I Became A Vulcan

Laurel: Age 7 + Mr. Fluffy

Have you ever had such a terrible dream that left you panting, sweating, and swarming in terror? When I was a little girl I'd have nightmares every night, and I'd always end up running to my mum's room. Jumping on my parents bed, almost assassinating my father and causing my mum to spring up at the speed of a Monster-crazed kangaroo. "Mum! Mum! They (foggy loss of memory here) tried to tickle me to utter death and then they shot me with a flaming arrow." So, I had a rough childhood and even now I still get antsy in the dark, by myself, and sometimes I can swear that I see little ugly monsters coming down from my ceiling at night; pretty awful. But as time goes on, and I grow up and my nightmares have changed. They're still a little harrowing but now they are on a totally different subject. Failed matchmaking attempts, nerds coming after me with knives because they were too geeky to match, girls in teal puffy dresses that just wouldn't listen to me, and my father screaming, 'You can't date till your fifty two years old!' .......
You get my picture. Nightmares.

Laurel: Age 17 + Mr. Fluffy

Anyway, lately, I have been having the most odd reoccurring nightmare...

I awoke (in my dream) lying on a park bench in Paris, a pink balloon tied to my hand and a box of chocolates at my side. The balloon's ribbon was digging into my wrist and after opening the box, I discovered it to be empty; naught but wrappers. The sky was gray and the sun was covered up by a storm cloud. The street was empty and all the windows were shut tight. The street was silent and I could see Fleur De Lis everywhere, an old French symbol of murder & crime. And like the turning on of a light, my sight went black and white.

I tried to call out and see if anyone was around, but my voice was gone and instead, little glossy bubbles of sparkling pink soap came sputtering out. No words just bubbles and they weren't sweet bubblegum bubbles but nasty soap. Like having your mother clean out your mouth for saying a bad word. A continual sense of punishment and the sky was getting a darker gray by the minute.

I started to walk, not looking around, just walking. Sending little bubbles out, and then popping them.  Do you know that feeling one gets when someone is about to jump on them? The hair stands up on your arms and her neck prickles. I rounded a corner and found myself at the foot of Eiffel Tower.

Up until this point I realized I had not had a positive emotion towards anything I'd seen. I was finding myself very derogatory. It was not until I saw an actual person that I realized what exactly had been stolen from me.

I heard a noise that was very unpleasant to my ears, like metal hay scratching glass. I held my ears and tried to shout 'Stop!' but all that came out was bubbles and I almost gagged on the strength of the soap. A very tall man had slid down the side of the Tower beside me and was smiling directly at me. He looked like an idiot, and his clothes were too perfectly pressed.

"My name is Christian." He said, his eyes were much too dark and I frowned at the sound of his voice.
"Go away." Inside I stopped and slapped myself inwardly. Laurel! My inward voice shouted so loudly I was sure he'd heard. What are you thinking? It's Christian Bale and he's saying 'Hello"....and you're just standing here like an idiot. Hello Girl! I swallowed and tried heard to be.....interested in this random guy standing in front of me.
"Want to go for some coffee?" he asked, apparently unaware of my insulting reply to his introduction. I snorted and replied, "I have better things to do." I suddenly realized I could talk without bubbling, but the taste was still there. Darn girl, no coffee break? 


Suddenly, like a jungle rain storm Bale was gone. I laughed and told my Inner Voice, "I have better things to do." I cannot believe that you just did that. You're insane. I laughed again and started to skip, in a blink of an eye I was  on a busy street in London.

Cute guys walking straight at me, and nothing made me inclined to smile. I'd lost any positive reaction towards life, and my hopeless romantical sappy way of being towards guys was gone. I had been deprived of my ability to have a crush and the worst part, I wasn't crushed at all. I was happily skipping. But deep down my little Inner Voice was very sad. For the Hopeless Romantic to lose her Hopelessly Romantic self is like making a Nutella sandwich without the Nutella and no one notices or cares. I had basically become a Vulcan, a total loss of affection + sunny side upness was zip. Gone like the wind.

I had been skipping along, head down, blowing soap bubbles down into the dirty black street. I bumped into a very tall person and looked up, ready to blow some soap into their eyes.
A young Harrison Ford, right off the Star Wars lot, still dressed in the nerdy attire of the shoot.

Victim 

Murder Weapon

He winked his famous wink and I should have melted but I simply raised and eyebrow. Then I promptly took out an umbrella and stabbed him to death. I wiped my umbrella on his white shirt and grinned, an evil grin and walked on in the black and white rain. My Inner Voice had shut off like a faucet and I heard the noise of a TV turning on. Then I felt sad, slightly guilty, and very much alone and a deep voice said, 'The End'. I woke up in my bed, not panting for breath and sweating, just very sad and terrified.

What a horrible black, white, and loveless world. I went about my morning task, but even as I brushed my teeth I could still feel the soapy taste. I had been forced into being a....(gasp) an Unromantic.

What a nightmare!

My Sad Ever Afterly

After sloppily wandering up to the forth floor of the old hotel to my room, I dropped into bed and lay staring up at the bottom of bed (please, do not be confused; the bottom of the bunk bed above mine) and noticed scribblings from all the fallen girls before me who had apparently slept in this very place. I found it haunting and utterly romantic, being carved or written in permanent marker; especially the ones that followed.

I love you Jake with all my heart
I love you James with all my soul
Redheads are beautiful people
Mike Adams is cool (Yes, this one seemed out of place)
I (heart) Thomas and George
www.savethestorks.com 
I (heart) mancakes and Thor
I (heart) Reese with all my (heart) and I hope we will be married (heart)
Ronald Reagen rocks my sox

But what confused me the most was You are all mine Kimberly! Either it was the fact that a boy had also slept here (ew) or the fact that he was creepily saying, "YOU ARE ALL MINE."....disturbing the words you find written under beds. I began to think as only I can think; I wonder if my Mr. Dreamboat Curl Man is writing to me from under his bed. I imagined such doodles as, I love you my beautiful,quirky, slightly confused about life, girl-I-met-five-minutes-ago and I hope we will be married and get matching tattoos. Talk about the man for me.

I tried to sleep but I couldn't, this guy was just amazing.My mind began to skip ahead, what about the fact that he was obviously from far away and I was from far away (but far away from another direction) and the fact that I wasn't exactly of the legal age to be married.  People say that long distance relationships are shots in the dark, because they never work and you always end up fantasizing about him/her; making them out to be some amazingly cool/beautiful/intelligent/angelic being. I think that's preposterous and should be evaluated with a truckload of salt. This would never happen between myself and Curls. Our relationship was simply too sound.

Finally, my mind was so full of ideas, dreams, and mostly estrogen that I felt like a brown paper bag. At two in the morning, a love sick girl who is so terribly in love that she feels like a brown paper bag, can do naught but sleep a restless, tossfull sleep. Of course I dreamed about 'My Guy' and the dream may or may not have involved a sky blue convertable with the top down and lots of xoxoxoxoxoxoxo. Strictly girl stuff and all, nothing guys would like; apparently perfect rot to them. I woke up and smelled bacon frying and literly leaped from my bed, over my roommate, brushed my teeth, straightened my hair, and dappled with some makeup all  in under thirty seconds. Rushed downstairs, holding my breath and ready to basically spring myself upon Mr. Curls and maybe fake a good faint (so he could catch me)....as I rounded the corner my heart stopped beating.

Mr. Curls was sitting outside on the deck, shirtless, laughing with some other guys about something only shirtless guys can laugh at. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so how five other girls could simply shuffle past without stopping to drool; amazes me to pieces. I glanced in the mirror and surveyed my appearance, my nose looked smaller, my hair wasn't killing anyone, my eyes actually looked pretty and my nails were clean. Time to go in for the killing. I poked my head out the door and smiled a toothy smile (not the best thing to do so early in the morning) and tried to start breathing again.

I heard a noise across the street and noticed the sketchy bandit guy running away from a small child, stealing it's cupcake.The child was now crying.

Apparently when that strange warewolfish dude in Twilight took of his shirt in the movies the first reaction was was follows:
"He's SOOOO hot."
"He's MINE!"
"MARRRRY me! Now!"

And a general screeching and yelling that caused massive headaches for miles. When I saw a slightly-clothed, Curls, sitting in the morning sun, flexing naturally just to breathe.....my ability to think, breath, or reason shrunk from all reason. But I didn't cause massive chaos or scream, "He's SOOOO hot." At least not aloud.... He was just too much and I was just too in love and I still had thirteen whole days with my Curly guy. I was just very excited, maybe a bit too excited, because as I 'casually' walked outside towards him, I found myself on top of him. I was stammering apologies, murmuring something about a demon cat and a sudden gust of unexpected wind. He smiled ridiculously much and helped me up and said he wasn't in the least, injured.

Suddenly a cute voice chirped delightfully, " Aaaaron baby...." I think I made a noise between a tortoise being stuffed and a armadillo being scraped across icy pavement.

"Yeah Babe?" he said looking away from me and towards the steps. A beautiful girl; thin like a piece of chalk, hair fluttering about in her face, catching on her lip gloss like a spiderweb on sweaty skin. She was wearing a silly pink get up with the words 'PINK' plastered across her shapely rear. I frowned and lifted a bushman eyebrow higher than humanly possibly; listening to the conversation playing out before me.
"Are you ready to go, Honey Pie?" she sung.
"Just coming my Foxy Lady." and he turned back to me and said, "See ya later kid."

I'm am not usually the type to strike people, or make their nose's bleed or pluck out their eyeballs. Usually being the key word here, in this instance, my eyes went black, my nose turned into a witchly spiral, my finger nails grew several inches and I pounced. The girlfriend ran screaming towards her cute little pink Porsche, and Mr. Evil Aaron lay gasping for breath on the ground and I simply turned and walked inside, following my nose towards the crispy smell of breakfast bacon.

 The Moral of THIS story: Don't fall in love with curly haired men at American summer camps and always eat bacon, it just makes life so much better.