<?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-5077058154277301785</id><updated>2012-02-16T15:22:43.351-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey, guess what I dreamed last night?</title><subtitle type='html'>Hmmm... some people (such as the writers of this blog) might consider a dream to be random neuronal firings that the brain attempts to organize into a story, that take place in the fourth stage of the sleep cycle, also known as REM (Rapid Eye Movement) sleep. 
Others know better...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>85</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-7376604786229236902</id><published>2010-10-07T02:19:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-07T02:22:57.945-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Done Blogging</title><content type='html'>Well, I'm throwing in the towel.&lt;div&gt;I kept a blog for over a year, and that's pretty dang good. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just started telling Kerri my dreams again&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(and she has returned to not really listening).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'll start again if we start having marital discord.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-7376604786229236902?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/7376604786229236902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=7376604786229236902&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7376604786229236902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7376604786229236902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/10/done-blogging.html' title='Done Blogging'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-3299733623985429625</id><published>2010-08-24T20:44:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-24T21:13:09.948-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Can't sleep</title><content type='html'>Last night I couldn't fall asleep. We'll actually, I can't confirm that. But I'm pretty sure I couldn't fall asleep for a long time.  &lt;div&gt;The confusion comes from the fact that I had a dream that I couldn't fall asleep. So finally about 4am, we were going to really go to sleep, but then the sun was starting to come up, and Kaci came into our room.  So I was like, "Oh well, I guess I'll just have to go to work with no sleep."  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then I woke up, and I had to go to work without actually knowing how much sleep I did or didn't get.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hmmmmm?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-3299733623985429625?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/3299733623985429625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=3299733623985429625&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3299733623985429625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3299733623985429625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/08/cant-sleep.html' title='Can&apos;t sleep'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-6486146631072056578</id><published>2010-08-24T13:49:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-24T13:54:14.302-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Kerri</title><content type='html'>When I was pregnant with Kaci I had some crazy dreams.  Like when I dreamed I was running a triathlon and after the swimming portion they blew a whistle and said all the participants could stop and eat at a buffet and we'd finish the race later.  I remember being so relieved I could take a break because I was starving!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last night I had my first prego dream where I was prego in it.  Everyone was playing baseball and I really wanted to join in.  So, to make it safe for me, they made me the pitcher and gave me this big box that was padded to wear so if a ball hit me it wouldn't hurt the baby.  Before I woke up I caught a fly ball and everyone was cheering.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love prego dreams!&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/5077058154277301785-6486146631072056578?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/6486146631072056578/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=6486146631072056578&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6486146631072056578'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6486146631072056578'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/08/its-kerri.html' title='It&apos;s Kerri'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-6598846368595106903</id><published>2010-08-06T02:39:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-06T02:46:55.136-04:00</updated><title type='text'>1st Grade</title><content type='html'>The other night I dreamed that I somehow got put into my body from when I was in first grade, but I didn't realize it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://knittymuggins.files.wordpress.com/2007/02/first-grade2b.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 513px; height: 369px;" src="http://knittymuggins.files.wordpress.com/2007/02/first-grade2b.JPG" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I show up ready to start my first job, and the principal sends me to the first grade classroom for instruction. I start trying to explain what's going on and everyone thinks that I'm just adorable.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I'm not a first grader, I have a Master's Degree&lt;br /&gt;Them: Oh, a master's degree! That's so cute!&lt;br /&gt;So I'm like, "Give me some tests, I'll prove that I'm not a first grader."  &lt;br /&gt;They oblige me, but they just give me first grade tests and nothing harder.  I ace all of the tests and they tell me, "You're very smart. We'll put you in the highest reading group."  &lt;br /&gt;I was getting so frustrated, so I finally threw down a challenge. "Ask me anything and I guarantee you that I'll know it."  They came back with something like "Who was the emperor of Rome in 1328?" &lt;br /&gt;Crap. They stumped me.  "I dunno that one, but ask me anything else."  &lt;br /&gt;"Oh, you're so cute."&lt;br /&gt;I finally just accepted my fate and went to play with the other first graders. I think it was the right choice given the situation.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-6598846368595106903?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/6598846368595106903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=6598846368595106903&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6598846368595106903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6598846368595106903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/08/1st-grade.html' title='1st Grade'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-7495503858097511515</id><published>2010-07-11T12:47:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-11T12:56:29.933-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Attack of the Moose</title><content type='html'>Well, in real life I have successfully relocated to Alaska- which is as cool as I hoped it would be, and driving along the Seward Highway looks almost identical to how Alaska always looked in my dreams (maybe it's because of the hours I've spent on the internet researching Alaska). I love it here, last night as I was biking just a little before sunset (11:00pm) I came across my first moose. She was just eating some branches off a tree in the park by my house.  I thought it was cool and wished I had my camera with me. But I just kept biking through some pretty sweet trails and then when I came around a corner I almost ran straight into two young mooses (or meese? moosen? whatever).&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://blog.silive.com/weather/2008/09/moose-baby_1608.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 468px; height: 315px;" src="http://blog.silive.com/weather/2008/09/moose-baby_1608.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; (the young moose I saw were bigger than the one pictured)&lt;br /&gt;They scared the shapoopie out of me! I also know the number one thing about dealing with moosel is to never get betweeen a mama and her babies. I looked around and didn't see mama, so I carefully just backed up, turned my bike around and took off.  All in all it was pretty cool. &lt;br /&gt;However, in my dream last night, mama moose was back! She started charging me and I took off running toward a fence, she got to me right as I was climbing the fence and bucked me with her head. I went flying a good twenty feet in the air and landed with a giant thud.  I'm glad that was just a dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-7495503858097511515?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/7495503858097511515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=7495503858097511515&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7495503858097511515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7495503858097511515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/07/attack-of-moose.html' title='Attack of the Moose'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-5711209103709122234</id><published>2010-07-11T12:38:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-11T12:46:24.213-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Best Dessert Ever</title><content type='html'>Just after high school I moved to the north shore of Oahu, Hawaii to attend college in an awesome little place called La'ie. It's right by the ocean and the mountains and is home to the #1 paid tourist attraction in Hawaii, The Polynesian Culture Center. &lt;br /&gt;To support myself I worked at the on campus ice-cream shop, which was probably the best job I've ever had in my life. One specialty that I've been craving recently (maybe because of the pregnancy) is the combination of an ICEE with vanilla soft serve ice-cream (IT'S AMAZING!). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://icee.net/images/cup.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 258px; height: 441px;" src="http://icee.net/images/cup.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I dreamed that I went back to the ice-cream shop and I got one, and I was talking with my old boss about how good I think they are. He agreed with me whole heartedly, and even went so far as to say. "Yeah, Laie has a lot of great stuff, but to be honest, I'd have to say the real pride and joy of this town is that you can get an ICEE mixed with soft serve. That's really what keeps all the tourists coming here." &lt;br /&gt;I was kind of surprised, but after taking another taste of my soft serve ICEE it all made so much sense that I had to agree with him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-5711209103709122234?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/5711209103709122234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=5711209103709122234&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5711209103709122234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5711209103709122234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/07/best-dessert-ever.html' title='Best Dessert Ever'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-4587715662535451022</id><published>2010-06-11T09:59:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T10:05:35.814-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Bad Bart and his Gang</title><content type='html'>Last night I dreamed about moving to Alaska again.  It was beautiful and I was driving along the coast and the forest adn we finally got to our house.  It was awesome, except for that it didn't have a kitchen and we were pretty bummed about that.  &lt;br /&gt;Then trouble hit when I walked outside and everybody started running away.  I asked what was going on and a guy told me that Bad Bart and his gang were coming and I had better hide. &lt;a href="http://flarenetwork.org/files/2010/03/0322_australia_motorcycle_gang.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 344px; height: 235px;" src="http://flarenetwork.org/files/2010/03/0322_australia_motorcycle_gang.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Then this motorcycle gang came riding up the street wearing bandanas and demanded an offering.  (A lot like El Guapo and his men in The Three Amigos). &lt;br /&gt;I had my digital camera on me so offered that to them, but told them I was going to need some change.  They got off and looked at it, and they were actually really polite.  They sat and chatted with me and then gave me $100 for the camera. Then they thanked me and rode off.  After they left I began organizing the townspeople to fight back and not let Bad Bart boss them around anymore.  We were about to have the big showdown but then I woke up.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll tell you one thing, you better watch out Bad Bart, because Bad Brad is comin' to town!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-4587715662535451022?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/4587715662535451022/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=4587715662535451022&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4587715662535451022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4587715662535451022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/06/bad-bart-and-his-gang.html' title='Bad Bart and his Gang'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-1244405110603337964</id><published>2010-05-31T09:10:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-31T09:39:32.826-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Bike Wrecks / Weight Gain</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/TAO70knj5AI/AAAAAAAAAF0/lTBONzm23rw/s1600/bike+wreck.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 160px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/TAO70knj5AI/AAAAAAAAAF0/lTBONzm23rw/s320/bike+wreck.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477428083669853186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the other day I was riding my bike to school, and one minute I was sitting up riding, and the next minute BAM! I was lying on the ground.  After I finally sat up I could still see my bike still just cruising down the street, and it even made a turn.  My first thought naturally was "I've been robbed by an invisible bandit!"  &lt;br /&gt;But after I saw the bike fall I realized that there were no invisible bandits riding it.  I soon discovered that my bike seat just fell right off.  The stainless steel screw that was holding it on, had just snapped right in half.  Since I was riding with no hands, it was just a clean fall with no interference, straight from my bike seat right to the ground.  When I told Kerri, she just laughed and laughed, and patted my belly.  Luckily, I was wearing my helmet (as all obese bikers should do regularly). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It reminded me of a few other biking incidents that I've had in the past. One being the time a bug flew in my mouth, but when I spit it out, I turned my head a little too forcefully and flipped my bike sideways. Really cool to watch, I bet it was especially cool from a distance.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another time I tried to ride my bike around the island of Oahu, and my bike literally fell to pieces. First the pedals fell off leaving two little stubs that bore holes in my shoes, the brakes never worked, I think two of the gears worked...maybe.  But I finally had to throw in the towel half way around the island when the seat fell off for good.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow... if anyone wants to pitch in to my "Buy Brad a really nice bike" fund, donations are being accepted.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-1244405110603337964?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/1244405110603337964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=1244405110603337964&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1244405110603337964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1244405110603337964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/05/bike-wrecks-weight-gain.html' title='Bike Wrecks / Weight Gain'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/TAO70knj5AI/AAAAAAAAAF0/lTBONzm23rw/s72-c/bike+wreck.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-8603501359853069376</id><published>2010-05-11T20:38:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-11T20:43:37.419-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ka-BOOM!</title><content type='html'>Last week I started working for the U.S. Census Bureau.  It's been great so far.&lt;br /&gt;But last night I dreamed that I had a friend help me out with the job and he went to Dr. Leo Marvin's house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/S-n5hjv7lFI/AAAAAAAAAFs/qHGCRa-bfKQ/s1600/P5100087.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/S-n5hjv7lFI/AAAAAAAAAFs/qHGCRa-bfKQ/s320/P5100087.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470177577345455186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I don't know what he did, but he messed with the gas and left it on... and the house blew up!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shoot. I was so nervous the whole time because I can't let people help me with the census and I was sure that my life was over.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-8603501359853069376?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/8603501359853069376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=8603501359853069376&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8603501359853069376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8603501359853069376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/05/ka-boom.html' title='Ka-BOOM!'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/S-n5hjv7lFI/AAAAAAAAAFs/qHGCRa-bfKQ/s72-c/P5100087.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-2177799525426663872</id><published>2010-04-24T17:49:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-24T17:53:43.564-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Biggest Waterslide Ever</title><content type='html'>Last night I went on the biggest waterslide in the world with my Dad and brother.  We went to the top of a mountain, and someone had installed a waterslide from the top of the mountain to the bottom and then re-directed a river to power the waterslide.  It was pretty cool.  At the bottom of the 10 mile slide there was a 20 foot drop off into a pool of water.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7f/Samoan_water_slide_upolu.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 894px; height: 608px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7f/Samoan_water_slide_upolu.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My new life's ambition is to become head of the National Parks Service and then begin installing waterslides into the mountains.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-2177799525426663872?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/2177799525426663872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=2177799525426663872&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2177799525426663872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2177799525426663872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/04/biggest-waterslide-ever.html' title='Biggest Waterslide Ever'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-6760195684915997777</id><published>2010-04-21T11:22:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-21T11:48:07.889-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It Happens</title><content type='html'>My dreams have just been crazy lately, so I figure I'd just continue on my "Things that happened during undergrad" theme.  &lt;br /&gt;This one is still kind of a touchy subject between me and my roommate. &lt;br /&gt;One day I woke up late so I was rushing around to get ready for school. I will admit that I was acting a bit careless- and when I put my razor back on the shelf I accidentally knocked a toothbrush off.  The toothbrush did like a triple bounce- off the top of the sink, to the top of the toilet, and landed... right in the toilet bowl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/S88anindI-I/AAAAAAAAAFY/h7FRb8vSikQ/s1600/toothbrush.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/S88anindI-I/AAAAAAAAAFY/h7FRb8vSikQ/s320/toothbrush.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462614139633214434" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I snatched it out and washed it off.  But I wasn't sure whose toothbrush it was (there were five of us that lived in the house).  No one was home and I had to go to class, so I just hid the toothbrush in my bedroom and went to school.  My plan was to come home that night and discuss it.  "Whose toothbrush is this? Sorry I knocked it in the toilet- Haha, I'll buy you a new one."  &lt;br /&gt;Well, long story short- I forgot.  Totally forgot.  Didn't even think about it for like a week.  When I did remember I certainly didn't go about it the right way.  It totally caught me off guard because what made me remember it was...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I saw my roommate using a toothbrush that looked exactly like the one that fell in the toilet. Yikes!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In shock I asked "Is that your toothbrush?"&lt;br /&gt;Him: "You mean this one I'm brushing my teeth with?... Yeah.  Why?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Oh, no reason. I gotta go. I'll talk to you later."  and I took off to go biking. Before I got out of the house though, he was on me.&lt;br /&gt;Him: "Brad... what happened to my toothbrush?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Umm... nothing. I really don't want to talk about it." &lt;br /&gt;Him: "Tell me!"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Well... I kind of dropped it in the toilet."&lt;br /&gt;Him: Surprisingly calm and forgiving. "That's sick dude."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Well, I kind of dropped it in the toilet...last week." &lt;br /&gt;That's when he lost it.  He's a pretty easy going fellow (He's the same one who drank my toenails) but I think that this is just about as angry as I've ever seen him.  &lt;br /&gt;However, I did apologize and offered to buy him another toothbrush.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you say? You can't hold onto a grudge forever.  Let's just let by-gones be by-gones, eh?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-6760195684915997777?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/6760195684915997777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=6760195684915997777&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6760195684915997777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6760195684915997777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/04/it-happens.html' title='It Happens'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/S88anindI-I/AAAAAAAAAFY/h7FRb8vSikQ/s72-c/toothbrush.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-1300362414725948123</id><published>2010-04-16T03:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-16T09:11:59.917-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Toe-nail juice - finally posted</title><content type='html'>During my first year of college, my roommate and I just shared everything.  One day he had a can of these awesome drinks called Hawaiian Sun- They're a fruit juice that come in a can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://sitelife.rd.com/ver1.0/Content/images/store/14/7/5e6a9a7e-3de0-4aae-97ad-1f37cf56b157.Large.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 440px; height: 330px;" src="http://sitelife.rd.com/ver1.0/Content/images/store/14/7/5e6a9a7e-3de0-4aae-97ad-1f37cf56b157.Large.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had taken one from him, and I finished it off and sat it on the ground next to me.  He decied to clean up the apartment and was just organizing things and putting stuff in the trash.  I took the opportunity to clip my toenails- they had gotten kind of long and kind of dirty since I never ever wore shoes. &lt;br /&gt;After I clipped one, I noticed that the can would be a handy container for my toenails, so I started putting them in there (so they would be easy to throw away).  When I was just about done clipping my toenails, I went to put the last one in the can, but mysteriously the can was missing.  I looked around for it just in time to see...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;MY ROOMMATE THROW BACK THE LAST SWIG OF JUICE INTO HIS MOUTH!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Feel free to groan here) He paused... felt some hard, sharp objects in his mouth... looked at me sitting on the floor with toe-nail clippers in my hand... thought for one more millisecond...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;AND SPRAYED THE SODA AND TOE NAILS ALL OVER THE KITCHEN!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh man!  I died laughing!  I'm cracking up right now typing this!  (And becoming slightly nauseous.)  &lt;br /&gt;Actually, I felt really bad. I still do. I'm sorry dude. But the look on his face when he realized what had happened was worth at least a million bucks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-1300362414725948123?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/1300362414725948123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=1300362414725948123&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1300362414725948123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1300362414725948123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/04/toe-nail-juice-finally-posted.html' title='Toe-nail juice - finally posted'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-9034806332756261219</id><published>2010-04-14T19:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-14T20:25:57.829-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Angel of darkness- true story</title><content type='html'>I was recently reading in Doctrine and Covenants, section 129 and I was reminded of an experience I had in undergrad.  I might not have all the facts straight, because I was mostly asleep, but this is what was reported to me the next morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was sleeping soundly, and my roommate was coming in to go to bed.  Rather than turn on the lights and wake me up, he just stood in the doorway for a minute to let his eyes adjust.&lt;br /&gt;I woke up and just saw a dark sillhouette in the doorway and became quite disturbed&lt;br /&gt;Me: What! Who's there?!&lt;br /&gt;Billy: It's just me dude.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Me who?! &lt;br /&gt;Billy: Your roommate Billy.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh, How do I know you're not an angel of darkness?!&lt;br /&gt;Billy: Cuz I'm not.&lt;br /&gt;Me: NOOOO! NOOOO! &lt;br /&gt;Billy: What? Do you want to shake my hand?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yeah, that would make me feel better.&lt;br /&gt;Billy: Whatever. (Then he just went and laid down)&lt;br /&gt;I, however, reached out my hand to shake his and was lying in bed waving it back and forth.&lt;br /&gt;Me: (Very alarmed) I CAN'T FEEL ANYTHING! YOU ARE AN ANGEL OF THE DEVIL!&lt;br /&gt;Billy: (Lying down in his bed) Calm down dude. Just shake my foot.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh, (I shake his foot) Oh, Okay, good night dude.  Sleep well. &lt;br /&gt;And then I fell right back asleep. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feel free to make any corrections to the story Billy. I don't know if I sort of do remember it, or if I just imagine I remember it from hearing the story.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-9034806332756261219?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/9034806332756261219/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=9034806332756261219&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/9034806332756261219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/9034806332756261219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/04/angel-of-darkness-true-story.html' title='Angel of darkness- true story'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-2447608703007697620</id><published>2010-04-12T18:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-12T18:57:15.103-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Flunking out of High School  by verda</title><content type='html'>I woke up this morning so disgusted with myself.&amp;nbsp; Again I dreamed that I flunked math (because I never went to class)&amp;nbsp; and because I flunked I was short the required credits and I &amp;nbsp;didn't get to graduate.&amp;nbsp; I &amp;nbsp;&lt;span style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;hate, hate,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;hate &lt;/span&gt;this dream.&amp;nbsp; It reoccurs monthly.&amp;nbsp; Just to put the record straight, I did graduate from High School with Honors and with way too many credits.&amp;nbsp; I could of graduated as a Junior but my Father insisted that I continue as a Senior.&amp;nbsp; So why I keep having this dream, I do not know.&amp;nbsp; This time it was a bit different.&amp;nbsp; Two other girls were in the same boat as I and the teacher let them slide just because.&amp;nbsp; ARRRGH!!!!&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also keep having the same dream that I arrive late to the cafeteria for lunch and all the food is gone!&amp;nbsp; I pout and wimper, but to no avail.&amp;nbsp; No lunch for me.&amp;nbsp; I go away with a rumbling in my tummy.&amp;nbsp; So very sad.&amp;nbsp; The rest of the school day is the pits because I am so hungry.&amp;nbsp; Maybe this is why I always take a zip lock bag with a treat everywhere I go, so I always have something to eat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-2447608703007697620?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/2447608703007697620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=2447608703007697620&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2447608703007697620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2447608703007697620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/04/flunking-out-of-high-school-by-verda.html' title='Flunking out of High School  by verda'/><author><name>Hebner Happenings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01812235506092595295</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-3235602240691951416</id><published>2010-04-11T20:59:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-11T21:13:02.418-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Geo that could</title><content type='html'>Well, since this blog has become half about true stories that should have been dreams, I thought I'd tell one of my favorites.&lt;br /&gt;When I was in high school a couple of my friends called me at like 8:00am and asked me to come pick them up at Ultimate Electronics (I'm still not sure why they were there so early, why they needed a ride, or why I decided to get up and go get them).  But I just put on some jammies and hopped into my white 1992 Geo Metro (which we called the OREO) and headed down there.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://thosefloods.com/cars/92metro-white.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 322px; height: 194px;" src="http://thosefloods.com/cars/92metro-white.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was half asleep and just trying to find a place to park, when suddenly I saw a monster truck (literally) coming towards me.  Knowing that he could smash me and not notice, I quickly turned left.  Just after I turned I could hear some clapping, some booing, some laughing - I wasn't quite sure what it was until I looked out my windows and saw... &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogcdn.com/www.joystiq.com/media/2007/10/bleachers.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 490px; height: 368px;" src="http://www.blogcdn.com/www.joystiq.com/media/2007/10/bleachers.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;a crowd sitting on bleachers on both sides of me.  I had apparently just driven right into the middle of a car show - and they had just announced the Monster Truck that I pulled in front of.  Sweet. &lt;br /&gt;Unsure of what to do, I just smiled and waved at everyone as I drove my Geo with confidence.  &lt;br /&gt;The best part is- when I came out I was very happy to find a blue ribbon on my window!  &lt;br /&gt;(Well, actually the blue ribbon part isn't entirely true, but the rest is- and I should have gotten a ribbon.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-3235602240691951416?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/3235602240691951416/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=3235602240691951416&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3235602240691951416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3235602240691951416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/04/car-show.html' title='The Geo that could'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-7009840546164169427</id><published>2010-04-08T13:34:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-08T13:36:31.965-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Moving to Alaska</title><content type='html'>The other night I dreamed that I was moving to Alaska.  It was crazy I had all my bags packed and I got on an airplane.  When I flew there it was really cold and snowy and I didn't know anyone, I didn't have a car, and I didn't have a place to stay.  Then I woke up.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://cjaye57.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/anchorage.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 497px; height: 502px;" src="http://cjaye57.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/anchorage.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sure was thankful that was just a dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-7009840546164169427?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/7009840546164169427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=7009840546164169427&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7009840546164169427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7009840546164169427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/04/moving-to-alaska.html' title='Moving to Alaska'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-1172738336836474855</id><published>2010-04-07T20:07:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T20:13:39.907-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Nightmare- true story</title><content type='html'>So I'm lying on the floor of the living room, and Kaci is walking towards the table carrying a little bowl of applesauce.  Kaci steps on my toe, trips, throws the bowl of applesauce, falls on her face and begins crying.  The bowl of applesauce flies, hits the ground, and basically explodes... all over me.  I'm talking applesauce all over my arm, all over my face, all over my forehead, IN MY EAR!  Gross.  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.acroyali.com/apple%20sauce%203.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 378px; height: 303px;" src="http://www.acroyali.com/apple%20sauce%203.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Kaci's crying. I can't even help her cuz I'm the applesauce monster and Kerri couldn't really help her either because she was laughing so hard. I think we need to get a nanny.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-1172738336836474855?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/1172738336836474855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=1172738336836474855&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1172738336836474855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1172738336836474855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/04/nightmare-true-story.html' title='Nightmare- true story'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-2056736303716484472</id><published>2010-04-02T10:25:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-02T10:37:30.657-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Space Travel</title><content type='html'>Last night I had another dream that was cool enough that I jotted down a few notes about it at 2:00am.  The note reads "Space ship, relativity, oxygen, gravity, Homer Simpson, Indian Workers, Mr. Pibb, Greasy Chicken"&lt;br /&gt;And here's what I remember:&lt;br /&gt;I was returning to Earth on a space ship that was going about half the speed of light. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.colony-wars.com/members/pix/space_ship.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 480px; height: 440px;" src="http://www.colony-wars.com/members/pix/space_ship.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We were all having fun until we realized that on Earth, it would have been a couple of hundred years since we left on the space ship, so we didn't even know if the United States would still exist or if anyone would be expecting our return.  Our situation was further complicated by the fact that we were running out of oxygen (and for some reason we were also worried that there wouldn't be any natural oxygen left on Earth).  &lt;br /&gt;Amidst all of this gloom and doom, one of the passengers of the spaceship (Jason from my hometown neighborhood) decided that we needed to make the most our remaining time, and that we should take advantage of the fact that we were still in zero gravity so he began doing Homer Simpson spins around the spaceship. Kind of like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Bt0qeIrdRpk&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Bt0qeIrdRpk&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That almost convinced me that I wasn't dreaming, because I'm pretty sure that if I ever do end up in zero gravity with Jason, that will be the first thing that he does.&lt;br /&gt;Any how, as we got closer to Earth we noticed that our speed was increasing dramatically and we were approaching the speed of light, then all of the sudden we stopped and were in zero gravity again, until we slowly floated down to the bottom of the ship.  &lt;br /&gt;We stepped outside to find that in the last 300 years technology had advanced and that the space station had actually sucked us down faster as we got closer to Earth, and then they activated some type of force field to make our landing have zero impact. Pretty sweet.&lt;br /&gt;After we got out of our space ship we found that most of the people were there were from India and we couldn't really understand them. Except for the people working at the concession stand.  We were so excited to see some good food.  I remember telling them "Hook me up with some greasy chicken! You have no idea how bad the crap we had to eat on the Space ship was."  &lt;br /&gt;All in all, it gives me great hope for the future of humanity.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-2056736303716484472?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/2056736303716484472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=2056736303716484472&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2056736303716484472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2056736303716484472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/04/space-travel.html' title='Space Travel'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-6858223254775227717</id><published>2010-04-01T08:51:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-01T14:30:12.874-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Another True Story</title><content type='html'>So this actually happened to me yesterday, but Kerri told me that it seemed more like a dream than reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So on my way home from school I took the long way and went biking on the trails through the forest near my home.  I was cruising along the trail until I came to a point where some trees and bushes had been pulled across the trail.  I was a little confused. &lt;br /&gt;Then as I got closer I spotted two guys decked out in camouflage hiding in the bushes with rifles. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mikeldunham.blogs.com/.a/6a00d8341df99053ef0105356f2816970c-800wi"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 650px; height: 432px;" src="http://www.mikeldunham.blogs.com/.a/6a00d8341df99053ef0105356f2816970c-800wi" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; They clearly had seen me. So I stopped in my tracks and asked them "Umm... should I be concerned? Do I need to be careful?"   &lt;br /&gt;Then as I looked around I noticed that I was surrounded by soldiers in camouflage with rifles hiding all around me in the trees.  It was a little disconcerting.  &lt;br /&gt;The guys hiding the bushes whispered to me "No. It's all right. We're just doing some training. But you probably want to turn your bike around and go back the way you came." &lt;br /&gt;Me: "Umm.... Okay. That sounds like a good idea."  The guys also reassured me "Don't worry, these aren't real weapons." &lt;br /&gt;Even still, I heeded their directions and went back the way that I had come.  However, I wish I had just hid out in the bushes where I could see the battle commence.  Because about five minutes later when I was out of eye-sight I heard it all happen.  I great cry that sounded like a hundred guys yelling, and it really was kind of scary sounding, but then I heard all the firing.  I started to laugh my head off because the firing was really just guys yelling. BANG! BANG!   BANG! BANG! BANG!&lt;br /&gt;Seriously...&lt;br /&gt;BANG! BANG! BANG! &lt;br /&gt;I'm not making fun... because I wouldn't do that.  But everytime I think about it, it just makes me smile.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-6858223254775227717?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/6858223254775227717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=6858223254775227717&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6858223254775227717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6858223254775227717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/04/another-true-story.html' title='Another True Story'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-8183497928383507489</id><published>2010-03-28T16:31:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T13:07:10.593-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Laie Falls Treasure</title><content type='html'>Just behind the campus of BYU-Hawaii is a trail called "Laie Falls" which leads up to some pretty cool waterfalls.  I spent many an hour up there exploring the maze of trails that goes all around those hills.  And last night I made an excellent discovery up in those hills.  It was amazing.  So amazing that when I woke up from the dream at 2:00am, I jotted down a few notes to remind me of it.  The note reads as follows:&lt;br /&gt;Gold up laie falls&lt;br /&gt;Caves&lt;br /&gt;Golden Statue&lt;br /&gt;Maps&lt;br /&gt;Generals gone to prison&lt;br /&gt;Practicum&lt;br /&gt;Tommy&lt;br /&gt;Kids&lt;br /&gt;Chocolate&lt;br /&gt;Kids- Hit 'em&lt;br /&gt;Music Medley&lt;br /&gt;This is the Christ +&lt;br /&gt;Part of your world.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this is how I remember the dream happening!&lt;br /&gt;So I'm hiking up Laie Falls and I find some caves that I go into.  Inside the caves I find this little golded statue that's about two inches tall&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.partiesinpackages.com.au/admin/assets/images/pinata-goldstatue.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://www.partiesinpackages.com.au/admin/assets/images/pinata-goldstatue.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I take it with me and go to the library.  There I find an old man who tells me about all the gold that is hidden up in those caves, with the statue being the key to get in.  He happens to have a map that leads to both of those caves which he shares with me.  He also warns me that there are two generals who want to try and get the gold, and that they were just released from prison and are heading this way, so I need to go fast.  &lt;br /&gt;Me and Kerri and my old roommate are about to head up there, but it's getting dark and we don't have any flashlights so we decide to just wait until morning.  Unfortunately when morning came I had to go to practicum at the city schools I'm working at.  But when I show up for practicum my superviser is like "Look, I know about the treasure, you can have the morning off to go get it, but you need to be back by one o'clock for some testing okay?"  I'm like "Sweet!"  and I grab my statue and am leaving the school when a bunch of kids swarm around me and try to get my golden statue from me.  So I hold it up above their heads and escape. &lt;br /&gt;I go outside and find another friend from BYU-Hawaii (Tommy) and tell him about the treasure, but he couldn't go with me because he had to study for a test.  Just then a kid ran up with my golden statue and was like "Ha-ha! I stole this from you!" and he took a bite out of it!  When he took a bite it turned into milk chocolate.  &lt;br /&gt;I snatched it back from him, and I was ticked off.  I was so mad. I was like "I'm gonna kill him!" and I started to go for him, but Tommy held me back or I really would have punched him in the face!  &lt;br /&gt;I was so mad, that I decided to take a bite of the statue to calm myself down and I find that it really is great chocolate.  Just then I notice a group of people standing outside doing a musical performance.  It was a music medley of "This is the Christ" from the movie the Testaments and "Part of your world" from the Little Mermaid.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that's when I woke up.  Man, that was a trip! I'll split the gold with anyone who can give me a correct interpretation of this dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-8183497928383507489?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/8183497928383507489/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=8183497928383507489&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8183497928383507489'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8183497928383507489'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/03/laie-falls-treasure.html' title='Laie Falls Treasure'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-6757206454861410476</id><published>2010-03-19T12:47:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-19T12:55:51.324-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Styrofoam Peanut Factory</title><content type='html'>When I was fourteen years old I got my first real job (besides a paper route). While I was riding my bike a man approached me and asked me if I wanted to work in a styrofoam peanut factory- "you bet I do!" I made six buck an hour, and I got all the potato chips I wanted because the owner of the factory also owned a potato chip factory.  It was pretty sweet.  I would help make it (it was actually called "loose fill" a bio-degradable alternative to styrofoam made from corn), package it in giant bags, and load up semi-trucks with the bags. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.globalspec.com/NpaPics/5/355845_070120098947_ExhibitPic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="http://www.globalspec.com/NpaPics/5/355845_070120098947_ExhibitPic.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; It was one of the coolest jobs ever (especially for a fourteen year old).  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways,  A couple of nights ago in my dream I was looking for something and I stumbled upon ANOTHER styrofoam peanut factory here in Virginia!  It was so cool,  I started talking to them about my previous work experience in the industry and they offered me a job!  I was stoked out of my mind! I talked with them and they totally worked around my schedule and I was going to have the exact same job back.  I rushed home to tell Kerri, only to wake up and find out that in reality I won't be returning to my factory job at $6 an hour.  Bummer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-6757206454861410476?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/6757206454861410476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=6757206454861410476&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6757206454861410476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6757206454861410476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/03/styrofoam-peanut-factory.html' title='Styrofoam Peanut Factory'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-4179858837271882376</id><published>2010-02-26T11:39:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-26T11:39:23.500-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Zipoff Pants</title><content type='html'>Last night's dream was in the category of fantasy land!  I was in the mall and I go in this store called "True Alaska Gear" and I look around and I see this awesome pair of zip-off pants just my size!  I'm so stoked and I'm going to the fitting room and I see another rack that has pants just like my old favorite pair that just ripped out.  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/S4fZlX_hg5I/AAAAAAAAAE8/U7vAVb2RjfQ/s1600-h/P1190011.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/S4fZlX_hg5I/AAAAAAAAAE8/U7vAVb2RjfQ/s320/P1190011.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442557910819373970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was like "NO WAY!"  I was so happy I almost started crying- I found a pair just my size and it was truly one of the happiest moments of my life. &lt;br /&gt;So I go to the dressing room to try them on, and it was really wierd, it was like a one-way-mirror, so I could still see out, but other people couldn't see in.  So before I start changing I look out and I see this guy start to get into a fight with this girl.  I decide to help her out, so I run out and break up the fight.  When everyone is all happy again I go to try on my pants (and they really are perfect!) but before I got to the checkout- I woke up!  Oh, man!  I tried so hard to fall back asleep and continue the dream, but it just wasn't meant to be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-4179858837271882376?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/4179858837271882376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=4179858837271882376&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4179858837271882376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4179858837271882376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/02/zipoff-pants.html' title='Zipoff Pants'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/S4fZlX_hg5I/AAAAAAAAAE8/U7vAVb2RjfQ/s72-c/P1190011.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-2109050759613258756</id><published>2010-02-23T09:55:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-23T10:11:13.638-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Not a dream- True Story- But I wish it was a dream</title><content type='html'>Okay, so this really happened, but it still feels kind of dream like, and it makes me laugh.&lt;br /&gt;So the other night after giving a presentation for my Graduate Assistantship, I got home and realized that I had left my jump drive in the computer at school.  Crap.  My jump drive has my whole life on it (All the work of done on my thesis, reports I'm doing for practicum, All of my assignments for entering data for my assistantship), basically if I lost it I would just call it quits and move to Alaska without having a job waiting for me.   &lt;br /&gt;So I hop in the car and zoom on back to the university, it's like 8:30 at night, and I go back to the room where I left it.  &lt;br /&gt;I look in the room and there's like 30 guys wearing suits and ties all sitting in the classroom.  Then I change my angle and at the front of the room there's a panel of 10 older guys wearing suits and someone is giving a presentation.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2191/2378407450_67972c6124.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 375px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2191/2378407450_67972c6124.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea what they were doing in there, but it looked pretty serious.  I also had no idea how long it was going to go on, and I had parked in the 15minute parking meter and didn't want to get a ticket on top of not wanting to wait around.  So I made the decision that I'd just quietly enter and grab my jump drive.  &lt;br /&gt;So as I entered the room and had to walk right down the middle of it in my jeans and t-shirt. Everybody looked at me and got that real uncomfortable look like "What! He can't do that? What the heck?" So I gave a smile and a little half wave like "Hey...wazzup?"  The person giving the presentation did a great job of just ignoring me and not making a big deal- he just kept on talking as if I wasn't there.  The problem was that he was standing right in front of the computer with my jump drive in it.  &lt;br /&gt;So I just had to give him a very confident and polite "Excuse me" and gently pushed/guided him out of my way.  Then I grabbed my jump drive, told him "Thanks" and left the meeting.  &lt;br /&gt;Yeah.... it was a little awkward. But totally worth it to get my jump drive back.  Don't worry, I've backed up everything on my computer now, and will continue to do so.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-2109050759613258756?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/2109050759613258756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=2109050759613258756&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2109050759613258756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2109050759613258756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/02/not-dream-true-story-but-i-wish-it-was.html' title='Not a dream- True Story- But I wish it was a dream'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2191/2378407450_67972c6124_t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-2860548324807855221</id><published>2010-02-20T11:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-20T11:51:52.766-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Snow in Phoenix by verda</title><content type='html'>I'm going for a walk dressed in shorts and tennie shoes.&amp;nbsp; I'm going&amp;nbsp;east on Thomas Road.&amp;nbsp; When I turn unto 7th Ave I can see that buildings have snow on them.&amp;nbsp; That can't be snow!&amp;nbsp; I pick up the pace and when I get closer I see that YEP it's snow.&amp;nbsp; I'm dumb founded.&amp;nbsp; How can it be snowing?&amp;nbsp; I keep walking along, looking into the sky when another women comes up next to me.&amp;nbsp; You looking at the snow?&amp;nbsp; Isn't it pretty.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;I nod my head and the two of us become fast friends and we continue walking up 7th Ave.&amp;nbsp; The snow&amp;nbsp;fall is getting heavier and I notice that both my walking friend and myself have on heavy coats and boots.&amp;nbsp; We quickly make our way across the street at a stop light and find a store front with an awning.&amp;nbsp; Two more women meet up with us and we are all hudled together giggling like school girls.&amp;nbsp; One of them points out that there is a donut shop on the other side of the street.&amp;nbsp; Everyone agrees a donut would be yummy so we start to make our way back to the light and one of the ladies says to me, are you really going to go like that?&amp;nbsp; Like What!&amp;nbsp; She is pointing to my feet.&amp;nbsp; I have taken off my boots and pants and am standing there with a pair of thick brown wool socks, thermal underwear, and still wearing my coat.&amp;nbsp; They all start laughing and so do I because I don't know why I am half clothed on a snowy day standing on a major city street.&amp;nbsp; So they tell me to hurry, I go to find my boots and pants and darn if I don't wake up.&amp;nbsp; Phoenix did look pretty under a blanket of snow.&amp;nbsp; I wonder if the donuts were any good?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-2860548324807855221?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/2860548324807855221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=2860548324807855221&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2860548324807855221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2860548324807855221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/02/snow-in-phoenix-by-verda.html' title='Snow in Phoenix by verda'/><author><name>Hebner Happenings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01812235506092595295</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-6460670819895726077</id><published>2010-02-15T20:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-15T20:53:55.486-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Toilet Apology  by Verda</title><content type='html'>If anyone read my dream about the toilet I believe my toilet took offense.&amp;nbsp; Sunday evening I flushed the toilet and it hints to me that it is bloated.&amp;nbsp; Yep, the water begins to rise and it overflows.&amp;nbsp; YUCKY!&amp;nbsp; On Valentine's Day no less.&amp;nbsp; So I go blame the guys for giving my toilet a tummy ache and I begin the clean up.&amp;nbsp; I'm sorry Mr. Toilet, I&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;promise not to blog about you again.&amp;nbsp; But on a good note, I didn't have a filthy toilet dream last night, I believe I'm making progress.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-6460670819895726077?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/6460670819895726077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=6460670819895726077&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6460670819895726077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6460670819895726077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/02/toilet-apology-by-verda.html' title='Toilet Apology  by Verda'/><author><name>Hebner Happenings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01812235506092595295</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-5405383120377169934</id><published>2010-02-15T20:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-15T20:47:31.344-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Organizing for my room and board  by Verda</title><content type='html'>Gary and I are in transition and need a place to stay for a week or so while we look for a place of our own.&amp;nbsp; Aunt Linda offers to let us stay with her.&amp;nbsp; She already has roommates,&amp;nbsp; two Hispanic women with three children and a older fellow who has some physical impairments.&amp;nbsp; She says she has a huge place but the kitchen is on a schedule for each meal.&amp;nbsp; We give her the cash and she keeps the fridge and cubbards stocked.&amp;nbsp; She shows us to our room which is an absolute mess and she tells me, Verda, you guys don't need to pay me to stay here, I want you to organize the whole house, it's in Chaos!&amp;nbsp; Okay, we get a good night rest, Gary takes&amp;nbsp;off early and I go to the kitchen to get a bite to eat, I forget about the schedule and the women and children are all together.&amp;nbsp; The women are busy chatting and the children are all in the sink taking a bath while they eat their breakfast.&amp;nbsp; I apologize for intruding, they don't even know I'm there, and I leave to survey the house.&amp;nbsp; Oh my goodness.&amp;nbsp; The whole place looks like it exploded.&amp;nbsp; Clothes, toys, bedding, personal items, antique furniture, pictures, frames scattered everywhere in every room.&amp;nbsp; I go to work sorting and come across lots of great things.&amp;nbsp; Among the regular dirty clothes I find some fabulas Vintage Dresses in excellent condition.&amp;nbsp; WOW!&amp;nbsp; these are cool.&amp;nbsp; I go from room to room organizing and continue to find cool things. Like some great old photos and frames.&amp;nbsp; It seems like as soon as I get one room completed another one appears like it's being hidden by a majical veil.&amp;nbsp; I put all the vintage items together so that they can be restored and used in the home for decor and Gary comes into the room. He brings with him two litttle dogs.&amp;nbsp; Only small in height, these doggies are fat..I don't know how there are walking around.&amp;nbsp;What are you doing with these dogs, I ask.&amp;nbsp; Well, Papa said to bring them to you.&amp;nbsp; WHY?&amp;nbsp; I don't know why, I'm just doing what I'm told.&amp;nbsp; Gary disappears and the dogs follow me everywhere.&amp;nbsp;They are actually kind of cute. &amp;nbsp;Next thing I know Angie and Julie are with me, I need a break and say to the girls, let's go outside and survey the yard work.&amp;nbsp; The back yard is one very large area with grass and two&amp;nbsp;sad little trees in the back corner.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;Nothing to do here I say to the girls, let's go out front.&amp;nbsp; The gravel driveway is a mess, there are piles of bricks strewn along the length of the yard, the flower bed s are all overgrown.&amp;nbsp; Look's like I'll be busy out here tomorrow, the girls disappear, literally, poof! their gone.&amp;nbsp; The old gentlemen room mate appears and he takes off with a friend, in a 1950's something&amp;nbsp;truck, totally restored, &amp;nbsp;really cool.&amp;nbsp; I admire the truck as it pulls out of the drive and go back into the house.&amp;nbsp;HALLEUJAH! A transformation has taken place.&amp;nbsp; All the photos are in the frames polished and repaired.&amp;nbsp; The beds are made with all the hand pieced quilts I found, the furniture is restored and in it's proper, useful place and the entire house is spotless.&amp;nbsp; I go into the Kitchen to begin preparing dinner and I wake up.&amp;nbsp; I sure got a lot of stuff done, never have I acheived so much in one day and it was nice to see Angie and Julie again, not sure about the dogs.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-5405383120377169934?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/5405383120377169934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=5405383120377169934&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5405383120377169934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5405383120377169934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/02/organizing-for-my-room-and-board-by.html' title='Organizing for my room and board  by Verda'/><author><name>Hebner Happenings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01812235506092595295</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-7451395350221688396</id><published>2010-02-12T12:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-12T12:53:39.297-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Traveling with Granny</title><content type='html'>The Hebner's and Granny are on vacation.&amp;nbsp; We are making our way home when Granny says shes tired of being in the car and wants to get a hotel room for the night.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; So we stop.&amp;nbsp; We have a good night's rest and when it's time for check-out we can't find Granny.&amp;nbsp; The kids go outside to look for her and they find her crossing the streeet.&amp;nbsp; She comes to the front desk and tells us that there is a lovely Zoo, an amusment park and a professional baseball stadium right across the street.&amp;nbsp; Theres&amp;nbsp;a game tonight she says with her eyes as big a saucers. Let stay and go to the game.&amp;nbsp; The game isn't til 6 p.m. we have to stay another night.&amp;nbsp; We all go to the game and half way through Granny gets tired and says shes going back to the&amp;nbsp; hotel and go to bed.&amp;nbsp; We finish watching the game and also return to the hotel.&amp;nbsp; Next morning we are checking out, and there is no Granny.&amp;nbsp; The kids find her walking up the sidewalk&amp;nbsp;waving at them with tickets in her hand to go to the Zoo.&amp;nbsp; I haven't been to the Zoo in forever, she tells us.&amp;nbsp; So we take our bags back to our room and the Zoo doesn't open til noon.&amp;nbsp; Granny wants to eat lunch at the Zoo.&amp;nbsp; We all go to the zoo and after walking all day, we are all exhausted and&amp;nbsp;find our way back to our hotel rooms and Granny goes to bed.&amp;nbsp; Next day we are checking out AGAIN and that's right you've guessed it, Granny is missing.&amp;nbsp; The kids go to look for her and now she has decided that she wants to go to the amusement park which doesn't open&amp;nbsp; til 2:00.&amp;nbsp; AGAIN, we take our bags back to our room.&amp;nbsp; As we are entering the gates of the amusment park, I wake up needing to go to the restroom and as I'm making my way back to my comfy bed, I am so glad I don't have to go back to the hotel for another night.&amp;nbsp; I wonder if Granny ever lets us leave that place.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-7451395350221688396?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/7451395350221688396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=7451395350221688396&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7451395350221688396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7451395350221688396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/02/traveling-with-granny.html' title='Traveling with Granny'/><author><name>Hebner Happenings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01812235506092595295</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-7109040781892783082</id><published>2010-02-12T12:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-12T12:36:46.818-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Toilet Hauntings  by Verda</title><content type='html'>The reason I share this dream with you today&amp;nbsp; is because it's one that reoccurs regularly, at least once a week I have this dream... The places and people are different each time, but the outcome is exactly the same.&lt;br /&gt;I am haunted by a toilet.&amp;nbsp; Last night I was in a resturant with my neices and Granny.&amp;nbsp; After eating such a large meal, I&amp;nbsp; excused myself and went looking for the Ladies Room.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Upon arriving, I see that&amp;nbsp;a line&amp;nbsp;is forming outside the Ladies Room.&amp;nbsp; I have to go bad, so I go looking for another restroom.&amp;nbsp; After weaving in and out of several hallways and rooms (this goes on for what seems like forever)&amp;nbsp;I finally find another restroom.. There are other people inside and all the stalls are taken.&amp;nbsp; I survey the room and see that there are several urinals lined up on the wall and between them is a toilet.&amp;nbsp; No stall, no door, just urinals and this one toilet, which i might add is absoluety filthy (GROSS)&amp;nbsp; I am now at the point where I am doing the potty dance and am desperate so I begin to consider&amp;nbsp; baring my bottom in front of all these people and if that is not embarrassing enough&amp;nbsp; trying to straddle this toilet.&amp;nbsp; I approach the toilet and lucky for me I WAKE UP!.. Yahoo!.&amp;nbsp; My bladder is screaming and I shuffle my way to the bathroom where I find a beautiful, clean,&amp;nbsp; toilet and all is well in the world.&amp;nbsp; The question I ask is, &lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt;"Why am I constantly being haunted by a filthy toilet?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-7109040781892783082?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/7109040781892783082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=7109040781892783082&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7109040781892783082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7109040781892783082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/02/toilet-hauntings-by-verda.html' title='The Toilet Hauntings  by Verda'/><author><name>Hebner Happenings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01812235506092595295</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-2154116447722814823</id><published>2010-02-11T14:16:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T14:18:24.906-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another strange dating dream...by Verda</title><content type='html'>I was introduced to a really nice guy.&amp;nbsp; He lived in the country, farming communtiy, he drove a great big 4-wheel drive truck.&amp;nbsp; He asked me out and when he picked me up he explained that he had forgotten about a family get-together that night and would if be okay if we went to his parents house for a pool party.&amp;nbsp; I was okay with that.&amp;nbsp; We drove way out in the country and came to a small farm and a darling little house.&amp;nbsp; Our conversation was fun and I enjoyed his company.&amp;nbsp; When we reached the home, all the family came out to greet us.&amp;nbsp; Really nice, warm happy people.&amp;nbsp; I was given a tour of the house and&amp;nbsp; out to the pool we all went for some water fun.&amp;nbsp; It wasn't long when my date (I have no idea what his name&amp;nbsp;was, we never shared that information, funny huh!) said it's time for us to go, are you ready to leave.&amp;nbsp; Okay, I said.&amp;nbsp; We took a another long drive through the country side, had a great conversation, laughing etc.&amp;nbsp; When we&amp;nbsp;came to&amp;nbsp;a small town, he stopped at a convenience store and bought us some kind of snack sandwiches that&amp;nbsp; came in a box which included dessert.&amp;nbsp; I thought they were yummy, how convenient something filling and something sweet in one box.&amp;nbsp; He thought it was wierd that I had never had one before.&amp;nbsp; Than we turned the corner and he said, You're going to like this...really, I&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;said, where are we?&amp;nbsp; You'll see.&amp;nbsp; We went into a&amp;nbsp; large building, when inside I was hit with the smell of incense burning, YUK! I thought why are we here.&amp;nbsp; Than a women dressed&amp;nbsp; like the women in India came to greet us, she was very familiar with my date, and she handed him a set of clothing and directed us to a room that had a rug covering the doorway.&amp;nbsp; She pulled the rug aside and gestered for my date to enter the room, she followed him and left me in the hallway.&amp;nbsp; I stood there for 15 minutes and decided to take a tour of the place.&amp;nbsp; I found all sorts of wierd things.&amp;nbsp; One room was filled with laughing children readying themself for a sleep over with pillows and blankets.&amp;nbsp; Another room had people waiting for a massages, than i came across a steam room.&amp;nbsp; No one seemed to be concerned that I was just walking around.&amp;nbsp; I never saw my date again. So I called a cab and went home....I wonder what that was all about!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-2154116447722814823?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/2154116447722814823/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=2154116447722814823&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2154116447722814823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2154116447722814823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/02/antoher-dating-dream.html' title='Another strange dating dream...by Verda'/><author><name>Hebner Happenings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01812235506092595295</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-4393069407092561760</id><published>2010-01-31T11:30:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-31T11:44:21.556-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Behind Enemy Lines</title><content type='html'>Disclaimer- This dream is long and boring, but it was really vivid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I was in the military and my plane got shot down behind enemy lines. I didn't have a weapon and the enemy was all around, so I just hid underneath a car, but eventually I was spotted.  I came out with my hands up as they surrounded me all speaking (I think) Urdu, or another mid-eastern language.  Seeing that they didn't speak English I spoke to them in Spanish and told them that I surrendered.  &lt;br /&gt;They all started laughing, and spoke back to me in Spanish and English.  "No way man, we're not gonna hurt you. Just come to church with us."  So I went into a large (I think) Catholic church, and we greeted the priest by bowing to him and then taking our seat. I sat by my new friends until they explained to me that in their culture it wasn't right- I needed to sit somewhere different. So I did and sat through a long sermon that I didn't understand.&lt;br /&gt;After church when we were all trying to leave I was asking them what country I was in- they kept telling me that I was in the Dominican Republic.  I didn't believe them at all because their Spanish was so poor and slow.  So I kept trying to ask other people.  Just then I saw some Mormon missionaries in the church and got all excited. I ran up to them and was like "Americans! You gotta help me!  I'b been shot down and I need to know what country I'm in!"  They just looked at me and then spoke to each other in the language that I didn't understand.  I finally communicated with them enough to establish that they weren't Americans.  &lt;br /&gt;Just then I saw a member of my current ward who is a Linguist (he speaks 7 or 8 languages) but he's very old and now speaks very very slowly, and he was talking to the priest in the other language.  So I ran up to him and he was all excited to see me (as he's the nicest old man I've ever met)  Bro....ther....... Call....!  Wh....at.... are... you........ do....ing... here...?  So I explained the whole story to him and was trying to ask him what country I was in, and he started to respond, but it was taking him a really long time to tell me because he has a hard time speaking.  Before he could get it out, the people who had brought me to church came and found me and were like "Come on, it's time to go."  &lt;br /&gt;So we got in their car and were going to the grocery store to get some food, and I was trying to get them to tell me where I was and they kept insisting that it was the Dominican Republic- &lt;br /&gt;And then Kaci came in and woke me up.  &lt;br /&gt;Like I said, not a real interesting dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-4393069407092561760?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/4393069407092561760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=4393069407092561760&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4393069407092561760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4393069407092561760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/01/behind-enemy-lines.html' title='Behind Enemy Lines'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-4272707610818864676</id><published>2010-01-30T07:33:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-30T07:46:07.091-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to Hawaii, again</title><content type='html'>Last night I was back in Hawaii hanging out with my old roommate, and a new friend that I made here in Virginia.  We were going to teach my new friend how to surf so we were getting our boards ready when I realized that both of my boards (Bonita and Talulah)  had cracks in them. &lt;br /&gt;Being resourceful I thought, "I know, I'll just wrap them up in plastic wrap!"  (I'm not sure why I never thought of that before).   As I was wrapping up my boards my buddy mentioned "You better hurry, I think the bus is coming."  I laughed and sarcastically commented "Yeah, every half an hour right"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.hawaiikaitownecenter.com/images/thebus.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 293px; height: 161px;" src="http://www.hawaiikaitownecenter.com/images/thebus.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just then the bus came by (which should have been a tip off to me that I was dreaming), and Liam and I jumped on, as soon as we got on the bus driver took off driving down the street leaving our third friend chasing after it (that's what made me think that it was real).  Two stops later our friend joined us, just in time to get off two stops later at Ali'i Beach Park.  It's kind of crazy to go surfing out there right now, the bus driver told us.  We told him not to worry, we do this all the time. &lt;br /&gt;So we get off the bus and everything is covered in snow!  I was like "This is so cool! I love the snow!  I can't believe you got more snow here than we do in Virginia!"  "Yeah, it's some sort of effect of global warming."&lt;br /&gt;Wierd.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-4272707610818864676?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/4272707610818864676/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=4272707610818864676&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4272707610818864676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4272707610818864676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/01/back-to-hawaii-again.html' title='Back to Hawaii, again'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-7934694172662067653</id><published>2010-01-28T10:55:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T11:02:37.368-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Internship in Utah?</title><content type='html'>Last night I inteviewed for an internship at my old Junior High school (Riverview)in Murray.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.murrayschools.org/wworks/images/schools/schools_riverview.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 187px;" src="http://www.murrayschools.org/wworks/images/schools/schools_riverview.gif" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of the interview they handed me a 3x5 card with a picture of the school telling me I got the job and that they were excited I was going to take it.&lt;br /&gt;I was like "Hold on a minute!  I'm actually moving to Alaska to work there."&lt;br /&gt;They just wouldn't believe me, and tried so hard to convince me to stay.  They were using arguments like "Just think about it, the salary is really great here, you already know the community, you're family is all here!"  &lt;br /&gt;I was already starting to get suspicious and then they finished with,&lt;br /&gt;"If you think about it, you could actually just live with your parents and save a lot of money!"&lt;br /&gt;That's when I asked, "Did my mom put you up to this?"&lt;br /&gt;Them, "Ummmmmm.... maybe?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-7934694172662067653?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/7934694172662067653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=7934694172662067653&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7934694172662067653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7934694172662067653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/01/internship-in-utah.html' title='Internship in Utah?'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-5369700782639461885</id><published>2010-01-25T20:21:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-25T21:53:14.600-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dance Party of the Century</title><content type='html'>So last night I was at some high school function and everyone was singing the school fight song, I was like "What's going on?" and someone told me that they were recording it.  Then they got done and the principal announced "And now it's time to party!"&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.istockphoto.com/file_thumbview_approve/619677/2/istockphoto_619677-disco-ball.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 380px; height: 380px;" src="http://www.istockphoto.com/file_thumbview_approve/619677/2/istockphoto_619677-disco-ball.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then this really cool beat came on, and I busted out this AMAZING RAP! Seriously, I know you guys think I can't rap, but this really was like the RAP OF ALL RAPS - it was legit (2legit maybe).  Even as I was doing it I thought "I can't believe I'm actually rapping like this... This is cool!"  Then everybody just started going crazy and dancing!  Man it was so fun.  People were going wild! That's when my buddy Bret&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/S15GTSvfuaI/AAAAAAAAAE0/O-af61Kh7wU/s1600-h/Christmas2+030.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/S15GTSvfuaI/AAAAAAAAAE0/O-af61Kh7wU/s320/Christmas2+030.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430855497917905314" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;(This is Bret) from high school got in the center of a circle, ripped off his shirt, and started dancing (Probably one of the coolest things I've ever dreamed!) I just remember being on this high, and laughing so hard, and dancing my little heart out.  Man, I wish you all could have really been there.  Especially you Bret.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. I thought I should clarify for those of you who don't know Bret.  He is by far the LAST person in the world who would do this (even less likely than my dad)  which is why I thought it was so great (Not because of his amazing 6'3" 125lb physique"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-5369700782639461885?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/5369700782639461885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=5369700782639461885&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5369700782639461885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5369700782639461885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/01/dance-party-of-century.html' title='Dance Party of the Century'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/S15GTSvfuaI/AAAAAAAAAE0/O-af61Kh7wU/s72-c/Christmas2+030.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-1326408712488869073</id><published>2010-01-14T08:36:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-14T08:51:22.278-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Paul McCartney Speaks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.oklahomafarmreport.com/wire/news/media/02588_paul-mccartney.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 335px;" src="http://www.oklahomafarmreport.com/wire/news/media/02588_paul-mccartney.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night it was my privilege to be in attendance at a private concert by Paul McCartney performed in my parents home.  The best song was one entitled "Electric Company", which Paul became very emotional when he sang it.  He told us that he had really hoped that Electric Company would become one of the classics like John's "Imagine" but that he really got hosed by the other Beatles.  He was mad because they put his song on a cd with Peter (Ringo's real, real name) on the cover of it. And that really just made it unpopular.    &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://blogs.theage.com.au/schembri/ringo1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 1100px;" src="http://blogs.theage.com.au/schembri/ringo1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The song is so special because (as he disclosed to us in my dream) Paul is diagnosed with high functioning autism, and the song really gave a picture of how he views the world.  I can't really remember the words from it, but the song sounded a lot like &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqMWS-wbuss"&gt;My own two hands&lt;/a&gt; by Ben Harper and Jack Johnson.  It was really quite a touching experience.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-1326408712488869073?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/1326408712488869073/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=1326408712488869073&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1326408712488869073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1326408712488869073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/01/paul-mccartney-speaks.html' title='Paul McCartney Speaks'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-8789778116056593328</id><published>2010-01-05T08:39:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-05T08:53:26.523-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Blindside- double dream</title><content type='html'>So last night there was a big Call family reunion and all of my uncles and cousins were all staying in the same house.  Consequently I had to share a bed with my brother.  Then I fell asleep and had the dream inside of a dream- which was: I was watching a high school football practice (in the 1970's- it was like I was in the movie Blindside (which I haven't seen))and a ball got kicked over to me. So I took it back and started talking with the football players.  They were cool, but they were like "You better get out of here before coach gets back- he's kind of rough."  And I could tell that they meant he was abusive.  So I was like "No way, I'm not afraid of your coach- I want to meet him."  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://cinematicallycorrect.files.wordpress.com/2009/11/the_blind_side_movie_poster-sandra_bullock.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 447px;" src="http://cinematicallycorrect.files.wordpress.com/2009/11/the_blind_side_movie_poster-sandra_bullock.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Just then a lady showed up and was like "Hey, what are you doing here?" I assumed this was the coach and got all crazy and started yelling at her "Are you the coach! Listen you little punk, I ain't afraid of you just cuz you're a woman! You better..." And she interrupted me "No, no, no, I'm just selling sodas. Would you like to buy a Sprite. Just 3 bucks."  I started laughing "Three bucks for a can of soda. Nobody is gonna pay that. Listen lady, you may not believe me, but I'm from the future, and even in the future nobody is gonna pay three bucks for a can of soda."  &lt;br /&gt;Just then the real coach showed up, saw me, grabbed a sharp object and came after me. So I knocked the object away, tackled the coach and wrestled him to the ground and started giving him a piece of my mind "Listen punk! If you want to coach another practice alive you better start treating these kids right- use discipline not threats and abuse! Teach them to play, not to cheat! Teach them....."----&lt;br /&gt;That's when I woke up from that dream and was back to the dream where I was sharing a bed with my brother.  And in that dream I've got my brother in a headlock and he's wiggling to try and get away and I'm yelling at him that he better shape up or he's out of here.  Then I realize that he's not the football coach, so I just let him go, and all my cousins who where in the room just busted up laughing.  "That was so funny! You just started attacking him in your sleep! hahahaha!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was pretty funny.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-8789778116056593328?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/8789778116056593328/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=8789778116056593328&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8789778116056593328'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8789778116056593328'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2010/01/blindside-double-dream.html' title='Blindside- double dream'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-5247635064204020483</id><published>2009-12-23T16:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-23T16:29:40.629-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Missionary Bar</title><content type='html'>So last night in my dream I went to the missionary bar.  You may ask, what is that? Well, it's a place where members of the lds church can invite their friends to kick-back, relax, have a drink, and learn about about the mormon church.  It's open for everyone and drinks are free.  For those who come without friends, there are always members there who will be your friend and strike up a conversation about the church.  The idea is that once people learn about the basic doctrines of the church, and believe in them, then they'll willingly give up drinking on their own, and then volunteer at the bar.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.topnews.in/health/files/beer4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 402px;" src="http://www.topnews.in/health/files/beer4.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, I think it might be more effective than door to door tracting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-5247635064204020483?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/5247635064204020483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=5247635064204020483&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5247635064204020483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5247635064204020483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/12/missionary-bar.html' title='The Missionary Bar'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-5585587858593553291</id><published>2009-12-13T08:13:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-13T08:18:17.539-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hayley getting married</title><content type='html'>Last night I dreamed that my little sister Hayley came back from her mission and was getting married.  The only problem was that she wouldn't tell us who she was going to marry.  The reason she wouldn't tell us who she was going to marry was that she thought I would go beat the guy up.  This made me suspicious.  "Why would I beat him up Hayley?"  her "I don't know, you just might"  So that got me to thinking- there's something wierd going on here- If Hayley thinks he deserves to get beat up, then I better find this guy and beat him up.  So I hid out in the bushes to wait for them to get home- then I popped out and started getting into it with this guy- interrogating him to find out why I need to beat him up.  &lt;br /&gt;It was a great start to a relationship with my new future brother-in-law.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-5585587858593553291?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/5585587858593553291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=5585587858593553291&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5585587858593553291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5585587858593553291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/12/hayley-getting-married.html' title='Hayley getting married'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-4110651006900199898</id><published>2009-11-28T11:01:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-28T11:11:32.273-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mormon Airplane Factory</title><content type='html'>Last Night I was exploring and I ended up finding an Airplane Factory in the town next to the one I live in.  When I went inside I found that the people working there were Mormon Missionaries and there was an LDS Bookstore where you buy tickets- or you could get a free ticket if you listened to a short presentation that the missionaries gave.  Man, people were lining up to hear the missionaries!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-4110651006900199898?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/4110651006900199898/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=4110651006900199898&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4110651006900199898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4110651006900199898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/mormon-airplane-factory.html' title='Mormon Airplane Factory'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-4050726278590787370</id><published>2009-11-22T08:16:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-22T08:20:36.030-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Kaci's Dream</title><content type='html'>Hey Kaci, what did you dream last night?&lt;br /&gt;Kaci: "Play friends! Play John and Laura.  Eat Ice-cream! Laura eat ice-cream. John eat ice-cream too! Make pancakes!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.taste.com.au/images/recipes/agt/2006/05/3549.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 364px; height: 242px;" src="http://www.taste.com.au/images/recipes/agt/2006/05/3549.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sounds like a great dream!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-4050726278590787370?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/4050726278590787370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=4050726278590787370&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4050726278590787370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4050726278590787370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/kacis-dream.html' title='Kaci&apos;s Dream'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-5099513339265254905</id><published>2009-11-21T08:31:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T08:40:00.469-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Going up to the Parade</title><content type='html'>So last night I dreamed that we were going up to the Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York.  To make the trip easier we had rented a U-Haul and I was sleeping in the back while Kerri drove.  I woke up and she had parked and gone looking for some food.  I got out and found that we were in a real scary area.  So I just started talking to people and I was like "What city am I in?" They told me "This is Chicago man!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://blog.lib.umn.edu/schne644/architecture/htdocs/blog/schne644/architecture/Chicago%20Skyline.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 495px; height: 340px;" src="http://blog.lib.umn.edu/schne644/architecture/htdocs/blog/schne644/architecture/Chicago%20Skyline.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was like Oh, cool, I've never been here.  Then I saw an ice-cream shop and I bought everyone ice-cream cones and sat around and talked with them while I waited for Kerri to get back.  When Kerri got back and it was time for us to go, one of the guys was like, "You're all right man.  I can tell you're a good person, so I'm gonna do something for you. Here. I'm gonna give you your wallet back."  And handed it to me.  I was like "What!?" and he told me "You're nice. But don't trust anybody."  And then he walked off.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-5099513339265254905?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/5099513339265254905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=5099513339265254905&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5099513339265254905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5099513339265254905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/going-up-to-parade.html' title='Going up to the Parade'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-3631335739870156163</id><published>2009-11-19T08:12:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T08:17:04.438-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Professional Church Ball</title><content type='html'>So last night, the Harrisonburg 2nd Ward was playing a basketball game against the New York Knicks.  I just went to watch, but was finally persuaded to enter the game and teach a thing or two to the Knicks.  "I'm not very good" I told them, but then  I got out there and right off the bat I blocked a guys shot.  Then I ran down the court, they passed it to me and I made a shot. &lt;a href="http://images.fanpop.com/images/image_uploads/1998-New-York-Knicks-new-york-knicks-37353_1024_768.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 1024px; height: 768px;" src="http://images.fanpop.com/images/image_uploads/1998-New-York-Knicks-new-york-knicks-37353_1024_768.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The same scenario was repeated about 5 times and I was totally the all-star!  I sat there trying to figure out how I could be so good when playing against professionals -- and then came to the logical conclusion that my whole life I just haven't been playing against people who were good enough for me to show my true talent. It's probably true&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-3631335739870156163?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/3631335739870156163/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=3631335739870156163&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3631335739870156163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3631335739870156163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/professional-church-ball.html' title='Professional Church Ball'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-500155636125829464</id><published>2009-11-18T11:05:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-18T11:18:02.271-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Roller coasters and the Prophet by Hebbie</title><content type='html'>We are all standing in front of a amusement park and we see a man dressed in a dark blue suite, white shirt and tie.&amp;nbsp; Garrett yells out, Hey, that's Thomas S. Monson.&amp;nbsp; We all laugh and Garretts runs over to him...in my dream the kids are all little.&amp;nbsp; He says to the Prophet, hey, aren't you Thomas S. Monson?&amp;nbsp; And the prophet says, why yes!&amp;nbsp; And who are you little fellow?&amp;nbsp; Garrettt tells him who he is and we are all standing behind them with our mouths hanging open with amazement.&amp;nbsp; Garrett:&amp;nbsp; Why are you standing out here all by yourself?&amp;nbsp; TSM:&amp;nbsp; I'm waiting for someone to pick me up.&amp;nbsp; Garrett:&amp;nbsp; Do you want to ride the rides with us?&amp;nbsp; TSM:&amp;nbsp; Yes, I think I would like that.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; So we all go into the park together The Prophet in tow and we spend the day at the amusement park.&amp;nbsp; A family of 6 in matching t-shirts and jeans and Thomas S. Monson in his dark blue suite.&amp;nbsp; We all run from ride to ride, slam down lunch and ride til the park closes.&amp;nbsp; The prophet thanks Garrett for all the fun and disappears....we all stand there with out mouths hanging open in amazement&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-500155636125829464?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/500155636125829464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=500155636125829464&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/500155636125829464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/500155636125829464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/roller-coasters-and-prophet.html' title='Roller coasters and the Prophet by Hebbie'/><author><name>Hebner Happenings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01812235506092595295</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-5985698028484741273</id><published>2009-11-17T08:07:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T08:20:05.935-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Where have the cowboys gone?</title><content type='html'>So in real life at our local Wal-mart there is this awesome looking cowboy who scares the bejeebeez out of me. He's got one of the coolest handlebar mustaches I've ever seen, and of course he also has his cowboy hat and a bandana tied around his neck. He has his cowboy boots (with spurs), cowboy pants (with belt buckle), flannel shirt, all covered by a long black leather trench coat.   It's a pretty sweet get-up, but not as sweet as his car.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.cinemablend.com/images/sections/16057/16057.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 228px; height: 228px;" src="http://www.cinemablend.com/images/sections/16057/16057.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His car is a yellow Geo Tracker, fully loaded with gun holsters on the side, stirrups, a lasso rope, horns on the front, and a bumper sticker that says "save a horse and gas...drive a geo!"  I'm not making this up.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So in my dream last night, I was hanging out with the young men and we were at a restaurant/bar and this cowboy came up to us and asked us what we were doing.  We told him that we were a youth group from a church and he responded (with a really great drawl),&lt;br /&gt;"Well, we don't like you here. I reckon you better leave before there's trouble."  &lt;br /&gt;We gave it right back to him "You know, we're not to fond of you either. But we're staying right here."  &lt;br /&gt;Just then he lunched at someone in our group and another guy came after me. I didn't want to hurt him so I just put him in a wrestling hold so he couldn't get away (standing up).  Just then a guy who had seen what happened and wasn't happy about it came up and headbutted the guy I was holding right in the face!  BAM!  Then he did it again and then guy went unconscious.  &lt;br /&gt;That's right. Don't mess with the Harrisonburg 2nd Ward.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-5985698028484741273?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/5985698028484741273/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=5985698028484741273&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5985698028484741273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5985698028484741273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/where-have-cowboys-gone.html' title='Where have the cowboys gone?'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-2392404533118909328</id><published>2009-11-12T08:31:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T08:40:35.525-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Moving to New Zealand</title><content type='html'>So last night I was in Hawaii and Kerri and I were moving from there to New Zealand.  So were a couple of our friends from Hawaii, but it was even harder for them because they were moving the same day that they were having a baby!  &lt;br /&gt;I called to tell them goodbye, and while we were talking my buddy was like "Hold on a second, I need to catch the baby.  Woooaaahhhh!  There he is! It's a boy!- Hey can I call you back in a few minutes?"  I was like, "Sure thing man."  &lt;br /&gt;So then I just needed to take my car to the shipping dock so it could get shipped off- when I went to get my car there was this big guy working on it.  I was like "Hey, what are you doing to my car?!"  He just smiled at me... and then threw a wrench at my head!&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://johnmarden.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/pipe-wrench-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://johnmarden.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/pipe-wrench-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; A dodged it barely, but could hear the whhooosh! &lt;br /&gt;So I ran inside to call the cops... but Kerri was already using the phone.  She was calling New Zealand to try and pre-order some candy that she really liked.  And she would not get off the phone, she even scolded me for interrupting her "important phone call".  I was like- There's a guy outside who tried to kill me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-2392404533118909328?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/2392404533118909328/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=2392404533118909328&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2392404533118909328'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2392404533118909328'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/moving-to-new-zealand.html' title='Moving to New Zealand'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-359176144425985701</id><published>2009-11-10T22:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T22:32:19.837-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dating Game  by Hebbie</title><content type='html'>I was participating in some kind of dating program.&amp;nbsp; It was similar to the t.v. show the Bachlorette.&amp;nbsp; I dated several different guys; all shapes and&amp;nbsp; sizes.&amp;nbsp; Mostly really hunky, hot guys.&amp;nbsp; But there was one that was tall, skinny and really rather dorky.&amp;nbsp; He always wore a shirt and tie, had dark hair parted and combed to the side.&amp;nbsp; He didn't really talk much, but was up for doing anything I wanted.&amp;nbsp; I went out with all the other guys and had a blast, but when it came to the goodbye kiss...oooh! YUCKY.&amp;nbsp; The only one I liked kissing was the tall dork.&amp;nbsp; I would go out with all the other guys over and over again, but the kissing was so bad.&amp;nbsp; The only guy I really wanted to spend time with was the tall dork just because I really liked the way he kissed.&amp;nbsp; I had to go potty but I didn't want to get up until I finished the dream...&amp;nbsp; Couldn't do it, had to go relieve myself and I never did find out how things ended.&amp;nbsp; Funny, I don't even know who the dorky guy is.&amp;nbsp; Usually you dream about people you know really well, I had never seen this guy before in my life.&amp;nbsp; TOO FUNNY!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-359176144425985701?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/359176144425985701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=359176144425985701&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/359176144425985701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/359176144425985701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/dating-game-by-hebbie.html' title='The Dating Game  by Hebbie'/><author><name>Hebner Happenings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01812235506092595295</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-7496729509698482888</id><published>2009-11-09T07:17:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T07:23:20.197-05:00</updated><title type='text'>They're Here</title><content type='html'>So last night I dreamed that a very large space ship arrived at earth (much like in Independence Day), so instinctively everyone gathered together at the temples.  I was on my way when I met this really goofball guy who wanted to come with me.  So I let him.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/SvgJmbXeEsI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/KdC-YcESifM/s1600-h/IndependenceDayMovieLow.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 252px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/SvgJmbXeEsI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/KdC-YcESifM/s320/IndependenceDayMovieLow.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402078308816786114" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then when I got to the temple they were having a big youth activity where they were giving away these really nice MP3 players to everyone.  I went in to the cultural hall and they were having a big dance, so I hopped in and taught them some dance moves and everyone was real impressed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-7496729509698482888?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/7496729509698482888/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=7496729509698482888&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7496729509698482888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7496729509698482888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/theyre-here.html' title='They&apos;re Here'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/SvgJmbXeEsI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/KdC-YcESifM/s72-c/IndependenceDayMovieLow.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-4631712811430706766</id><published>2009-11-08T09:22:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T09:27:40.445-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mac vs PC</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.copystars.com/images_products/apple_macbook_s20001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 720px; height: 540px;" src="http://www.copystars.com/images_products/apple_macbook_s20001.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The debate rages on, even in dreamland.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night we decided to buy a Mac so that Kerri and I could each have a computer to work on.  The mac was pretty cool, the screen was double sided, so that I could sit opposite of Kerri and see what she was looking at.  Unfortunately the mac couldn't open word documents of anything before 2007, and it didn't get wireless.  What a piece of junk!  So we tried to return it and get another one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://blogs.pcworld.com/staffblog/archives/Dell%20Tablet%20PC%20open-straight.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 304px;" src="http://blogs.pcworld.com/staffblog/archives/Dell%20Tablet%20PC%20open-straight.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess PCs really are better.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-4631712811430706766?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/4631712811430706766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=4631712811430706766&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4631712811430706766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4631712811430706766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/mac-vs-pc.html' title='Mac vs PC'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-4265223045948714113</id><published>2009-11-07T08:29:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T08:38:40.873-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Kerri's dream</title><content type='html'>Brad is at a camp-out. I had the craziest dream last night, so in place of Brad's crazy dream, you get mine.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dreamed that I was pregnant and that I went into labor.  I was laying on our couch and Brad getting out of the shower when I yelled that I was in labor.  He started running around trying to get ready to go.  Then I yelled, TOO LATE.  Catch the baby!  Just then a pushed out a baby.  Brad got there just in time to catch it.  Then I three more babies came out.  That's right FOUR babies, Brad caught them all!  We were so shocked we both started laughing hysterically and I said, this is too crazy to be real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was pregnant again!  This time when I gave birth (same scenario) the baby just popped out of my belly button.  We laughed again and I said, this is too crazy to be real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was pregnant again! This time the baby was kicking around so much that at one point we could see its whole foot, toes and all.  Brad came over when I told him what was happening and started tickling the foot.  Then the scenario repeated and I gave birth and everything was normal this time (well as normal as giving birth on our couch could be).  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I laid there snuggling my new baby, I woke up to Kaci snuggling up to me in bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-4265223045948714113?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/4265223045948714113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=4265223045948714113&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4265223045948714113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4265223045948714113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/kerris-dream.html' title='Kerri&apos;s dream'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-171086518918208040</id><published>2009-11-06T10:17:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T10:22:30.145-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to Hawaii, again</title><content type='html'>So last night we were back in Hawaii again. It was pretty great.  We were hanging out at the BYU-H library for some reason when Kaci started asking for some juice.  We didn't have any, but I volunteered to run back to TVA and get some.  So I just took off running at a sprint, and decided to cut through the Aloha Center (even though that would be the long way) then I grabbed some juice and ran back.  Well this time in the Aloha Center there was a lady pushing a big shopping cart that just kept getting in my way.  Everytime I tried to go around her she would turn and cut me off.  So I finally just jumped over some couches to get around her and then she scolded me "Well, that was rude young man."  And I just gave it right back to her "You want to talk about rude? Lets talk about pushing a shopping cart 1/2 a mile an hour and cutting me off any time I try to get by!"  Then I just decided to forget about her and I took off running again and found Kerri and Kaci.  &lt;br /&gt;The End. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://z.hubpages.com/u/228259_f496.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 496px; height: 372px;" src="http://z.hubpages.com/u/228259_f496.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-171086518918208040?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/171086518918208040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=171086518918208040&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/171086518918208040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/171086518918208040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/back-to-hawaii-again.html' title='Back to Hawaii, again'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-5071138931028847380</id><published>2009-11-01T06:57:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-01T07:51:59.797-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Bishopric of Narnia/Australia</title><content type='html'>So last night in my dream I thought I was visiting Australia, but really I ended up in Narnia (which I found out is just South of Australia).  I went to church there and started to laugh so hard when they announced the names of the Bishopric.  There was Bishop Spaghetti, 1st counselor Brother Sauce, and 2nd counselor Brother Breadsticks.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mcchordafb.us/images/strikezone/food_images/spaghetti_meatballs.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="http://www.mcchordafb.us/images/strikezone/food_images/spaghetti_meatballs.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  I laughed so hard!&lt;br /&gt;Then I went outside and there was this guy who kept shooting his cap gun over and over.  He offered to sell it to me for $100 but I told him no, cuz I already had one of my own. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img352.imageshack.us/img352/5818/schylcgjb8.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 360px; height: 308px;" src="http://img352.imageshack.us/img352/5818/schylcgjb8.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; That's when he pulled me aside and was like "No way! Do you know the power of that in Narnia?"  I said that I didn't, so he showed me.  "In Narnia the caps are magic- watch this! If you light them on fire and then hold them close to a rock, then the rock will show you the future."  "No way!"  "Yes way" he told me, "And then comes the coolest part- if you sprinkle the dust from the ashes on you, then you become INVISIBLE!"  And then he did it and disappeared! It was crazy!&lt;br /&gt;Just then the invisible dust came in handy- because according to the law I was required to go see a movie, but I really wanted to go play rollerhockey instead.  So I bought my ticket and went to the movie, then when no one was looking I sprinkled the invisible dust and snuck out so I could go play rollerhockey.  It was great!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-5071138931028847380?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/5071138931028847380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=5071138931028847380&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5071138931028847380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5071138931028847380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/bishopric-of-narniaaustralia.html' title='The Bishopric of Narnia/Australia'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-8448076724155703619</id><published>2009-11-01T06:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-01T06:57:19.388-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ian, did you have a crazy dream?</title><content type='html'>Last night I dreamed about blogging my dreams.  I was at my computer when one of my friends that I've known since I was 5 years old (Ian) kicked me off the computer and was like- "You think that's something? You should check out the dream that I had! I've already put it on my blog."  So I was like, "Sweet, lets check it out and I'll add it to my blog."  So I woke up this morning- but he really didn't post a cool dream to his blog.  So Ian, if you're reading this, please do post your cool dream- or email it to me (or maybe I ought to give you a phone call).  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://blogs.denverpost.com/avs/wp-content/photos/blogger.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 396px; height: 304px;" src="http://blogs.denverpost.com/avs/wp-content/photos/blogger.png" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-8448076724155703619?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/8448076724155703619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=8448076724155703619&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8448076724155703619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8448076724155703619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/11/ian-did-you-have-crazy-dream.html' title='Ian, did you have a crazy dream?'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-6033471226672604458</id><published>2009-10-30T10:10:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-30T10:13:28.947-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Coincidence?</title><content type='html'>I just noticed that as of today this blog as received 400 views-  which is cool all by itself.  &lt;br /&gt;Then add that to the fact that on my way to school the Odometer on my bike passed the  400 mile mark (since I got it (the odometer not the bike) in July).  &lt;br /&gt;Add that to the fact that it's Halloween weekend, and what do you get?&lt;br /&gt;SpoooOOOoooOOOoookyyyyyyyyyy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-6033471226672604458?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/6033471226672604458/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=6033471226672604458&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6033471226672604458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6033471226672604458'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/coincidence.html' title='Coincidence?'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-3248644393643564084</id><published>2009-10-30T10:02:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-30T10:09:35.247-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Restoration, The beach, and a meeting</title><content type='html'>Last night I dreamed that I was in class and my professor asked the question, "Can anybody explain what happened to the church that Christ formed, and why there are so many churches on the earth today?"  &lt;br /&gt;And I was all over it- I explained everything in detail down to Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon.  It was pretty sweet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I dreamed that I was playing on the beach in Hawaii- it was awesome!  The weather was so warm and the water felt just right.  I just kept getting out and then running and diving into the ocean.  I asked Kerri when we had to go back and she said that she had booked our plane tickets for the next week.  I was like "Oh wow, that means I'll have to miss a whole week of school. --- Oh well!  Whatcha gonna do?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.math.hawaii.edu/~mchyba/images/hawaii/hawaii.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 300px;" src="http://www.math.hawaii.edu/~mchyba/images/hawaii/hawaii.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I dreamed that I showed up at a basketball game and my friends from high school were there as well as my parents.  My friends were like "Hey, how come you missed the Priesthood meeting that was at 5:30 this morning?" I responded, "I don't know. I wish I had a member of the Stake Presidency that would have woke me up."  My dad chimed in, "I was going to, but I saw a car outside of our house at that time and I thought it was your friends coming to get you, so I just let you sleep."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone who can find the connection between all of these gets a prize.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-3248644393643564084?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/3248644393643564084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=3248644393643564084&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3248644393643564084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3248644393643564084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/restoration-beach-and-meeting.html' title='The Restoration, The beach, and a meeting'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-3283933586759787052</id><published>2009-10-29T08:12:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-29T08:13:37.802-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Train Ride to New York</title><content type='html'>Last night I dreamed that we decided to take the train to New York.  It was pretty cool, until I had to drive the train to get us there and I wasn't sure which way to go.   But we made it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-3283933586759787052?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/3283933586759787052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=3283933586759787052&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3283933586759787052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3283933586759787052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/train-ride-to-new-york.html' title='Train Ride to New York'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-8721606101541979103</id><published>2009-10-28T15:31:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T15:37:27.733-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Waking Up</title><content type='html'>So today I woke up and got ready for school, only to wake up and find out that it was all a dream.  That always blows my mind.&lt;br /&gt;Then I woke up for a third time to find out it still was all a dream. Yikes!&lt;br /&gt;Then Kaci came and jumped on me and the last 3 were a dream- this time I got up and went to school, when out of the blue Kerri wakes me up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Forget about it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/eZbtAFq7dP8&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/eZbtAFq7dP8&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-8721606101541979103?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/8721606101541979103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=8721606101541979103&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8721606101541979103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8721606101541979103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/waking-up.html' title='Waking Up'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-5307907886693548295</id><published>2009-10-27T08:01:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-27T08:05:35.456-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ice-Scuttle</title><content type='html'>Last night I dreamed that I moved to Alaska and for fun we went ice-scuttling.  Ice-scuttling in my dream is when you find a lake/ocean that has frozen over and then make a hole in it,  then you hop in a scuttle (which is kind of like a metal saucer) and float around in it and break up all the ice.  It's pretty exciting, you just don't want to fall out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://cdn-write.demandstudios.com/upload//8000/200/00/1/58201.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 2560px; height: 1920px;" src="http://cdn-write.demandstudios.com/upload//8000/200/00/1/58201.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-5307907886693548295?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/5307907886693548295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=5307907886693548295&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5307907886693548295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5307907886693548295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/ice-scuttle.html' title='Ice-Scuttle'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-7375877863543202939</id><published>2009-10-21T13:21:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-21T13:23:43.672-04:00</updated><title type='text'>At least it's reciprocal</title><content type='html'>Well, with all my dreaming about school at whatnot, it's only fair that I show up in my professor's dreams once in a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So one of my professors told me that he dreamed he was on a train with Kaci, and they were traveling to visit me...in prison...in Switzerland.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It could happen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-7375877863543202939?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/7375877863543202939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=7375877863543202939&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7375877863543202939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7375877863543202939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/at-least-its-reciprocal.html' title='At least it&apos;s reciprocal'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-673561227829562126</id><published>2009-10-20T08:12:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T08:21:12.806-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Too much studying</title><content type='html'>So last night my dad sat me down and had a serious talk.  &lt;br /&gt;"Well son,  you know that you were born a month early, and had a very low birth weight, and I don't think we've ever told you the risk factors involved with being born pre-maturely with a low birth weight."  &lt;br /&gt;(He then whipped out a slide show that matched almost exactly the slide show about the risks of low birth weight that we went over in my neuropsych class)&lt;br /&gt;"Well of course there's trouble breathing because the lungs aren't fully developed.  But there can also be problems with absorbing nutrition because the gut isn't fully developed either, a lot of people don't know that son.  &lt;br /&gt;There is also increased risk of having a learning disability...."  And then he went on to discuss the other risks as well.  &lt;br /&gt;I was like "Thanks dad, but I'm already grown up,  I think that I'm past most of that already."  He responded "You never know son, there's always risk."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yikes,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I had another one where I was visiting this old man, and he told me like 20 times that he wished someone would help him clean up his yard and mow it.  So I helped him do it.  (Hopefully I get rewarded with a really great dream tonight)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-673561227829562126?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/673561227829562126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=673561227829562126&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/673561227829562126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/673561227829562126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/too-much-studying.html' title='Too much studying'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-1142409909403634545</id><published>2009-10-18T08:28:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T08:46:18.369-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tough to know if you're dreaming</title><content type='html'>So last night a new professor started teaching in my program, and he was super mean.  He was always yelling at us and calling us dumb.  During one project he began yelling at one of my classmates, and the professor got so mad that he started punching my classmate in the face. I decided, "That's it!"  So I ran over and tackled the mean dude, fired him, and told him if he ever did anything mean again that I would sue the pants off of him.  &lt;br /&gt;Afterwards, more crazy stuff happened, and I started to get the feeling that I was dreaming.  I ran into a guy from my church that I trust and I asked him, &lt;br /&gt;"Is this real, or is this a dream, cuz I feel like it's a dream."  &lt;br /&gt;He responded, "Of course this is real, we're here aren't we."  &lt;br /&gt;Me: "Hmmm... I don't believe you.  I know. Let's bet on it!"&lt;br /&gt;Him: "Okay, if this is real, then you have to organize a big group and come do a five hour service project at my house."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "And if it is a dream...?"&lt;br /&gt;Him:  "Then I'll make you some FLUVANNA FLIE"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "What's fluvanna flie?"&lt;br /&gt;Him: "Well, it's kind of like... Thai Food. Yeah. It's really Spicy.  I'll show you."&lt;br /&gt;Just then I see another guy from my church and ask him,  "Is this really real, or am I dreaming?"  &lt;br /&gt;Him: "Well, I agree with that guy. He wouldn't bet Fluvanna Flie unless he was confident."  &lt;br /&gt;Then in my struggle to figure out if I was dreaming, I woke myself up.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now my question is:  How should I go about telling that guy from church that he owes me some Fluvanna Flie?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-1142409909403634545?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/1142409909403634545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=1142409909403634545&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1142409909403634545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1142409909403634545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/tough-to-know-if-youre-dreaming.html' title='Tough to know if you&apos;re dreaming'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-5292455781124178620</id><published>2009-10-17T11:17:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-17T11:22:52.978-04:00</updated><title type='text'>UREC</title><content type='html'>Last night (dreaming) I went to the University Rec Center (UREC) because I wanted to sit in the hottub.  When I got there they asked for my student ID # (which I recently memorized).  So I began to rattle it off 109539274, and they're like did you say 105974263, so I'm like No! I said 190572349, wait, wait, wait 10957349, I mean, and they were saying a whole bunch of numbers at the same time.  So after like 10 minutes I just pull out my ID card and am like "Hey, I've got it right here, let's just look at it."  But we still couldn't get the numbers straight, so finally they just let me in,  but then I woke up before I could get to the hot tub. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.spashottub.com/photos/hot_tub.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 448px; height: 336px;" src="http://www.spashottub.com/photos/hot_tub.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-5292455781124178620?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/5292455781124178620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=5292455781124178620&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5292455781124178620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5292455781124178620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/urec.html' title='UREC'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-8690392991459663653</id><published>2009-10-16T13:43:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T13:51:14.145-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I remembered it</title><content type='html'>Upon seeing a Hershey's chocolate bar, I suddenly remembered my dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me, my wife, my mother-in-law, and my sister-in-law, were  driving in the car to go...somewhere.  My sister in law who is planning a wedding says, "For our Honeymoon we want to go to Hershey Pennsylvania and go on the little tour they have."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I chimed in that "You don't want to do that.  The tour is lame, definitely not what you want to do" (I really don't think that Hershey world is that bad, I think I just had a migraine the night before I went there in real life and was miserable the day I visited it)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's when my mother in law decided. "Well lets just go there right now and see." &lt;br /&gt;So we drive there, down chocolate avenue&lt;a href="http://www.ronsaari.com/stockImages/roadsideAttractions/HerseysKissStreetlamps.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 455px; height: 600px;" src="http://www.ronsaari.com/stockImages/roadsideAttractions/HerseysKissStreetlamps.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; and get to Hershey World &lt;a href="http://www.city-data.com/forum/members/shadowcaver-98182-albums-some-random-photos-pic3448-sweetness-hershey-pa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 1600px; height: 1200px;" src="http://www.city-data.com/forum/members/shadowcaver-98182-albums-some-random-photos-pic3448-sweetness-hershey-pa.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;and stuff our faces with chocolate.  &lt;br /&gt;My sister in law exclaims "Are you kidding me? This is totally where I want to go on my honeymoon!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-8690392991459663653?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/8690392991459663653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=8690392991459663653&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8690392991459663653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8690392991459663653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-remembered-it.html' title='I remembered it'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-7824614716465069613</id><published>2009-10-16T12:26:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T12:27:59.377-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The trouble with dreams</title><content type='html'>You know what the trouble with dreams is?  &lt;br /&gt;If you don't tell someone right away, or write them down, then you forget them- and they're gone. (That's what happened last night- and it was a good one too!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a waste of sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-7824614716465069613?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/7824614716465069613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=7824614716465069613&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7824614716465069613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7824614716465069613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/trouble-with-dreams.html' title='The trouble with dreams'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-3472570932695534174</id><published>2009-10-15T08:36:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T08:46:35.254-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Church in my house</title><content type='html'>Last night I dreamed that the chapel was connected to my house and I remember thinking how convenient that was that I didn't even have to travel anywhere to get to church.  There were also a lot of interesting people there too.  My Stake President from when I was in High School was speaking, and a family from my mission was in attendance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.pluralism.org/research/profiles/images/72219/LDS3.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://www.pluralism.org/research/profiles/images/72219/LDS3.JPG" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the middle of the meeting though, I remembered that I needed to test a child for special education eligibility (which I really am going to do in about an hour), so I snuck out of the meeting and was getting the testing room all set up.  But people from my ward kept following me and talking to me.  What was really funny was that one of the really conservative ladies in my ward followed me into the testing room and was just like "I couldn't stay awake at all- church is so boring sometimes!" And as I looked at her, I noticed that she had gotten a bunch of new tattoos all over her arms and neck from the Tattoo parlor that is conveniently located right next to our church (in real life).  &lt;br /&gt;The good part of my dream was that I kept looking for my stopwatch because I needed it for testing, which reminded me that in real life I needed to find my stopwatch and take it with me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-3472570932695534174?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/3472570932695534174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=3472570932695534174&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3472570932695534174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3472570932695534174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/church-in-my-house.html' title='Church in my house'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-5986765510365200428</id><published>2009-10-14T08:27:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-14T08:41:59.534-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Snowstorms in Hawaii</title><content type='html'>After 3 weeks of posting my dreams and not telling them to Kerri, she consented to listen again, so for the past two days I told her my dreams instead of posting them (which is so much more satisfying).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But last night I had a great dream.  Kerri and I had moved back into the good old TVA apartments at BYU-Hawaii.  It was wonderful, it even still had the cinder block walls and that great mildewey smell that I consider to be the trademark of TVA.  I totally thought that my dream was real.  We even went to bed at night and Kaci woke up and tried to escape.  As I was putting her back in bed, I looked out the window to find that all the palm trees and crabgrass was covered in an inch of white snow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.redtag.ca/travel-articles/content_images/testpicture/PalmTrees%20snow.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 339px;" src="http://www.redtag.ca/travel-articles/content_images/testpicture/PalmTrees%20snow.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I couldn't believe it.  I told Kerri, "It's a good thing we moved here instead of just visiting or I would be very disappointed."  The next morning even though it was cold, we still grabbed our surfboards and headed out to go surfing (at pounder's beach- I'm not sure why we'd pick Pounders- that kind of tipped me off that I was dreaming).&lt;br /&gt;After going surfing I remembered that I had to go to the dentists office.  However when I arrived I couldn't find a parking spot, so I just parked my car in the lane and got out to look for a good spot.  I was walking around and I saw a 7 foot tall dog eyeing me down.  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/dog-9.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 336px;" src="http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/dog-9.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I started to run, but the owner of the dog (a five year old) chased me down to tell me that he was very nice, but that he wasn't a dog at all. He was a certain variation of elephant, but that he didn't give people rides- he's not that kind of elephant.  Luckily I woke up before making it to see the dentist.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-5986765510365200428?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/5986765510365200428/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=5986765510365200428&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5986765510365200428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5986765510365200428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/snowstorms-in-hawaii.html' title='Snowstorms in Hawaii'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-6800675163101674544</id><published>2009-10-11T10:10:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-11T10:16:59.544-04:00</updated><title type='text'>FootballBaseball</title><content type='html'>Last night I ended playing a game of football, but instead of having to run or throw the ball like in normal football, you could opt to hit the ball with a baseball bat if you wanted.  The other team would pitch it to you and you'd hit it and then wherever they tagged you, that's where you were "down" and started a new play (regular football, or softball style).  But if you struck out when they were pitching it to you, then it was a turnover.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/StHooJ52x2I/AAAAAAAAAEI/Wel7StFiLgo/s1600-h/baseball+football.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/StHooJ52x2I/AAAAAAAAAEI/Wel7StFiLgo/s320/baseball+football.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391346005490190178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Interesting idea, eh?  Anybody want to play?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-6800675163101674544?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/6800675163101674544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=6800675163101674544&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6800675163101674544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6800675163101674544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/footballbaseball.html' title='FootballBaseball'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/StHooJ52x2I/AAAAAAAAAEI/Wel7StFiLgo/s72-c/baseball+football.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-4927775742528801207</id><published>2009-10-10T11:47:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-10T11:52:16.987-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Winston Churchill</title><content type='html'>Well, I can't remember my dream from last night but here's an old one I had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm walking through the park talking to my good buddy Winston Churchill.  He's talking to me about not giving up when things are hard, and persevering, and it was really quite inspirational. What was even cooler than that, was that there was a statue of Winston Churchill in the park that we were walking through.  So people kept looking at us and then at the statue and back at us and were like "Hey, that's Winston Churchill! That's so cool!"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2008/02_01/churchillDM0302_468x542.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 468px; height: 542px;" src="http://img.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2008/02_01/churchillDM0302_468x542.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heroes get remembered, but legends never die.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-4927775742528801207?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/4927775742528801207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=4927775742528801207&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4927775742528801207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/4927775742528801207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/winston-churchill.html' title='Winston Churchill'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-779029860544761554</id><published>2009-10-09T08:09:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-09T08:51:27.819-04:00</updated><title type='text'>BYU vs Air Force</title><content type='html'>Last night I got to go to the BYU vs. Air Force football game, (because it was conveniently being played in Harrisonburg) but it was just being played at a high school football stadium, so you could walk around and sit wherever you want.  We (Me, Kerri, and Kaci) ended up on the sideline and would follow the game up and down the field. The wierd part was that they were playing without any pads or helmets.  I couldn't believe that their coaches and the NCAA officials would let them, but they were.  &lt;br /&gt;Then we found that in one of the end zones they had a swimming pool that anyone could hang out in as long as they stayed by the edges, and Kaci wanted to go swimming so we sat there along the edge swimming, until Kaci jumped in and started swimming. Then we got in trouble, "Hey, you need to stay by the edge!"  Kerri started getting hungry so she asked one of the life guards "Is it all right if we eat our half pounder grilled angus burgers while we're in the pool?"  But the life guard said no, so we had to get out to eat our half pounder angus burgers.  &lt;br /&gt;The bad news of the game is that BYU was losing horribly to Air Force.  Air Force was up like 35 to 7, and then just to run up the score they did an onside kick and recovered it and scored again.  (Hopefully this dream doesn't come true... unlike many of my others) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ss8xrkXmLlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/RTV8Ok4h2Qg/s1600-h/byu+football.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ss8xrkXmLlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/RTV8Ok4h2Qg/s320/byu+football.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390581903552556626" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-779029860544761554?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/779029860544761554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=779029860544761554&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/779029860544761554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/779029860544761554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/byu-vs-air-force.html' title='BYU vs Air Force'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ss8xrkXmLlI/AAAAAAAAAD4/RTV8Ok4h2Qg/s72-c/byu+football.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-1899668831718425033</id><published>2009-10-08T08:18:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-08T09:01:34.324-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hitchhiking on airplanes</title><content type='html'>Last night I was going on an airplane ride to....? I don't remember where.  But I got to the airport a little bit late, just as it was taking off.  So naturally, I just started chasing the airplane down.  I caught it and grabbed on before it took off.  There was a little tube in the back of it that I had to pull myself through to get inside.  So I started pulling and pulling, and making tiny progress, but the resistance of the plane taking off was pulling me back, so I put forth all my effort and eventually pulled myself inside of the airplane where everyone greeted me.  I was breathing so hard from all the hard work, that I woke up and was breathing so hard from all the hard work.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a side dream, There was also a Native American Pow-Wow outside my house last night &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ss3aIr2jDVI/AAAAAAAAADo/WtJMVQRCGVs/s1600-h/powwow.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 219px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ss3aIr2jDVI/AAAAAAAAADo/WtJMVQRCGVs/s320/powwow.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390204171777674578" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;that was pretty cool, and they were serving free sausage. &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ss3aI-SmvFI/AAAAAAAAADw/8_MjoiC7gUY/s1600-h/sausage.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 317px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ss3aI-SmvFI/AAAAAAAAADw/8_MjoiC7gUY/s320/sausage.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390204176727194706" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-1899668831718425033?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/1899668831718425033/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=1899668831718425033&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1899668831718425033'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1899668831718425033'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/hitchhiking-on-airplanes.html' title='Hitchhiking on airplanes'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ss3aIr2jDVI/AAAAAAAAADo/WtJMVQRCGVs/s72-c/powwow.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-1722758517163965175</id><published>2009-10-07T07:21:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T08:02:45.062-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sand dunes/Oceans11/The Chase</title><content type='html'>So Kerri and I are going for a hike, and we hike and hike and hike, and finally I say to her, "I think it's probably time to turn back."  Kerri says to me "We're not turning anywhere until we find the gold."  So I say okay and we just keep hiking, and we get to the desert and hike for miles across some sand dunes, up and down and along cliffs,&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ssx_yBeYUjI/AAAAAAAAADg/OKHfqxrZoPI/s1600-h/Sand_Dunes_Park_600x600.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 207px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ssx_yBeYUjI/AAAAAAAAADg/OKHfqxrZoPI/s320/Sand_Dunes_Park_600x600.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389823351421686322" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; and we're running out of water, but finally on the wall of these cliffs we're hiking along we see a whole bunch of gold nuggets.  Kerri tells me that she thinks it's just fools gold to keep us distracted from the real treasure, but I fill up my pockets with it anyways.  We hike over the next sand dune and there's a whole bunch of people hiking and hanging out and everything and we ask them where they all came from.  They tell us, "From the Hotel."  &lt;br /&gt;That's when we notice a secret passage that leads to a hotel, so we take it and end up in this really nice hotel building.  We pull out our treasure and are looking at it, when a man comes up to me and says "You need to come with me."  So he takes me to this room and shoves me in.  Inside the room is the cast from Oceans 11, and they're all discussing how they pulled off the robbery and how they're going to split up the money. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ssx_aaGKI8I/AAAAAAAAADY/0IJNV1_roWA/s1600-h/oceans_eleven01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ssx_aaGKI8I/AAAAAAAAADY/0IJNV1_roWA/s320/oceans_eleven01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389822945714119618" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Then the "bad guy" of the movie (The owner of the casino) shows up, and is like "that was pretty good guys, how are we splitting up the money?"  And I was all shocked like "Woah, he was in on it too."  So they explain to me that he was in on the whole thing so he could collect the insurance and still get his share of it too (but that they didn't put that in the movie because it would make it less exciting), I was like, "Oh yeah, good point."  &lt;br /&gt;Then they explained to me that they wanted me to show them around town, (because we were staying at Massanutten, and I knew the area).  So the lead guy was like, "Let's roll" and everybody strapped on their "rollerblades"  but instead of rollerblades they were like fancy dress shoes, but they had little wheels on them like the rolley-shoes.  &lt;br /&gt;So we go rollerblading around the running path at Massanutten, but they went too slow so I lost all of them.  So I decide to just find Kerri and Kaci and head home.  When I get to the exit an old lady tells me that I can't go out that way, I'll have to use the other exit. So I go to the other exit and another person tells me the same thing. That's when I realized that they were trying to trap me there.  So I'm heading back to the original exit, when I see the old lady Spank Kaci.  I was shocked, apalled, and furious!  So I grab Kaci, push the old lady to the ground and rollerblade right past the exit to get out of there.  &lt;br /&gt;The old lady sends a security guard after me.  We have a chase down the road and he's gaining on me.  Just then I see a pile of foam baseball bats lying in the road. So I stop, pick up a baseball bat, turn, and start hitting the security guard with the bat and tell him to leave me alone.  He's like "Take it easy, I'll let you go, just don't hit me again, I'm very sensitive."  &lt;br /&gt;And then I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-1722758517163965175?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/1722758517163965175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=1722758517163965175&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1722758517163965175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1722758517163965175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/this-is-long-dream.html' title='Sand dunes/Oceans11/The Chase'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ssx_yBeYUjI/AAAAAAAAADg/OKHfqxrZoPI/s72-c/Sand_Dunes_Park_600x600.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-1977079298102094626</id><published>2009-10-06T07:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-06T07:53:53.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Cool School</title><content type='html'>So I dreamed that I showed up at the elementary school I'm doing my practicum at and everybody was outside for recess.  The kids were all playing in one area, and the teachers were all playing in the other area. The teachers are all riding bikes and doing these crazy tricks- like one teacher was riding and then jumped the entire length of the bike rack on her bike!  It was pretty amazing.&lt;br /&gt;Then we went inside and the kids were showing us the cool stuff that they got at the science fair.  This one boy had a bag called "a potato bug bag".  He would jump in the bag, and then it would suck in, close up and turn him into a round ball, like a potato bug (only he was about the size of a basketball). And then he would just roll all around and then pop open (and say I'm dizzy).  They had all different colors of potato bug bags too. &lt;br /&gt;(I think this might be a cool gift for Christmas if anyone is interested in getting me one).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-1977079298102094626?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/1977079298102094626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=1977079298102094626&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1977079298102094626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1977079298102094626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/cool-school.html' title='Cool School'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-8791879958512293663</id><published>2009-10-05T08:01:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-05T08:16:09.342-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Great Luchador</title><content type='html'>Last night I took a trip out west to investigate possible sites for my upcoming internship.  I visited Durango Colorado, but was slightly disappointed to find that most of it had burned down in a big fire.  However, due to the fire damage it was possible to find a three bedroom house to rent for just $95.00 a month.  We wanted to find something out in the forest, so we went for a hike (in the middle of the night) to go exploring.  After hiking for about an hour we were on our way home when we noticed that we were being watched by a pack of wolves.  Not just a little pack, but a pack of about 70 wolves, who had red eyes.  We just snuck along very carefully and the wolves left us alone until somebody sneezed.  Then the chase began,  we were running and fighting them off with sticks while they were biting at us- until we finally made it to this little Mexican Cantina that let us in.  &lt;br /&gt;Not only were we grateful to be safe from the wolves, but the Cantina was also having a lucha libre (WWF wrestling) competition that night as well that anybody could enter. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/SsniFen7PXI/AAAAAAAAADQ/tZHTH2Lt10o/s1600-h/lucha+libre.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/SsniFen7PXI/AAAAAAAAADQ/tZHTH2Lt10o/s320/lucha+libre.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389087012873256306" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I thought to myself, "I have always wanted to be a great luchador" and decided to enter the competition. So I got all warmed up and was watching the first fight which included a lot of slapping, hitting each other with books, jumping off of the ropes, and spandex.  I stepped outside for a quick break when I noticed that Young Men's group had come to watch the lucha libre for a scout activity.  One of the boys was saying to the other, "I hope this activity is good, the other ward was going scrapbooking tonight and I was thinking about going with them."  I turned to the kid and said, "Trust me, this is going to be better than scrapbooking."  &lt;br /&gt;And then I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-8791879958512293663?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/8791879958512293663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=8791879958512293663&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8791879958512293663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8791879958512293663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/great-luchador.html' title='A Great Luchador'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/SsniFen7PXI/AAAAAAAAADQ/tZHTH2Lt10o/s72-c/lucha+libre.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-488458740757766814</id><published>2009-10-04T08:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-04T08:11:24.564-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Suspension Basketball</title><content type='html'>So me and my classmates are hanging out at the University Recreation Center, and my friend asks me, "Hey, do you want to play suspension basketball?"  I'm like "What's that?" and he just points.  I look out into this gym and there's two basketball hoops that are about 30' high and a basketball hanging down from the ceiling on a super long rope.  Then, all of the players dropped down from the ceiling on bungee cords and start playing.  Rather then dribbling and passing like you'd see in regular basketball, they played more like tetherball, where they would just hit the basketball and it would go swinging and they would try to swing it up and into the hoop.  - It was pretty cool.-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also in the dream, but I think unrelated, is that Salt Lake City was building a giant running path that ran the whole length of the valley right along with TRAX, so people could run instead of taking TRAX if they wanted.  And Oprah was building her new studio in Salt Lake City and was going to start doing her shows from there.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dunno?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-488458740757766814?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/488458740757766814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=488458740757766814&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/488458740757766814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/488458740757766814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/suspension-basketball.html' title='Suspension Basketball'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-5639926195052077983</id><published>2009-10-03T07:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T08:05:50.976-04:00</updated><title type='text'>In the Navy</title><content type='html'>So last night I was in the Navy.  I had just finished basic training and my first assignment was to be a food tester for the cooks who were in training.  That doesn't sound so bad, except for that the cooks were training on cooking for the prisoners of war. So I had a dual purpose, to eat the food and to test the security that they had put into place for their prisoners.  So for six week I was taken captive on a submarine and was cruising around the ocean. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ssc9q0ZJl7I/AAAAAAAAADI/gS8sAOzye_k/s1600-h/yellow-submarine.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ssc9q0ZJl7I/AAAAAAAAADI/gS8sAOzye_k/s320/yellow-submarine.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388343285000017842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I remember one of my cellmates telling me "We got this assignment because we enlisted, just imagine if we had got drafted."  &lt;br /&gt;Well after 3 weeks we were finally reaching land again, and when we did I decided to escape just so I could run around and get some fresh air. So I squeezed myself out of this little window and luckily landed in a life boat.  &lt;br /&gt;As I'm floating away all of these flying saucers fly by above me and start shooting lasers at me.  At first I think the planet is under attack, but then I realize that they're just a new type of jet that the government has developed to scare the bejeebeez out of the countries we're at war with.  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ssc9qbIbEjI/AAAAAAAAADA/gUhNKTOC0AI/s1600-h/flying-saucer.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 146px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ssc9qbIbEjI/AAAAAAAAADA/gUhNKTOC0AI/s320/flying-saucer.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388343278218973746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Finally I make it to the shore and I meet up with some other guys who have also escaped the submarine.  They were all excited and they start telling me, "Man, you've gotta come with us to this restaurant! It's called the Butt Burger."  Me- "The Butt Burger?"  Them- "Yeah, and they have this Kick Butt, Butt Burger that weighs 8 pounds."   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ssc9qNagQJI/AAAAAAAAAC4/xx_2juoSczI/s1600-h/tall-hamburger.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 169px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ssc9qNagQJI/AAAAAAAAAC4/xx_2juoSczI/s320/tall-hamburger.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388343274536714386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just then I realize that the sun is coming up and I start to panic, I tell them.  "No way guys, we need to get back to our prison cell, or they're going to kick us out."  Them- "Kick us out of prison?"  Me-"Well...yeah.  But if we get kicked out, we'll never get promoted."  &lt;br /&gt;After some discussion half of them decide to sneak back into the prison cell with me and half of them decide to go to the restaurant.  As we're sneaking back in we hear them yelling "All right, but you guys are missing out on the Butt Burger!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-5639926195052077983?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/5639926195052077983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=5639926195052077983&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5639926195052077983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/5639926195052077983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/in-navy.html' title='In the Navy'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Ssc9q0ZJl7I/AAAAAAAAADI/gS8sAOzye_k/s72-c/yellow-submarine.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-2928972552919897145</id><published>2009-10-01T08:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-01T08:46:23.070-04:00</updated><title type='text'>No dreams</title><content type='html'>Last night was another kind of sleepless night, so I don't really have any vivid dreams that make sense.  &lt;br /&gt;All that I can remember is that I was working with one of my classmates putting in a sprinkler system, and there were some kids playing in the yard and they kept bugging us.  So finally my classmate (who is probably the most mild mannered person I've ever met) yelled "That's it!" and he took his shovel and hit the pipe, creating this really cool geyser.  Then he started swinging his shovel around chasing the kids who all went running, and then he turned loose onto a car that was coming by and just started putting dents into it with his shovel.  &lt;br /&gt;Wierd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm starting to see a pattern of anger and violence in my dreams, has anyone else noticed that?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-2928972552919897145?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/2928972552919897145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=2928972552919897145&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2928972552919897145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/2928972552919897145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/10/no-dreams.html' title='No dreams'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-8551595447662054387</id><published>2009-09-30T07:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T07:50:44.789-04:00</updated><title type='text'>And Justice For Nobody</title><content type='html'>Last night I was a lawyer for this teenage boy who had got into trouble and felt really bad about it.  So we practiced and he was going to tell his side of the story in court and hopefully get an easy sentence.  When we got into court the judge just started yelling at him and waving his arms around and everything before anyone even had a chance to talk.  When he was waving his arms around he poked me in the eye. I was like "Goodness, calm down."  This made him even more irate and he was like "I don't want to hear it! This boy is guilty! Court dismissed!" And everyone filed out.  &lt;br /&gt;I stayed and talked to the judge and I was like.  "How do you sleep at night, you didn't even give the boy a chance to talk.  And also, aren't you worried about your job, because you're definitely in violation of the laws and the bill of rights and I'm definitely going to file a complaint."  He was like, "The boy didn't stand a chance, he didn't know what to say, I was just doing him a favor."  Then the boy came up and started to cry and was telling him his side of the story and how he was sorry and everything. Then the judge felt really bad and was like.  "Oh, I'm really sorry."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-8551595447662054387?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/8551595447662054387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=8551595447662054387&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8551595447662054387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/8551595447662054387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/09/and-justice-for-nobody.html' title='And Justice For Nobody'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-6150318316692098783</id><published>2009-09-29T07:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-29T07:58:53.258-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Darn Asthma</title><content type='html'>Just after finishing a 25 mile bike race, some guy challenges me to another race.  Not just that, but he says he can run faster than I can ride my bike.  This is going to be a piece of cake I think to myself and I even let him have a head start.  Then I start biking and I'm having one heck of a time making it on the course that he's chosen.  I finally catch up to him, but I can't pass him.  The trail is just too steep, I try going around him, but still have no luck.  &lt;br /&gt;So I finally ditch my bike and just start running with him.  We run until we just can't run anymore and both of us fall down and start crawling.  We're using all of our energy to propel our bodies forward and just kind of flop, and it's neck and neck.  I propose to my fellow racer that instead of going to the finish line we just go to the next light post (about 30 yards ahead). He agrees and both of us our pushing forward for the final homestretch and....&lt;br /&gt;I wake up because the race has caused me to have an asthma attack in real life.  Kerri woke up because of my deep irregular breathing and comforted me just in case I was having a nightmare.  I guess we'll never know who the winner is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-6150318316692098783?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/6150318316692098783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=6150318316692098783&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6150318316692098783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6150318316692098783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/09/darn-asthma.html' title='Darn Asthma'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-6887636384304733251</id><published>2009-09-28T07:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T08:04:24.809-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Great Insurance Plan</title><content type='html'>Last night in my dream I was applying for a job and we were discussing the benefits such as the insurance plan.&lt;br /&gt;Him- We offer coverage anywhere from 100% up to 200%-250% of your medical bills.&lt;br /&gt;Me- Wow. I think I understand 100%, but what is 200%&lt;br /&gt;Him- Well, in that case instead of having a co-pay, we'll actually pay you that amount every time you visit the doctor.  &lt;br /&gt;Me- Really?&lt;br /&gt;Him- Yeah, we know how hard it is on people when they get sick, and we just want to help out how we can.  This plan is especially appealing for people who have a lot of surgeries, because they get paid the full amount of the surgery each time. &lt;br /&gt;Me- You're kidding.  Don't you think that people would try and take advantage of this by seeing the doctor when they're not sick, and getting extra surgeries that they don't need?&lt;br /&gt;Him- No way. For one thing, nobody enjoys being sick. And besides, people wouldn't do that- it would be DISHONEST.&lt;br /&gt;Me- Hmmmm... good point.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-6887636384304733251?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/6887636384304733251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=6887636384304733251&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6887636384304733251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6887636384304733251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/09/great-insurance-plan.html' title='Great Insurance Plan'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-7219175327161241704</id><published>2009-09-27T08:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-27T08:31:00.543-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Bad Breath</title><content type='html'>Good Morning,&lt;br /&gt;No real coherent dreams last night (Kaci decided to have a sleepover. I think she was cold, but still refuses to sleep with a blanket, so I got kicked all night (sometimes in a very sensitive area) so I switched her and tried sleeping w/her little blanket on her little bed, but it didn't turn out so well.)  I do remember something about studying all day and wanting to get ice-cream (but I may just be remembering real life.)  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'll share a great dream that one of my friends had. You all know about the guy who dreamed he ate a giant marshmallow and then his pillow was gone? Well this one is kind of similar.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's on a date with this beautiful girl, and they both really like each other so he keeps trying to go in for a kiss.  But every time he gets close he almost throws up because her breath is so bad.  It stinks like crazy!  He tries like 15 times and almost throws up every time.  &lt;br /&gt;Then he woke up and his face was smashed into his armpit.   Gross.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-7219175327161241704?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/7219175327161241704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=7219175327161241704&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7219175327161241704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7219175327161241704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/09/bad-breath.html' title='Bad Breath'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-7850442826961849424</id><published>2009-09-26T08:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T08:37:43.763-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sandy Koufax and Andy Griffith</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Sr4J4Z8boBI/AAAAAAAAACo/y8V75py9-jQ/s1600-h/sandy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 190px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Sr4J4Z8boBI/AAAAAAAAACo/y8V75py9-jQ/s200/sandy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385753069023371282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Sr4J4-kcPRI/AAAAAAAAACw/L1ewkYcSAEE/s1600-h/andy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 151px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Sr4J4-kcPRI/AAAAAAAAACw/L1ewkYcSAEE/s200/andy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385753078854860050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I apologize, this dream wasn't &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; cool, but it is what it is.  &lt;br /&gt;My dream: I'm at a little league baseball game and the guest of honor is Sandy Koufax who has come to pitch the first inning.  The little league team playing against him is losing so they ask me to come in and bat for them.  When I get to the plate the opposing team calls in a new pitcher, who happened to be Andy Griffith.  He keeps throwing all of these crazy pitches as me that I'm not able to hit. I keep getting foul balls so I didn't strike out though.  I also keep stepping outside of the batters box to take a break, but he just keeps pitching to me and I keep swinging.  They tried to tell me that I've struck out, but I'm like "No way, I wasn't even in the batters box!"  Upon this realization the umpire calls it a walk and sends me to first base.  The player after me gets a great hit and I round second base and head towards third. On my way there I notice the third baseman already has the ball so I just take of running all over the place in the infield. The third baseman runs me down and finally tackles me to get me out.  I head back to the dugout to find a giant bucket of chocolate chip cookie dough waiting for me and I start digging in.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, not too shabby of a dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-7850442826961849424?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/7850442826961849424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=7850442826961849424&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7850442826961849424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7850442826961849424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/09/sandy-koufax-and-andy-griffith.html' title='Sandy Koufax and Andy Griffith'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/Sr4J4Z8boBI/AAAAAAAAACo/y8V75py9-jQ/s72-c/sandy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-6787584695605016907</id><published>2009-09-25T08:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-25T08:40:01.555-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Double Feature</title><content type='html'>Background Info:&lt;br /&gt;When I lived in Hawaii I picked up this surfboard that was dying (fins missing, top and bottom completely cracked, a giant hole in the middle) and performed a major surgery- by duct taping the fin back on, and taping up the top and bottom, then putting a layer of fiberglass right over all the duct tape.  For the big hole in the middle we used some bathtub caulk to fill it in and make it waterproof.  We then named the board Bonita, and it really was an awesome board.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Dream:&lt;br /&gt;I'm living in Hawaii, but I need to sell the board in order to pay rent and buy groceries (which actually happened in real life also).  So I have one of my friends go out an advertise for me.  Due to the condition of the board, I'm hoping to get $50 for it.  So my friend brings back this guy who is STOKED about buying my board, luckily, before I ask him for $50 I ask him how much money he can pay for it.  He apologetically responds, "I'll I have is $325.00.  Do you think that will be enough?"  Me, being the honest and generous fellow I am decide to break him a deal.  "Do you know what? I can tell you're an honest fellow, so I'm willing to sell the board to you for an even $300."  "Aw, thanks man!" &lt;br /&gt;When he sees the board he's slightly disappointed because the fiberglass and duct tape are peeling off and he starts to back out of the deal.  I tell him, "Wait, I forgot that the duct tape was coming off- how about if I knock some more off the price.  I'll give it to you for $100."  Him- "Deal.  I just really need something that works better then what I've been trying to surf on."  Me- "What have you been using to surf?"  Him- "Well, I've just been trying to do it on this thing."  And he pulls out a sleeping bag.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream #2&lt;br /&gt;I've parked my car in a parking garage, and when I go back to it there's two trucks parked right next to it on either side, so close that I can't really even open my doors.  As I'm trying to get into the car, the truck next to me starts it's engine and starts backing up. He hits me with his mirror and as I fall down I get pulled right under the truck.  Because of the bump that I've caused, the truck is having a hard time backing out so he starts rolling back and forth on me to try and get momentum (I'm sideways so he's really smashing my shoulder/arm). In a moment of panic and adrenaline I receive a burst of strength, push up, and flip the truck over.  &lt;br /&gt;In doing so the driver of the truck breaks his arm. I help him out of the truck, and he starts talking about how he's going to sue me and that it's all my fault.  I start to get into with him cuz he just ran over me.  So I'm calling the cops to report the accident when these 3 teenagers come in to the garage and start robbing everybody's cars.  Just as they're about to get away- the cops come and stop them.  The cops are so wrapped up in the criminals, that the guy who ran me over gets away.  The dream ends with the criminal kids discussing- "Yeah, this never works out for us. I guess crime really doesn't pay."&lt;br /&gt;When I woke up, I had been sleeping on my shoulder/arm in a funny position and it felt like I had been run over by a truck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-6787584695605016907?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/6787584695605016907/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=6787584695605016907&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6787584695605016907'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/6787584695605016907'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/09/double-feature.html' title='Double Feature'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-530121134516734435</id><published>2009-09-24T08:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-24T08:12:43.549-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Kicking trash</title><content type='html'>Last night I missed an intramural soccer game because I was too tired to go (does anyone else think that 10:00pm is just a little bit late to start a soccer game- thank you for agreeing fellow married people)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily, I showed up for the game in my dream- only to find out that our opponents were a team of second grade girls.  As me and my friends took the field, we started playing the game and were having fun but then decided to show no mercy.  We trashed the second graders!  The poor goalie was getting shots drilled at her, occasionally a kid got pushed.  After scoring about 10 straight goals one of my teammates started yelling at them to try harder because we needed more of a challenge- "Come on! Get back on defense!"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the game was interrupted by Kaci coming onto the field carrying her little potty that she had filled up with pee.  Just as I was going over to help her she tripped and the pee went flying everywhere.  Shocked and appalled by the flying urine, both teams decided that it was time to call the game, and everybody went home. &lt;br /&gt;The End.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-530121134516734435?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/530121134516734435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=530121134516734435&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/530121134516734435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/530121134516734435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/09/kicking-trash.html' title='Kicking trash'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-7117843011238317564</id><published>2009-09-23T23:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T23:47:15.874-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Rosebud . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://valerielynnarts.com/images/RoseBushFence.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://valerielynnarts.com/images/RoseBushFence.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; In nearly Citizen Kane-esque cryptic fashion - last night I dreamt of rosebuds. &lt;div&gt;We were in our garden - slightly upgraded by my subconsious to a picturesque sea-side retreat on a grassy hillside. There - along a white picket fence nonetheless - our sprouts were begining to grow. With the dramatic exception of a rosebush - midrow of spouts - it stood in full bloom with pedals littering the ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was busilly working in the garden while trying to barbecue steaks on a low hibachi-style grill. As I returned from weed-pulling to turn the steaks, my Father remarked - How do you think the rose pedals and mustard seeds will flavor the meat? Which would make absolutely no sense outside of the realization I quickly came to that the rose pedals had fallen on the coals. As for the mustard seeds - I have no idea. I looked over to the spot where the rosebush was - only to find it strangely missing! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In reply to his questioning, I pulled the steaks off the grill and brought them over to a shaded table on the hill where my wife, mother, and sisters had prepared a beautiful spread and lovely, though somewhat improvised table setting - which included beach towels as place mats. And upon noticing the center piece I found the answer to my unasked question - the roses now graced our table, with pedals artfully strewn about.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The End.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-7117843011238317564?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/7117843011238317564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=7117843011238317564&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7117843011238317564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/7117843011238317564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/09/rosebud.html' title='Rosebud . . .'/><author><name>Pseudonym</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-858055093179999354</id><published>2009-09-23T08:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T08:33:51.479-04:00</updated><title type='text'>No Offense Liam</title><content type='html'>Some background info: My friend Liam is in graduate school studying math (and he's got a good job with Boeing) and he and his wife just had a little baby boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dream:&lt;br /&gt;We're all hanging out in his condo talking about life and babies and we get on the topic of how expensive it is to have a little baby.  That's when Liam's wife says in a real agitated voice, "Yeah, I don't know when Liam is going to get a real job instead of just studying NERDOLOGY!"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's when I woke up laughing&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-858055093179999354?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/858055093179999354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=858055093179999354&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/858055093179999354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/858055093179999354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/09/no-offense-liam.html' title='No Offense Liam'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-1266103333984239495</id><published>2009-09-22T22:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T22:17:46.162-04:00</updated><title type='text'>An Older Dream - But I'm still not sure if I woke up</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/SrmFQTrR74I/AAAAAAAAACg/_npAqq2f_i0/s1600-h/clone.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 161px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/SrmFQTrR74I/AAAAAAAAACg/_npAqq2f_i0/s320/clone.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384481344704343938" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this one still blows my mind&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in this basement just hanging out with my clone- an exact replica of me.  Which is really cool until I'm ready to go to sleep, and then we get into a bit of a fight.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Well goodnight&lt;br /&gt;Clone: Goodnight (and then he tries to climb into my bed)&lt;br /&gt;Me: Hey man, what are you doing?! That's MY bed!&lt;br /&gt;Cl: No way man, it's mine!&lt;br /&gt;Me: Whatever, it's mine, plus I was here first, so you can just sleep on the floor.&lt;br /&gt;Cl: No way, it's MY bed and I'm sleeping in it&lt;br /&gt;Me: Whatever man, just sleep on the floor, YOU'RE NOT EVEN REAL!&lt;br /&gt;Cl: What do you mean I'm not real?! I'm here aren't I?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yeah, but you're just a figment of my imagination.&lt;br /&gt;Cl: Hold on, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;I think that YOU'RE not real.&lt;/span&gt; I mean, you're just as real to me as I am to you- so what if you're a figment of MY imagnination?!  &lt;br /&gt;Me: Whatever man, I'm real- You're not!&lt;br /&gt;Cl: Well, how do you know that?&lt;br /&gt;Me: (Getting really flustered and kind of scared at this point) I... I... I don't know?  Wait. I know. I'll show you.  I'm gonna go to sleep and when I wake up, you'll be gone and that will prove that you're not real. Ha!&lt;br /&gt;Cl: Well... that's a pretty good idea.  But what happens if we both fall asleep at the same time?  Who's going to wake up first?  &lt;br /&gt;Me: I...dunno? I'm just going to I guess!&lt;br /&gt;Cl: But how do you know? What if I wake up first?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Just shut up all right!  Here, lets have a mercy fight!&lt;br /&gt;So I grab his hands and we start having a mercy fight...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's when I woke up with my hand smashed into the mattress.  Well, at least I think it was me that woke up.  When I woke up I was totally creeped out, it was 5am and I had to go to work.  When I got back at 8am I asked my wife "Do I look different to you?"  Her response "Umm... yeah, a little."  That's when I started screaming!  &lt;br /&gt;But I figure that I won the mercy fight because I still have all my old memories and have all my old scars.  Right?...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-1266103333984239495?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/1266103333984239495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=1266103333984239495&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1266103333984239495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/1266103333984239495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/09/older-dream-but-im-still-not-sure-if-i.html' title='An Older Dream - But I&apos;m still not sure if I woke up'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/SrmFQTrR74I/AAAAAAAAACg/_npAqq2f_i0/s72-c/clone.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5077058154277301785.post-3224633445482909984</id><published>2009-09-22T21:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T21:57:56.799-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Last nights dream (the condensed version)</title><content type='html'>So it's like the 1800's and I'm all dressed up like a pirate and I'm on a pirate ship.  Then I open a door in the lower deck of the ship and it time warps me to 2008 (pretty close to now I would say) and this really nice living/dining room where dinner is.  So in the dining room I have a phone and I decide to call my mom- but the phone doesn't just call my mom, it calls my mom in the future.  So my mom is in the year 2020 and I'm in the year 2008,  and since it's a futuristic phone we can see each other on it (like a webcam). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/SrmAdsmMwEI/AAAAAAAAACY/6usbKHrIHGo/s1600-h/multimedia_tvmode.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 178px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/SrmAdsmMwEI/AAAAAAAAACY/6usbKHrIHGo/s320/multimedia_tvmode.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384476077174079554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; So after the pleasantries, here's our conversation&lt;br /&gt;Me: Hey, did Hayley ever get married, who did she marry?&lt;br /&gt;Mom: No, not yet, we're still just waiting and hoping for her?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh,  hey Mom, where did I do my internship?&lt;br /&gt;Mom: What are you talking about?&lt;br /&gt;Me: You know at the end of graduate school when I had to work for a year but still pay tuition and not get paid as much- where did I do that? &lt;br /&gt;Mom: Why are you asking me that? And hey, why do you look so young?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Well, I'm still in 2008 and I'm trying to figure out the future, can you just please help me out?&lt;br /&gt;Mom: This is really wierd- I gotta go&lt;br /&gt;Me: Wait mom, don't hang up....&lt;br /&gt;CLICK!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I woke up.&lt;br /&gt;Crap...what does it all mean- it was wierd- it was only just after 5am but I still got up and walked around and got a drink just cuz the dream was so real to life.  &lt;br /&gt;So go ahead and give me your interpretations of what it all means.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5077058154277301785-3224633445482909984?l=idreamedthis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/feeds/3224633445482909984/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5077058154277301785&amp;postID=3224633445482909984&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3224633445482909984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5077058154277301785/posts/default/3224633445482909984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://idreamedthis.blogspot.com/2009/09/last-nights-dream-condensed-version.html' title='Last nights dream (the condensed version)'/><author><name>Calls</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06130443860783644764</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3pIiAX379ZE/SrmAdsmMwEI/AAAAAAAAACY/6usbKHrIHGo/s72-c/multimedia_tvmode.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
