<?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-1446329786825108417</id><updated>2011-09-04T06:35:59.896-04:00</updated><category term='abandoned houses'/><category term='farm house'/><category term='Girl Scout Cookies'/><category term='Carmen Miranda'/><category term='roomates'/><category term='nest'/><category term='hot tub'/><category term='wedding'/><category term='mormon'/><category term='antiques'/><category term='robot'/><category term='dimension'/><category term='garden'/><category term='gift'/><category term='birds'/><category term='captive'/><category term='lucid dreams'/><category term='eggs'/><category term='tea leaf reading'/><category term='hair'/><category term='cemetery'/><category term='travel'/><category term='tweed jacket'/><category term='hiking'/><category term='Cleveland Institute of Art'/><category term='dryer'/><category term='zombie'/><category term='pitcher'/><category term='guitar'/><category term='mother'/><category term='collapse'/><category term='work'/><category term='shopping center'/><category term='hostage'/><category term='middle finger'/><category term='kids'/><category term='door'/><category term='future'/><category term='flamenco dancer'/><category term='pseudo-people'/><category term='ice cream'/><category term='attacking'/><category term='feminism'/><category term='penis'/><category term='race/ethnicity'/><category term='aquarium'/><category term='Scope mouthwash'/><category term='casket'/><category term='brother'/><category term='store'/><category term='violence'/><category term='brain'/><category term='crotchles bathing suit'/><category term='african american'/><category term='bakery'/><category term='cats'/><category term='suncatcher'/><category term='brooms'/><category term='fortune reading'/><category term='drinking'/><category term='Florida'/><category term='maggot'/><category term='subway system'/><category term='dad&apos;s house'/><category term='nursing homes'/><category term='monkey'/><category term='church'/><category term='baby'/><category term='condo'/><category term='Spiderman'/><category term='worm'/><category term='assault'/><category term='glass'/><category term='epic'/><category term='Thin Mints'/><category term='bathroom'/><category term='lizard'/><category term='candy'/><category term='pregnancy'/><category term='chasing'/><category term='hospital'/><category term='passport'/><category term='spit'/><category term='animals'/><category term='thesis'/><category term='W. 192nd House'/><category term='Barbie'/><category term='saints'/><category term='airplane'/><category term='pools'/><category term='NYC'/><category term='muffin'/><category term='Los Angeles'/><category term='male'/><category term='birth'/><category term='gold'/><category term='psychic'/><category term='BFA'/><category term='fiber optics'/><category term='police'/><category term='kidnapped'/><category term='washer'/><category term='boy'/><category term='saliva'/><category term='sex'/><category term='copies'/><category term='ruins'/><category term='water'/><category term='masterbation'/><category term='basement'/><category term='forest'/><category term='gagging'/><category term='old house'/><category term='running late'/><category term='Laguardia'/><category term='Cambodia'/><category term='Aaron'/><category term='children'/><category term='taxi'/><category term='cellar'/><category term='cookies'/><category term='dome'/><category term='cross dressing'/><category term='garage'/><category term='vampires'/><category term='stealing'/><category term='parasite'/><category term='flipping off'/><category term='rural'/><category term='Robot Chicken'/><category term='pee'/><category term='alien'/><category term='blimps'/><category term='nonexistant people'/><category term='rats'/><category term='Marc'/><category term='grass'/><category term='food'/><category term='vomit'/><category term='religion'/><category term='Caribbean'/><category term='eels'/><category term='yellow'/><category term='leg hair'/><category term='incan ruins'/><category term='whiskers'/><title type='text'>St. Shley's Sacred Visions</title><subtitle type='html'>My dreams are very complex and an endless source of creativity.  A particularly emotional or physical dream could affect me the rest of the day.  I have woken up on the verge of vomiting, crying, gagging, gasping, or laughing.  These dreams hint at my unconscious demons, desires, and delusions.  Externalizing my dreams in this blog helps clarify them yet makes them vulnerable to interpretation. Read them and voice your opinions, psychological analyses, etc.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>27</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-3570758249060507795</id><published>2010-12-08T00:10:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-08T00:17:45.810-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='whiskers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='leg hair'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hair'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fiber optics'/><title type='text'>WhiskHairs</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/TP8UoFi5ZkI/AAAAAAAAAQU/gUAX29MO6Jo/s1600/Whiskers.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/TP8UoFi5ZkI/AAAAAAAAAQU/gUAX29MO6Jo/s320/Whiskers.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548175944859608642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up, got out of bed, and noticed that I had cat whiskers for leg hair.  They were as long as whiskers - 2-3 inches long and clear like fiber optic strands.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-3570758249060507795?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/3570758249060507795/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=3570758249060507795' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/3570758249060507795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/3570758249060507795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2010/12/whiskhairs.html' title='WhiskHairs'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/TP8UoFi5ZkI/AAAAAAAAAQU/gUAX29MO6Jo/s72-c/Whiskers.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-6591544583077364120</id><published>2010-11-07T16:12:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-07T16:22:45.036-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Scope mouthwash'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='psychic'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='saliva'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pitcher'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fortune reading'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tea leaf reading'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='future'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spit'/><title type='text'>Psychic Pitcher Reader</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/TNcWqYV0FTI/AAAAAAAAALw/SyUB7_YmeAU/s1600/gary_spivey_psychic_medium.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/TNcWqYV0FTI/AAAAAAAAALw/SyUB7_YmeAU/s320/gary_spivey_psychic_medium.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536919184219575602" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in a psychic's house, and she was going to read my future through her own version of tea leaf reading.  The process was different, but she had a pitcher with layers inside that had holes in them that sat on top of a tablecloth made out of a layer spread out paper towel sheets.  She would ask me to drink some green Scope mouthwash out of a large shot glass, swish it around, and then spit it into the pitcher.  Then the pitcher's layers and holes would filter it through to the bottom and it would drip onto the paper towels and spread across.  When all the Scope filtered through to the bottom and onto the paper towels, she would read the paper towel blotches and decipher my future.  I followed the instructions once, but there was so much saliva in my mouth that it caused the Scope to filter through the pitcher and spread so far across the paper towels on the table that it spilled over the side.  I had to do this several times because somehow something kept messing up.  The last time, it went well, but my mouth was so dry that when I spit the Scope back out into the pitcher it was more like half-solid jello and I felt like I had some extreme cottonmouth.  It took a very long time to filter through, and barely any of it did because it congealed at the holes in the pitcher.  She was about ready to read my future based on what made it to the paper towel, and I was wondering about the accuracy of the reading because of the state of the Scope mouthwash that I spit out... I woke up before she could read me my future.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Notes:  I was talking about the dentist yesterday or the day before... and I also talked about spitting ink once in undergrad for an abstract art assigment.  That's all I have to represent where this could have come from.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-6591544583077364120?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/6591544583077364120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=6591544583077364120' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/6591544583077364120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/6591544583077364120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2010/11/psychic-pitcher-reader.html' title='Psychic Pitcher Reader'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/TNcWqYV0FTI/AAAAAAAAALw/SyUB7_YmeAU/s72-c/gary_spivey_psychic_medium.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-3695014909029730704</id><published>2010-04-11T14:07:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-11T14:24:51.319-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Laguardia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sex'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='taxi'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='race/ethnicity'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='birth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='baby'/><title type='text'>My 1/2 Ethnic Baby</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S8IR005NZeI/AAAAAAAAAJc/Jc_1It0XCj4/s1600/racial-classiications.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 141px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S8IR005NZeI/AAAAAAAAAJc/Jc_1It0XCj4/s200/racial-classiications.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458945297575929314" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at someone's house in NYC.  This older, heavy, woman came up to me and handed me a baby.  She said "Congratulations, it's a girl."  I didn't remember being pregnant at all.  I also didn't remember having unprotected sex with someone either.  I took the baby, held it, and looked at it.  I realized right away that it was definitely half of me, and then remembered giving birth earlier that day.  Then I realized that it was definitely half of another race - non white.  Then I was really confused.  Who the hell fathered this baby?  And why couldn't I remember having sex with them?  At first I thought that the baby was half African American.  I hung out at this house for a while, feeling like absolute crap - who fathered this kid?  And why didn't I know I was pregnant until today?  Then, I looked down at the baby again, and thought that she looked Asian, not African American.  Then, later, I thought she looked partially Indian.  I sat her down, and wandered around this house for a while wondering what to do because I am in school.  I didn't know how I was going to take care of her, and then I decided that I should give her up for adoption because I couldn't love her.  I took her, and snuck out of the house so the family living there wouldn't know what I was going to do.  When I exited, I was outside at the airport taxi area of Laguardia.  I started trying to hail a cab.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-3695014909029730704?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/3695014909029730704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=3695014909029730704' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/3695014909029730704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/3695014909029730704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-12-ethnic-baby.html' title='My 1/2 Ethnic Baby'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S8IR005NZeI/AAAAAAAAAJc/Jc_1It0XCj4/s72-c/racial-classiications.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-341176187025756968</id><published>2010-04-07T00:06:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T00:09:15.965-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crotchles bathing suit'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='store'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cross dressing'/><title type='text'>Cupless/Crotchless</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S7wFZuzuhXI/AAAAAAAAAJU/LbvYpxv8U1Y/s1600/cuplesscrotchess.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 154px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S7wFZuzuhXI/AAAAAAAAAJU/LbvYpxv8U1Y/s200/cuplesscrotchess.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457242788086056306" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was with a friend.  We wanted to go swimming and stopped at a bathing suit shop, but all they sold were crotchless bathing suits.  My friend picked up one with fringes and wanted me to buy it.  He kept saying that, with my legs, I would totally rock it.  I kept saying no, but every time I looked down at the bathing suit and then up at him, he would be wearing an article of female clothing: tights, high heels etc., until he was almost completely dressed as a woman.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-341176187025756968?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/341176187025756968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=341176187025756968' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/341176187025756968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/341176187025756968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2010/04/cuplesscrotchless.html' title='Cupless/Crotchless'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S7wFZuzuhXI/AAAAAAAAAJU/LbvYpxv8U1Y/s72-c/cuplesscrotchess.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-234608005142831316</id><published>2010-04-06T17:53:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-06T17:57:07.334-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vampires'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pee'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='NYC'/><title type='text'>Vampires and Cat Pee...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S7uuFmkjCAI/AAAAAAAAAJM/Div5MO31IAc/s1600/vampire-cat-will-suck-your-blood.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 281px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S7uuFmkjCAI/AAAAAAAAAJM/Div5MO31IAc/s320/vampire-cat-will-suck-your-blood.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457146784765904898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vampires came over my house and were hanging out in my room.  At first, I thought they were just regular people.  When I found out that they were vampires, I asked them if they could smell any cat pee.  They could not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-234608005142831316?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/234608005142831316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=234608005142831316' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/234608005142831316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/234608005142831316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2010/04/vampires-and-cat-pee.html' title='Vampires and Cat Pee...'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S7uuFmkjCAI/AAAAAAAAAJM/Div5MO31IAc/s72-c/vampire-cat-will-suck-your-blood.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-4930140947215495697</id><published>2010-03-24T13:58:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-24T14:03:00.448-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='brooms'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sex'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Robot Chicken'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Barbie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='violence'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='forest'/><title type='text'>Robot Chicken//Whipped Cream</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S6pTzXJ6WGI/AAAAAAAAAIo/PYhsTYE06Ug/s1600/robotchicken.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S6pTzXJ6WGI/AAAAAAAAAIo/PYhsTYE06Ug/s320/robotchicken.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452262440739428450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was a blond girl – a naked plastic Robot Chicken puppet with a plastic yellow ponytail.  I was in the woods with another naked, male, Robot Chicken puppet that had dark brown hair.  I was holding a broom stick handle and looking at him.  I hit him across the face with it.  He got turned on by it and started hitting me back.  Suddenly, I was watching this as if I were watching Robot Chicken.  They kept hitting each other in the bushes and saying things like “Oh yeah, you like that?” etc., and then whipped cream simultaneously exploded from their Barbie-like crotch areas...  Then they took out low-fi fake looking cardboard cameras and started taking pictures to keep for later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-4930140947215495697?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/4930140947215495697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=4930140947215495697' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/4930140947215495697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/4930140947215495697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2010/03/robot-chickenwhipped-cream.html' title='Robot Chicken//Whipped Cream'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S6pTzXJ6WGI/AAAAAAAAAIo/PYhsTYE06Ug/s72-c/robotchicken.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-1587403379020965774</id><published>2010-03-24T13:56:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-24T13:58:40.427-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gift'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='NYC'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='roomates'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='animals'/><title type='text'>Why Did You Give Me This?  It Needs To Go To The Vet!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S6pSsAOg-xI/AAAAAAAAAIg/7zIy3huG0D4/s1600/funny-pictures-alien-kitten-GXm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 184px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S6pSsAOg-xI/AAAAAAAAAIg/7zIy3huG0D4/s200/funny-pictures-alien-kitten-GXm.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452261214814010130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked out of my bedroom into the staircase room.  Chris was in there holding a large paper bag and explained that it was a gift for me.  He also said that it was something he found outside.  I opened it and dumped out a little kitten that was extremely sick.  It had patches of fur missing and looked like it would have to be put to sleep.  I said: “Why did you give me this?  It needs to go to the vet!”  I put it down and it started wandering around the apartment.  I was afraid of getting a disease.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*I think I had this dream because I have been thinking of bringing my cat, Fed Ex, to NYC... (which is now going to happen!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-1587403379020965774?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/1587403379020965774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=1587403379020965774' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/1587403379020965774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/1587403379020965774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2010/03/why-did-you-give-me-this-it-needs-to-go.html' title='Why Did You Give Me This?  It Needs To Go To The Vet!'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S6pSsAOg-xI/AAAAAAAAAIg/7zIy3huG0D4/s72-c/funny-pictures-alien-kitten-GXm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-3534189015562843228</id><published>2010-02-25T01:27:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-25T01:31:44.220-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sex'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cellar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dimension'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alien'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pregnancy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='guitar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Barbie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='door'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drinking'/><title type='text'>Dimensional Guitars</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S4YY68Ky0nI/AAAAAAAAAGE/KwCQ5q5gBU0/s1600-h/feb21.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S4YY68Ky0nI/AAAAAAAAAGE/KwCQ5q5gBU0/s320/feb21.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442064600586703474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; It was Friday night.  Mike and I met up and were going to go to a bar to hang out.  We got there, and I met some guy… who I took back to my apartment to hang out with.  He saw the guitar in my room, one that Jasper had let me borrow.  The guy I brought back said he was going to show me something interesting.  He grabbed my hand and sort-of jumped down the neck of the guitar along the strings then into the sound hole.  Suddenly, I was in this other world that was an alternate dimension and existed alongside ours but without any NYC buildings.  The guy that jumped in with me had changed.  He was a tall, skinny, female alien.  S/he told me that I was brought there to be impregnated so I could continue their alien race.  She was the only female alien left and all the thousands of others there were male.  I started freaking out and tried to get back out the way I came, but I couldn’t leave the alternate dimension through the guitar… so I started wandering around and avoiding the aliens.  I walked up on a hill, and suddenly felt this breeze around my knees that felt like really cold February air.  I bent down and found that there was an invisible hole that led back into my dimension.  I could also feel an invisible door that could shut it too, but it didn’t have a handle.  Once it was shut it could never be opened.  I escaped through the tiny doorway, which was about the size of an eave doorway in an attic.  I ended up coming out of a small cellar door onto a side of a hill with my apartment building to it’s left.  I called Mike over and explained to him what happened.  He asked me to show him how to get into the guitar, and I did.  We crossed over into the other dimension, which caused Mike to turn into a solid navy-blue alien because he’s male.  The others were all variants of many colors, so I could tell Mike apart from the crowds.  I couldn’t get him through the invisible door for some reason so I had to leave him there to find more help.  I noticed that it was snowing in NYC, and the snow was entering the invisible doorway and collecting near the entrance.  I thought that maybe the alien that tricked me into coming there would find the invisible door outlined with snow and shut it, that way Mike and I could be stuck there forever.  I left him to guard it and went back into our dimension.  Jasper came over and I tried to explain to him how Mike was stuck in the other world and how we got there through the guitar.  He didn’t believe me, so I told him to look out the apartment window and watch the cellar on the hill.  I put my arm into the guitar’s sound hole and it appeared as though it was coming out the cellar door.  I waved my hand frantically to prove my point.  Jasper still didn’t believe me and thought I was messing with him.  He thought my trick was amazing and wanted to know who was hiding in the cellar and synchronizing their arm movements with mine.  I explained again how the guitar and cellar worked and showed him by throwing a pill bottle into the guitar’s sound hole.  The pill bottle flew out of the cellar door and landed on the hillside.  He still thought it was an amazing trick and still didn’t believe me.  I asked him what I could possibly put through the hole that would convince him.  He happened to have a different guitar and told me that he would believe me if I could get the neck of the guitar he brought to come out of the cellar.  I did just that and he was finally convinced.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**the photo is Lauren Chester's from: http://artemer.wordpress.com/&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-3534189015562843228?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/3534189015562843228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=3534189015562843228' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/3534189015562843228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/3534189015562843228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2010/02/dimensional-guitars.html' title='Dimensional Guitars'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S4YY68Ky0nI/AAAAAAAAAGE/KwCQ5q5gBU0/s72-c/feb21.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-630004195594075177</id><published>2010-02-22T13:25:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T13:37:57.374-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='robot'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='old house'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Marc'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='subway system'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='animals'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vomit'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blimps'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grass'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wedding'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='NYC'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='water'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drinking'/><title type='text'>Rabid Rats and Grass Blimps</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S4LNCW6OefI/AAAAAAAAAF8/-moRmNIkdNs/s1600-h/grassballoon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S4LNCW6OefI/AAAAAAAAAF8/-moRmNIkdNs/s200/grassballoon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441136740210211314" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dream began four years ago, and took place at a wedding held in an old mansion. I saw an old friend of mine there that was extremely drunk.  I took him into another room to sober up but he ended up puking on the floor, so I ran away.  I went through this other door that led into the front  ballroom of the house, but I wasn't supposed to actually be there... and the woman that owned the place came in and explained about how she was fixing it up and would like some help.  I offered to help her, then suddenly I was up on this blimp-like thing that was inside that room of the house.  It was made entirely out of leaves, grass, and rocks.  It was 90+ feet up in the place and if I stood up I would be able to touch the ceiling.  I was balancing on a rock stepping stone while she hoisted up leaves and grass for me to stuff inbetween the rocks.  Then, a helicopter came to get me down so I could take a break.  When it landed, and I got out, I saw that my friend Marc was there.  But he was a giant - about three times his size, and dressed in a weird robot costume.  There were grates on the ground similar to the ones on the sidewalk for the subways in NYC.  Water was collecting on the ground instead of draining into the grates properly.  Marc got really upset and ripped the grates off to pour his homemade mix of Draino down it.  Suddenly, all of these rats under the grate started climbing up into the room.  He sprayed another crazy acid-like chemical all over them like a firehose  blast.  But, in the process, he blasted my little robot friend and killed him.  I thought I could bring him back to life so I started dragging him away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-630004195594075177?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/630004195594075177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=630004195594075177' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/630004195594075177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/630004195594075177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2010/02/rabid-rats-and-grass-blimps.html' title='Rabid Rats and Grass Blimps'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S4LNCW6OefI/AAAAAAAAAF8/-moRmNIkdNs/s72-c/grassballoon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-5204121524948794288</id><published>2010-02-04T23:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-05T00:05:02.927-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='masterbation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lucid dreams'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sex'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='penis'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='boy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pseudo-people'/><title type='text'>*Fap* *Fap* *Fap*</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S2ukmyY0TAI/AAAAAAAAAEo/aUh-JSXNYTI/s1600-h/15_cowboy_lgl.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S2ukmyY0TAI/AAAAAAAAAEo/aUh-JSXNYTI/s320/15_cowboy_lgl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434618361620483074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was an eleven year old boy in a bedroom... and was partly lucid dreaming.  I had no ability to change my surroundings, my gender, or my age but I was able to control my actions.  I decided that, since I was a boy, that I should try to masterbate and see if I could get myself off.  I figured that maybe I would be able to feel an orgasm in the same way a man does.  I kept trying to, and got extreemely close but I couldn't get quite hard enough because I was too young and hadn't completely gone through puberty yet.  Frustrating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note:  This dream was about a year ago.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-5204121524948794288?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/5204121524948794288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=5204121524948794288' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/5204121524948794288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/5204121524948794288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2010/02/fap-fap-fap.html' title='*Fap* *Fap* *Fap*'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S2ukmyY0TAI/AAAAAAAAAEo/aUh-JSXNYTI/s72-c/15_cowboy_lgl.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-3758910483321723532</id><published>2010-02-04T19:00:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-04T19:56:01.413-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='passport'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cambodia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Caribbean'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='travel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='running late'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='airplane'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='W. 192nd House'/><title type='text'>Cambodia - the Uncharted Caribbean Island</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S2tnqiUyjvI/AAAAAAAAAEg/DK6wCpeVI7M/s1600-h/cambodia-map-large.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 334px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S2tnqiUyjvI/AAAAAAAAAEg/DK6wCpeVI7M/s400/cambodia-map-large.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434551355818807026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in the house I grew up in, at my desk.  I was looking up plane ticket times online and realized that my plane to Cambodia was leaving in fifteen minutes.  The airport is only about 5 minutes away from ny house so I still had plenty of time.  I started packing in a hurry and realized that I don't have a passport!  How was I supposed to get to Cambodia?  Then, I remembered that Cambodia is one of the Caribbean Islands and I don't need a passport because they are a part of U.S. land. &lt;br /&gt;I got to the airport and got on the plane.  I was in a seat right behind the pilot while they were flying there, and I could see out the pilot's front window.  They were ducking/going over a lot of crazy rock formations and through a jungle.  I was afraid they were going to ask me for my passport and I wouldn't have one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note:  I know where Cambodia really is.  This dream is really lame.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-3758910483321723532?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/3758910483321723532/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=3758910483321723532' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/3758910483321723532'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/3758910483321723532'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2010/02/cambodia-uncharted-caribbean-island.html' title='Cambodia - the Uncharted Caribbean Island'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/S2tnqiUyjvI/AAAAAAAAAEg/DK6wCpeVI7M/s72-c/cambodia-map-large.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-5635466393678171939</id><published>2009-12-23T15:44:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-23T15:51:37.753-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nonexistant people'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='robot'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pregnancy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hospital'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='male'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mother'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pseudo-people'/><title type='text'>How Did Those Get In My Wife???</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SzKBqtq6zdI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Nf2R1g_8eAk/s1600-h/robotkid.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 224px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SzKBqtq6zdI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Nf2R1g_8eAk/s320/robotkid.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418535872494226898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first I was a different woman and pregnant.  I was at a hospital with my husband and two other children: an older boy and about a 7-8 year old blond girl.  The girl was actually in the hospital and was dying.  She was hooked up to a life support system and had a computer screen that was also hooked up to her brain so that she could tell us things that she wanted or needed without talking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, I was the husband instead, and the woman that I was before wasn't in the room anymore.  The little girl thought something and it came up on her computer screen.  She said she wanted URANIUM (all in caps).  She just kept thinking URANIUM URANIUM.  Then I realized that my children were really robots/androids and were going to grow up and kill us.  Then I thought : "How did those get in my wife?" because she gave birth to them and they grew up.  I just kept looking at the girl in the hospital bed and thinking 'How did those get in my wife?????"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-5635466393678171939?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/5635466393678171939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=5635466393678171939' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/5635466393678171939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/5635466393678171939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2009/12/how-did-those-get-in-my-wife.html' title='How Did Those Get In My Wife???'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SzKBqtq6zdI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Nf2R1g_8eAk/s72-c/robotkid.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-4821555601735901581</id><published>2009-04-21T17:10:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-21T17:13:25.632-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='abandoned houses'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hostage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tweed jacket'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='copies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kidnapped'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pseudo-people'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='assault'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mormon'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nonexistant people'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='collapse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='farm house'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='captive'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='attacking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chasing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='police'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rural'/><title type='text'>Farmhouse Hostages</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/Se4279oTItI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/H5BnC2cF1WM/s1600-h/escape.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 292px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/Se4279oTItI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/H5BnC2cF1WM/s320/escape.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327255813009646290" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April 21, 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was someone in this dream, but wasn’t myself.  I was taller and had really short brown hair.  (This is the second dream with this pseudo – me, the first one was a few years ago – which I have documented – perhaps I will post that one at a later time).  There was a group of us, with myself included, that traveled to this farm area that was out in the middle of nowhere.  It was surrounded with a small rural city as well.  We were there to specifically see one man who lived in a very old farmhouse and also rented out another farmhouse on his property.  He was a very nice old farmer and was very helpful.  We needed to stay with him a few days, trying to procure the things we needed from him for the T.I.M.E. – Digital Arts department (where I currently work) using purchase orders.  Eventually, we went over a few things and I purchased copies of his books that we needed (copies from a copy machine).  Three or four of the copies that we needed totaled $30.00 but one of the copies was $75.00.  We purchased them, and then purchased something else of his for $75.00 as well.  (I forget what it was now…)  The next day I realized that we didn’t actually have that amount of money left in our budget and had gone over it.  I asked the old man to come to the house we were staying at and to help me figure things out.  I was hoping that I could ‘return’ the copies and the other thing that I had purchased from him for $75.00 and get my money back.  He started getting incredibly irate with me over it and explained that he had already bought a tweed jacket from the internet and showed me a picture of it.  It looked like the typical type of jacket that high school football players wear – the two toned colored ones with their number on the back.  I finally said that I was sorry for the inconvenience and decided not to take the money back.  He was still extremely angry with me and with everyone I was with (who I do not know in real life) and I explained that I didn’t want our discussion to ruin our friendship together.  Somehow, after that, he would not let us leave the house and was keeping us there as hostages.  The next day, his roof caved in because his house was so old.  He had to ‘move’ in with us.  This made it harder for us to escape, since, every time we tried he would be there – keeping us from leaving.  I wondered if our employers wondered where we were.  At one point, one of the houses close to the farmhouse where we were being imprisoned, was surprisingly closer.  I was able to walk out onto the roof of the porch (by exiting a second story window) and jump onto the other houses’ roof.  I jumped down and started running down the rural neighborhood street.  A few houses down was a cop, dressed in his blue uniform and cap, raking leaves.  I came up to him and explained what was going on and asked him to help me.  He completely ignored me, as if I wasn’t there, and just kept raking leaves.  I realized that he wouldn’t do anything about it because he was 100% aware of what our captor was doing and so was everyone else.  They weren’t necessarily in on it, but they wouldn’t stop it either.  I was afraid that there were people in on it, or people that would help the old man instead of us in this rural community.  That made me apprehensive about which door I could knock on and ask to use the phone, or who I could cry and plead my case to in the neighborhood.  I figured that no one would help and after walking a long way in both directions, I gave up and went back to the house because my friends were still imprisoned there.  We would have to find a different way…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if this dream has something to do with a book I read about a year ago called “Escape” about a woman trying to escape from her Mormon husband, religion, and community.  At one point, as she tries to leave, she is caught by the police in her area.  Since they are Mormon too, they just take her back to her husband instead of hearing her pleas to be let free.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow, lately… my dreams have had a lot to do with religion.  I blame it on Easter and my dislike for the holiday.  I can usually skate through religious holidays because most of their ‘customs’ have little to do with religion.  Easter is a bit different because there isn’t a bunch of crazy festivities (like Christmas has) to cover up it’s real meaning.  I spend a lot of Easter dinner pretty silent so that I don’t offend my family with my religious (or lack there of) tendencies.  I wonder if the uncomfort and angst I have around the holidays is coming out right now in my dreams…… ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, the old man was very nasty to us.  He didn’t actually have a gun, exercise any type of force, or wield any other weapons but somehow we knew that we couldn’t leave and that he wouldn’t let us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-4821555601735901581?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/4821555601735901581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=4821555601735901581' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/4821555601735901581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/4821555601735901581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2009/04/farmhouse-hostages.html' title='Farmhouse Hostages'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/Se4279oTItI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/H5BnC2cF1WM/s72-c/escape.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-5237988691256639894</id><published>2009-04-21T16:43:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-21T16:45:40.493-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='abandoned houses'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Carmen Miranda'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gold'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='BFA'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='basement'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='casket'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='religion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cleveland Institute of Art'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flamenco dancer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hiking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='yellow'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='saints'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cellar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='church'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='thesis'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='food'/><title type='text'>St. Felicity - the Flamenco Dancer Saint</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/Se4wby-nhVI/AAAAAAAAAEI/SHa5ATgWwsY/s1600-h/carmen.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 219px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/Se4wby-nhVI/AAAAAAAAAEI/SHa5ATgWwsY/s400/carmen.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327248663324886354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April, 17th 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I was attending Dan G.’s BFA thesis, which was located in a church instead of at CIA (Cleveland Institute of Art) or somewhere in University Circle.  This church was an extremely large Roman Catholic Church, and filled with golden statues and crazy gold church things.  Dan was standing, with his work, near the altar.  Everyone that came to his thesis presentation/critique were all situated in the pews, except for the front right pew.  The front right pew was reserved for his family (much like a wedding/funeral set up in church) and had two half-sized caskets set up vertically.  They were the recently dug up bodies of his mother and aunt, who had (somehow) died in the 1920s.  They were both buried with bouquets of golden flowers with yellow dresses and golden floral pattern casket lining.  Instead of being propped up toward Dan, his artwork, and his presentation, they were propped up facing the crowd.  I was sitting in the pew directly behind them, and, since I was so close to them, I could see that they were really dusty because they were buried for so long – but somehow they looked like the just died yesterday – very preserved.  After his presentation, there was a food reception in the back of the church.  I walked through the buffet and out into this half – open hallway (open into the main part of the church) filled with gigantic statues of saints with votive lighting set ups.  The last one on the left was a saint dressed in a black Spanish dancing costume.  I walked toward Dan in the main part of the church and pointed to the saint in a Spanish/ latin American dancing costume and asked: “Why is there a Carmen Miranda statue here?”  He explained that it wasn’t a statue of Carmen Miranda but a statue of St. Felicity, who was a Flamenco Dancer.  I went back and inspected it to make sure he was right, which he was.  &lt;br /&gt; I ended up taking a lot of the food from the buffet and leaving.  I was going on some sort of hiking trip, hiking from one city to another.  I came across an abandoned house and was in it’s cellar heating up my food by steaming them in a bamboo box on a set of shelves that happened to be there.  A girl came in and stole my food from me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Notes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;• Although I went to Catholic schools for K – 12 grade levels, I am definitely not a Catholic, or Christian and do not identify with any specific religion.  I am probably slightly more ‘religious’ than someone who is agnostic (neither denies nor accepts that there is a God/ higher power) since I believe that there is a ‘higher power’.&lt;br /&gt;• Carmen Miranda is one of my favorite famous people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-5237988691256639894?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/5237988691256639894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=5237988691256639894' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/5237988691256639894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/5237988691256639894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2009/04/st-felicity-flamenco-dancer-saint.html' title='St. Felicity - the Flamenco Dancer Saint'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/Se4wby-nhVI/AAAAAAAAAEI/SHa5ATgWwsY/s72-c/carmen.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-2434014543751680941</id><published>2009-04-03T14:07:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-03T14:12:00.908-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='assault'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Los Angeles'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='abandoned houses'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='middle finger'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flipping off'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='monkey'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chasing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lizard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='garage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Florida'/><title type='text'>Margaret Cho's Monkey Lizards</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SdZRFNU8G-I/AAAAAAAAADg/Jpd6JZct_us/s1600-h/margaretcho.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 269px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SdZRFNU8G-I/AAAAAAAAADg/Jpd6JZct_us/s400/margaretcho.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320529159703501794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April 2nd, 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in someone’s garage – a garage not connected to a house, and actually, there were no houses on that property.  There was just a garage with a driveway leading to it and hedges on either side.  Also, on either side of the garage’s property were two houses, one on the right had a garage attached to it and very close to the hedge boundary of the garage I was in.  The person that owned that property must also this lonely garage.  I walked around, admiring all the crazy clutter, when I saw a metal 8 ft tall shelf with a weird infestation.  They were strange monkey like creatures with some black fur and hands with opposable thumbs, but their back ends were green and chameleon lizard like.  I couldn’t decide, through the whole encounter, whether they were monkeys or lizards.  The only thing I did know was they were a very common animal – like sparrows or squirrels, and were everywhere.  I started trying to teach them things.  I tried to teach them how to give the middle finger, since I didn’t know sign language.  I kept giving them the middle finger until they caught on and did it back.  When they did, it looked more like the way that Margaret Cho does it, which actually looks really awkward.  They will be able to pull their middle finger up, but only halfway bending their other fingers down instead of holding them down with their thumb.  Then, some man noticed that I was in his garage and came in yelling ‘What did you see!?’  I pointed at the monkey-lizards and walked past him down the driveway in the bright sun – I think I was in L.A. or somewhere else wonderfully sunny and warm.  He started following me really discretely, under the impression that I wouldn’t know he was behind me.  I think he thought I saw something illegal in his garage (which I didn’t) and wanted to get rid of me.  I would start talking to people about my problems and my fears about this guy following me.  The guy would actually switch them out for someone that looked very similar to the person I was talking to.  This person would try to kill me and I eventually caught on that the guy following me was omnipotent and was finding hit men that looked like the people I was talking to.  I started to get more and more wary, and during one conversation, I realized that I wasn’t talking to the same person any more and actually saw the swap take place.  I started running away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Notes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to see Margaret Cho in November, who is my favorite comedian, and I marveled at how she could flip people off without holding her other fingers down – and so effortlessly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I visited L.A. this year to research grad schools.  I also went to Florida this year as well, so this dream could take place at either of those.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-2434014543751680941?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/2434014543751680941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=2434014543751680941' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/2434014543751680941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/2434014543751680941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2009/04/margaret-chos-monkey-lizards.html' title='Margaret Cho&apos;s Monkey Lizards'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SdZRFNU8G-I/AAAAAAAAADg/Jpd6JZct_us/s72-c/margaretcho.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-5411847269087261248</id><published>2009-03-30T16:26:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T16:28:09.648-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='assault'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Girl Scout Cookies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bathroom'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='muffin'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kidnapped'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bakery'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thin Mints'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='W. 192nd House'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vomit'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SdErAAOVtOI/AAAAAAAAADI/d0NsquCN1mI/s1600-h/girl_scout_cookies_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 277px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SdErAAOVtOI/AAAAAAAAADI/d0NsquCN1mI/s320/girl_scout_cookies_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319079913961403618" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 25th 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thin Mint Assault&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was standing in the doorway of the bathroom from my childhood West Park Cleveland home, watching a scene happen in front of me.  Although I was physically standing in the scene  I knew that I was really watching a movie.  There were two people in the bathroom, standing in front of the sink, a teenage man and woman.  The man was holding out a thin mint Girl Scout cookie for the girl to take, which she did, and ate it.  After the first one, he started offering her a second, which he was taking out of a medicine cabinet filled with other baked items: muffins, scones, other cookies.  As he tried to force her into taking another Thin Mint she pointed at a chocolate muffin in the case and asked for it.  He refused to give it to her and started getting extremely hostile about her refusal.  He put his hand on her back, not actually hitting her or holding onto her, but in such a stern way it was obvious that he was slowly overtaking her by force.  He started rubbing the cookie all over her face, trying to get her to take it.  She started crying and then he finally said:  “If you don’t want them, then you can give me the other ones back” and pushed her over toward the toilet.  She stuck her finger down her throat to throw the cookie she ate back up into the toilet.  At this part (when the girl induced vomit and started throwing up in the toilet) I looked away.  Instead of seeing the person next to me in the theatre, like I should have, I saw my own reflection on the mirror located on the outside of the door.  Since the door opened into the bathroom and I was standing in the doorway, I would logically see that if I turned my head to the right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Notes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thin Mints and those delightful peanut butter cookies are my favorite Girl Scout cookies and I used to absolutely love them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It grosses me out when people bring anything edible into the bathroom.  This could even be a covered pop from McDonald’s or a stick of gum.  Anything that could potentially be consumed must not EVER go into a bathroom.  Also, if I am chewing something, I need to swallow it before entering the bathroom also, because the  bathroom air will taint it… So, it’s very interesting that there was a medicine cabinet filled with bakery (which is my favorite type of food)….&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, I have an extreme fear of throwing up.  I had to see a psychiatrist about it in high school because I wouldn’t actually eat, was 87 lbs., and anemic.  (Although, 87 lbs is still technically a healthy weight for someone my height, so that weight is shocking but not shocking)…  This fear of throwing up hinders a lot of my life.  I have a lot of dreams about it and, depending on how ‘gory’ they are, can affect me all day or for multiple days making me more paranoid about my food choices, my acid reflux disorder, and anything else that could potentially make me throw up.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never been in the Girl Scouts but I have friends that have been.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-5411847269087261248?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/5411847269087261248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=5411847269087261248' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/5411847269087261248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/5411847269087261248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2009/03/march-25th-2009-thin-mint-assault-i-was.html' title=''/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SdErAAOVtOI/AAAAAAAAADI/d0NsquCN1mI/s72-c/girl_scout_cookies_1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-3244177730233252768</id><published>2009-03-26T12:41:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-12-23T03:00:11.482-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ice cream'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pregnancy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pee'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hot tub'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='shopping center'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pools'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='candy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Florida'/><title type='text'>Hot Tubs, Pee, and Finding Jesus?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/ScuwkPOOF6I/AAAAAAAAADA/7R9bGBKd-ZA/s1600-h/starmands.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/ScuwkPOOF6I/AAAAAAAAADA/7R9bGBKd-ZA/s320/starmands.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317537921648957346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 26, 2008&lt;br /&gt;I was vacationing in Florida and at an indoor playground – like pool area.  There were many small pools and hot tubs set up for people to hang out with small groups in.  In addition to me, there were a lot of teenage boys milling around and playing in all the pools.  to go into one of the hot tubs located in the middle of the concrete playground area when the boys jumped right into it.  Instead, I went into the back to a secluded hot tub.  I walked around the parameter of it (it was only about 3-4 feet in diameter) and stopped. I started lowering myself in and I noticed something yellow, oily, and glittering on the surface.  I stood up straight.  When I stood up I could no longer see it.  I started bending down again, trying to change my angle to look in the tub.  Eventually, I saw it again gleaming on the surface and realized what had happened: the boys hanging out in the other hot tubs had peed in this one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow, I was suddenly in an outdoor shopping center in Florida.  It was so open that the stores only had two standing walls to differentiate themselves as individual shops.  I went ‘into’ a store that sold homemade candy and started talking to one of the sales associates – a pregnant woman in her early thirties.  She told me that she was only two months pregnant but her stomach was already protruding like she was much further along.  She said that was because she was carrying a boy.  She had two other girls, had barely shown, and they slid right out.  I followed her out onto the sidewalk while she closed up shop.  To my left was an open stable with three men hanging out.  I recognized one of them as someone I used to work with in high school: Chris.  Chris is someone that I haven’t seen in years.  I walked up and started talking to him, asking him what was new.  He said that he had found Jesus.  I asked:  “How could you find Jesus more?”.  (In real life, I have no clue what religion Chris was, if one, or how religious he really was at all… but the dream version of Chris happened to be very religious already.)  He started explaining how he became more religious.  I don’t remember the explanation at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Notes:  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was recently in Florida.  My brother and some of his friends came down to&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Florida we went to St. Armand’s Circle – which is a ritzy outdoor mall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my coworkers at the Gap was named Chris.  I forget his last name, but I used to know it.  I have been trying to remember it to see if I could find him…maybe on Facebook, but I don’t have much to go by.  The last time I saw him was my second year in college.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I watched The Duchess, a movie about an English Duchess that was married to a Duke so he could get an heir.  She had two girls of her own and was really pressured to have a son.  This may explain my encounter with a woman pregnant with a son in this dream.&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-3244177730233252768?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/3244177730233252768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=3244177730233252768' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/3244177730233252768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/3244177730233252768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2009/03/hot-tubs-pee-and-finding-jesus.html' title='Hot Tubs, Pee, and Finding Jesus?'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/ScuwkPOOF6I/AAAAAAAAADA/7R9bGBKd-ZA/s72-c/starmands.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-8416918510282537618</id><published>2009-03-25T16:55:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T17:00:05.678-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lucid dreams'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='suncatcher'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='glass'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='brother'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mother'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='condo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='garden'/><title type='text'>Kaleidoscope Glasses</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/Scqa6olaf2I/AAAAAAAAAC4/eEFCnlZrm4E/s1600-h/suncatcher.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 157px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/Scqa6olaf2I/AAAAAAAAAC4/eEFCnlZrm4E/s200/suncatcher.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317232642181726050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 19th, 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* partially a lucid dream&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was visiting my brother’s mom.  She lived in a condo complex that also doubled as a scenic park to the people that owned property there.  When I saw her, I realized that I was dreaming since she didn’t actually look like herself.  She had long and straight brown hair and a red sweater.  We walked around the garden area, and eventually I found myself, alone, knocking on someone’s door.  They lived in a second story flat in the condo complex. The condo owner answered – a man in his mid thirties.  He was wearing something that looked like a miner’s helmet, with a camera lens in the front that came down over his eyes.  He invited me into his house and I realized that the walls were almost entirely made out of glass windows except for the wall housing the door that I had just come in from.  It was incredibly bright in there.  He went over to a drawer, leafed through a bunch of stained glass suncatchers before choosing one.  Then he put it in a slot between the lens and the cap of the miner’s hat-like contraption he was wearing.  This way, the colored glass suncatcher acted like an odd type of sunglasses.  He would see through it blurrily, which would tint everything around him with the colored glass pattern on the suncatcher itself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Notes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom lives in a condo complex.  My brother’s mom lives in a ranch-style house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been able to recognize the fact that I’m dreaming more and more.  Sometimes I can control what I’m doing or think clearly but still cannot control anything outside of myself in my dreams.  Maybe one day…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-8416918510282537618?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/8416918510282537618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=8416918510282537618' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/8416918510282537618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/8416918510282537618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2009/03/kaleidoscope-glasses.html' title='Kaleidoscope Glasses'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/Scqa6olaf2I/AAAAAAAAAC4/eEFCnlZrm4E/s72-c/suncatcher.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-2636190392061715859</id><published>2009-03-24T13:51:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T13:55:43.226-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='birds'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='washer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='abandoned houses'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='eggs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='antiques'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nest'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dryer'/><title type='text'>Completely Content</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SckemPZ_LwI/AAAAAAAAACw/E9hzbZVZHK4/s1600-h/houseplanwithattic+copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SckemPZ_LwI/AAAAAAAAACw/E9hzbZVZHK4/s320/houseplanwithattic+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316814477406973698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/Sckd_joZnmI/AAAAAAAAACo/fTiI_waC6GM/s1600-h/dryer.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/Sckd_joZnmI/AAAAAAAAACo/fTiI_waC6GM/s200/dryer.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316813812821237346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February 28, 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in our office room, which is really an upstairs bedroom in our little house.  (Incidentally, this bedroom used to be Beth’s then Adri’s when we roomed together)  For some reason, although I had been in that room a million times, I noticed a tiny door about the size of an eve door jutting off of the wall.  (In real life, the wall this door was attached to is the outer wall of the house, in NO WAY could anything exist on the other side of it unless it’s hidden under the siding)  I opened the door and discovered that it led into a hallway with five steps leading down into it so that a person could stand up without hunching over.  At the end of the hallway was a regular-sized door.  I walked through the hall and opened the door to find the hidden attic that Adri and I always joke about. (We joke about a hidden attic in real life).  The attic was really split into two rooms, one that was the height of a regular room, with curved edges at the ceiling (like many attics) and had another room that was adjacent to it.  This second room (Room #2) was similar to another type of attic architecture.  It had slopping, unfinished ceilings that came down in the shape of a triangle.  The ceiling was much lower, and an average person would have to stoop to enter and walk around.  I spent a good amount of time just exploring both of the rooms.  The first room had an old washing machine and dryer that were filled with standing water.  I thought that Carol must have used them about three years ago and that they were probably broken now.  There was also a large mop bucket filled with standing water, a pantry with screws, old food from the 50s, and telephones in it.  There were a lot of birds nests with unhatched eggs in them piled in a wooden wall alcove next to Room #2’s door.  I wondered where the birds had went and why the birds had abandoned their eggs – which looked very old.  Room #2 had very little in it except for a few dead birds.  That’s where the birds must have gone… they died and so, therefore, their eggs never hatched in all their years in that dusty attic…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Notes:  I woke up from this dream completely content.  Sometimes, my dreams cause me to wake up horny, sad, in a panic, or about ready to throw up.  I woke up with this amazing fulfilled feeling that continued the entire day… actually, it continued for a few days. I think this may be because of my weird fetish with abandoned buildings and going in them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adri and I actually joke about a hidden attic in the little house.  We actually think that you can access it on the outside of the house by climbing up the slanted part in the roof.  It would be above my old bedroom (now our closet room) we believe that this is possible because there’s a different type of siding in the shape of a rectangle on that side of the house.  It has ridges on it, which makes it look like you could lift it up like a garage door.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thought I had about Carol using the washer and dryer was incorrect.  Apparently, I cannot do math in my dreams… I can’t in real life either though.  But, three years ago from the date of the dream would have been – Feb. 28, 2006.  At that time, our technical landlord Carol would have been in the hospital.  That year was Adri’s first year in the house and as my roommate and my second year living in the house.  The first year living there, I roomed with Beth.  So, if Carol would have ever actually used that fictional washer and dryer set, it would have actually been about 4 years and 5 months previous to the date of the dream, not three years.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-2636190392061715859?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/2636190392061715859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=2636190392061715859' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/2636190392061715859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/2636190392061715859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2009/03/completely-content.html' title='Completely Content'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SckemPZ_LwI/AAAAAAAAACw/E9hzbZVZHK4/s72-c/houseplanwithattic+copy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-5232780099915105059</id><published>2008-10-02T16:45:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-12-23T03:04:44.613-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='incan ruins'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='water'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='eels'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ruins'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='aquarium'/><title type='text'>Eeliscious</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU0W1kl-sI/AAAAAAAAABk/BM4R9m63HN4/s1600-h/CLV00183.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU0W1kl-sI/AAAAAAAAABk/BM4R9m63HN4/s200/CLV00183.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252662107339881154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was checking out Incan ruins.  It was very hot and they were very stony and beautiful.  I was afraid to go down the stairs because they looked like they could crumble at any minute… Then, we walked through this city, which looked nothing like an Incan city but more like an Italian Village.  I walked through an aquarium, but there was a lot of water on the floor, maybe about 6 inches to a foot depending on where I was.  There was a beautiful tree in the middle of a cobblestone sidewalk…planted there to look nice as pie.  All these eels started attacking me, since I was still inside the aquarium.  I started freaking out and stood on top of a large box.  A shirtless blond man came over to help me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-5232780099915105059?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/5232780099915105059/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=5232780099915105059' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/5232780099915105059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/5232780099915105059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2008/10/eeliscious.html' title='Eeliscious'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU0W1kl-sI/AAAAAAAAABk/BM4R9m63HN4/s72-c/CLV00183.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-2191601813481599461</id><published>2008-09-30T14:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T14:38:50.631-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='maggot'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worm'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parasite'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='brain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cemetery'/><title type='text'>Maggot Brain</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOJyET_hXyI/AAAAAAAAABM/jKpaLytFu-Y/s1600-h/liceholyshithate.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOJyET_hXyI/AAAAAAAAABM/jKpaLytFu-Y/s400/liceholyshithate.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251885533879164706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstaff%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0in; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:8.5in 11.0in; 	margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; 	mso-header-margin:.5in; 	mso-footer-margin:.5in; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0in; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-ansi-language:#0400; 	mso-fareast-language:#0400; 	mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I had to sleep in a cemetery with a bunch of people.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;For some reason, because of that, everyone got lice.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I didn’t get lice, however I would have preferred it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I got small white worms burrowing in and out of my scalp.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I kept picking at them like scabs, pulling them out of my head and hair.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They kept coming back.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I started washing my hair over and over and over and over and over.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My scalp hurt terribly and I had small scabs and holes all over it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Eventually, I got all the visible worms out, but my head still hurt like hell.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I thought they laid eggs in my head.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;*when I woke up my head hurt and has been sore all day like I scratched it raw.  I needed to make this image so large that it hurt the viewer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cstaff%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0in; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:8.5in 11.0in; 	margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; 	mso-header-margin:.5in; 	mso-footer-margin:.5in; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0in; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-ansi-language:#0400; 	mso-fareast-language:#0400; 	mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-2191601813481599461?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/2191601813481599461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=2191601813481599461' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/2191601813481599461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/2191601813481599461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2008/09/maggot-brain.html' title='Maggot Brain'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOJyET_hXyI/AAAAAAAAABM/jKpaLytFu-Y/s72-c/liceholyshithate.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-5097252219751307096</id><published>2008-05-16T10:53:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T11:27:25.134-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sex'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='african american'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='zombie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='captive'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dome'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='attacking'/><title type='text'>Gang Bangin' in the Negro Dome (an oldie but goodie)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SC2gefGv6pI/AAAAAAAAAA0/QimSq38ZKpI/s1600-h/dome.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SC2gefGv6pI/AAAAAAAAAA0/QimSq38ZKpI/s320/dome.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200989590289115794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Note before reading:  I am in no way racist or have any conscious animosity toward African Americans!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't remember much of this dream, other than I was living in a dome that had one door to enter and exit from it.  I wanted more than anything to escape but I would be killed the second I tried to.  It seemed as if the majority of the other people in this dome were African American as well.  There were three ways to survive in this dome without being killed.  One is to act like a zombie and wander around as if you didn't exist.  But this wouldn't allow you passage out the door into the real world.  The other two, which would grant you more freedom and alliances would be to be an extremely tough person and command the alliances out of fear, or to have sex with as many people as possible and gain alliances through your services.  I chose to have sex with people, since I'm not a very tough person to begin with.  I  started gaining enough alliances when this extreemely tough and reputable man came up to me.  His skin was very dark skinned and wearing all black.  Because of that, and the lighting in the dome, the only parts of him that I could see were is white teeth and his eyes.  They almost seemed to glow in the dark.  He was going to help me break out of the dome....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Notes: This dream could possibly have connections to Grand Theft Auto and other types of media of a similar nature.  I will not rule out external influences of racism in society either, especially growing up in a racist home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-5097252219751307096?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/5097252219751307096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=5097252219751307096' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/5097252219751307096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/5097252219751307096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2008/05/gang-bangin-in-negro-dome-oldie-but.html' title='Gang Bangin&apos; in the Negro Dome (an oldie but goodie)'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SC2gefGv6pI/AAAAAAAAAA0/QimSq38ZKpI/s72-c/dome.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-8756831965212076820</id><published>2008-04-18T14:41:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T14:51:19.529-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lucid dreams'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ice cream'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dad&apos;s house'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='epic'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nursing homes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='attacking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chasing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Aaron'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='candy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vomit'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='animals'/><title type='text'>Epic Dream - Very LONG... 4.18.08 (partially a Lucid Dream)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SAjtNNq1TXI/AAAAAAAAAAk/k_D_S8gsrdE/s1600-h/ice+cream+in+cup.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SAjtNNq1TXI/AAAAAAAAAAk/k_D_S8gsrdE/s320/ice+cream+in+cup.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190659381807893874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;April 18&lt;sup&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/sup&gt;, 2008  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;* This dream is remarkable because it’s very rare that my ‘epic’ dreams have a final ending, although this was a final ending put forth by my conscious state of lucid dreaming.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have only been able to control my lucid dreaming from a specific standpoint and not necessarily from the entire dream, it flits in and out from conscious dreaming to unconscious uncontrolled dreaming.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;*This is the second dream in a week that took place at my dad’s house.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Aaron and I were at his parents house in &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;Lorain&lt;/st1:city&gt;  &lt;st1:state st="on"&gt;Ohio&lt;/st1:state&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt;.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We had been visiting and were on our way out the door.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Aaron was going to take me somewhere specific and special to him that was down the street from his house.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was a place that could be apparently seen from his backyard, although later, when we reach our destination, I cannot see his house, but he is on his cell phone with his parents and they can see Aaron’s car…. We pulled into a parking lot, and Aaron started driving down one of the parking lot aisles going incredibly fast.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I looked at the speedometer and realized that he was going about 50 MPH!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I said: “Do you realize that you’re going 50?”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He got surprised and slowed down.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He called his family because he &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;couldn&lt;/span&gt;’t find this childhood memory area in the parking lot that he wanted to take me to.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They gave him directions, he went straight ahead, then right into this rather unkempt area of the parking lot that led into a park.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We got out of the car, he got off the phone, and then we went in.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We walked a little ways and came upon a large clearing surrounded by woods with a weird stainless steal island of kitchen cupboards in the middle of it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Aaron walked up to it, while I stayed where I was looking around.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;A rather large cat came up and I bent down to pet it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was about twice the size as a domesticated house cat and had really dark brown fur.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When it moved in certain ways, the light that hit its fur would make it shine an almost purple-blue color.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The cat followed me up to Aaron and he started explaining the place he took me to.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was a self-serve ice cream station where, if you put a quarter in it, it will give you as much vanilla or chocolate ice cream you want as well as fixings like fudge, sprinkles, etc.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There were a few different taps that each item would come out, the only limit to the machine is you had a certain amount of time to get whatever you wanted before it would shut off and you would need another quarter to continue.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;For the average, reasonable customer, one quarter was enough to get a good amount of ice cream and fixings.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There were thin Styrofoam bowls to the left of the machine for you to pick up before you started.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Aaron had two quarters for us, and put one in for me to start getting my fixings.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I accidentally dispensed too much ice cream into my Styrofoam container.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I grabbed another bowl and dumped half the vanilla ice cream into there, then gave it to the cat following me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I started reaching for the toppings when my quarter ran out!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I looked down and the cat had started eating from my bowl as well.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was contaminated and I wanted another ice cream… but we only had one quarter left.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I checked in my pockets and I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;didn&lt;/span&gt;’t have any.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Aaron and I would have to split his quarter.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I said that I would go check at my dad’s house, which happened to be a little further into the woods.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I walked on and came to my dad’s.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He was the only one home and was busy in the kitchen.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The cat had followed me this whole way but I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;didn&lt;/span&gt;’t let it in the house.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We started talking then I looked out the sliding doors.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;More and more animals were gathering in my dad’s backyard.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I walked outside onto the deck to look at them.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When I walked outside they seemed to get very agitated, as if they wanted to attack but were restraining themselves.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I walked back in the house and started telling my dad my new concerns about the animals outside.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He started telling me not to worry about it and it was no big deal.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I kept looking out the window to see more and more animals outside on the lawn.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I kept bringing up my concern, more and more forcefully than before.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;By that time, my dad was more than upset with me about it and kept yelling that it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;wasn&lt;/span&gt;’t happening and it was all in my head.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then, after this, at some point I became a different woman.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I had long &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;blonde&lt;/span&gt; hair and I was a little older than I am in real life.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There was a black lady with me with long hair in many braids and a chubby older woman with reddish &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;blonde&lt;/span&gt; fly-away hair.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My dad was no longer there at all.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;By this time, there were tons of animals outside, wearing armor… and waiting.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There were rows and rows of them, but far back in the distance was something on a throne sitting high above all the others.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The chubby woman took the black woman’s hand, who took mine, and we ventured out into the crowd.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Many of the animals swiped and punched at us but it was like there was an invisible wall that surrounded us that they &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;couldn&lt;/span&gt;’t penetrate.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We made our way to the creature that was on the throne, but I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;couldn&lt;/span&gt;’t make out what type of creature it was.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was large and dark green, with dry leathery skin.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was so tall that I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;couldn&lt;/span&gt;’t actually see it’s head.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The two women with me and this creature talked for a long time about something, then we turned to leave.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I momentarily let go of the black woman’s hand and then the creature made a loud yelling noise, as if he just realized I was there.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I quickly grabbed on, and chained together, the three of us ran back into my dad’s house and shut the doors.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It suddenly dawned on me who these two women were.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The black lady was some type of a helper.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The chubby red-haired lady was God…&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;God then explained that she was there to supervise me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There were situations coming up with this animal war against myself, and I would have to figure out the right solutions in order to escape.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She said that there was only one specific series of events that would lead to my potential salvation from this house and away from the animals, but if I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;didn&lt;/span&gt;’t make the exact and correct choices, I would be at the mercy of the animals.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I began thinking of ways to confuse the animals once they broke into the house, and I decided on hiding in my dad’s bedroom since it had a bathroom coming off of it, as well as a window that I could escape from if necessary.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I went to the two other bedrooms to shut them and lock the doors so that when the animals finally broke into the house (which I figured they would through the living room since it’s mostly full-length glass windows and sliding doors there) they &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;wouldn&lt;/span&gt;’t know which room I was in and would have to try all of them.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;At first I thought of hiding in the small bathroom because there were no windows at all, so there was no chance that they would spot my exact location by an accidental jaunt in front of the window or a misplaced shadow or movement I could cast that they would catch onto.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But, if those animals&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;broke into that room, I would be cornered and surely killed.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So, I locked up the other rooms in the house from the inside and then locked myself in my dad’s master bedroom with the two other women.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I stayed in there for a really long time, listening to the animals rally and attack the house.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I stayed close to my dad’s closet and away from the windows.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;After a while the attack slowed down, and then I looked down at my stomach.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was a bit pudgy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was pregnant!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then God realized that I was pregnant too.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;slinked&lt;/span&gt; by the window and looked out.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There were no animals outside, it was almost as if they were never there.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I started letting my guard down… then I heard men singing outside on my dad’s porch.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I unlocked the door, walked down the hall and looked out the window onto the front porch.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Three guys that I know (in the dream only, in real life I have no clue who they are, they look like no one I know) were singing on the porch.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I opened up the door and whispered to them that it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;wasn&lt;/span&gt;’t a good idea and to stop it right now.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;didn&lt;/span&gt;’t stop and kept singing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I turned around and walked back toward the hall, when I saw that cat looking at me from the other side of the living room through the full length glass windows.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I walked by it and then back into the master bedroom, all the while the guys on the porch kept singing at the top of their lungs.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then, after I was in the master bedroom with the door locked, they stopped singing abruptly, in mid-sentence.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Suddenly, the animal noises started up again and they had broken into the house.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I ran toward the window of the room but I was surrounded on the outside as well as the inside, so I ran back into the bathroom and hid in the shower stall.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;God and the&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;black lady accompanied me in there.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The animals&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;broke down the door to the master bedroom and started swarming in, making their way to the attached bathroom.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then God and the black lady grabbed a hold of me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The shower stall door opened and the animals started swiping at me, but their swipes were deflected by another invisible wall.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;couldn&lt;/span&gt;’t see me, but they knew I was in there.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Eventually, they gave up and all left.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I ran out of the bathroom and bedroom and then into the hallway.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They knew I was in that room, none of the locked doors were disturbed at all!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;To make things worse, I was out in the open, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;couldn&lt;/span&gt;’t get into any of the other rooms because they were locked from the inside!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then I remembered the attic was right above me, I pulled the cord to the trap door and the stairs came down.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I ascended into the attic along with the two other women.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The black lady was last.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She pulled up the stairs and shut the trap door… but forgot to detach the string that would enable the animals to get into the attic!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I looked out the window and saw that I was looking into the garage at my dad’s house and into the other attic that faced over the garage, as if they were connected by the fact that they were attics.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;No animals were in site.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They were all concentrating on the left side of the house where I was, but somehow through the window I could see that I was looking at the right side!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The garage door was open and Lea’s car was parked in it, almost waiting for me to speed away in it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then I realized why I could see the right side of the house through the attic window even though I was in the attic on the left.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was the same reason why God had shielded me from the animals in the shower stall… I had chosen the wrong course, but now that I was pregnant, God’s priorities had changed and now I needed to live.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;God was magically guiding me along to this purpose so that both me and my baby &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;wouldn&lt;/span&gt;’t die.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I looked out the window for a long time, wondering how to go about getting to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;thec&lt;/span&gt; car without attracting attention when I saw a long haired black and white cat walk across the garage with a kitten following behind it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The kitten had branches in it’s mouth.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It came to a hole in the ground and tossed the branches in it, almost covering up the hole completely.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Suddenly, the branches started moving, and another little&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;black and white kitten popped out…&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Suddenly, I was lucid dreaming, and I was trying to control this &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;blonde&lt;/span&gt; woman to break the glass on the window to escape, since eventually the animals would discover the cord to the attic door and try there.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I replayed it in my mind twice the actions of the woman jumping down onto the slope of the roof, then jumping onto the ground, running across the driveway, getting into the car with God and the black lady both in the back seat and driving away.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I imagined it and forced it happening twice, and then I was no longer in control of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;anything&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I was me again, brunette and NOT pregnant &lt;span style="font-family:Wingdings;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;J&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was in a nursing home with Jen from high school.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was trying to find a bathroom because I had to poop, while Jen was asking me about a project we had to do for Spanish class.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She asked me what I was going to bring in, (we had to cook something) and I said I’m just going to bring in an avocado.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This made her really angry because we had to make something OUT of an avocado, but when I told her that, I was thinking about hollowing out the avocado shell then making &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;guac&lt;/span&gt; out of the insides and then putting it back in the avocado skin so it would be like a bowl of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;guac&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I turned a corner and there was a rag on the floor of the nursing home soaked with something that smelled repugnant yet familiar.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Later I realized that it smelled exactly like squirrel pee, but I knew that it was puke.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(Squirrel pee smells like ammonia with a little extra spice).&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;found the bathrooms but they had these weird jelly-like toilet bowls in front of the toilets.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;Noona&lt;/span&gt; was there, using one of the higher toilets because she had arthritis and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"&gt;couldn&lt;/span&gt;’t bend down to the shorter jelly mold toilet bowls.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I tried to poop on one of the higher ones, but nothing would come out.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I kept thinking about the avocado dish I wanted to make.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"&gt;couldn&lt;/span&gt;’t go, so I got up and went to the sink.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There were two sinks that I could use, and without looking I started using one.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I looked down while I was washing my hands and I realized I picked the wrong sink.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was washing my hands over a huge storage of candy, from stuff that was wrapped to green gobstoppers.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The gobstoppers were melting and sticking together from getting wet.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I stopped and started using the other sink.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Notes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;* My Noona is no longer alive.&lt;br /&gt;* I went to a Catholic highschool and gradeschool, I see undulating references to my rejected and early teachings on God, religion, etc.  throughout this entire story.&lt;br /&gt;*  My dad lives in the middle of the woods, and I absolutely cannot stand being there at night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-8756831965212076820?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/8756831965212076820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=8756831965212076820' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/8756831965212076820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/8756831965212076820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2008/04/april-18-th-2008-this-dream-is.html' title='Epic Dream - Very LONG... 4.18.08 (partially a Lucid Dream)'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SAjtNNq1TXI/AAAAAAAAAAk/k_D_S8gsrdE/s72-c/ice+cream+in+cup.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-3335385657767759184</id><published>2008-04-17T21:17:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T14:46:33.090-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gagging'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pee'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Spiderman'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='attacking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='male'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chasing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drinking'/><title type='text'>Pee...... an oldie but goodie: Sept. 21, 2007</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SAf7vNq1TUI/AAAAAAAAAAM/utpkkPVtXJI/s1600-h/spiderman.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190393884109524290" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SAf7vNq1TUI/AAAAAAAAAAM/utpkkPVtXJI/s320/spiderman.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dream:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this particular dream, I was a 12-14 year old boy, pursued by a tall, black haired man in a grey shirt. He was chasing me in a house that was a giant maze of rooms and hallways. Even though he was gaining on me, I still had a one-up on him. I had a superpower. I could flex my hands (similar to spiderman) and expel a substance similar to black silly string right out of my palms. The stream that would flow from each hand was very thick, about the same width as my palms themselves. This stuff could make a forcefield and deflect the man coming after me. All of a sudden, his acomplice (a frail man with a long crooked nose and small glasses) accidently ingested some of my forcefield-making substance! Then I could no longer use my powers! No matter how hard I tried to flex my hands to produce the stuff, it wouldn't come out. Something dawned on the black haired man, that maybe his acomplice had ingested my powers and could turn them against me. He told the frail man to pee in a red tin and then drink a tiny amount. If he drank his own pee, he would be able to harness my powers and use them. He bent down and started drinking the pee but, instead of achieving the expected goal, he looked up at me wide-eyed and started crying, saying: "Please don't hurt my friends!" This proved that he was embodying part of me inside of himself, so if he actually drank the rest of his own pee he would possess my powers. I lunged forward and grabbed the tin. I ran down a hallway to my right. His pee kept sloshing back and forth in the tin and spilling on me as I ran. Then, while still running, I pinched my nose and then started taking gulp after gulp. I kept gagging as I drank it. Then, I forgot to hold my nose and pinched my ear shut to keep drinking it -- then I stopped realizing that I could taste the pee because I was pinching the wrong body part. I pinched my nose again and drank the rest of it, gagged on it, and continued running down the hall. My pursuer was at the end, blocking my only exit. I tried to stop him by ejecting the silly-string substance but I couldn't get my power to come back. I kept straining and straining to make the substance come out, but it wouldn't... even though I drank the acomplice's pee.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-3335385657767759184?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/3335385657767759184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=3335385657767759184' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/3335385657767759184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/3335385657767759184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2008/04/pee-oldie-but-goodie-sept-21-2007.html' title='Pee...... an oldie but goodie: Sept. 21, 2007'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SAf7vNq1TUI/AAAAAAAAAAM/utpkkPVtXJI/s72-c/spiderman.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-4184011616794170696</id><published>2008-04-17T16:55:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T14:47:04.671-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sex'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Barbie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='penis'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feminism'/><title type='text'>Penis and Barbie... together forever 03-17-08</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SAf9C9q1TVI/AAAAAAAAAAU/E7BS4Ywkx2M/s1600-h/Bridal-Barbie-cake_op_422x600.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190395322923568466" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SAf9C9q1TVI/AAAAAAAAAAU/E7BS4Ywkx2M/s400/Bridal-Barbie-cake_op_422x600.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;WARNING: Contains some sex... or something....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dream:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was not a part of this dream, nor was I a third party watching it, it just simply existed and happened. Somehow I knew that it was an animation that I had finished...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were two things laying on a table: a Barbie doll on the left and an erect penis about a foot away on the right. A long, clear straw started extending from the penis. It moved across the table and then passed through one of Barbie's ears and out the other. It extended about an inch further and then stopped. Then the penis 'came' through the straw, which flowed through the straw across the table and through Barbie's head. Then it dripped out the straw's end and landed on the table. The straw retracted and Barbie said: "Wow, I feel so clearheaded now."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Thoughts/Notes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;This dream is actually on it's way to becoming the first of my dreams to be animated. It is a perfect candidate on many levels! It will be animated with cakes in the shape of Barbie and a penis... we'll see how everything turns out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not really sure what else to say about it, I wasn't so much of a Barbie fan as I was a My Little Pony fan so I'm not really sure where this could have come from internally. As a feminist, I see many problems with the Barbie doll as a toy for girls: the culture of consumerism among young women and girls, body image issues and expectations, etc. but none of that is really exemplified in this dream at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-4184011616794170696?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/4184011616794170696/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=4184011616794170696' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/4184011616794170696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/4184011616794170696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2008/04/penis-and-barbie-together-forever-03-17.html' title='Penis and Barbie... together forever 03-17-08'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SAf9C9q1TVI/AAAAAAAAAAU/E7BS4Ywkx2M/s72-c/Bridal-Barbie-cake_op_422x600.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-2246195937201257751</id><published>2008-04-17T16:47:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-12-23T03:08:08.312-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stealing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='abandoned houses'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='antiques'/><title type='text'>Abandoned House Dream Series #3</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SAgBRdq1TWI/AAAAAAAAAAc/_ACp3nKTK_4/s1600-h/exterior7.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190399970078182754" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SAgBRdq1TWI/AAAAAAAAAAc/_ACp3nKTK_4/s400/exterior7.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Dream: (this ones' a bit boring today)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was exploring an abandoned house. It was in a neighborhood surrounded by houses that were not abandoned at all, with children playing in fenced yards. While exploring inside this house, I found an old, wonderful, and wooden dining room table that was in excellent condition. Somehow, I estimated that it was worth about $9,000.00 exactly. I wanted to steal it from the house. I found a truck, drove it to the house, and parked it in the back. I wanted to be very secretive about this entire process and did not want to get caught.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream Notes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is actually the third dream about abandoned houses that I have had in the past month, but the only one documented at the moment.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-2246195937201257751?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/2246195937201257751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=2246195937201257751' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/2246195937201257751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/2246195937201257751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2008/04/abandoned-house-dream-series-3.html' title='Abandoned House Dream Series #3'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SAgBRdq1TWI/AAAAAAAAAAc/_ACp3nKTK_4/s72-c/exterior7.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1446329786825108417.post-2466994293549204503</id><published>2008-04-17T16:40:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-17T16:47:12.869-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome!</title><content type='html'>Hi everyone!  Welcome to my blog!  For the first few weeks I'll be skipping around in my dreamworld, touching on dreams from the past as well as dreams in the present!  The dates of my dreams may skip back and forth from the current date to past dates as I find old dream journals or Word documents.  Enjoy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1446329786825108417-2466994293549204503?l=unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/feeds/2466994293549204503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1446329786825108417&amp;postID=2466994293549204503' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/2466994293549204503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1446329786825108417/posts/default/2466994293549204503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unconsciouspineapple.blogspot.com/2008/04/welcome.html' title='Welcome!'/><author><name>St. Shley</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09637567302709023426</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j1owuzMa7Hw/SOU1-N3kCwI/AAAAAAAAABw/pNKH0dmFzeI/S220/stshley+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
