hear me out! He is generally categorized as an "independent" or "indie" songwriter. Some people argue that indie music is superior to commercial music because it's more "real."*

5. A good food to eat is pasta, maybe with sauce. If you want to get crazy maybe you should try TOMATO sauce. Whoa. Now that's a good combo.

6. I'm pretty excited about my interview for grad school! I was worried I wasn't going to get one, which would have meant that I was the bottom quarter of all the applicants. That wouldn't make me feel good. However, my being chosen only means that as an interviewee I am in the top 75%, which isn't that comforting either. What if I am not in the top 25%, or even the top 50%? It feels good to be chosen for things you want to do. Accordingly, I will be sad if I do not get chosen.

7. I can't wait to get some student loans so I won't be so worried about money! It's great to get money from the government. It sucks that you have to pay it back, though!

*I am not one of those people.

The Seven Deadly Sins, Day 3: Sloth

I know this is a little obvious, but it's too good an opportunity to pass up.

I would much rather watch Man of the House (Tommy Lee Jones' best role, in my humble opinion) than write a fully-developed blog entry right now.

So, there you go.

https://new.familysearch.org plays with my mind.

Thanks a lot, jerks. Maybe you could pour some lemon juice on that stinging cut upon my heart, while you're at it.

I know my blog entries have been sub-par and obnoxious and whiny lately, guys. Don't worry, I've got some decent stuff in the works. Strap on your moonboots for the month of June, 'cause it is going to be an awesome ride.

On Narwals.

Here is a haiku I wrote in a writing workshop with two ten year-old boys.

Narwal queen and king

dancing in the ocean breeze.

They will stab your face.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I am a ten year-old boy in a twenty-five year-old woman's body.

CELEBRITY CRUSHES

After such a heavy post earlier this week, I thought I would lighten things up a bit, in an effort to bring some balance to the Universe. You're welcome. Also, I am very excited to announce that, after a lengthy stint at the top, "Man sucking boobs milk video" has FINALLY ceased to become my number one search term on Google Analytics. This is a happy day. It dropped all the way to number four, even. This really is excellent news.

I have no idea how that search leads to my blog, so don't ask.

Anyway, so last night I was at the temple, minding my own business, and a very nice and presumably well-meaning woman came up to me and said, "You have such a pretty dress! Is that your WEDDING dress?"

Here's a Multiple Choice Question. Did I:

A. Burst into tears.

B. Punch her in the face.

C. Both A and B.

D. Smile politely and respond with something I forget what I said exactly, but it wasn't bitter or mean.

The answer is, of course, D. Raise your hand if you're proud of me.

Thank you, thank you.

I got to thinking, though, that not being in a relationship is actually pretty fabulous for lots of reasons, one being that I can listen to this song and it's kinda like a double entendre and two, CELEBRITY CRUSHES!!!!!

I always feel guilty lusting after other men whilst concurrently lusting after a real live man with flaws, especially when he is in the same room or theater with me. But if all I got is imaginary crushes, less stress for me! I have got it made.

Here are some famous people that I have crushes on. This is just a small sampling and is by no means exhaustive.

I would TOTS have sex with Christopher Walken mostly because of this music video. He is smart, funny, mysterious, and can dance. Also, he is from Queens. WIN. I know a lot of people think he has a scary face, but sometimes scary is sexy. Also, I am attracted to his mind, you shallow, shallow jerk.

According to IMDB.com, he has been married to the same woman since 1969, which is both awesome and not good, depending on how seriously I start taking this celebrity crush. Also, I found out just now that he is older than my mom. I don't care.

First of all, hi, Batman. Christian Bale was THE BEST Batman. Better than Michael Keaton, better than Val Kilmer, and CERTAINLY better than George Clooney. I mean, really. I love comic books and I would say I love Batman equally as much as X-men, slightly more than Spiderman and significantly more than Superman, especially after the latest Superman movie, which I hated. My point is, Christian Bale as Batman is really really great.

Also, hi, NEWSIES. Watching Newsies was one of the first times I realized I was attracted to men. Newsies was for most girls my age what Leia's brass bikini in Return of the Jedi was for lots of little boys. If you catch my meaning.

And finally, Rescue Dawn. He's actually not that hot in that movie. But it's a really IMPORTANT movie, and I respect him for being in it, especially since he lost so much weight for the role and I think ate a real snake too. That's badass. It might even make up for the fact that he drinks way, way too much alcohol and is reportedly kind of a douche. NEVER STOPPED ME FROM LOVING SOMEONE BEFORE.

If you think I am talking about you right now, I am not.

Lastly, Alan Rickman. I might only love him because Sense and Sensibility is such a great film, in my opinion better than Pride and Prejudice, or it could be because he was in Galaxy Quest and that movie is really hilarious.

Clearly, I have a thing for deep voices. Don't even get me started on how I feel about Eddie Vedder.

Here is a representative quote which proves I also love Mr. Rickman for his mind:

"I do feel more myself in America. I can regress there, and they have roller-coaster parks."

Oh Alan I would ride a roller-coaster with you ANY DAY OF THE WEEK. Even though IMDB just informed me that you are, in fact, the same age as my mom. I can forgive you for that, as well as for cheating on Emma Thompson in Love Actually.

Oh my gosh, I almost forgot about Die Hard. I love that movie.

I feel pretty good about what I have decided to do with my life.

I really like teaching. The more hours I spend in the classroom I am volunteering with at Room Nine, the more convinced I am that this is the vocation for me. That being said, I am glad I majored in something else for my undergrad, because I think I will fit in better at the UW's teaching program than BYU's. Assuming I get in. Fingers crossed.

Anyway, today I was helping some fourth graders prepare for the writing section of the MSP (which used to be the WASL, which used to be something else ... which is just one symptom of the disease that plagues public schools these days ...but that's not what I'm here to talk about). I took three of them into a tutoring room to help them do a practice worksheet for the narrative writing section, where they give you a prompt, ask you to write a creative narrative piece, and then grade you on it. Super counter intuitive. But again, beside the point.

I thought it would be a helpful example, and also only fair, if I participated in the dreaded exercise with them. The assignment is to take the open-ended prompt they give you, do a pre-writing exercise, write a first draft, and then write a final draft.

Here is the prompt.

"One day you receive a special gift. It is a very old watch. You put it on. In several paragraphs, write a story telling what happens."

Inspiring, yeah?

I talked through my pre-writing process with the three ten year-old boys I was working with. Here is what I came up with at first.

1. Get present (in the future).

2. It's a watch.

3. Watch explodes.

4. I get hit by a truck.

The truth is, I am a ten year-old boy in a twenty-five year-old woman's body.

So anyway, in the first draft stage we talked some more about my story and agreed that it was super awesome. However, it still needed the following additions:

1. An alligator.

2. A dinosaur.

3. A veterinarian.

And now, I present to you the story I wrote for the fourth grade Washington Skills Test. I imagine it would get top marks. Maybe even extra points for being so awesome.

**************************************************************************************

It is the year 3000. The world is a very different place than it was the year I was born. For starters, man now lives to be several thousand years old, which has its good points and bad points. I certainly appreciate the medical miracles that allow for such lengthy and pain-free lives, but the monotony of day-to-day life over so many years can get tedious. Also, I have way too many relatives.

The only thing that really keeps me grounded nowadays is my pet alligator, Robert Palmer. I call her Bertie for short. She has a very genial disposition and always listens to me. Feeding her can get expensive, but when she gazes at me adoringly with her beady yellow eyes, it's all worth it.

Today is my birthday. I am 1016 years old. After so many years I have completely run out of birthday party themes: pirate, cowboy, French food, Salem witch trial reenactment--I've done them all. Plus most of my friends are dead or cryogenically frozen. I decided to just have a quiet birthday dinner, me and Bertie.

Knock, knock. A visitor? Nobody ever visits me. Not even door-to-door missionaries. the "BEWARE FEROCIOUS ALLIGATOR" sign is a bit misleading, but I don't feel too bad about it.

It was the Fed-UPS driver with a package for me. After a retinal scan to confirm my identity, he handed me a small package. It was from my Uncle Eugenio. He and I have never gotten along. What was his angle? Maybe he was trying to make nice. I quickly tore open the package.

It was a calculator watch. The kind I had when I was a pretentious 25 year-old hipster, almost a thousand years ago. I couldn't believe Eugenio would get me a present I actually liked. I put the watch on.

KA-BOOM!! The force of the watch's explosion sent me flying through the air, over my front lawn and into the adjacent road. Stunned and slightly singed, yet unhurt, I staggered to my feet just in time to see the truck barreling towards me.

The next thing I remember, I was on my back in a white room, Bertie at my side, and a dinosaur in a lab coat was shining a flashlight into my eyes.

"Good afternoon," she said somberly. "If scientists hadn't proved the non-existence of luck six hundred years ago, I would say you are the luckiest person who has ever lived."

Dazed, I tried to sit up, but she pushed me back down with one three-fingered hand. "Nope. Rest. It's a good thing Ms. Palmer brought you in immediately. I don't believe in God, being a dinosaur, but somebody deserves to be thanked."

"Thanks, Bertie," I mumbled weakly. She nuzzled me with her snout and nipped affectionately at my silver space pants.

"You can go home now, or whenever you want," Dr. Rex called over her shoulder as she bustled out of the exam room. "I need to attend to a few solar panel burns. Feel better!"

Bertie and I ambled home slowly, her pausing every few seconds for me to catch up. I felt sore all over, like I had been hit by a truck, which made sense. But as we were finally within sight of my house, I saw that familiar sinister van parked in my driveway. A white van with no windows. Uncle Eugenio!

He stepped out of the car slowly as soon as we arrived at the sidewalk. His golden teeth glinted in the sun, as did his greasy mustache.

"So, you survived my birthday present," he snarled out that last word.

"Why, Uncle Eugenio?" I asked, choking on the term that indicated we were of the same blood. "Why would you want to kill me?"

"Why?" He screeched. "WHY? Because our grandmother died and left her massive fortune to all her descendants! Split evenly! Do you know how much I received?"

I racked my brain, trying to recall how much my share had been.

"A dollar?"

"FIFTY CENTS!" He sputtered, flecks of his saliva striking me in the face. "Millions of dollars amounted to nothing for us all! Why? Because there are TOO MANY OF US!"

"So ... "I began, trying to figure out where this left him and me.

"So I am going to destroy every member of our family until I receive a decent inheritance. You rabbits," he said, cocking a pistol at my forehead. "I will now finish what I started with you, you alligator-loving bunny."

Before the shot was fired, however, there was another sound. A sickening crunch, like burning logs. I looked down and saw Bertie, with Uncle Eugenio's leg from mid-femur down, in her mouth.

Robert Palmer continued to work her way methodically through her meal on my front lawn. I watched for a few seconds and then went inside to fix a cup of herb tea, guiltless.

**************************************************************************************

I expect a letter regarding my Hugo Award sometime in the next week or so. If you want to ensure I get the recognition I deserve, go ahead and submit my name for me. I won't be embarrassed.

Are you aware that when I upload a lot of pictures I actually write the blog entry BACKWARDS?

I used to want to be an editor. I like marking up papers and being right, and it's the only thing one can do with a Bachelor's in English Linguistics without going to graduate school or learning how to program computers. It was pretty much my only chance to be employable, so I went with it. Then I took an editing class where we practiced editing real material, and I hated it more than I have ever hated anything in my life.

I think it's because people can be real idiots, and I have no patience for it. If you can't write, why are you writing a book? No, your writing is terrible. YOU shut up. My career as an editor would have been short-lived. Or I would have become an agent within a matter of weeks.

Seemingly unrelated tangent!

Have you ever heard of the infant literacy program Your Baby Can Read? It's like the poor man's Baby Einstein. Although unlike Baby Einstein, YBCR hasn't been sued for false advertising ... yet.

Basically it's a really expensive set of videos and books that you show to your baby in an effort to jumpstart his or her reading abilities. You're supposed to show your baby this video EVERY SINGLE COTTON-PICKING DAY and supplement the little angel's intellectual development with the books and flashcards (not included). In both the video and the books, they show a word, then a picture of what the word represents. That's it. Also, the program is much more expensive than a gross of post-its.

Your Baby Can Read was developed by Robert C. Titzer, Ph.D., who is an infant researcher and most likely a super guy. I applaud his chutzpah in convincing helicopter parents to invest that kind of money in anything. But seriously, the program is a crock. It's not gonna hurt anyone, but it's not gonna turn your baby smart, either. You might as well be showing the kids "Days of Our Lives." That's on every day, too.

Here's the thing. Your baby CAN'T read. Humans don't develop the focus ability and brain matter to read until around age three. If you show your kid a video EVERY FREAKING DAY, of course he or she will memorize the symbols and associate them with the images that accompany them. But that's not reading, that's symbol recognition. Infants can't grasp phonics or any of the other complex mental processes that reading requires. Any parents within the sound of my voice: don't waste your money.

One caveat. I suppose someone could argue that showing your kid this video every day is technically better than plunking him or her in front of "As the World Turns" for forty minutes every day. I mean, at least he's being quiet and not subjected to any inappropriate material, right?

Point taken. But here's the thing. If you sit a child under the age of three in front of television, you must acknowledge what you are doing. You are trying to keep that child occupied. And that's OK! Kids are exhausting and it's hard to get stuff done when they are constantly underfoot. But don't try to convince yourself that your child is benefiting from any really expensive video more than he would benefit or not benefit from a Disney video or even a string of commercials. Kids like TV because it's flashy and keeps up with their attention span. It doesn't make kids smarter. The End.

Also, I totally use Curious George as leverage for good behavior with D so I have half an hour to make her dinner. See? But like I said, I own that. I know that's what I'm doing.

The Your Baby Can Read series, besides being obviously fraudulent, is entertaining in other ways as well. For one, the video was made on a minuscule budget, using youtube-quality clips of what are obviously the author's own children and the author's own home. The budget may have been blown on a three-minute piece of computer animation that accompanies "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." One can't say for sure.

The books are also unintentionally funny. Observe. Each page has a word, as shown.

When one lifts the flap with the word written on it, one finds an image defining what the letters stand for.

Not all of the images are this creepy, but you get the idea.

So the kicker is, while the good folks at Your Baby Can Read were putting these books together, it was obvious that they weren't really going for a sense of cohesion. For one thing, the words come in no discernible order. They aren't ordered by subject matter or difficulty or phonetics or anything. Each book gets, in a very unquantifiable way, progressively "harder," but within the books the words seem sort of tossed in without any rhyme or reason.

Since each word has another random word facing it on the opposite page, this leads to some interesting two-page spreads.

Some of them create a mental image that seems logical.

Or charming.

Or sorta funny.

Or REALLY funny.

PFTTHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

(This is only funny if you are eight years old)

(Which I am)

The above one is good, but I do believe this one is my favorite.

Literally speaking.

Some of them sound like exotic diseases.

I'm picturing Joseph Merrick in dental form. Ouch.

This one can't be comfortable, either.

Or perhaps an ancient, obscure martial arts move.

Hi-YA! Chimpanzee kick!!!

Others just sound like playground insults.

Ouch.

Hey, four eyes!!

Shut up, cat toes!!!!!

Some of them seem even a little sinister.

Thinly-veiled subliminal racism, anyone?

Does this seem like a fat joke, or am I being hypersensitive?

P.S. Hi, Dr. Titzer! Google yourself much? Rest assured this is all in good fun.

P.P.S. But seriously, food for thought, right? Did this occur to your editor(s) at all?

P.P.P.S. Your daughters are adorable. I wish you and your family all the best.

This will explain a lot.

Anyone who is close to me has probably noticed that I fret about my friends' health and safety like a neurotic mother hen. Many people assume that I will be one of those overprotective mothers who won't let her children cross the street until college. I hope this will not be the case.

I like to think that I am only rattled by situations that are a genuine cause for concern. Real health hazards instead of imaginary ones. I mean, I let D jump on the couch, so I can be too bad, right?

Don't answer that.

I blame my father for my constant worrying about safety. The following conversation will illustrate why.

Scene: I have just gotten home from the dog park and am making some lunch. My dad comes downstairs from the attic.

Dad: I need your help installing some insulation.

Me: OK. Right now? I'd like to eat something first.

Dad: No, in a few minutes. I'm taking a break. (starts rubbing his eye)

Me: Is your eye OK?

Dad: Just some dust.

Me: (putting two and two together) Have you been wearing goggles?

Dad: I don't know where they are.

Me: What the hell? I am NOT helping you up there without goggles.

Dad: Oh, it's just dust!

Me: NO, IT'S NOT!!! IT'S FIBERGLASS!!!

Dad: You'll be fine!

Me: I am not risking getting fiberglass in my eye. No. Goggles. Where are they?

So he proceeded to find me some goggles, all the while grumbling about what a "baby" I am.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

??????????????

WTF??!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?

This is why I am deeply concerned about the physical welfare abut everyone who is dear to me. Because apparently my own father is cool with me installing insulation without regulation safety equipment. I mean GEEZ.

It's the little things...

Today was one of those really long days at work--not so much because it was Friday, but because C spit up on me three times and is teething and D is going through a "throwing food from her high chair" phase and I was just kind of annoyed. Oh well. However, this little moment made it all worthwhile. Maybe.

Note: D is no longer breastfed. She sees her mom nursing C all the time, which is probably the source of this conversation.

Scene: I am standing next to D, age 2.

D: (gesticulating wildly, which usually indicates she wants to be picked up) Hey! Hey!

Me: Hey? (I lean over to pick her up)

D: (GRABS my boobs, one in each hand, like a frat boy) Milk! MILK!!

Me: Uh...no, there's no milk in there.

D: (insistently) Milk!!!

Me: Nope. No milk. Only Mommy has milk. Not Elisa.

D: (looks utterly flabbergasted) No milk? (Her hands have not yet left my breasts)

Me: Nope.

D: (Grabs my shirt and struggles to lift it up, presumably to see for herself if what I say is true) Wanna see! Wanna see!

Awesome.

In the past three years

I have twice dreamt about being mauled by a bear. In both of these dreams, the bear ripped my stomach open and I lay there, dying while holding my insides in with my hands. The first time I had this dream I believe I was alone, the second I was with some friends--the same friends with whom I had gone backpacking a few months prior. They expressed sadness that I had been mauled by a bear, and I took comfort in their friendship in my last moments. I mentioned these dreams offhand to my father a few days ago, and he expressed concern about my psychic balance. But he's kind of a paranoid guy who believes in astrology, so let's disregard his opinion for now and consult Dr. Google.

According to the VERY legit-seeming website dreammoods.com, my dream signifies change and a need to be more open with others.

"To see a bear in your dream, symbolizes independence, the cycle of life, death and renewal. It may signal of period of introspection and thinking. The dream may also be a pun on 'bare'. Perhaps you need to bare your soul and let everything out into the open.To dream that you are being pursued or attacked by a bear, denotes aggression, overwhelming obstacles and competition. You may find yourself in a threatening situation."

Baring my soul. Intriguing. Let's see what other experts have to say.

dreaminterpretationsguide.com warns (note: grammatical errors direct from the originals):

"Bear is significant of overwhelming competition in pursuits of every kind. To kill a bear, portends extrication from former entanglements. A young woman who dreams of a bear will have a threatening rival or some misfortune."

A young woman? Oh no!! That's me! Misfortune, eh? Yes, being mauled by a bear is quite unfortunate. That's the connection. The Internet knows my heart.

thecuriousdreamer.com opines that dreaming about a bear represents

"Power, or a power imbalance. The use of power, such as in aggression or protection. Dreaming of this animal can represent:

• Having too much of one of these qualities, or that you could benefit by being less this way
• Not having enough of one of these qualities, or that you could benefit by being more like this
• Someone or something in your real life with whom you associate one of these qualities (an event, situation, threat, etc.)"

This one, however, is by far my favorite. From dreamota.com:

"Because they hibernate, bears can symbolize cycles; birth death awakening motif; power or overpowering (the big as bear); your own cyclic activity or abilities. Is it time for your to awaken into activity, or to hibernate and renew your energy? [Note: yes, definitely!] Mythologically, bears represent mothering, the archetype of the Great Bear. In Greek mythology the bear is associated with Artemis (Roman, Diana) goddess of the moon and woods (fertility and the unconscious), and was associated with the Virgin Mary in medieval writings. Bearskins have protective and magical power, hence the fearless Nordic warriors, were originally known as 'bearsarks' because of their bearskin shirts.

What bearish aspect of yourself do you need to recognize? As pun, it can refer to something that is 'hard to bear'; an overbearing person; a need to bare yourself of your soul (truth/lies)? See also: other animals, naked/ being naked."

The last line there was my absolute favorite. Of course anything I would dream about would eventually end up relating to being naked.

Don't worry, paranormality.com is a harmless little website, which states that

"Bear is significant of overwhelming competition in pursuits of every kind. To kill a bear, portends extrication from former entanglements. A young woman who dreams of a bear will have a threatening rival or some misfortune."

Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Doesn't that sound familiar? INTERNET DREAM DICTIONARY PLAGIARISM!!!!! Is nothing sacred????

From sleeps.com, this jewel of wisdom.

"If a bear is pursuing you in your dream this is a sign that you will experience some financial losses in business. A bear also represents a rival you may have for your loved one, if the bear is seen to be climbing, then the outcome will be in your favor."

As far as I can recall, that bear didn't do no climbing. Just mauling. Of me.

And lastly, dream-analysis.com chimes in that a dream about a bear portends an issue with the "Digestive system, colon."

And those are just the results from the first page! There were over 2.5 million hits in all!! Think of what I could learn about myself if I had that kind of time!!!

To review, I should prepare for the following misfortunes:

1. A generically threatening situation and/or generalized misfortune.
2. A threatening rival, particularly for a loved one.
3. Financial losses.
4. Issues with my colon.

Also, I should consider:

1. Being more introspective.
2. Baring my soul/letting everything out in the open.
3. Whether I need to be either more or less aggressive in my life.
4. Hibernating? Oh, I am so in.
5. Buying this pill to make my nightly dreaming even more interesting. Although couldn't I do that with drugs, for free? Oh who am I kidding. Drugs aren't free!
6. How I might be similar to a bear and how that aspect of myself is "tearing me apart."

Making this clip from the cinematic masterpiece "The Room" even more relevant to my life.

If you squint with your ears, it sounds just like my name.

In short, I have decided I have no need to ever see a therapist, ever. Dr. Google is all I will ever need.

Additionally, if I ever do get attacked by a bear, let's hope it's by this little darling.

Holy adorableness, Batman. You can rip me open with those precious little claws any old day.

Things I Will Never Like (AKA a rant about inanimate objects)

Because inanimate objects can't write obnoxious comments on my blog when all I want to do is express some healthy frustration. If you, the reader, like some of the things on this list, rest assured it's not personal. It's just nice to know there are some certainties in life.

1. Bacon. I know it's going through a massive cultural revival, but I have always found it gross. My cousin Jordan says that he thinks it's hilarious when vegetarians claim to not enjoy bacon. Laugh it up, Jordan. It's NUMBER ONE on the list.
2. The following bands/singers: Creed, Nickelback, The Ataris (sorry Courtney), New Found Glory, Michael Buble, and Muse. If that upsets anybody here, you're the problem. Just because I have a different opinion than you do, you felt personally attacked instead of focusing on a bigger issue: why do you listen to terrible music?
3. Sour candy. Why should candy be sour? It's supposed to be sweet and delicious on my tongue. It's not supposed to burn a hole in my esophagus.
4. Surge cola. Remember that stuff? Maybe you don't. Because it was totally gross. Luckily I'm pretty sure they stopped making it because it killed people, so I don't have to worry about Surge Cola anymore.
5. The sticky floor at movie theatres. I don't understand why people think buying a ticket to a film exempts them from the responsibility to clean up after themselves.
6. Learning the names of countries in other languages. If you ask me, we should all just use the name of the country that exists in the country's foremost language. Thus:

Germany = Deutschland
Hungary = Magyarorszag
Japan = Nihon

France, the U.K., Iraq, Iran, and lots of other countries would be the same, except people would pronounce them properly instead of embarrassing themselves by saying I-wrack.
7. Menstruation. This is not, for the record, the reason for my crankiness. But the curse of Eve is and always will be completely and heartily unfair. Why do my boobs hurt? Why does my back hurt? MY UTERUS IS IN NEITHER OF THOSE PLACES.
8. Guns. I hate them. They smell funny and they make loud noises. Also, they kill things.
9. Redundant rules. I'm finally starting to slow down a bit.
10. Movie reviews that act SURPRISED that movies like Transformers 2: Rise of the Fallen are pointless action romps with bad writing. Shouldn't you have to pay attention to what kind of movie you're about to see before you review it?
11. The texture of insulation.
12. Mirrors that are meant for anything besides looking at yourself. Wall mirrors? No. Space creating mirrors? Not in my house. If I want to look at myself, I better have to go FIND a mirror, not be faced with my pasty reflection at every turn.
13. Conspiracy theories. I don't care if your theory has good solid research behind it, as soon as you say, "this is what THEY don't want you to know," I don't care how much I like you, you DESERVE to get punched in the face.
14. Throwing up. You hate it, too? Weird.
15. Beer. I know it makes people invulnerable to criticism, but I really don't like the way it tastes. I don't even like extra-yeasty bread. Yuck.

Well, that was therapeutic. Hope you enjoyed that.

Do you know something I DO enjoy? Obscure pop culture references. There were FOUR obscure pop culture references in the above blog entry. Anyone who can guess the location of the references (and by that I mean, guess which phrases or sentences were quotes and not just me being my hilarious self) and/or what they were referring to will win a prize: a cool postcard from my collection, sent to you very own home! So get cracking.

This made me laugh for ONE MILLION YEARS.