January 13, 2008


Had some goofy ass dreams last night. Kept waking me up.

The first few, it seemed that theme was that, even though others thought I was doing a fine job (whatever the task was supposed to be), I felt that I was doing miserably... even to the point of failure. As much as I was assured, I couldn't be convinced otherwise.

The last one, The Perfect One and I had gone up into some mountains, and fell into a crevasse. 'Twas a beautiful place, glowing blue, but cold. The walls of the fissure were unscalable, and the more we attempted to climb out, the further we'd slide down. Ended up getting so cold in the dream, that I actually ached enough to wake up.

The weird thing about all of them, is that everybody had thighs like a speed skater...

Posted by That 1 Guy at 10:52 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

February 03, 2007


I dream all of the time, and in past weeks it's gotten ridiculous, but the last couple of nights have been horrid. Especially, last night. Codes, templates, and Fred and Ginger singing "tornaydo, tornahdo, tornaydo, tornahdo, let's call the whole thing off....", I got much not sleep. One thing about these dreams... I'm not getting gutted or killed. I guess that's a plus, but I'm still looking forward to them ending.

You folks that work behind a desk all day, staring into the square sun, have earned my respect. And proved that you are nuts, at the same time.

The past three days have seen me sitting in front of the computer at the shop, trying to get things updated and working properly. We installed a newer version of a program that we already had, and couldn't get it to function. At all. My cousin, who knows a bit about computers, came down on Wednesday to help out.

By some fluke, we managed to get an item posted onto an auction site (we do quite a bit of business through the big E), but when we tried others, no luck. We shot emails back and forth with a tech support guy who now thinks knows that we are the biggest technotards alive. At day's end, the only progress we had made was the single posting.

Thursday, I started all over again. Turns out, the templates that we were using are becoming obsolete, and we had to convert them all. Of course, I find this out in a rather timely fashion... at the end of the day. My eyes are now bloodshot and burning from staring at the frickin' screen, and my head is pounding from trying to do all of the computer crap and working up a kit and quote for a customer. The calls to my brother for info about the bikes were a very welcome, and much needed, break.

Yesterday, we began day three of the pounding headache, but this time, I made some serious progress. The tech guy gave me a bit of help that finally worked, and I took off from there. I had to ask a couple of questions, but I was able to answer them for myself before he replied. It was with a great sense of accomplishment that I watched the changes we had made come into play. What used to take over an hour to run now takes less than five minutes. I've still got a few changes to make, but I know exactly where and what they are. *knock on wood* Shouldn't be much of a problem at all. Maybe I'll be able to stop dreaming about templates and code.

One thing is certain: I will not be taking a job where I have to deal with computers in any way other than looking up information. I'd end up being a madman...

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October 08, 2006


Man, I don't know what the hell triggered it, but I've been having some weird ass dreams lately. Alot of rotting folks...

It started with a dream about my uncle walking back from the island where they scattered his ashes. Then, I dreamed about Eric's ghoul of choice... zombies. Only, instead of fleeing from them, we (whoever "we" were) were looking forward to picking them off. We knew well in advance that they'd be coming, but instead of coming as an army, they came as a result of contaminated food. We knew that, and we still weren't picky about our chow. We were even joking about who got to shoot who if and when they turned. When it happened, it was a big mess...

Then last night, I dream that I'm rescuing a buddy who's been locked in some third world country. When we find him, he's lost a hand, his arm is rotting, and he's not much more that a living skeleton. I can't remember much more, other than looking at his stump, and seeing the handcuff fastened around his wrist, just below the seperation. How the hell did the cuff hold him? Anyway, we got him out amidst a heavy firefight, and a long chase that had us going in circles for what seemed like forever. Jennifer Aniston was there to greet me "you're my hero" style, but I didn't get to enjoy it. I got rudely awakened. Damn birds.


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August 27, 2006


Weird... I just woke up from a strange nightmare, just as a giant spinning blade was coming towards me. This dream was ultra weird...

I was trying to get back into the service... the Marines did not want me because of my heels' deformity, but the Army is all for it. I show up for training, and nobody talks... no one. They just do. How they know what to do is beyond me. NOBODY talks... they will laugh if you make them, but your ass is grass if you do. My ass is grass often.

The base general has something weird going on. I think it is something to do with voodoo. Not sure, but when I go down into the basement of this building that they were using as a chow hall, or whatever the Doggies call their eataria, shit gets wild. I run into an old black man who is skinny as hell... it is me. I hear a voice pleading with me, coming from a ladderwell leading to a sub-basement, and discover my grand daughter looking up at me with terror in her eyes. "Gramma is back. You need to stop her." Then she disappears. Stupid me, I know that couldn't have been my grand daughter, but I decide to head down after her. I descend into a hell of sorts.

Slimy water runs over the floor, which I soon discover is covered with glass shards and razorblades. Snotty looking crap drips off of the ceiling. It's dark, with very little light, but I can see that something is moving underneath the floor. I set across it, anyway, and end up in a huge room, with a large mixer in the center of it. It's pancake day, and Dana Carvey is the cook. He's singing, "Con Gria, Con Gria.... wash your face with diarrhea. Con Gria...." It's more like a chant, and I'd almost lay money that when I wake up in the morning, I'll have that stuck in my head.

This dream jumped all over... one second, I was here. The next, I was there. At one moment, white... another black. The longer I'm awake, the less I remember, so I'll just finish with the last thing I can remember clearly. In between all of the bootcamp and training, I had two women, Sarah Jessica Parker and Gillian Anderson, chasing after me, nonstop. It was weirding me out. As a matter of fact, that's how I ended up with the giant blade coming at me... I was trying to avoid Sarah, and fell down a shaft in an old mill... which was our chow hall. When I got my bearings, I found I was in the bottom of a giant blender, and my friend Dana Carvey was chanting again, as he turned the giant appliance on.


I know where the "snot" part of the dream came from, but as for the rest, I don't know. I think the spaghetti sauce may have been bad...

Anyways, I'm heading back to bed to see what else Dreamland has in store for me...

Posted by That 1 Guy at 01:24 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

February 08, 2006

Who Needs Acid...

when drinking plenty of this can bring about a strange trip. Okay, a dream or two.

I had a few tumblers of this fine bourbon last eve, and I'm going to give credit to it for my strange dream. I had been watching LA Confidential earlier, so I'm fairly positive that the idea for the dream started with that...

I'm pretty sure that I was supposed to be the Russell Crowe character, a little too quick to strong arm info from criminals. Quite literal, this strong arming was... my partner, a Sleestack, kept ripping the arms off of our potential informants, and trying to beat info out of them...

I don't remember my partner's name, if I even knew it at all... he just hissed alot, and laughed when he tore the arms off of his victims. A very peculiar looking guy this was... not normal at all. Sleestacks have no hair, but he did. He had a bunch of curly hair sticking out from under his fedora. When I asked him about it, he laughed, lifted his hat, and tugged on his hair to prove it was no rug. Another observation: Sleestacks don't smile... I assume that's because they've got huge horse teeth, as displayed everytime my partner laughed. It was a very hearty laugh, too... I don't know why they hiss so much.

Anyway, we ran all over the city, ripping off arms, and getting a few laughs. Never did much out of our informants other than screams and whimpers, but that didn't stop our efforts to get to the bottom of the case. Someone had been beating people to death and ripping off their arms, and we were going to get to the bottom of this at all costs...

The dream was brought to a sudden end when I pulled the pickup up to an intersection, just in time to see Boudicca, Tammi, and Maura Tierney go rocketing past in hospital beds... they were racing. Maura was in the lead, with a boombox jamming punk tunes on the bed with her, followed by Bou, with Tammi following yelling about how it was unfair, she was too tall and there was too much wind resistance, and blah, blah,blah...

I think Maura won it, but I don't know for sure... I woke up laughing.

Don't even start with trying to figure out what the hell it meant... it was just entertaining as hell.

Posted by That 1 Guy at 12:56 PM | Comments (10)

January 19, 2006

Must... Find...

Before hitting the hay last night, I read a bit of "With The Old Breed: At Peleliu and Okinawa". Reading some of E. B. Sledge's stories from boot camp sparked ideas for a few posts, but they will probably be written further down the line.

I slept a very restless sleep, constantly kicking at the covers and waking up. I was having dreams that bordered on nightmares, but besides knowing that some bad shit was about to go down, the only thing I actually remember is that in each dream I was trying to find a certain item. It seemed to be very vital that I locate it... I awoke with the name of the item firmly stuck in my grey matter.

First thing I did when I got on the computer was to check and see if such a person existed, first, and then to find the item I had spent all evening searching for, through my dreamscapes.

Wouldn't you know it... the person actually existed, though I'm not sure that I've ever heard of him. And get this... he was a Navy physician stationed with the Marines during World War II. He hasn't been mentioned in the book I'm reading, at least not yet, but that would stand to reason... he was with the 3rd Marine Division, while the author was with 1st MarDiv. Still... I found it kinda cool that I'd dream of an actual person from the same era as what I had just been reading.

The item I was looking for doesn't seem to exist, however. I did some searching, though not exactly extensive searching. I really wish I could remember why it was so damn important that I find a bottle of Harry Mustard's Mustache Oil...

It must have been pretty potent stuff.

Posted by That 1 Guy at 12:07 PM | Comments (3)

December 27, 2005

How To Solicit Business

Suppose you're driving along, and you notice a guy up in front of you... seems a bit out of place. You look again, and you realize that the reason things look wrong, is that he's gliding alongside traffic. Further investigation reveals that he's actually on roller skates, trying to solicit his business.

I pulled up next to him, and found he's a lawyer... a divorce lawyer. Even though I've never been married, and I certainly won't need his expertise, I'm impressed with the guy. Especially when I look down at the speedometer, and he's keeping pace at 60 mph! Certainly the ultimate in ambulance chasing... but wouldn't you hire the guy?

Any of you lawyers out there want to take this great idea, go for it. It's free. But don't hold me responsible for those of you who may end up as roadkill. Just remember it's something that I dreamed up, and had to write down before it's brilliance faded off into the night.

Posted by That 1 Guy at 03:58 AM | Comments (2)

October 18, 2005

Dying Again

I was moving into a hallway to my right, when I glanced them coming around the end of the aisle. They were to my left, and my weapon was at the ready. A round took one of them through his head before the rest dropped and let loose a shower of lead.

I quickly moved into the hallway, only to discover that there were only restrooms and a locked closet. Rather than move further into the trap, I sought to make my way back out into the store, and try to take them in the aisles. Though not very proficient firing off of my left shoulder, I moved my weapon to that shoulder so that I wouldn't have to expose most of my body before my weapon cleared.

I positioned myself for a quick peek, then popped my head around the corner. I saw the reddish glint from the coating on the optics, and tried to pull my head back around the corner. Two mosquitos stung me just over my left eye, as a sledgehammer impact pounded out the back of my head. I rolled back into the hallway, and watched the boots approach me as all else faded into gray...

Twice. Two times now that this dream has awakened me. Yesterday, I felt the impact on the back of my skull as I awoke. Today, I heard the snaps of the doubletap.

Wish I could remember a little more, rather than the last little bit of dyin'. Wonder what it's purpose is...

Posted by That 1 Guy at 10:50 AM | Comments (7)

October 11, 2005

PSA Reminder

This is re-print of a post that I did almost a year ago. Colds are popping up all around here lately, and folks were discussing medicines the other night. This post is my warning to you.

I was told the first time, since this isn't my usual type of post, that I should add a warning. I just did.

It was a different time. A different place. Looked like some sort of desert.

I couldn't remember all that had happened to me, other than intense pain. I knew it wasn't good. Pain raked through my entire body, both inside and out. Hundreds of cuts and abrasions roared in agony as sweat trickled uninhibited into the wounds. There was no way of wiping the sweat away: my arms were bound tightly behind me. I think one was broken.

I had stopped fighting long ago. At first, I felt the shame. Now, I only feel the craving for death. I just want this to be over. I keep telling myself that this is only a dream, a nightmare. But everything seems to prove me wrong. I can feel the pain. I can taste the blood from my stove in face. I can smell the stench of something rotten.

One of "them" makes his way over to me. I feel at least one rib break under the hard kick to my side. He's saying something, but I can't make it out. I'm pretty sure it's English, I just can't hear much over the ringing in my skull. He grabs my hair, and twists my face to the side. (Now I know I'm dreaming... I haven't had long hair in years. I start trying to wake up.) Another man is just a few feet away, and "they" are reducing him to rags. There is something very familiar about the poor soul, but I can't see his face.

As I watch, his hand is forced open, and fingers are cut off. He just moans. No screams, just a growling moan. I'm losing it. I try to turn my head away, but once again my head is forced to the side. I try to close my eyes, only to have fingers jammed against my eyes. I open them.

One of "them" is holding a burning log. I think that "they" are going to start burning the other, touching all over with the burning stick. I'm wrong. A quick flash, a sharp gasp from the other, and his arm below the elbow is gone. Now the log is applied. "They" don't want him to bleed out. I try once again to turn away, but my face is shoved into the sand. Unable to breathe, I turn my head back to the scene. (I'm starting to cry... I can't wake up no matter how I try.) Still, the other hasn't screamed. (More goes on, but I've almost managed to escape by waking up. I'm not really aware, nor do I care about what's happening next to me.)

A warm spray, and the smell of insides brings me back to the nightmare. Now the other is screaming. I open my eyes, and find myself covered in fresh blood. The other has his guts opened up, and the entrails are laying all around the ground next to him. "They" shove something inside his abdominal cavity, and he grows quiet. I think he's passed, when he turns his face towards me. Now I'm the one screaming. Screaming and sobbing.

The other was me.

(I awoke covered in sweat, throat hurting, tears streaming ... and swore the coppery smell of blood was still filling the room.)

"Hi, everyone. My name is That 1 Guy, and that was an actual nightmare. One of my very own. (Turns for side angle) What would cause a person to dream something like this? Good question. The answer is cheap drugs. (Front angle ... big smile) No, no, you silly people! I'm not talking about any illegal substances. What I'm talking about is generic versions of your regular cold medicines. In this case, a generic version of NyQuil.

What could be the harm in taking an off brand?
(Close up on angry face) Didn't you read the above story, moron? This stuff will mess a person up!
(Smiles once again) After this nightmare, I swore the stuff off. However, due to my current fondness for feeling ill, I resorted to taking some again. The first night wasn't too bad. I had goofy dreams, but nothing serious. Last night however, I had the same nightmare as the one above. Only this time I was able to wake up earlier. Of course, not until after one of my eyelids was cut off. Don't ask me. It just happened.

Anyway, in this glorious cold and flu season, may I recommend that you use the real deal. Settle for no cheap substitutes. Curl up with a bottle of hard liquor, and drink yourself to health. Or to your health. Whatever works for you. Cheers!"

Posted by That 1 Guy at 06:11 AM | Comments (5)

September 16, 2005

Pain Is Reality

If only I had waited a few minutes before I put up that "Nada" post, yesterday.

I woke up yesterday with my left arm hurting. Not real bad, but a little tender. I thought nothing of it, until after I had put up that post, and hopped in the shower.

I had been dreaming all night... really violent dreams. That's about as much as I remember. I know I was getting the snot beat out of me in one, remember getting cracked with a baseball bat in another, and finally smucked by a car. It could have all been the same dream... I don't really know. Doesn't really matter.

What does matter is this: when I hopped in the shower, and washed my hair (on my cranium, pervs), I couldn't lift my arm over my shoulder. Seriously. And my arm is killing me today.

I know that I probably slept with my arm in a goofy position, and my nerves were trying to get my brain to wake me up, but I keep checking for a bruise that looks like it may have come from a bat... or a car's grill.

Posted by That 1 Guy at 10:37 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

September 02, 2005

Lose Thumbs While You Sleep!

It's no secret that I have some pretty strange dreams. Don't really know why, but they seem to like me. Always have, since I was a kid. Heh... back then, the dream that I had for the longest time was me being shoved into a pipe, grates welded on the ends, then dropped into deep water. 'Course, I drowned. These started when I was about five, and went until I got into high school. Driftin'....

A little while back, I dreamed that I lost my left thumb. Ripped it right off, as in the whole digit going back to the wrist. It was a fairly gorey dream, but the only thing I clearly remember is freaking out about my thumb taking a haitus.

I had this dream a couple of different times within about a two week's period. Thumb always gone, though in different ways. Last one I remember clearly was getting my hand slammed in a car door. Splat... thumb gone.

Well, that wasn't so weird. What WAS strange is that I had a dream shortly after these that seemed to tie in. It was a very short dream... I woke up in a cold sweat almost immediately.

In that dream, I was trying to work on a machine or something, and I reached out to grab ahold of another something. As my hand went out in front of me, NO THUMB! It didn't get ripped off, it just wasn't there. No scars... it had healed nicely, I guess. I woke up checking to see if I still had my thumb.

Wonder what the hell that was supposed to mean?

Posted by That 1 Guy at 05:55 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack