<?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-9125417471326584431</id><updated>2011-07-08T11:07:24.673-07:00</updated><category term='Two'/><category term='John Kerry'/><category term='vampire weekend'/><category term='mountain'/><category term='nightmare'/><category term='I had this dr'/><category term='pastures'/><category term='Air Force One'/><category term='dream'/><category term='race'/><category term='fear'/><category term='dog'/><category term='tree'/><category term='Record label'/><category term='wheelchair'/><category term='farm'/><title type='text'>Dream Thing</title><subtitle type='html'>Hah, what an awesome title!  Good band name?&lt;br&gt;
The dream diary of an emotional health nut</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>29</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-272556681309034875</id><published>2010-04-21T09:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-21T09:54:42.372-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Air Force One'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wheelchair'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Record label'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dog'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vampire weekend'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Two'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='John Kerry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='race'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dream'/><title type='text'>Vampire Dog Wallop</title><content type='html'>For the first time I remember, I was evil in my dreams last night.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I dreamt a long sequence of things which I can't remember, so I'll jump in at the good part.  I was playing an ER show in a foresty backyard in downtown LA.  The next morning, Tony (singer) forwarded me an email he got.  It said that two of the guys from Vampire Weekend were at the show for the whole two hours.  One of them was completely enchanted, and the other one liked things about us but didn't know what to make of it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Somehow I was suddenly racing down a very windy dirt trail in some kind of self-propelled contraption.  I started encountering dogs who were also running full speed, and I knew I had to beat them.  Luckily I didn't need to clock them over the head, I was already faster.  Then, almost to the location, I came to a parking garage where a few people were getting out of their cars for the main event.  I no longer needed to beat them, I needed them not to remember me.  Still in my contraption, I began to wallop them over their heads.  There were so many of them that I started to try to hide instead; I didn't want to be clocking so many people.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I must have found the stairs, because suddenly I was racing up them.  I was especially impressed with myself, because the contraption I was in was a wheelchair.  I was overtaking the other guests and taunting them for being slower than me at climbing the stairs.  I think we were in a record company building, and everyone was on their way to start the day's trading.  Then, I turned to the people and said, pointing to my wheelchair, "Check it out, it's Air Force One!"  Everyone laughed, they all knew my dad was the President of the United States.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Up in the office, I thought, 'John Kerry was pretty old when his dad was president.  It must have sucked when they took Air Force Two away from him.  What's it going to be like when they take Air Force One away from me?'&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-272556681309034875?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/272556681309034875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=272556681309034875' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/272556681309034875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/272556681309034875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2010/04/dog-wallup-wheelchair-force-one.html' title='Vampire Dog Wallop'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-781029299545629687</id><published>2009-12-29T22:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-29T23:02:54.083-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Basketball</title><content type='html'>I love when I have sports dreams.  Though I feel I could be quite athletic under the right conditions, I played zero high school sports, and athletics were not valued highly in our house.  So when I dream of playing sports, it's always a pleasure.  It'd be like a football guy dreaming that he was a famous scientist.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I dreamed that I was shooting hoops for fun.  I started jumping with the ball, and I would try to jump really high.  Pretty soon I was jumping from half court.  It turns out that when you jump from that far away, you have to aim before you jump, because you can't switch directions in mid air.  Before long, I could dunk from half court.  Later, the college team came in to play their game, and the coach put me on the team.  I kept hoping they wouldn't put me in to play, because they'd find out I can't actually play well.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-781029299545629687?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/781029299545629687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=781029299545629687' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/781029299545629687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/781029299545629687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2009/12/basketball.html' title='Basketball'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-3653348271276973487</id><published>2009-11-13T09:37:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-13T09:48:56.254-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Aunt / Uncle's house</title><content type='html'>Here is last night's dream.  Woke up not even knowing I had dreamt, and here I am 45 minutes later.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A couple of things.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;First of all, I drove to the end of a cul de sac where my Aunt Kathryn lived.  Lots of cute houses - yellows and whites, little ones.  Somehow my friends were in a very tiny room.  I got really tired.  The only place to sleep was on the floor where my friends' legs were.  I crawled in there, and then I remember pushing Emily's leg out of my face a lot.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Later, I was with my family, also in my Aunt's house.  But now it was gigantic.  I woke up, explored around the empty expanse a bit, and then started running from room to room with my arms out.  I came to a room with Aunt Kathryn, and ran into her arms, only I couldn't slow down that much, so she was startled and annoyed with me.  My dad was setting up some kind of home theater setup in their huge great room, which was very ritzy.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-3653348271276973487?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/3653348271276973487/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=3653348271276973487' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/3653348271276973487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/3653348271276973487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2009/11/aunt-uncles-house.html' title='Aunt / Uncle&apos;s house'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-52043140158716532</id><published>2009-08-25T15:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T15:25:56.847-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pastures'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mountain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='farm'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nightmare'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fear'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tree'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dream'/><title type='text'>Sideways trees</title><content type='html'>I had a dream where I was being taken through this girl's family farm.  They grew some kind of trees, which were planted up the mountainside, in vertical golden pastures.  The thought of attempting to farm it frightened me.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We then ran to a smooth rock cliff, where people were beginning to jump over.  I was to afraid to jump.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-52043140158716532?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/52043140158716532/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=52043140158716532' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/52043140158716532'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/52043140158716532'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2009/08/sideways-trees.html' title='Sideways trees'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-76375321840548448</id><published>2009-05-04T10:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-04T10:56:41.693-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Anne loses custody of secret child</title><content type='html'>First I had a dream about this girl Anne who I've been hanging out with in real life recently.  In my dream, we were together somewhere on a rainy day.  We were having an alright time, but somewhere in there it came out that she had a kid from a previous marriage.  It was unbelievable.  I even got to meet her ex-husband, a wiry, pathetic fellow named Darcy.  The thing that was so weird was that, knowing that she worked full time, I figured out that she couldn't possibly have custody of her child.  This led me to wonder what &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;her&lt;/span&gt; deal was, knowing that it's rare for a mother to lose custody of her children, especially to such a weaselly man.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-76375321840548448?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/76375321840548448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=76375321840548448' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/76375321840548448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/76375321840548448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2009/05/anne-loses-custody-of-secret-child.html' title='Anne loses custody of secret child'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-2955140694984242947</id><published>2009-03-18T09:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T09:22:58.722-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Car crash</title><content type='html'>I had a dream that I was driving with my dad, and we turned left and crashed head on into a Chevy Astro van coming at us at full speed.  I braced for the air bags but I felt nothing as we and the van bounced back away from each other.  The air bag didn't go off.  Also, it was a nice day outside.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-2955140694984242947?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/2955140694984242947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=2955140694984242947' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/2955140694984242947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/2955140694984242947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2009/03/car-crash.html' title='Car crash'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-7141186103262866376</id><published>2009-03-05T12:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-05T12:42:41.792-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Grad School</title><content type='html'>I had a dream that I was back in my High School, except the middle section of the building was a grad school.  It was way nicer, and you could tell everyone there knew each other.  I seemed to be conscious of the fact that these were grad school students, but that I was older than them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I went out into the courtyard, and there was a classroom set up out there with desks and a teacher.  In fact, it was a black teacher.  There was some private joke I was having with one cute girl there, and the teacher noticed and I had to be clever to the whole class to pull it off respectfully.  The sun was coming weakly through the clouds.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-7141186103262866376?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/7141186103262866376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=7141186103262866376' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/7141186103262866376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/7141186103262866376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2009/03/grad-school.html' title='Grad School'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-3373193296222289843</id><published>2008-12-29T09:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T09:08:47.150-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Prince</title><content type='html'>I had a dream that I was helping Prince Early put a show together.  I was picking the music he would do, and kind of how the show would feel.  I was telling him, "I'm going to make you a hit!"  I was worrying a lot about the playlist because the first song was a ton of power, and the second was a let down.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-3373193296222289843?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/3373193296222289843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=3373193296222289843' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/3373193296222289843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/3373193296222289843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/12/prince.html' title='Prince'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-3151925613032160899</id><published>2008-12-25T13:40:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-25T13:44:59.763-08:00</updated><title type='text'>RPGs with Friend Girls</title><content type='html'>Had a dream about going over to some friend's house to play.  I came with Emily and Ekietzel, and the hostess started passing out cards.  We ended up with four role playing games' cards in our hands, which was way overwhelming.  I was planning on playing a few rounds to be nice, but Emily and Ekietzel were really mean and refused to play.  When I walked across the room to check something else out, the two girls were talking with the hostess, listing off more fun activities she might have chosen, in alphabetical order.  " Garbonzo beans, Gerbals, Gerraniums..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-3151925613032160899?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/3151925613032160899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=3151925613032160899' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/3151925613032160899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/3151925613032160899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/12/rpgs-with-friend-girls.html' title='RPGs with Friend Girls'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-8682331542300377240</id><published>2008-12-25T13:37:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-25T13:39:49.741-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dating</title><content type='html'>Lots of dating dreams recently, including this one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a dream where I was hanging out with this girl I know from growing up, and she took me to her apartment.  I met her roommate, a really cute, exotic looking girl.  She was sitting cross-legged, and she said something sweet, so I gave her a kiss on the cheek.  Soon, her boyfriend appeared and started getting in my face about kissing his girl.  He was Indian, and I though, "Oh yeah, of course, kissing means a lot more in India."  Later, when he was gone, the girl was like, "Oh, don't worry about John."  I was thinking, aw yeah, this girl's into me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-8682331542300377240?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/8682331542300377240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=8682331542300377240' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/8682331542300377240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/8682331542300377240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/12/dating.html' title='Dating'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-3089114131142122163</id><published>2008-12-25T13:34:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-25T13:37:01.849-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Roads that End, Dogmeat Restaurant</title><content type='html'>In my dream, I was watching a really high quality discovery channel special on roads that end.  It was like Planet Earth, and I was seeing aerial shots of these dramatic roads that ran right into the edge of a cliff overlooking a giant ocean. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, my family started a dog meat restaurant.  It was surprisingly yummy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-3089114131142122163?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/3089114131142122163/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=3089114131142122163' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/3089114131142122163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/3089114131142122163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/12/roads-that-end-dogmeat-restaurant.html' title='Roads that End, Dogmeat Restaurant'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-6046587445603917030</id><published>2008-11-30T21:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T21:48:17.549-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I had this dr'/><title type='text'>Weird One</title><content type='html'>Just a shortie that I forgot to write down, so now most of the dream is gone from memory except for scattered images of being inside a spaceship, trying to paint the inside blue so air wouldn't leak out.  It was fun because there was no gravity, even though the spaceship was in someone's backyard.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-6046587445603917030?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/6046587445603917030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=6046587445603917030' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/6046587445603917030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/6046587445603917030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/11/weird-one.html' title='Weird One'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-7259724428702039506</id><published>2008-11-28T13:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T13:55:44.093-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Weird Stu and Cousin</title><content type='html'>For starters, I was riding bikes on a blue breakfast morning, riding right past a dirt road onramp, when I noticed my friend Stu's Subaru.  I guess it noticed me too, because we both swirled around in the road to meet up with each other.  "What are you doing here?" I asked, looking around at the southern Utah escape landscape around us.  He showed me these really well done brochures he had.  There were about four of them, and each one was a step in escaping from where you live.  One said "RELOCATE," another said "HIBERNATE."  I looked inside the relocate one, and it had maps of southern Utah and land you could relocate to.  I said, "Man, every one of these has a horse track on it."  "Yup."  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Somehow, I woke up the next morning in my cousin Jeremy's place in the same neck of the woods.  Only Jeremy was married to a different person, Rachel, who in real life is on a mission in Mongolia.  Anyway, Jeremy was somehow wearing a bra, and Rachel had really hairy legs.  I remember thinking, "Jeremy must love her a LOT."  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I also spilled popcorn all over my friend's car, and spent an inordinate amount of dream time picking up each piece, because you don't want to leave a dream scene messy!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-7259724428702039506?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/7259724428702039506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=7259724428702039506' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/7259724428702039506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/7259724428702039506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/11/weird-stu-and-cousin.html' title='Weird Stu and Cousin'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-6092474091500684056</id><published>2008-11-26T10:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-29T10:51:15.084-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mom fight, naked sleeping technique</title><content type='html'>I dreamed last night that my car was taken out of its parking spot.  While trying to find out what happened to it, I got a call from my mom, who told me there was a message from Monica about Elizabethan Report.  I was confused about which Monica she was talking about, since the Monica I know probably wouldn't have a message about that.  Mom got angry because she thought I was being deliberately confused.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, later in the dream, I tried to hang out in the family room of my old house, but I soon realized my cousin's baby Sam was sleeping in there in some kind of plastic humidifier cocoon.  I went upstairs to bed, and my brother Chandler told me he was trying this new sleep technique where he sleeps wearing nothing but a sock over his mouth.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Chandler and I are home for Thanksgiving, and because we slept in the same bed last night, as I awoke I was cautiously looked over to make sure he had clothes on.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-6092474091500684056?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/6092474091500684056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=6092474091500684056' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/6092474091500684056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/6092474091500684056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/11/mom-fight-naked-sleeping-technique.html' title='Mom fight, naked sleeping technique'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-6328708974537182122</id><published>2008-11-21T00:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T00:06:17.851-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Setting Up for Myself,  Again</title><content type='html'>I had a dream about organizing my closet.  I woke up feeling astonished again that I would dream for so long about something so mundane.  The thing is, I really get into it in these kinds of dreams.  It's like playing with Legos when I was a kid, or mixing sound for a record now.  It's a project with lots of little parts that can be carefully put together to make a satisfying whole.  That closet looked awesome in my dream.  Whatever, I dream about organizing for three hours.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-6328708974537182122?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/6328708974537182122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=6328708974537182122' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/6328708974537182122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/6328708974537182122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/11/setting-myself-up-again.html' title='Setting Up for Myself,  Again'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-815861294232358950</id><published>2008-11-10T09:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T09:41:57.673-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hawaii</title><content type='html'>I had a dream in which I was looking at a map of the ocean between Hawaii and the US, and I saw a highway connecting the two.  I then imagined driving on the road, and how scary it would be all alone on a road in the middle of the ocean.  Once, I was driving and noticed the road falling under the water ahead of me.  A car passed me from behind and drove towards it.  I thought, "well, maybe he knows what he's doing, I should follow him.  Wait, that's insane."  I debated for awhile.  On the map, though, I noticed a turn in the road where there were some hotels.  We checked into one of them, the cheapest, but it turned out to have lots of strippers in it, so I stood out on the pavement in the hot sun, wondering what to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-815861294232358950?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/815861294232358950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=815861294232358950' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/815861294232358950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/815861294232358950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/11/hawaii.html' title='Hawaii'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-875385301339990360</id><published>2008-11-07T14:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T16:53:26.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Best Buy</title><content type='html'>Had a dream almost entirely in Best Buy last night.  It was a huge Best Buy, and I somehow knew the manager.  He said that I could take a few things I wanted, and I spent the majority of the dream trying to figure out the best thing to take.  I was debating between Game Cubes and weird computer things for a long time.  However, closing time was fast approaching.  I suddenly got the idea that I wanted the entire Beatles discography, so I ran upstairs to snag it, only to find a poor selection of music.  They also had a giant kiddie ball room, but it was kind of like the Scrooge McDuck money room, giant sized.  I don't think I really got what I wanted from Best Buy in my dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-875385301339990360?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/875385301339990360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=875385301339990360' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/875385301339990360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/875385301339990360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/11/best-buy.html' title='Best Buy'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-2848305444118037894</id><published>2008-10-30T09:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-30T10:06:57.299-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pawns, Androids, Elephants</title><content type='html'>I'll cut out the boring stuff, and bring you to the part where I was working in some kind of Costco store, except they had a billion employees, all wearing red polo shirts, and instead of the customers waiting in the check out lines, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;the employees&lt;/span&gt; had to wait in line.  These were not normal length lines, I felt like we were in a rail yard, and the waiting was endless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow, next I was watching a documentary about androids.  They were thin-framed ones with long spider appendages, and they worked extremely fast.  They were all typing on computers (which seems weird now, androids &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;are&lt;/span&gt; computers.)  They seemed to be in sync, there would be a storm of typing, and then suddenly, they would all freeze, and their creator, a tense governess type, would fix something here and there, and they'd all be off again.  She was really trying to sell the viewers on the idea, which seemed to be, 'look at how fast they're going!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was in a giant White House with a ton of reporters who had been stripped of any recording devices, waiting for the President to come in.  I spent a lot of time thinking, "there's got to be a way to get a device in here, because what's going on in here is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so wron&lt;/span&gt;g&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;"  But I knew their sensors would find it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the reporters in that crowd then became the protagonist of my dream, a wrestler who never won any fights.  He would try and try at fighting, and anything in general in life, but never have any measurable success.  After a while, a wrestling organization gave him an award for his failures: a giant pawn.  They all laughed, but he was happy and smiley anyway.  Somehow this part was on youtube in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, the grand finish.  Our hero had somehow become an elephant.  He was swimming earnestly down beautifully picturesque rivers.  Have you ever seen an elephant swim?  It was really cute, peddling his legs.  He was going through some rough waters, but he would keep his trunk up to breathe even if his body was under the water.  The river emptied out into a beach area, where our elephant morphed into a dolphin and joined other dolphins riding the humongous waves in to shore.  At this point I became the dolphin, and I had a ton of fun being lifted high in the water with tons of other dolphins.  Some guy, though, was shutting a big door on the bay which made the waves calm down.  I had to make him keep it open so we could have our fun. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I just wrote a children's story for kids with ADHD.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-2848305444118037894?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/2848305444118037894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=2848305444118037894' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/2848305444118037894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/2848305444118037894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/10/pawns-androids-elephants.html' title='Pawns, Androids, Elephants'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-4988897390489271848</id><published>2008-10-29T09:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-29T10:02:00.754-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Jack of all Dreams</title><content type='html'>This guy has all sorts of stuff on him.  The first thing I remember is using these elevators on a hill.  The elevators would take you to the top of the hill, the bottom, or deep down inside the earth.  I was holding the door for my best friend Weston for a long, long time, and I remember forgetting which button kept the doors open. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow after that I was in a 3D computer program where I would paint a 3d map of Chicago dark blue because they're all Bears fans.  I was even painting Rockford, which was kind of far away.  But whenever I would leave one area to cover another, it would start turning bright Red and Blue for Republicans and Democrats.  "I didn't know the Loop had so many Republicans in it!"  Geez.  Can't we all just get along for the Bears?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was talking with some of the Bears about where would be best to live in Chicago.  I pointed to one place on the map, and one big, older Bear told me, "Oh, you KNOW that's one nice place."  So I went there with my friends. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, my friend Havilah was doing some laundry, and the washing machine was overflowing (which happened in real life to my parents recently).  I was earnestly trying to help her, but after she left, my friend Weston had one of those private talks with me in which he said, "you know she's dying, right?"  How long did she have to live?  "Seven or ten years.  Something like that."  Then of course I was more concerned with whether she should try to get married than I was with the washing machine.  There was almost this sense that it would do no good for me to worry about her and the washing machine, because I should be more focused on the important things.  I remember thinking I wouldn't ever trifle with washing machines around Havilah anymore, on account of her being dead in seven years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last thing I remember is doing a group paper with some people at the apartment.  We had a few computers, and I was doling out the tasks to the group.  It was one of those dumb papers where you have to write about your experience doing the paper; a paper about a paper.  I was trying to explain this to Hillery, who was having a hard time understanding. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all, folks!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-4988897390489271848?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/4988897390489271848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=4988897390489271848' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/4988897390489271848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/4988897390489271848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/10/jack-of-all-dreams.html' title='Jack of all Dreams'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-8439616262383817113</id><published>2008-10-28T09:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T15:05:10.488-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hip Hop Swimming</title><content type='html'>Last night I dreamed I was swimming in a big dolphin pool with some people, and they were swimming in sync while chanting, "hip hop horaaaaay hooooooo haaaaaay hooooo..."  Sometime later I also hung out with a girl I used to date and her mom in her house.  The funny thing was that I was using the bathroom and they wouldn't get out of there to let me have some privacy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-8439616262383817113?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/8439616262383817113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=8439616262383817113' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/8439616262383817113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/8439616262383817113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/10/hip-hop-swimming.html' title='Hip Hop Swimming'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-125836078804517550</id><published>2008-10-27T07:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-27T07:50:09.229-07:00</updated><title type='text'>President Dies</title><content type='html'>I had a dream that President Bush died last night.  It was really unexpected, of course, with days to go before the elections close.  He died of some kind of cancer.  The secret service did a great job of keeping it secret, since they didn't want us worrying about the economy AND cancer.  There was mild sadness in the country.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-125836078804517550?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/125836078804517550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=125836078804517550' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/125836078804517550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/125836078804517550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/10/president-dies.html' title='President Dies'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-4406292580496723478</id><published>2008-10-20T09:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T10:09:00.546-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vacation Woman Chase</title><content type='html'>Had another chaser last night.  I remember trying to find some place we were staying at in a hilly town at night.  It was hard, and it seemed like the security was tight.  I dream of complicated things: I remember getting the security guard to highlight not only the place we were staying at the first night, but the second night also, so there wouldn't be any trouble with the authorities. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(unknown transition)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were sitting in a bar in town, which was very colorful and lit up.  I met a cool girl there who seemed fun, and I was interested in her.  (she's a dream approximation of a girl I dated this year)  She told me the bar was some kind of erotic bar, and I began to have the sensation of trying not to look around while at the same time being very curious about how a bar was selling erotic things.  Like, in drink form?  When I was bringing the girl back to my friends, I realized she had a very dangerous monkey with her who would try to bite me.  We had to try several ways of regrouping with the friends to get the monkey to avoid us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, I was hanging out with the girl in the city at night.  I had her on my shoulders, but somehow I could balance the both of us in seated position, as if there were a chair beneath us.  It was really fun, because I could zoom around and steer us even though it seemed like we should be falling on our behinds.  My shoes scraped against ground as we sped around. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then it became clear I was being chased, and we ran towards the edge of town.  It seemed like the guy chasing me was this man running for president who I didn't like, and wouldn't vote for.  The train's doors had motion sensors and tinted windows, and it was fun when I tricked him by triggering a door that made him think I was running one way down the train, when I was in fact running the other way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(wake up)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-4406292580496723478?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/4406292580496723478/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=4406292580496723478' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/4406292580496723478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/4406292580496723478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/10/vacation-woman-chase.html' title='Vacation Woman Chase'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-7402132516846974933</id><published>2008-10-19T13:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-19T13:47:43.780-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Failed Dream Attempt</title><content type='html'>Remembered my whole dream this morning at 8:00 when Greg got up to shower, and not it's 2:47 pm and I've forgotten the lot of it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-7402132516846974933?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/7402132516846974933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=7402132516846974933' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/7402132516846974933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/7402132516846974933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/10/failed-dream-attempt.html' title='Failed Dream Attempt'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-5191105548599040754</id><published>2008-10-16T12:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T12:14:18.613-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a23e_y81JMM/SPeSbs2oS1I/AAAAAAAABg0/JqXI3G2KVvo/s1600-h/17_10162008utryry.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a23e_y81JMM/SPeSbs2oS1I/AAAAAAAABg0/JqXI3G2KVvo/s320/17_10162008utryry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257832094572759890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; had to post it somewhere, sorry! (=&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-5191105548599040754?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/5191105548599040754/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=5191105548599040754' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/5191105548599040754'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/5191105548599040754'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/10/had-to-post-it-somewhere-sorry.html' title=''/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a23e_y81JMM/SPeSbs2oS1I/AAAAAAAABg0/JqXI3G2KVvo/s72-c/17_10162008utryry.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-8246764741902960566</id><published>2008-10-16T10:24:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T12:15:08.434-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ER show dream</title><content type='html'>Often I have dreams in which nothing actually happens.  Is it abnormal to have dreams about putting things in order, or to dream about the intricacies of doing a long project?  It didn't go that far, but I had a long dream last night about Two Silver Trumpets, a song my band wrote.  We were loading in to some gig we had, and Spencer and I somehow switched parts.  So lots of time in my dream was spent coming up with a guitar part when I normally play bass.  I also dreamed that we were coming home to the house I grew up in, with the amber glow of the street lights giving way for the blue of dawn mildly coming in.  That's a dream segment I keep having, which is weird since I never came home at dawn when I grew up, and it wouldn't be on foot like it is in my dreams.  I'll try to dream more narratives in the coming nights.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-8246764741902960566?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/8246764741902960566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=8246764741902960566' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/8246764741902960566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/8246764741902960566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/10/show-dream.html' title='ER show dream'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-205678543894925172</id><published>2008-10-15T09:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T09:58:21.070-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Monson Waffle Crisp</title><content type='html'>In the first part of my dream, I was in the pantry of the dollhouse (where I live), and I overheard some people talking about an old woman in someone's family who had some illness like cancer that required lots of care.  The woman had someone who usually made her her waffle crisp in the morning, which seemed to be very important in her overall health and care, but there was no one to do it but me.  President Monson was around the house, talking very sincerely about the waffle crisp.  "Those bowls have been a bright star of hope to her endless voyage." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But for some reason I didn't want Monson seeing me with the waffle crisp, which I really just wanted to eat myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next, I dreamed that I woke up in my room with various girls on top of me to keep me warm.  First was Emily, who seemed like deadweight.  I was using her as a blanket, and it was hard getting her to cover me; she whouldn't help me move her around.  But I tried real hard.  Then there was Amy, my cousin, who has really long hair, which was nice and warm.  While this was going on, I was aware of various men just outside the room: dads, church guys, acquaintences, etc.  One guy, who I think dated Emily previously, was hovering right over the bed when I was using her as my blanket.  I wanted them all to go away, because I didn't want them to think I was weird for having these girls on my bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-205678543894925172?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/205678543894925172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=205678543894925172' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/205678543894925172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/205678543894925172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/10/monson-waffle-crisp.html' title='Monson Waffle Crisp'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-4028586485353227290</id><published>2008-06-27T07:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T08:08:30.068-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lude Beatles</title><content type='html'>I dreamed last night I was with a girl who complained about her acting role in a stage production.  She said the director was making her do lude things.  A few guys and I went to the theater to check it out, and we ended up auditioning for the play ourselves.  I paused this part of the sequence of events to fixate on how physically I could do one of those spin moves that ice skaters do where they spin balanced over one foot.  That seemed pretty important to be able to do that.  And somehow I kept thinking, "Does this guy realize we're the Beatles?"  I was thinking about our hair a lot, and how that was going to make us really famous.  My friend Hillery was a Beatle, too, since in real life she has a bit of a mop top.  But we were in the pre 1962 Beatles, so we still had that one guy who didn't make it.  I kept thinking, "You're never going to make it.  We can see your forehead."  To round things out, we got ivited to go sailing, and I was interested in not getting wet.  Somehow I came inside after a while, and my mom was there, grilling me about the heat.  It seemed like she wouldn't let me go out if it was too hot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-4028586485353227290?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/4028586485353227290/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=4028586485353227290' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/4028586485353227290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/4028586485353227290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/06/lude-beatles.html' title='Lude Beatles'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-6826410808041118304</id><published>2008-06-25T09:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-25T09:24:22.090-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Train Chase</title><content type='html'>I was in a yellow school, with lots of rooms around a square.  At first I was trying to avoid an old girlfriend.  Then, a friend wanted me to come with him to some kind of soccer club.  I thought, "Alright," and we went to the room.  Almost immediately, I thought, "This is going to suck, they're going to talk all soccery and I'm not going to know what they're talking about."  Then somehow we were in the same room, but there was a conspiracy, and men in white suits were trying to poison each other and me with teeth whitening syringes.  I escaped out a side door and found myself on the platform of a train station.  Knowing I was being chased, but not having a ticket, I took my chances and hopped in one of the compartments, thinking there were no occupants.  When a few passengers showed up, it was awkward trying to explain to them why we needed their compartment.  Somehow we made it work, though.  The train got to Reno, and as we hopped off, a voice came over the loudspeakers, "Aaron Hatch, we know you're here.  Give yourself up."  I did my best to blend in, but I felt like my nervousness was obvious.  I was so nervous that I walked with a severe limp.  Somehow I made it through security despite having to print my name on a document.  By the time I got into the streets, I realized I forgot my bags on the train!  Should I risk almost certain capture?  I felt so hopeless without my suitcase.  I went back in and risked everything only to find that the train had left Reno.  I used Google Maps to find out where the train would be next, and someone said there was a sun powered piano concert hall there in the desert, and showed me lo-res pictures of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-6826410808041118304?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/6826410808041118304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=6826410808041118304' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/6826410808041118304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/6826410808041118304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/06/train-chase.html' title='Train Chase'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9125417471326584431.post-2678027934847724597</id><published>2008-06-19T09:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-19T09:47:06.758-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pet Bear</title><content type='html'>I was on tour with my band and we stopped at someone's house late to crash.  They had a pet baby bear, and I kept thinking, what if this bear falls over on me in my sleep?  I think the bear was wearing flannel.  Then we were picking beds, and there was a bed parked right up against a sofa.  I seemed to be concerned that I was facing the opposite direction as Spencer so we wouldn't cuddle.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Waking up, I imagined people saying, "You know who else is up?  Paul, Tom, Billy, Dan..."  And I leapt right out of bed.  I guess it made it more exciting if there were other 'awake' people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9125417471326584431-2678027934847724597?l=dreamthing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/feeds/2678027934847724597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9125417471326584431&amp;postID=2678027934847724597' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/2678027934847724597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9125417471326584431/posts/default/2678027934847724597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamthing.blogspot.com/2008/06/pet-bear.html' title='Pet Bear'/><author><name>Fresh Big Mouf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05003018801043129689</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyte3H3UOc/TbaclypvJtI/AAAAAAAAC54/qw3ahDrihi0/s400/58215_152372231459338_117589768270918_339547_3199846_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
