<?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:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743</id><updated>2010-07-15T11:34:41.131-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Not Conscious...Am I?</title><subtitle type='html'>A look into one man's subconscious mind.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>52</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-7770380942723213800</id><published>2008-06-08T12:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T12:29:16.974-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The China Combination</title><content type='html'>Last night was the most political dream I have ever had. Being as China owns so many US Treasury Notes and the US's economy is slumping, the Chinese government had to do something to protect their investment. Upon waking up in a small apartment, my parents stopped by to tell me that the Chinese government was sending literature to all families. With impeccable timing, the doorbell rang and I went to answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After opening the door, there was a tube mailer by the door which I brought in. Upon opening, I saw a large Red Scroll with black cutouts that looked like a wall handing. Also included was a book that was designed to teach us basic Mandarin. After looking everything over, I realized that the Communist Party of China was planning on taking over the US.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I began to dig deeper and I found that this was all wrapped in the guise of opening an airline program between the US and China that allowed business travelers to fly at a reduced rate to increase foreign trade output to help surge the economy. Of course the true importers didn't need airline specials, but it seemed like an explanation that would be easy to feed the masses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After learning all of this, I tried to wake up Juliet in our small apartment room. The room was messy with white walls, clothes all over the place, and the bed was just a mattress on the floor. When Juliet awoke, she got upset with me and refused to get up and have a look. This is when I woke up and to this moment, I still cannot get this dream out of my head.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-7770380942723213800?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/7770380942723213800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=7770380942723213800' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/7770380942723213800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/7770380942723213800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2008/06/china-combination.html' title='The China Combination'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-4386601891766182840</id><published>2008-03-10T13:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T13:40:31.361-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hospital</title><content type='html'>While it is not a dream, I feel the need to write a bit about this. As of last Friday, my dad has been in the hospital. He had such a tough night before my mother took him, that he told her he felt like he was going to pass away. He was delirious, dehydrated, and he had collapsed a couple times. One of the times, he had fallen on Kahlua.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my dad arrived at the hospital, he was stuck in the hallway of the ER until about 4pm. It was a tough day for this all to happen, as I had a rib out that needed fixing and I had a massage appointment at 4:00. After that, I had to get to my accountant to give him my LLC files for the year. As I wrapped that up, Jean, myself and Juliet all went to the hospital to see my dad. He was in great spirits in his room, but sounded horrible. We stayed until my mom arrived and then we all chatted a bit, before Juliet and I had to get going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we left, we went to the Pauly Shore comedy show at the Orleans. As a treat, Pauly's dad (Sammy Shore) opened the show. It was a set based solely on his age of 81, and how Vegas used to be. He was a dead ringer for Doug Masters, and he spoke about Vegas like my dad does. As the great set wrapped up, Sammy got very serious and began speaking about life and what it's meant to him. he also closed with a song called "When I'm young again". It was touching, and it really made me think about my life, mortality and how my dad has enjoyed his life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, I was watching the Rebel game before I headed on over. As the Rebels were down, I said "Do it for my dad", and sure enough they did. The point deficit dropped and the rebels magically took the lead. After the game was over, I went to the hospital to tell my dad all about it. As sick as he was, he was so happy to hear all about it. We waited until the 5 o clock newss was on so that he could see the highlights. After that and talking for a bit more, I went to Ivo's to get some food. After a nice meal, I headed back quickly and came into the dark room where my dad was sleeping. He was about to wake up, but I told him to keep resting. He fell back asleep promptly, and I curled up on the little couch and took a nap myself. When we woke up around 8, he told me to get on home, and that he really appreciated me being there for him throughout the day. It made it all go by fast for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As of today, he is recovering nicely. He was diagnosed with the Flu (type B), and I realized that his age of 75, the smallest cog in the wheel can be deadly serious. I've never taken a day with my day for granted, but realizing that his mortality is so frail at his age, I know that every day he is around us is truly a blessing. However, nobody is stringer than my dad, so I know that another 20 years might not be out of the question! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-4386601891766182840?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/4386601891766182840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=4386601891766182840' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/4386601891766182840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/4386601891766182840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2008/03/hospital.html' title='The Hospital'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-5021350928123731488</id><published>2008-03-10T12:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T13:08:49.342-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Wedding Day</title><content type='html'>As always, this is a dream that was all over the place. let's start with the Juliet conflict. I was looking through a photo album and I saw a pic of  her snowboarding way before we were together. Stumped, I asked Jean if he knew she had snowboarded in the past. His reply was "Of course...she went with her ex-boyfriend." As I turned the page, I saw some guy with Juliet in his arms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After almost 8 years together, I was stunned that I had never known. I approached Juliet later and asked her why she had told me previously that she'd never snowboarded. It made my gift of a snowboard to her feel a lot less special. She laughed and said not to worry. I then asked what else she was covering up, and she said nothing. It was at this point that I pulled out the picture of her and the guy. She began to giggle and she told me that there was a lot more than I didn't know about. I was shocked, so I asked her what else. She calmly said "I've had sex with 3 other guys".  I went from 0 to pissed in .0001 seconds and I was instantly hurt. She asked what the big deal was, and I said it wouldn't have been a big deal if she'd have just been upfront from the get-go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moving on with the dream, I ended up in some kitchen with Juliet, Dee and Shirley. Apparently Dave had decided to get married, and they wanted Juliet to plan it. Dee and Shirley kept talking about how beautiful our wedding was, and how they hope Dave's will be just as nice. Juliet of course was not going to let them down, and she assured them. I somehow asked what gift he'd be getting, and Shirley looked at me teary eyed and said that he'd be getting the most important gift ever, as the perfect gift on the perfect day will be the most meaningful gift you can ever give a person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After chatting a bit more, I was told I was the best man. After some smiles, I had to ask the million dollar question: "Who is he marrying anyway?". After being told it was Bri, I felt an instant sadness. The talk then turned into what a sad day it would be, but I kept telling everyone that we had to support his decision. Shirley began to cry, but agreed 100%. As Dee began to sob a bit, I woke up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another dream i had 2 days ago involved Juliet wanting to leave me to mover to China for the year. Of course I was ready to move along with her, but she kept telling me I'd need to stay here. She was covered in her own tears and couldn't tell me why, but for some reason she insisted. We were on the playground at Thurman white as we said our final goodbye for the year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we parted ways, I walked over to the tennis courts, but there was a swamp area I had to cross. Being as the water was croc infested, I stood next to a large tree until there was a clear pathway, and I jumped across, swimming to the other side. I made it onto the court and I walked to court 2. As I did that, Annie, Antonella and some other girl walked up and were saying that they were glad I was back out there. We were going to play tennis, and they asked if I had brought the tennis balls. I realized I hadn't, so I was going to cross the swamp to get them in my locker, but the crocs were sitting there staring at me this time. I was confused and apparently my first instinct was to wake up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oddly enough when I woke up and told Juliet about the dream, she had a dream that same night that I was coming back from Costa Rica, and I didn't want to see her. The odd thing is that we've never been happier together! Sometimes these anxiety dreams can come at the oddest times.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-5021350928123731488?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/5021350928123731488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=5021350928123731488' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/5021350928123731488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/5021350928123731488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2008/03/wedding-day.html' title='The Wedding Day'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-6401786174064794669</id><published>2008-02-21T15:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-21T16:20:46.860-08:00</updated><title type='text'>No Memorable Dreams, But Something Unsettling</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://a143.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/10/l_f2751cb530494dcdebe56994b9e334d6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://a143.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/10/l_f2751cb530494dcdebe56994b9e334d6.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately, my dreamscape has been a blank canvas. I'm not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing, but it is what it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In reference to a past dream about Alzheimers and aging: As I sat there last night listening to my father chatting with us all about a funeral/wake he attended,  I noticed him reflecting back on the same stories several times. At first I figured that i was the only person that noticed him rehashing duplicate memories, but John stepped in and finished a story that he was in the midst of telling. As I looked over at my dad's face, he had a bit of a glazed over look. I don't think that has anything to do with Alzheimers as much as it has to do with him feeling his mortality. He kept stating that Freddie Bell was 2 years younger than him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On top of that, Juliet had mentioned that my dad is starting to "speak a bit like Jim", by talking about people we have no background about, and memories that are so distant that we are unable to relate. More and more, it seems as if he is trying to tell all of his tales in a race to say all that he has to. Maybe I'm reading a bit too deep into his actions, but I have a hunch that he may know something about his internal clock, or that maybe his brain is attempting to purge all that it can before it attempts to reboot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been there before with my grandma, and I hope my father stays as sharp as a tack for years to come. I wish I were more of an optimist, but with him nearing 75 years old, I can't help but transform into a realist. I love my father more than one can imagine, and I'm pained to even think this way.. However, my life taught me early that humans are just that: humans. Luckily, I cherish every day on this earth, and make the best of spending time with my loved ones...tomorrow is never guranteed, and nobody knows that better than I.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-6401786174064794669?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/6401786174064794669/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=6401786174064794669' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/6401786174064794669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/6401786174064794669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2008/02/no-memorable-dreams-but-something.html' title='No Memorable Dreams, But Something Unsettling'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-1455701119510024031</id><published>2008-02-12T15:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-12T16:42:18.054-08:00</updated><title type='text'>An Old Friend In Serious Trouble?</title><content type='html'>I'm far from a  fan of celebrities or their gossip but in last night's dream, Britney Spears was apparently an old friend who needed a shoulder to cry on. She had called me and I met her at some hotel that was pretty nice, but far from large. It almost reminded me a bit of the Westin in Whistler, but cozier and not too many guests.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Britney met me in the downstairs restaurant for lunch. She confided in me that she's not really crazy, but that she is putting on an act so that the press would back off a bit. Of course I stated the obvious and told her that this tirade was far from shooing the gnats away. We got to talking and she was crying and I got the vibe that she was an ex-gf of mine. After more tears and her asking me to help her, I got a phone call from somebody and I had to leave as she went to the restroom. Of course she had asked me to stay and wait for her, but I had to take off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was gone, I got all kinds of phone calls from her, upset about me leaving. She told me that she never expected me to turn my back on her. I told whoever I was with that I had to go back because Britney needed me there again, and the person freaked out that I knew her. Of course I said "we go way back..it's no big deal." From what i gathered, Britney only had a few friends and I was one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got back, there was a table with all kinds of relatives around telling Britney that she needs to get her life in control. I sat down and apologized for flaking on her, and I told her where I was at. After I told her, I was quickly doubted and a TV screen popped up beind a relative. A playback showed me by a pool talking to somebody, doing the exact opposite of where I said I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After Britney saw that, she called me a liar and she ran off. For some reason, a scene flashed and I saw her standing above a sink, slitting her wrists with arazor blade. Of course, I was startled awake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was probably the strangest dream I've ever had, and for some reason I had a humane connection with Britney. Very odd.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-1455701119510024031?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/1455701119510024031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=1455701119510024031' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/1455701119510024031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/1455701119510024031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2008/02/old-friend-in-serious-trouble.html' title='An Old Friend In Serious Trouble?'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-3122383107359047028</id><published>2008-01-04T17:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-04T17:11:02.911-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The More We Learn, The More The Brain Fills</title><content type='html'>I haven't written here in a  while, as things have been going pretty well in my life. However, I had some strange dreams these last few days. One had to do with Alzheimer's and my father.  It wasn't that he had contracted it, but I started worrying about it affecting my father and this weird epiphany struck me: We spend our entire lives learning as much as we can...In a constant information overflow. We always seek to learn, yet 1 day we all have a shot at losing our mind completely. Is there a some kind of button in our head that is pushed, and somehow dumps all data we've had over the years, except the knowledge to just survive on the bare minimum?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am pretty sure this was during the dream I had about Juliet and I purchasing a new home. We found a beautiful property that was very modern and had a massive back yard. However, the house was extremely cluttered. What i loved about the house was the backyard. It had a beautiful pool with overpasses and grotto'esque caves. What stuck out was this tiny little bridge stepping over a narrow canal of water. As we walked back into the home after being outside, we noticed that the place had an extra room that we weren't aware of. It had floor to ceiling windows looking into the back yard, and plenty of room for a plasma on the wall and a seating area for theatre viewing. Of course this room was a mess as well. I also remember saying "This house is well over 2,000 square feet!" and I awoke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've still been having the weird instances of me sensing songs that will be playing next. I've also had a few things where people were going to tell me something and I already knew. Aside from that, life has been treating me fairly well. Up's and down's, but more up's than anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point in my life, I'm noticing that a lot of feelings of mortality have been kicking in. I'm aware that i won't be here forever, and I find myself preparing for my loved ones to pass one day. It's a saddening thought, but it is making me realize that I need to cherish each day on this earth, and the people who surround me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-3122383107359047028?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/3122383107359047028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=3122383107359047028' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/3122383107359047028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/3122383107359047028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2008/01/more-we-learn-more-brain-fills.html' title='The More We Learn, The More The Brain Fills'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-542423184177629906</id><published>2007-09-15T14:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-15T14:21:14.159-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bits And Pieces</title><content type='html'>2076 at 6:30&lt;br /&gt;Michael Goldstein&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No idea what it means. It just came to me scattered in dreams. When I woke up, I also had Flyleaf's "All Around Me" in my head. As I sat down and had the chorus in mind, I looked at my Winamp. That song was streaming on Internet radio, so I turned up the volume. The song was right where I was picturing it. This is the 3rd time in 1 week I've been able to know what song was on or coming on next without any hints. The other 2 were Black parade and Brown Eyed Girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some reason my senses are on overload lately, so I'm wondering what the above info means.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-542423184177629906?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/542423184177629906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=542423184177629906' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/542423184177629906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/542423184177629906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/09/2076-at-630-michael-goldstein-no-idea.html' title='Bits And Pieces'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-5345999304698255742</id><published>2007-08-19T13:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-19T13:46:08.844-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Itching Powder</title><content type='html'>I don't remember much of this dream aside from the part that I was somehow tricked into swallowing the fiberglass itching powder. I remember thinking that my lungs would be cut to shreds and that I would die of internal bleeding. I sat there waiting to die, but it never happened.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-5345999304698255742?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/5345999304698255742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=5345999304698255742' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/5345999304698255742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/5345999304698255742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/08/itching-powder.html' title='Itching Powder'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-4276774981842097455</id><published>2007-08-19T13:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-19T13:44:44.889-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The New Old House</title><content type='html'>Ok..This dream was about 2 weeks back, but I meant to write about it. Somehow I ended up in a house that was a clone to my grandparents apartment, right down the the patio area (with the green astroturf, plants and my grandfather's homemade shelfs). As I went back inside, it was in the living room with stairs leading up. I remember saying "This is my grandparent's old apartment, but why are there stairs leading up?". A mystery voice replied "It was always here. but nobody showed you because you were too young."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked up the stairs and was in a giant loft area. It was just a HUGE open room, all concrete and gray. It was very cold looking with no colors, and a table in the middle. I went over to the table and asked the mystery voice what the table was doing there. The reply was that my grandparents were waiting on Jean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After that I woke up. Could this be a reference to heaven as it's above, and the deceased are waiting?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-4276774981842097455?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/4276774981842097455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=4276774981842097455' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/4276774981842097455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/4276774981842097455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/08/new-old-house.html' title='The New Old House'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-8031007100984226068</id><published>2007-08-02T12:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-02T12:50:05.881-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Intruders!</title><content type='html'>It all started when Perry caught up with us as Dave and I were walking. He had us wait up and he ran into a group of people. Apparently a girl wanted to fight, so he put his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ciggs&lt;/span&gt; and phone down. As they began fighting, it was obvious that the girl stood no chance. Dave and I looked at each other very freaked out and we ran. We took off and ended up in a winding area of houses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a few minutes of running, we made it to the Panorama. We got inside and I believe it was Mary that was with us. We decided to lay low and watch TV, when we somehow heard that "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;DnA&lt;/span&gt;" was downstairs and trying to get a key to the condo. We panicked, but before we could block off the door, they strolled in were loud. We asked how they got the key and they said that they told the concierge that they were our girlfriends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We held our heads as yet another person walked in. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Adrin&lt;/span&gt; was now there and wondering why we hadn't invited him. I got up to go shower and as I was in the closet getting clothes, Perry walked in and asked why we left. He then told us how gory the fight got and didn't even stop to realize that we ran for a reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then went to take a shower in a bathroom that looked like the one in our house, as people came in and out. For some reason, I had no problem with showering naked in front of all these people which is odd...I have serious body issues and that would never be the case!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I woke up at this point... Who knows what this dream means!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-8031007100984226068?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/8031007100984226068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=8031007100984226068' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/8031007100984226068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/8031007100984226068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/08/intruders.html' title='Intruders!'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-7975514071751585924</id><published>2007-07-27T11:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-27T11:57:49.926-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Beetle</title><content type='html'>I don't remember much of last night's dream, as it was a bit overshadowed by the news that my Aunt Jean passed away. Thank God I saw her 2 days ago before she left back East. R.I.P Jean...I hope you are reunited with my Grandma, your husband and anybody else who you may have known and loved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As far as my dream, I just remember it being &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Halloween&lt;/span&gt; as it has been in a lot of my dreams lately. We had came from a party (Juliet and I), and went to the store. I forgot why we were there, but it was to find a costume. When we got there, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;found&lt;/span&gt; a Big Bird costume I wanted to get but it would be too hot. I sat down and had a drink. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Monfred&lt;/span&gt; showed up and was going ape shit as usual and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Nic&lt;/span&gt; was there as well. Dylan was also in a corner and started to cry. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Nic&lt;/span&gt; was watching him and had no idea what to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Nic&lt;/span&gt; brought Dylan over and Dylan looked at me and started talking. He said "The couch is dirty. You'd better clean it up." He also said other things, but that is what I remember most. A few minutes later, Jenn arrived to get him and I told her that he was talking. She said "Damn it..I always miss it!" and we walked into her living room. She had a new coffee table in there with a metallic finish. I put a drink on it, and the cup left a white ring. She flipped out and I felt horrible...Til I began to look at the frame and I noticed all kinds of carvings. Apparently the party she had, had a few visitors that didn't respect her privacy, and they carved all kinds of things in the table's frame. She was a wreck emotionally and somehow I ended up in my parents living room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Juliet, myself, my dad and my mom walked in through the sliding glass door, I noticed a bug fly in. We couldn't find it, so I stood up and there it was under my leg. In my dream I thought it was a beetle, but it was actually one of those large cockroaches. In the dream we all referred to it as a beetle however. I wanted to kill it as did everybody else, but it was so large that we needed something big. I was looking for a fly swatter but never found it. My next idea was a big book, but we couldn't find one that nobody wanted. As the frantic search continues, I told Juliet to go keep an eye on it. She went over, and I was awaken by a phone call of the news, along with my parents need to use my car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I remembered more than I thought. It all came back to me as I was writing. Might I also add that last night may have marked then end of a great friendship I had, and I have no idea what will come of the results. :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, this is not my best day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--------------------&lt;br /&gt;EDIT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Dream Interpretation Halloween&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To dream of Halloween, signifies death and the underworld. Halloween also represents the temporary adoption of a new persona where you feel less inhibited and more comfortable to freely express yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Dream Interpretation Beetle&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beetle represents ups and downs, success and failure. Seeing a lot of beetles in a dream: losses are inevitable. Catching a beetle: you will make a new friend or resolve a problem. Watching a beetle: you need to be humble if you want people to like you. Killing a beetle in your dream means that you need to come to terms with a mistake.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Are dream symbols BS? What do you think?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-7975514071751585924?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/7975514071751585924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=7975514071751585924' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/7975514071751585924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/7975514071751585924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/07/big-beetle.html' title='Big Beetle'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-586931552372749941</id><published>2007-07-07T01:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-07T01:06:15.835-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Demoted and Unemployed</title><content type='html'>The dream was 2 nights ago, and it was set in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Las&lt;/span&gt; Vegas. It was at a webmaster show, and we were at a restaurant that was in the Hard Rock, but it resembled the Grand &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Lux&lt;/span&gt; Cafe. As Don and I were eating dinner with Derek&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, Don told me that Steve would be taking my position as the top dog, and I grew offended. Don told me not to worry, and that it was still going to be paid the same. I didn't care, so I quit. I remember walking out and feeling helpless and thinking that I would be stuck looking for a new job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I walked out, Derek was there and he was wanting to see if I wanted a drink. I obliged and for some reason, he decided he was in a hurry and didn't have time. My helplessness turned to a feeling of abandonment and I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-586931552372749941?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/586931552372749941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=586931552372749941' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/586931552372749941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/586931552372749941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/07/demoted-and-unemployed.html' title='Demoted and Unemployed'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-5232457062441939561</id><published>2007-06-30T13:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-30T13:47:44.817-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stolen car and a botched tournament</title><content type='html'>So the day starts off with my mom going nuts and buying a bunch of pets. On top of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Pudgie&lt;/span&gt; and Kahlua, I now have this little snake think that has 4 legs and a tail like a dog. The creepy thing was that every limb on this thing slithered like a snake, and it was always hyper. It kept trying to get near me to cuddle, but it was amazingly gross.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was living upstairs in a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;townhome&lt;/span&gt;, and I had a guy come over who was supposed to be my opponent in a tennis match that evening in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;townhome&lt;/span&gt; community I was in. I told him I had to go upstairs to get something and I asked him to wait in the car. I ran up, grabbed what I needed and ran down. I was too late. My car was gone and I thought he was playing a joke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked around the neighborhood wondering if he would return. Finally after a couple hours, I called the police and gave the details. As I waited, I called the tennis association and told them my opponent had stolen my car and that he'd probably default. I then went to sleep and was woken up by a call that I had a match at 11. I set my clock for 10am so that I could walk out for my 11am match.  My opponent was to be Janessa Hack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got to the courts and nobody was there, so I assumed I had another default. As I waited, a woman that looked like Serena Williams came in and told me the match was at 11pm to avoid the heat. I of course wondered how they hell they could schedule an 11pm match, but who was I to argue. I checked out the courts and noticed that behind the 2 courts was another opening. I walked back and saw 2 courts in front of me with no nets, and 6 courts that were being used and a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;basketball&lt;/span&gt; court as well. This looked like an entire sports facility!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided to go back home and rest up. 10:55pm quickly came and as I was out the door, the phone rang. The police had found the car and it wasn't damaged other that some vomit and spilled drinks. I was happy and ran out the door. At the bottom of the stairs was Dione Gonzalez (I think) wearing a Jill Gaynor tournament shirt, blowing bubbles with her gum, wearing sunglasses and leaning against the wall. I remember squinting to see who it was because it was all out of focus, but I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-5232457062441939561?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/5232457062441939561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=5232457062441939561' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/5232457062441939561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/5232457062441939561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/stolen-car-and-botched-tournament.html' title='Stolen car and a botched tournament'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-6290640278425838689</id><published>2007-06-27T17:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-27T17:56:25.855-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Murder That Was All Too Real</title><content type='html'>I've been slacking with the updates, but I thought I'd add last nights dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was taken back to the tennis bubble at GVAC. We were there for an early workout and it was Ben, Chasen, Mike and myself. As I went to get water, I turned around and saw ben and Chasen standing above a puddle of blood. I never saw the body, but I realized that they had killed Mike. I asked Ben what the hell happened, and his response was "Now What?".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow, they hid the body somewhere, but I didn't know where. I watched as they tried to cover their tracks, but did a very poor job. The blood on the court was covered by orange spray paint, and the entire time I was scared of Forensics tying me into the murder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Throughout the dream, I was waiting to be caught. Mike's mother kept assuming he was out of town since he travels so much, so nobody reported him missing. All the while, I was trying to find alibis and setup traces of me in other states. All the time I was battling with telling the truth as I felt horrible about this whole ordeal, but I knew the other 2 who were responsible would flip on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pure discomfort made me wake up. This dream was very odd with nothing to prompt it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-6290640278425838689?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/6290640278425838689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=6290640278425838689' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/6290640278425838689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/6290640278425838689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/murder-that-was-all-too-real.html' title='Murder That Was All Too Real'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-2829158321635466572</id><published>2007-06-20T12:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-20T12:47:39.693-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dogs Hatching</title><content type='html'>On the kitchen counter was a bag which had a carton of eggs in it. Juliet was eating something with the eggs, and noted that she thought the eggs might be bad. As I looked in the carton, I saw eggs cracked open with faces smashed. The first I noticed was struggling to breathe so I quickly cracked the egg open. Inside was a little Lhasa Apso puppy and when I put her on the floor, she was about the size of Kahlua as a baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I made sure the puppy was alright, I noticed another face. This looked like that of a cat, so I cracked that egg open. The sad part about this egg was that it was a cat head on an undeveloped body. All organs were exposed and there was no way it could make it. Feeling horrible, I knew what needed to be done. Against my feelings, I had to put the head on a paper towel which another towel on top to take the animal's life and end it's suffering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At that point, I couldn't look in the bag anymore. I focused on the puppy, Kahlua and Pudgie were treating the little guy with respect and I worked on getting a puppy pen setup. Of course potty training was the first thing on my mind!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-2829158321635466572?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/2829158321635466572/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=2829158321635466572' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/2829158321635466572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/2829158321635466572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/dogs-hatching.html' title='Dogs Hatching'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-2020369441293911614</id><published>2007-06-20T01:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-20T01:12:39.212-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Violent Snowboarding And A Lost Dog</title><content type='html'>The setting was in Whistler but wasn't Whistler if that makes any sense. Of course it was in the 100's and we were snowboarding. As we prepared to get on a lift (which was indoors and you had to go up stairs to get to it), the guy noticed our passes were from last year. We pre-paid for the season pass this year, but hadn't gotten the badges. Of course the lift guy was a smart ass when i acted like i didn't remember that the lift ticket I had was from last year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After leaving the lift, I went though a football player locker room and that prick Ryan with the blonde hair tried to attack me. I ended up beating his face and the football team laughed. Dave pulled me off. and I got applause. When I left, John Golden was there and I asked why he attacked me out of everybody. John said he didn't know, but it was a mistake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After leaving the locker room, Yogi got lost and Sara offered a $20k reward. How I got back to Vegas in a flash, I'll never know. I sure wish real traveling could be this fast and easy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-2020369441293911614?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/2020369441293911614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=2020369441293911614' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/2020369441293911614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/2020369441293911614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/violent-snowboarding-and-lost-dog.html' title='Violent Snowboarding And A Lost Dog'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-1866318491693088585</id><published>2007-06-18T13:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-18T14:04:09.716-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Topless Tennis</title><content type='html'>So lately I've had no dreams. I was having the most vivid dreams for quite some time, and they disappeared...until last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I don't remember much, I was at an outdoor tennis center. I've never seen it before, but it was outdoors with a high retaining wall, and a real professional setup. As I went to walk the court, I noticed it was a womens tournament. There were all kinds of spectators, and as I looked down at the court, I noticed that the players were topless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After losing the initial shock, I noticed a tennis player who was a friend (but I couldn't remember the name of), and she lifted her shirt and asked if I saw her tattoo. I couldn't, but when I looked from a different angle, it was visible. I've never seen a tattoo that looked different in different lights. It said "Sexy" in script, and had a cherry. It was in the style of an old baseball jersey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I walked away, I noticed a newspaper reporter snapping pics, and I wondered how that was legal. Of course as all other dreams end, there was a doorbell, followed by another as I fell back asleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is tennis a recurring dream now?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-1866318491693088585?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/1866318491693088585/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=1866318491693088585' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/1866318491693088585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/1866318491693088585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/topless-tennis.html' title='Topless Tennis'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-8168449143857278865</id><published>2007-06-11T16:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T16:56:51.182-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Quarterback Getting Moved?</title><content type='html'>I can't remember much of last night's dreams, but I do remember that Michael Vick was being traded to the Raiders. I was confused as Russel was the #1 overall draft pick, but you never know. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-8168449143857278865?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/8168449143857278865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=8168449143857278865' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/8168449143857278865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/8168449143857278865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/big-quarterback-getting-moved.html' title='Big Quarterback Getting Moved?'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-753163590802799224</id><published>2007-06-11T16:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T16:55:38.411-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How'd The Day End?</title><content type='html'>Well it was a work day that was filled with anticipation of the Series Finale of the Sopranos. It started off with Dylan coming over here for babysitting. She overslept and Alex was late, but it all worked out. After that, I continued working until 9pm, and I sat on the couch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, the ending wasn't quite clear, but make of it what you will. After that, Juliet got home and we spent the night hanging out. All in all, it was a very relaxing day!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-753163590802799224?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/753163590802799224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=753163590802799224' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/753163590802799224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/753163590802799224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/howd-day-end_164.html' title='How&apos;d The Day End?'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-5558343219027714</id><published>2007-06-11T01:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T01:44:27.444-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pampering The Stars And Shooting Hoops</title><content type='html'>After 11 years away, I decided to take a night job working at The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Tillerman&lt;/span&gt;. After a bit of serving, I went on break, up the stairs, and had to do room service. Lindsay &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Lohan&lt;/span&gt; was staying in a hotel room and I had to help her pack. Most of her bags were under the bed and she had shoes all over. She had just finished having sex. Apparently, she was hooking up with some 18 year old &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;blonde&lt;/span&gt; guy that reminded me a bit of the guy who used to model when I did at Lens. Of course, Lindsay was trying to keep it quiet while he wanted to tell the world.  Everybody was calling her Mandy Moore which was odd, and she quickly left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After tending to the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;celebraslut&lt;/span&gt;, I went downstairs and Gym Class Heroes was performing at Tao. After the show which we left after just a few minutes, I had to finish house sitting for Big &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Boi&lt;/span&gt; from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Outkast&lt;/span&gt; with Juliet. I went in with Juliet and was talking loudly. I told her I wanted to take a cookie which was sitting on a table at the back of the living room. Juliet walked by the couch that was in front of the TV and we saw the back of his head pop up. I ran knowing that he heard me plot the cookie theft and Juliet stayed back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were leaving the front door, my mom and dad came in. My dad was yelling at my mom to clean the front area which was a mess of shoes and clothes, and she refused. Juliet and I started to clean the mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the cleaning, we ended up at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;GVAC&lt;/span&gt;. We walked by the b-ball court and were about to leave. Before we could leave, Juliet wanted to play b-ball so she went to the other side of the court and started playing 2 on 2 with some guys. Myself and Brian sat on the wall. I thought Mike &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Schuldt&lt;/span&gt; walked in with a weird haircut from back i the 12 and under days. I was happy as it felt like I'd seen him for the first time in years, but as he got closer, I realized it was Todd Cox. He got on the court and was being abnormally cocky, and I had had enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally told Juliet we had to go and one of the guys came up and was like "I thought you were staying!". It was very confrontational and the guy flashed his grill and clenched his fists. He made it very apparent that he wanted Juliet to stay with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were supposed to go to Tao to see Sugar Ray and I didn't want to stay up too late. Jean started pushing us to go see them from the side of the basketball court (ya..he just appeared), so we were on our way. Juliet finally broke away and caught up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, Jean's text &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;msg&lt;/span&gt; woke me up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-5558343219027714?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/5558343219027714/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=5558343219027714' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/5558343219027714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/5558343219027714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/pampering-stars.html' title='Pampering The Stars And Shooting Hoops'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-9064164436332768239</id><published>2007-06-11T01:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T01:34:52.216-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How'd The Day End?</title><content type='html'>In what was supposed to be a fun day with Juliet's friend Linda, ended in a marathon night at the vet. We went to the mall in the afternoon where I got my glasses made, and I picked up some shoes and a shirt. After that, I thought we'd visit my parents while we waited for Linda to call. After a while, they still hadn't decided on a destination as there were 17 people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a little while, Kahlua began to whimper and was leaving droplets around the house.  After a bit, we took her to the vet, and they couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. After 3 hours, we concluded that she had diarrhea and dehydration. After a bubble was placed in her back, we came home and went to bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-9064164436332768239?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/9064164436332768239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=9064164436332768239' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/9064164436332768239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/9064164436332768239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/howd-day-end_11.html' title='How&apos;d The Day End?'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-8045614579850098105</id><published>2007-06-09T17:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T18:02:09.095-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Failing Tests and Meeting Gewn Steffani</title><content type='html'>Last night was a series of 2 dreams. Both very vivid and with many twists and turns. The easiest way to post them is in a list format:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream 1:&lt;br /&gt;- Went from backyard to a restaurant that resembled the Tillerman.&lt;br /&gt;- Juliet and I went to a dinner and Gweyn Steffani was sitting next to us. Juliet started talking to her and she was the nicest person. Juliet was very happy and gave her a business card. Gwen was talking about yoga and stuff, so told her to visit my mom at Bellago for a facial and yoga talk.&lt;br /&gt;- Juliet and I left and I asked her if she got Gwen's card and she said no. She got her email addy though, so i told her to mail her anytime she came to Vegas so that she could attend the shows.&lt;br /&gt;- Juliet and I had entered a swimming  competition and Juliet and I forgot to race. we were watching the chick from Friday Night Lights (Tyra) swim and she was super fast. We went to get back into the race and I was super slow. Tyrese was sitting at the end and asked made jokes about my head which was shaved weird. After his second comment, I jumped out and threw a punch. It ended with me barely touching his nose and he laughed and said "Shit! You could have drilled me!"&lt;br /&gt;- Juliet and I got back to a hotel room, and Juliet charged a movie for $2.50. Coach Easley and Jamie Barto come to the room angry to collect the $2.50. We quickly left because we had a tennis match to get to.&lt;br /&gt;- Somehow we ended up in Disneyland.&lt;br /&gt;- Myself and somebody else were racing wheelchairs around some loop area.&lt;br /&gt;Once done, we entered a Disney store all the Poohs were like Eeyore, but yellow with a black mane that resembled the colors of a bee.&lt;br /&gt;- After browsing the shop, the bouncer upstairs knew we were racing chairs and he said we could keep racing if we wanted.  We made way down a steep staircase.&lt;br /&gt;- As we descended, people started running through and something dropped on the stairs. I wanted to pick it up but Rusty came and said not to.&lt;br /&gt;- Rusty tole me that the Irish were doing something so bad we couldn't see. I asked rusty how he knew, and he said he saw it. For some reason, I thought they were melting a persons face with a hot iron.&lt;br /&gt;- Rusty ran us out.&lt;br /&gt;- As we left, a girl was dancing out side. Dave threw her dollar bills and she said "Do i look like I'm taking my clothes off?!". She was in little more that a sequined thong and a black bra top.&lt;br /&gt;- Dave was sitting in a corner with Sara. It was on stairs with a train behind them that looked a lot like the train setup they had at the MGM Grand.&lt;br /&gt;- As the woman danced, Dave pulled out his wang and started beating it. Rusty and i cracked up and were wondering why he was doing that in front of kids. Of course I woke up laughing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream 2:&lt;br /&gt;- I was In a classroom at UNLV for public speaking&lt;br /&gt;- Libby Lumpkin was the teacher and it was the final day.&lt;br /&gt;- Jake Windham was in my class, as was Lew, but I didn't call Lew by name.&lt;br /&gt;- We were about to take the final, and I remembered I had missed so many classes, homework assignments and tests. I doubted I'd pass the course. It was also my final college course, and I was bummed that I couldn't walk.&lt;br /&gt;- We all sat at a long square table to take the test and I asked in front of everybody if I had passed. Libby checked her grade book and said no. I politely said Thanks for being up front and good luck everyone as I walked away.&lt;br /&gt;- She told me to wait in back. I told her there really was no point, and she said that I can still get a full refund if she talks to the dean, so I stayed.&lt;br /&gt;- As she told me to follow her outside, she asked when I could come by tomorrow and I told her I had another test, but I couldn't remember when. She said just drop by anytime, so I said alright. As she walked away, she was nude from the back (but was a different body form that hers) and that shocked me into waking up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-8045614579850098105?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/8045614579850098105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=8045614579850098105' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/8045614579850098105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/8045614579850098105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/failing-tests-and-meeting-gewn-steffani.html' title='Failing Tests and Meeting Gewn Steffani'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-4736925649798266495</id><published>2007-06-09T17:44:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T17:47:47.476-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How'd The Day End?</title><content type='html'>yesterday was an interesting day. it started off with a picking up Dave and taking him to get his car from Chevy. It was as hot as a mofo, but I lived. After that, I did a little work and prepared to go to Hostel 2. Sara picked me up and we rolled to the movie. After checking it out, we hit Lee's snagged some liquor and went to GVR. We had some 2 for 1 buffets and Juliet met up with us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we were done, Sara made way to the Mega Bucks machine and hit for $80! Not a bad cash out. After the winnings, we went back to her place for some Strawberry Shortcake,  shots of Agwa/Jager and a coffee drink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the food and drinks, she fell asleep and Juliet and I went to Dragonfly. Mike was at the Roots show so we were unable to meet up, and tired as all hell. The night ended with me watching Scarface and falling asleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-4736925649798266495?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/4736925649798266495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=4736925649798266495' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/4736925649798266495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/4736925649798266495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/howd-day-end_3284.html' title='How&apos;d The Day End?'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-8331656051905216209</id><published>2007-06-09T00:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T01:12:17.906-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Real Estate With Strangers</title><content type='html'>Driving around Vegas with Juliet, we were looking to visit a Hi-Rise in which somebody had purchased. We drove til it became a dirt road, and we pulled into a hi-rise area. I parked on the side and went to walk in the door to the lobby, when I realized it was an empty condo. We walked in and as we looked around the somewhat vacant room with minor furnishings, a lady popped out and asked what we were doing. We were looking for whoever it was we were meeting, but she let us stay overnight. While we slept, I remember not wanting to take my shoes off. Th woman had asked nicely to take our shoes off, but I refused and slept with them on. She came in the morning and was lifting the sheets to see if I had them on, and I kept moving my legs around while slipping them off. We slept in the living room until the morning, and then we went to visit my parents at their new house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We drove out the next morning on the dirt road and curved around what looked like a massive hotel (although it was nothing like Vegas has). We pulled up in front of this massive house on it's own land and walked in. My parents had bought a large home and downstairs was all floor to ceiling glass. Jenn was at a bar below helping my parents, and we had her show us around. We only made it around the first floor, but it was 3 rooms below, pool outside, and the main room we were in had a bar and a game room. I remember the rooms were all crowded with "stuff", but every room had 2 beds for some reason. As Jenn walked back out, she was very happy, and I remember her telling Juliet and I "I Love You!". She was very happy and she left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow the house's other owner was Dave's uncle Mark. He was in the place telling us how we need to go to a strip club. All I wanted to do was sleep, so I went into a room I hadn't seen, and of course there were 2 beds. I was all alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the background, I heard people singing to a Bastard Fairies song, and I remember thinking it was very odd. What that meant, I'll never know!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-8331656051905216209?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/8331656051905216209/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=8331656051905216209' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/8331656051905216209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/8331656051905216209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/real-estate-with-strangers.html' title='Real Estate With Strangers'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219322922696920743.post-977413752263454923</id><published>2007-06-09T00:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T00:58:39.881-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How'd The Day End?</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was a long day. I spent the majority of it working. After it was done, I met up with Tonia and Bo Shih about financial planning. The funny thing was that Bo Hong and I went to Ruby Thomas together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After that, I had to skip the show I was supposed to go to Mike with. Instead I went to GVR and played some poker. I was totally off. I didn't win a single hand, and was in a slight depression.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why was I depressed? I'm 26 years old and have nothing invested. It's time to start.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1219322922696920743-977413752263454923?l=www.notconscious.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.notconscious.com/feeds/977413752263454923/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1219322922696920743&amp;postID=977413752263454923' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/977413752263454923'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1219322922696920743/posts/default/977413752263454923'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.notconscious.com/2007/06/howd-day-end_09.html' title='How&apos;d The Day End?'/><author><name>Derek</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04161278581119779170</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='17413650756934345068'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>