Strange dreams, hair curlers, and pet rivalry

I was going to do a post on pictures, because I haven't posted very many pictures yet, there's a recent one of Sasha that I managed to snap in a rare moment where she's not moving, and the pictures have been accumulating on my phone and I need to take care of them. But either Blogger or our internet (or both) doesn't want that to happen, because the pictures simply won't be uploaded, no matter how long I wait for it. So that's for another time, I guess.

I do have some stories to tell!

I have this thing similar to recurring nightmares, but it's not actually the same one over and over. It's not even a series. (Yes, some of my dreams have sequels.) It's more of just a strange theme running through them. I don't know when I had the first one. Years ago, I guess. But I had another yesterday night. In the middle of the dream I was thinking to myself, "Oh, no. Not another one of these."

The dreams? My wedding.

This last one must have been number 7 or 8, though I'm bad at remembering most dreams so I'm not sure. Every one is different. Different people are in it, a different location.... There's only one thing that's consistent: I never see the groom's face. In one of the first ones, he even looked directly at me. There was nothing there.

It drives Mom crazy, though I'm not really sure why. She wants to put out a notice on facebook along the lines of: "Will the man stalking my daughter's dreams please show yourself?" Yeah, that'll go well.

The crazy dude always has his back to me and pretty much never speaks. Well, I only assume it's the same guy in each. What I have seen of him is pretty average.

Hang on. The pup is attacking my hands as I type. I should probably take her out.

That took longer than I thought. Where was I...?

Oh, yeah. Mysterious, faceless dream stalker.

As far as looks go, what I can see of him is pretty average. Average height (by my standards, not my brother's), average hair. I think once someone said his name, but I don't know what it was.

So that's what haunts my dreams. After the fifth one, it started to get old. This last one was super boring.

The Sr. High Christmas party is tonight, and, for the first time (to my knowledge) it's formal. Mom took Heather and I shopping yesterday for shoes and some accessories. At Payless, we were served by a girl who seemed either seriously starved for human interaction or just overly friendly. Either way, she came by after I had found some shoes (only $11, though they seriously up my chances of killing myself) and was browsing around while Heather hunted for her own pair. I kept pulling out the gaudiest shoes I could find and showing them to Mom, and Ms. Friendly asked if I was getting married!

Yeah, I'm actually still talking about my dreams/nightmares, not shoes, because the irony is so funny.

My first reaction was to blush. Second was a slow, quiet, "Um, no."

She went on to ask what the occasion was ("Prom?") and then decided to ask how old I was. When I told her, she kind of smiled and said, "Oh. The way you carried yourself, I thought you were, like, 21."

Is this a good thing or bad thing?

If nothing else, our interactions with her provided some humor.

Okay, onto something else besides my crazy dreams.

Yesterday Mom took us to get our Level 1 licenses. We left around 9, which had Heather up at 8. (Yeah, Mom called her to get her up and asked, "Are you up?" Heather said, "Um, no." She told me she was staring at the dark window and wondering why on earth she'd be up so early.)

We wished for two miraculous things as we headed to the Secretary of State office: a short line and a nice person to wait on us. Neither has happened any other time Mom's been in there. The service could make bridge trolls look friendly and helpful, from what I've heard.

But miracles do happen! When we arrived, there were only two people in front of us, and the person who helped us was apparently the manager and wasn't so sunshine deprived as her colleagues have all appeared to be (in regards to their temperaments, not complexions). She was friendly, she was patient, and she didn't give us any problems. (And she was wearing a very cute jacket.)

When Mom went to do the same thing with Wes, they gave her trouble over the documents she brought to prove residency, legal presence, etc. We have friends who brought in six or seven things just to make sure they weren't missing anything, and the people got mad at them for bringing too much, while they said the four items Mom brought to cover the four required areas weren't enough. (Fickle, much?) But not this lady. Mom brought two or three extra things for each of us and she didn't ask to see any of it.

After we filled out our forms and she got our names straight, she had us take the short vision test. Heather did fine, even though she's been saying she needs glasses. I, who have glasses, didn't do so well. Evidently my left eye is much worse than I had believed. They split the thing into three sections: left, middle, and right. I could barely tell the left section existed, but the right was clear.

Little things like this make me blush, and, of course, I did. But no worries. I survived.

After that adventure, we went for a little drive to see the snow. Thanks to routes, that didn't last long. Then, because we were nearby, we grabbed papers, and I ended up sitting through the whole route because it was easier than Mom dropping me at home. Cold is the only word there. The heat didn't kick in until near the end of routes. Again.

Then we did a little shopping and headed home.

Mom decided I needed a curly up-do for the party, and she is determined to make my hair curl. (It might just be me, but it doesn't hold a curling-iron curl if I use a whole bottle of hairspray and sit like a statue in an air-tight room all day. [Not that I've tried.])

So I took a shower, towel-dried my hair, and silently submitted myself to Mom's hands. (She can get borderline-violent when it comes to doing hair.) She loaded it with this weird smelling gunk and then loaded the top part with curlers, twisting the bottom in small strands and holding it all together with bobby pins because we ran out of curlers. Then I had to sleep with it like that.

And do papers routes with it like that, because Heather is at a friend's.

We had to get gas first, and I knew Mom wouldn't let me pump after the fiasco on Thursday (I'd rather not talk about it), but I assumed I'd go in to pay. Turns out even Mom isn't (usually) so cruel as to subject me to that torture to my pride, so she paid. Then to the paper office. No one in sight!

Actually, I almost made it through the entire routes without anyone seeing me (to my knowledge). Until we were three minutes from being done. We pulled up to one of the apartment buildings. There was a guy standing outside smoking.

"Do I have to do it?" I groaned, sinking down in my seat.

Mom insisted. I tried covering my head with my hood. No good. The hat Mom had brought? It wouldn't fit.

"He's probably already seen you. Just go."

So I went. I walked quickly up the sidewalk. He glanced at me, muttered a good morning, which I responded to, and turned away to pace up and down the grass. I rushed inside. Down stairs, trip on top step, drop paper, up stairs, smack self in face with paper, drop paper, mumble to self, back outside. The guy wouldn't look at me, and I hurried back to the car.

When we got home, I took Sasha out and then went to bed, drifting in and out of sleep for three hours before I decided I should probably get up. Sasha was two hours overdue for breakfast, and she wanted out.

I've been avoiding mirrors, windows, and puddles because every glimpse of my reflection I've had makes me cringe. Ah, the things we do to look nice. Now my neck and shoulder hurt because I couldn't curl up on my pillow, but the curlers are still intact. And they must remain so all day.

My hair better curl well, and it better stay that way until I take a shower tonight.

What else to say? Um, on Thursday one of the girls at co-op came up to me and remarked that I was wearing a NaNoWriMo hoodie. I excitedly asked if she knew what it was. When she said she did, that's she'd done it, I bounced and nearly squealed. She probably regretted saying anything at all, but it makes me really happy that someone else knows. I'm still waiting for the day a random stranger at the store will say, "You do NaNo? So do I!" But I don't see that happening any time soon. I keep trying.

I made a remark the other day while Sasha was in terror mode that I should have chose the fat, sleeping puppy. Let's be honest: she was in the middle of a nap, and when she did wake up it was because two of her sisters were sitting on top of her biting her tail and face. She didn't even have a chance to come when I stuck my hand in and called because she couldn't move.

And then Sasha calmed down and took a nap and I decided I could live with her. But I do have to wonder what would have happened if I had chosen any of the others. They didn't have very defined personalities at that point, but they were each different in subtle ways. What if I had chosen the sweet one Allenna picked up, or the cute one Heather grabbed, or the biggest, laziest one who didn't even look up?

Who knows?

Who cares?

Sasha's about 13 weeks now, and she is getting better. Now most of her accidents occur because I know she needs to go (she's only been barking in my face and pacing around for five minutes) and I ignore her for too long, or she's been in the crate for an hour too long and just gets too excited when I walk in. She's still not getting very far in training, but what puppy really learns much outside of the very basic commands before they're a year old? Hershey still doesn't obey unless he feels like it.

Yeah, it's not really the best idea to compare them. Not to be mean (though it'll come out that way) but Hershey is kind of...dense? He was crazy as a puppy, but now he's a laid-back, totally mellow, lazy dog who isn't too fond of copious amounts of fresh air and chasing a ball. Sasha could spend all day outside if the weather is good and is always demanding to be played with, and she picks up on things much faster than Hershey ever did. Granted, she's still a puppy, but they really aren't comparable.

Also, our household does not support pet equality, which really frustrates Sasha and makes Hershey smug. Hershey is allowed on the furniture and Sasha isn't. Hershey gets human food and Sasha doesn't (though she still thinks any and all food is hers by rights to take as she pleases). Before Hershey got angry and destroyed them, there were some toys that only Sasha could play with, but his heart was not off limits to her. (Oh, the things we could do with that rubber heart of his. Another time.) Hershey sleeps in the girls' room on a bed, and Sasha sleeps alone in her crate. Sasha has to eat at a specific time, but Hershey is free to eat whenever he is inclined to. (Don't worry, he doesn't over eat in any way. He just doesn't like eating if he's all alone. Especially lately, someone has to stand within sight of him before he touches his food.)

Okay, enough about the pets. (All three of which, by the way, are napping in the living room as I type this.) Actually, I can't think of anything else to write at the moment. And any way, I think this post is long enough now.

So a little cleaning, a little writing, and then probably two hours of preparing before the part tonight. I should be back tomorrow to write a little about that, and maybe I'll even manage to post a picture or two.