Dream Post 6: Yoga?

I had a dream:

I am with my friend Jen, the other Jen, and I am going with her to her apartment (her families apartment?) in “the city” which is either a) a second city that lives in my head that I’ve dreamed of before or b) a borough of the city that is already in my head. I haven’t decided which, yet. She is showing me her apartment, which I have been to before in my dreams (once) and I remember it, but it is very dusty and dark, like no one ever opens the windows or turns the lights up past “dim.” Then, I am going to yoga in this old building, but I remember being in my jeans, which is not helpful for yoga. Some woman has brought her baby, but it’s only the head of a baby, not its whole body. This doesn’t frighten me, because apparently this is normal. I comment on the fact that the baby has an excellent laugh, and his mom is like, “Well too bad you can’t see his smile, but I left his mouth at home.” It is very bizarre. Then the baby is a regular sized toddler, and apparently everyone has brought their children to yoga class. So someone gets the idea to have a babysitter take all the children to another room while the parents do the yoga. I help bring the children over to this room, and one little boy says he thinks I am fun and wants to play with me. I am torn between going to the babysitting room and going back to yoga, but in the end, I go back to yoga. Jeff is there, and we begin yoga, but the room we are in is apparently outdoors, and I am covered in bugs, and the ground is very uneven, so it’s hard to do the yoga. The ground is all moss, instead of being grass, and I find it very hard to get comfortable.

Then I wake up.

dream_baby_woods

Macaroni, or Pasta?

Ok, ok. So in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’ll let you out on a little secret. I’m Italian. My extended family tree boasts 198 people, 127 of which are blood related, all of which I can name, and have met. And have probably hung out with on more than one occasion. Seriously, this is a fifteen-year old  picture of my family:

family_tree1

I can add about 25 off the top of my head to this picture. So you can imagine.

So you think, because I can sputter 15 or so words of Italian and because I can speak to you in Italian-American made-up words my mother imparted on me, I would know the difference between macaroni and pasta. But I didn’t. So, today, for some unknown reason to me, I wondered, “Wait, what is the difference?” APPARENTLY there is a difference, but don’t tell Jeff because I think we argued this point, once.

Macaroni is defined as: “pasta in the form of narrow tubes.”

Pasta, however, is defined as: “dough formed into various shapes (e.g. spaghetti, lasagne), cooked as part of a dish or in boiling water and served with a savoury sauce.”

So there you go. Rest easy, folks. This girl does the research for you…So just so we’re clear:

MACARONI:

macaroniPASTA:

pasta

Mid-90s Monday music love.

I got eight new albums yesterday at Amoeba music. And because I am obsessed with mid-90s tunes, I could find a lot.

On the list:

1.  Barenaked Ladies Are Me, Barenaked Ladies
2. Deluxe, Better Than Ezra
3. Milk the Bee, The Break and Repair Method
4. Keep Coming Back, Marc Broussard
5. Must Be the Water EP, Marc Broussard
6. The Promise in Compromise, Tokyo Rose
7. Have You Seen Me Lately?, Carly Simon
8. 20 Frank Sinatra Love Songs, Frank Sinatra

It was a good Monday.

Everytime I was in LA I was with my ex girlfriend…

I love Usher. This is true. I can’t help it. Even though one of his most popular songs is about cheating, which I hate, I love him. I love every song on his CDS, and when Jeff asked me what he could send me in China I said, “The new Usher CD.” It’s a problem.

Other things I love:

Dusting, lists that are numbered, lists with bullets, and lists in paragraph form; cutting things out into hearts or flowers, baking, posting a bunch of posts on the same day, the lyrics “i’m mad enough to punch me in my face,” remixes, trivia, reading books, reading magazines, taking photos, you for reading this, you in general, sleeping in, getting up early and making coffee, walking, listening to tunes, pilates, slippers, colored pencils, new bras.

Jade.

jade

Dream Post 5: Pickle factory?

I swear, they get weirder and weirder.

I was in a square that looked like Stars Hollow (from Gilmore Girls) but it was Boston or somewhere simliar. I was walking and ran into Barb, my coworker. She and I walked for a bit, and chatted, ending up in a video store. The video store was having a wicked sale on Disney movies, and I was very excited because Disney movies go back into the vault, which is stupid, and I wanted to get any ones I had missed. But as Barb and I looked, we realized that all the videos they had were Little Mermaid, which we both already owned. So we left, singing the tunes of Little Mermaid, and I picked her up and carried her (piggy back style) to my dorm (the LB, as we called it.) It was a different building, looked much older, but it WAS the LB. Anyways, so we were going in, but there was a really long line to sign in, because apparently it was the first weekend of school and everyone had guests. So I went up to the check in counter, where Jeff was sitting reading a magazine. I yelled at him, because he should have been helping the other person checking people in, and then I skipped the line because I was a RA. So then Barb and I were joined by Cor, one of my friends from NOT college. She and I and Barb got into this elevator that probably could have held 20 people but was more of a room–with its own bathroom off to one side. A bathroom. In the elevator. So we rode the elevator to the third floor, but apparently I had pushed the wrong floor button, so when the doors opened we were overlooking a pickle factory. Like, a big room flooded with pickle juice and pickles floating on the top. To the right hand side of the floor there was another building within the bigger factory building, and you could see a library inside. It must have been where Cor’s room actually was, so we were aiming for there. But suddenly Cor was on a pulley system with me, and I had to try to swing her back into the elevator. We tried for a bit, but I wasn’t paying that much attention and I was eating something, so she got annoyed and swung herself up to a beam above the elevator. Once there, my high school choir teacher whisked her away with promise of getting her to the correct room. Then Barb and I were back in the elevator. And we woke up.

WHAT?! I am weird.

Things: 1. Jeff had mentioned to me how he hates when cashiers don’t jump in to help check out people when grocery stores are busy. 2. Cor mentioned she wanted to go rock climbing, AND she hates pickles…

That’s all I got.