There's a MOUSE in the HIZZOUSE

I've decided that I hate dreaming up titles (pardon the pun) (just kidding, I totally meant to be punny), so from now on, the title may or may not have anything to do with the content of the post. Also, yesterday, I thought to myself, (self), I should send out a newsletter so all two of my readers know when the site is updated. I'm not sure where I got that idea. Except that I know every weekday of my life gives me that idea.

Down to bizznezz. The Alias dream. At least the most legendary of the Alias dream genre.

I was at my church from home, only it wasn't really my church—it was a different building, but in my dream, it was Newark Lutheran Church. (This is extremely common in my dreams. It *is* ... but it *isn't.*) I'm wearing my navy bridesmaid dress from Kari's wedding and my hair is up—I'm in "disguise" like Sydney because I'm going on a mission. In the narthex, Giles Davis (does he need an introduction? for anyone not fortunate enough to know him, he's the youth pastor I've worked with for three and a half years, and also, he's pretty much awesome) was coaching me on this undercover operation that was to take place in the church basement. He was all, "Here's where the stuff is (underneath the floor?) and call this cell phone when the bad guys are done and then set off the bomb like this." And I'm like yes, ok, right, I like what you've done here, yes, got it. I go downstairs, and on my way, I pass my dad on the staircase and he's like you look nice but then he left (kinda like Jack Bristow).

So the real thing happens. The deal goes down. The operation commences. (Note: I have no clue what the real thing, deal, or operation actually is.) I'm in this room in the church basement, standing behind a folding table like I'm at a trade fair or something, ready for the bad guys to come in. There's a secret knock at the door, and I'm like shoot I forgot what the knock is, oh well I guess it's them, and let them in. But it's not the bad guys I was expecting—it's Claire Danes and Kate Winslet. I think, hm, are they working for the bad guys? Or are they other bad guys posing as the real bad guys I'm expecting? So I'm all talking about this deal with them, and checking out their eyes to see if they're lying or for real. Somehow, there is a close-up camera shot of their eyes, kinda like in old westerns when they zoom in before a showdown, to add to the drama or who-will-draw-first. So, it went: close-up of Danes, cut to close-up of Winslet. Back to full screen.

So then I decide, ok, I'm ready to do this stuff, but shoot, what am I supposed to do again? What did Giles say? When do I call his cell? Where's the stuff I'm supposed to give to them? How do I set the bomb off? Why didn't I write any of this down? (This would never happen to Sydney.) So by now, Kate and Claire are getting impatient, mad, and ready to blow me away. I started to freak out, crazy style, and franctically searched for the bomb, knowing that if I found it, I wouldn't know how to set it off anyway. Just as I lose all hope and resign myself to the fact that my life, and career as a spy, will most assuredly be cut short by the bullet of one of Leonardo DiCaprio's leading ladies ... Luke Skywalker runs through the swinging door to save the day. He, of course, knows exactly what to do. He finds the bomb, which is underneath the table I'm standing behind, bends down, and claps twice right above it, setting it off. Evidently, this bomb is installed with a Clapper, and two claps activate it. Skywalker grabs my hand, pulls me out of the room, and sprints upstairs, cuz we have 30 seconds to get out of the building. But I'm like wait, we can't run so fast, we have to tell everyone! Cuz evidently people were in services and class and stuff. On every floor I yell, "BOMB! 30 SECONDS! RUUNNNN!!!" I did this seven or eight times. So everyone evacuates and waits on the street for the explosion, but nothing happens, and everyone's mad that I disrupted their afternoon.

Then Kari and I decide to chase the bad guys. We follow them out of town, to a farm. She's like, I'll check the house, you check the barn. So I walk in the barn, and I see a super sweet papasan chair in the corner, that looked so, so comfortable. (And the barn was actually more like a fancy outdoor weddingish tent than a barn.) But at the moment I thought, man, I want to sit in that chair, my sleuth skills kicked in and I realized, duh, it's the torture chair, and it looks so inviting cuz they want to lure you in. So I realize this, turn to run and leave, and they see me. They're like, get in the chair. I'm like crap. I. am. so. dead. They force me into the chair, where I knew I'd be tortured.

At this point in my sleep cycle, I am struggling with wakefulness—I briefly awake, decide nooooo I can't get up yet, doze back off, and am back to my dream, in the torture chair. Then I realize NOOO I'm gonna be tortured, I have to wake up!! I make myself wake up again, don't want to get up (again), and go back to sleep and face the torture. This process repeats itself like four times until I get up.

A classic from March 2003

Scene I: I was kind of Monica (from Friends) and kind of me, and me/Monica and the rest of the friends were hanging out at this diner out in the middle of nowhere. It was like a 50s diner, with the silver/metal tables and counters, and teal walls and booths. (Kinda like the Peach Pit from 90210.) I could see inside, cuz there were windows all around it, but I don't remember actually being in it. I guess I was just sitting outside of it, like in the parking lot, with Monica's dad. (Unless it was Monica and her dad and I was not even present--I'm not exactly sure.) I do remember talking to Rachel at one point about a thing with Ross, and then she was giving me advice about my love life. Again, it coulda been Monica, coulda been me ... and not sure what the advice was.

Scene II: I'm on a boat in the middle of a lake, fishing with Monica's dad. (This part was definitely me.) But maybe he turned into my real dad? Not sure. But anyway I remember casting my line and reeling it in, thinking I got a bite. I did this many times, thinking I got something cuz it felt kinda heavy, but each time I got nothin'. That part stunk, but I remember that it was a beautiful, sunny day and the lake looked really blue.

Scene III: I'm in a library. I think it was supposed to be my high school's library, even though it wasn't. (It was a big, nice library, more like a city or college library--and the real one from my high school was like one room-full of books. It makes sense in dream world.) Anyway, all I remember is looking for one specific book, and I looked on many different shelves for it. But not the normal shelves, just the "featured books" shelves, or whatever books were set out on display.

I'm searching the books on a side wall toward the front of the library, intently studying the second to bottom shelf, when I notice a thin bar of red blinking light at the bottom of the shelf. Kinda like ... a minimized instant message. I look down and realize that yes, it was, in fact, an instant message. The instant message was the bottom shelf. The bottom shelf was the instant message. Finkle is Einhorn. The problem: how do I maximize it? Cuz it was clearly important and I needed to read it, but there was no cursor since it was a shelf and not a computer. It keeps blinking at the bottom of the shelf; meanwhile, I'm looking frantically around the tables and shelves to find a device to maximize it. I happen to find a white pole with a point on the end (like a real-life cursor, pretty much), I poke the IM (twice), and it maximizes.

It's a message from the Home Ec teacher who taught at the high school I went to 20 years ago. (Not the high school I attended 20 years ago--she taught 20 years ago at the high school I attended 10ish years ago. There is no good way to write that sentence, sorry. Mrs. Hitchins is her name, and I remember her because my dad taught with her when I was maybe 5 or 6, and I was in this fashion show for her, modeling clothes her students made.) So anyway, the IM: she's mad at me for snooping around the library. I think it said something simple and mean, like: "You don't belong here. Get out." I thought, shoot, I thought she liked me because of the whole fashion show thing, but I guess she only likes young Jill, but not old Jill. I remember my high school English teacher, Mrs. Huntley, being there too, standing behind the front desk and trying to defend me. Thanks Mrs. H.