Fun...a small word for such a large meaning.

So here's the thing.

When I tell a person - mostly people who are in my age group - that I don't drink alcohol, I get the inevitable question..."Well, then, what do you do for fun?"

I find question to be very...ignorant. I feel that when that query is posed, the person is assuming that a) that's the ONLY way to have fun or b) they have a very limited view on a good time.

The following is a list of things that I love doing instead of getting wasted. Granted, I've been around people who were drunk before and yes, I had a few laughs. Still it isn't for me. I enjoy other things instead...By the way, this list still doesn't begin to touch everything I like doing.

I like...
Laughter...crazy, loud, insane, uncontrollable laughter,walks in the park, getting on airplanes and going to NYC for the day to catch a Broadway show...passion iced tea lemonade from Starbucks and sinking down with a good book on their comfy leather couches.

I love renting foreign films from Blockbuster and Netflix, writing new blogs based on the neverending drama of my life, and shooting photographs with/of my friends. I really like going to the movies and watching thrillers, lol, and maybe even sappy romances, but I'm up for "guy" movies, too. Afterwards I love sitting at the Waffle House until 3 am making jokes with the waitress, drinking sweet tea and eating cheese grits.

Writing frees my spirit and bridles untamed feelings wish ache to run rampant when I know I shouldn't let them.

Oh, I also love seeing HORRIBLY made films and making fun of them so much that my sides hurt from laughing. Texting and talking on the phone for hours makes me happy, and sharing inside jokes with friends is definitely on my list of faves. I make up nicknames for almost everyone I meet and refer to them as that in private - or to their face if I think they can handle it, lol. I love shopping - what girl doesn't -and clearance sales are the bomb.

Flying is my passion and I love seeing new airports of all sorts.

I'm into literature and poetry, Edna St. Vincent Millay being my hero.

I love history and have a vivid imagination when I'm in a place rich with old stories. I lilke to imagine I'm part of that place in centuries past, lol.

I like to drive late at night with the windows down in the summer time - I go nowhere, really, I just like the stars and silky wind against my skin.

I am crazy about gelato and I love Tiramisu dessert. It's fun to play in fountains and make wishes on pennies.

I love musicals and singing along with them at the top of my lungs, wishing I were the one on stage. If I had time I'd love to act in plays.

I also love sad music, songs that get you more down when you're down, but in a good way. I really like rock, too.

I love experiencing cultures different from my own and becoming friends with people who can teach me things. I especially love the richness of the Indian culture and...I kind of have a thing for Indian boys, lol.

I love the bitter sweet taste of black coffee with Splenda and dipping warm chocolate chip cookies in the dark brew.

Although heights make me dizzy, I love the dangerous feeling of standing on that precipice. Heights are breathtaking.

I like rainy nights on tin roofs, the patter of the drops lulling me into sleep...searching through tins of old photographs and listening with shining eyes as I hear the story of the young lovers in the picture brings joy to my heart.

I have a liking for all things polka dot.

I enjoy laughing heartily at my cat as she spastically runs through the house, the clip clap of her claws on the hardwood floor audible down the hallway.When I hear a train in the distance I stop for a moment and make a wish - I imagine that I'm a nurse in the Revolution, off to bring the boys safely home.

I love rising before the sun on a day when you're free to traverse the country on a long road trip with friends, blaring music the entire way and taking countless looney photographs.

Trips to the thrift store can be quite an adventure - many an interesting trinket have I purchased; I love telling people where I bought it.

The smell of freshly cut grass takes me back to a time when I was young and perused my pop's rose garden as he rode the mower over his expansive yard...I wish there were a way to bottle that scent.

I love to agonize over my pale skin only to realize that in the end it is what makes me unique.

Picnics by isolated streams and rivers are one of a kind dates, especially when they are by the light of the moon. I love to dip my bare feet in the aching coldness of bubbling brooks.

Fishing is fun, although I sort of despise using live bait.

I love to rearrange my furniture when I am bored with it, this being once every two or three months. I am obsessed with Amazon.com and searching their endless list of used books which I buy for almost nothing...I love getting those packages in the mail and look forward to them earnestly.

Flying kites on a windy hill in March assures giggles galore.

Lighthouses make me happy.

Sometimes I like to cry for no reason at all other than that I feel somewhat relieved after I do.

Concerts are a blast as well as musicals and plays.

I love to dream of my Prince Charming, wherever the hell he may be, lol.

Level-headed arguments are fun and almost always lead to very interesting conversations.

I love posing for photographs. Trying new foods is up there on my list of cool things and I will try almost anything - unless it has bugs in it.

Sometimes I like to sit down to the piano and plunk out a tune I used to know in days gone past.

Old towns are fun to explore, those "cities within a city" that one hardly knows to look for. Many a delightful restaurant or eclectic music joint have a I found on such adventures.

I like speaking in a fake British accent to people who don't know me.

I love hot chocolate with marshmallow cream on cool October nights, sitting by a campfire and breathing the wood-smoked air. Freshly fallen snow makes my spirit feel clean and I love seeing my breath on a cold day.

I stare at pictures of foreign places and imagine I am standing there snapping the photograph, telling myself I only have to be patient and that dream will at long last come true.

I have a thing for quotes.I am quite the sarcastic girl at times and love throwing strangers off with a comment they least expect. Especially when I am in uniform. =)

I enjoy volunteering at soup kitchens and the like.

Renaissance Festivals are so much fun to dress up and attend.

My favorite board games are Monopoly and Clue. Nothing like the old days when games were actually tangible.

When it rains in the summer and the sky is free of lightening, I stand it in and let myself be soaked to the skin.

I love lingering in my down comforter on a lazy Saturday morning and pillow fights are always a sure way to make me laugh.

I make wishes on stars - whether they have fallen or not.

Kisses - long, slow, sensual, hot, bite-filled kisses are the biggest weakness I believe I possess. Not to mention they are WAY fun, lol.

I ache to embrace the world and all that God has placed in it with an open heart and mind. I am stretched taut with a feverish desire to dive into the Freedom of my Future. I want to explore the lives of others in such a way that a piece of that individual's heart is attached to my spirit for all eternity. I hope that my life and my actions impact this world and turn the heads of passersby. I am a deep person...no matter what a first impression may say. I like to dig in places that no one has uncovered and have spirit-curdling conversations. Music is a part of my spirit that will never be disposed of. It is my heaven on earth. I soar to ethereal places when I allow the melodies to slip over me like satin. It restores my soul.I love to gaze into the cloudless sky to try to see heaven and God's smiling face.

And I'm always up for trying new things - skydiving, scuba diving, paintball, lasertag, - the list could go on

Nightmare City

I saw him in a place he should never have been, and in a time when I least expected to see him. Sadness poured from his eyes in unseen tears and jerked hard at my spirit. The light from the chapel's stained-glass window cast colorful prisms across his hard features, the green of his eyes still glowing with heat when he locked my gaze. I queried about his well being.

"My son died." Just like that. "He was three months old."

I felt as if someone had punched me in the gut. I felt so responsible because I never wanted him to have a child with her. With anyone. Anyone but me. In the back of my mind, I knew I'd caused it somehow, that the law of attraction had brought down the hand of Doom on this innocent one and smote him because I wanted him gone.

Strangely, though, it was me to whom he turned for comfort. He mourned for days, he and I alone on my bed, no acts but the one of grief being fulfilled. Pure aching was met with as much comfort as I knew how to give. I held him as he cried on my shoulder, weeping with him in anger at myself and sorrow for his excrutiating loss.

When he finally returned home, I checked my bank account soon after to discover that $1200 was spent on a Dell laptop, one I knew I didn't purchase. Intuitively, I knew he'd retreated into himself and commited the lowest of low - he stole my credit card number and did it to make me angry. I went to him.

"Please," I begged him. "I'm not angry with you, but you need to tell me if you stole the money. I will give you anything you ask for, just be honest with me."

"YES!" he exploded. "I stole the money! Don't you get it?" He screamed in my face. "I'm trying to push you away! I'm doing anything I can to make you stop loving me, and yet you only love me more and forgive me more than I should ever be forgiven. Why? Why me?" he implores.

To be honest, I didn't know how to answer him. I just opened my arms and he pulled me into an endless embrace.

"Because," I whisper to him. "My heart needs you."

Haunted

I've heard stories about this place. Horror stories, in fact, of bumps in the night, air rustling past skirts where no air should whisper, a scream in the darkest of hours, voices in the adjacent room when the room was supposedly unoccupied.I was afraid to stay in The Lodge.

Although it is located near the Moline, Illinois airport, to be fair it is actually situated across the state line in Iowa. As our transportation rounded the curve, a small gasp caught in my throat at the monster of a hotel before me, reminiscent of a large German cottage against the black midnight sky. I tried to ignore the mocking jabs of the pilots in the seat behind me as they tried their best to imitate the voice of Chucky and quote the most terrifying of movies.

"It's just a hotel," I whispered to myself. "If you don't believe you won't be frightened."As I stepped foot inside the the doors, I felt immediately transported to the world of the Gothic romance novel, something akin to what an author such as Victoria Holt would pen. I expectantly waited for women in hoop skirts and men with top hats and coattails to waltz through the lobby on their way to the ball room. Paneled oak walls added to the heaviness of the room as did the dark wooden furniture and the large chandeliers which hung from the low ceiling. The front desk was complete with a filigreed hand held telephone, much like the ones pictured in Victorian era films, and the fireplace glowed with dying flames. I glanced at the front desk clerk but was greeted with more of a dead stare than a friendly grin. The classical melody of Moonlight Sonata lilted through the room, adding a movie-esque quality to it all.

I noticed my room number was on the eighth floor, but the elevator in front of me only listed four.

"Um, what does this mean?" I asked my fellow crew members, afraid they might say there were secret floors where murders happened or people died from unknown causes.

"That means," said the captain with a mischievous grin, "that you're in The Tower."Gulp.

"T-t-the Tower?"

"Yes, you take this elevator." He indicated a lone elevator which went all the way to the tenth floor. I was alone on the floor, bereft of my crew and left to the wiles of whatever might choose to follow me up to my room. "No, don't think like that!" I chided myself on the elevator ride. As the doors opened, I was greeted with an oil painting of a woman who appeared in dire straights, her hand reaching desperately for the cup on the table beside her large chair, a look of anguish spread across her features as if she'd been poisoned or was trying to poison herself to escape the horrors of being locked on this floor at all times, subjected to the terrors of demons! "Stop it!" I said aloud. I know how I can frighten myself at times, and this time my imagination was definitely running away with me.

My floor was eerily quiet. I almost wished for a drunken party of football fans next door as opposed to the deafening silence at this late hour. I slid the key in the lock, pushed open the door and beheld a lovely room complete with a spiral staircase that led up the "loft" area where the bed was located. The room itself wasn't as lavishly decorated at the lobby, but I was somewhat glad of that as I was already at my wits' end and didn't need to see anymore oil paintings or imagine what lurked behind dark panels. Flipping on the television, thankful for at least that reminder of modern times, I stared at it for a moment in silence before I realized that it was one of the "fireplace" channels, where I suppose one can fall asleep to the sound of a crackling fire, minus the actual blazing heat. I laughed at the absurdity of it. Finally after two hours of calming myself with a little online surfing and covering the grandiose mirrors with towels to abate my fear of seeing a ghost in the reflection, I settled down to sleep...with the lamp beside the bed on all night, of course.

My night played out uneventfully, to my delight and slight disappointment, if I'm going to be completely honest. I had hoped for a bit of an adventure, a crossing with the devil, a dance with disaster. Still, I'd not yet been to the dining room. I had a coupon for a free, hot breakfast buffet, so upon rising, I slipped downstairs and followed the long hallways to the dining area. I took in my surroundings, the crossbeams above my head coming to an upside-down V, reminding me of my favorite movie as a child, Heidi, and how it resembled her grandfather's cottage in the Swiss Alps. The stained-glass windows along the corridor had pictures embossed on the glass if one studied them closely. I came upon an open area which imitated a cobblestone walkway on an old street, complete with an open sky roof, windows to tenants rooms which looked like the shopkeepers homes above their stores, and a large, bubbling fountain right in the middle. I smiled to myself at the quaintness of this "indoor village."

The scent of gravy and biscuits wafting to my nostrils kept me moving towards the breakfast area. I was more than a bit surprised to see that I was the only soul in the large dining room besides the lone waitress. A sense of unease crept over me...it was like going to a SuperWalmart at night and seeing only one car in the parking lot. There were countless tables set with lovely china and silverware and not one living being to partake of the delicious food but myself. The waitress moved towards me and offered to bring me coffee. I smiled acceptance, noting that her voice remained at a monotone level for every question, "Regular? Sugar? Cream?"

It was a bit unsettling, but I headed for the buffet. I will say this for The Lodge - never, ever have I had such a delicious breakfast in a hotel, hot or not. My coffee was brought and I ate in silence, devouring the fresh fruit, hot bacon, lovely seasoned potatoes, and warm gravy with buttermilk biscuits.

Looking up, I jolted from my food reverie and noticed that on the seemingly mile-high wall, dead animals were watching me eat. There were at least thirty deer heads, a bison, and bulls; the adjoining wall sported antlers of varying shapes and sizes. I slowly lowered the biscuit back to my plate and took a closer look at my surroundings. On the opposite side of the room, even MORE taxidermies, complete bodies of foxes and small bears lined the shelves above the room. Again the classical music drifted into the room, almost as if on cue, and I noticed the waitress staring at me with her dead eyes. There was a shelf of old books peeking out from the loft area which was reached by steps near my table; I wondered what other dark deeds took place up those stairs. The doors to the kitchen opened and a handsome, blank-eyed boy appeared. I didn't catch his gaze, but a flash from his shirt locked my attention. It was a long silver chain accompanied by a large, dangling cross. Maybe to ward off the dead? I thought again about how amazing the food was and wondered if it wasn't a ruse to lure bait for their sacrifices! To add to my melodramatic imagination, I began noticing that as I finished my meal, more and more employees seemed to be present in the room, but never another tenant of the hotel! Maybe it was true...while no one had been "rude" to me, they certainly hadn't smiled welcoming smiles or shone any light in their eyes the way humans usually do. They appeared a bit like Vampires. I shivered.

Before I could scare myself anymore, I hurriedly finished my meal, and excused myself, hastily thanking them as I quickly exited the room. As I passed the "General Manager's Office" a man in a - no lie - black midnight suit and blood red silk shirt stepped out of the office directly behind me and began to follow me down the long hallway back to the main lobby. I could almost feel the sharpness of his teeth sinking into my neck, the warmth of my blood seeping out with my last breath until I would forever become one of...them. Perhaps it was they who were the actual ghosts of the hotel.

Of course I wasn't bitten but I am being honest when I say I was actually scared that they may happen as I ate breakfast in that room all alone.It still makes for an enchanting story...

Christmas Date Disaster

*NOTE* This entire story is 100% true, I just wrote it as if it were fiction to make it more interesting. Of course, the flight attendant - duh - is me. And yes, like I said, this really happened. Ugh.

The flight attendant was tired, her day having begun well before dawn, and still several hours of work were ahead of her before she could take a much-needed respite.Glancing into the lavatory mirror prior to boarding, she winced at her haggard appearance. Oh well, she shrugged to her reflection. No time to reapply makeup. The first passengers had already boarded.
She stepped back into her greeting position, smiling, nodding, saying her one millionth “welcome aboard” for the day. Her mind wandered elsewhere, its usual occupation far away on a handsome, lost love. Real, myth, it didn’t matter, it got her through the day…and night. She was snapped from her reverie by the sound of a jovial voice, soothing to the ears and a rush to the blood. She glanced up into a pair of utterly hypnotic blue eyes, swearing she was gazing into a portrait of an arctic landscape, so unusual were they. Winking at her, he held up an enormous poster declaring an ad for insurance and exclaimed, “Happy Birthday!”
She laughed, well aware of his next question.
“So,” he prodded flirtatiously. “I get to put your present in business class and sit up here with you, right?”
“Ha! Not so fast. Only people who don’t try to bribe their way up here get the privilege of being near me.”
“Well, aren’t you an Indian taker! You accept my gift and then give it back!” Still, he smiled and touched her arm coyly as he headed back to the main cabin. What could she do? She was an absolute sucker for dark hair and light eyes which is absolutely what this stranger was endowed with. Knowing that her business class section was far from full, she headed back to the seat of Mickey Blue Eyes and his friend.
“Sir,” she began, trying her best to feign not knowing this man. “We would like to offer you a complimentary upgrade. I see that you are active military and as a favor to those serving our country, we’d like to do this for you.” Humor glinted out of his icy gaze, but he played along quite well, gathering his things and quickly moving to business class. He and his friend quickly took advantage of the free drinks, both ordering a screwdriver. Of course the two flirted with her the entire flight, although her attentions were turned to the mesmerizing one. She stood leaning on the seat in front of Prince Charming, his easy smile and seamless conversation setting her at ease when he finally popped the question.
“So, fellow Gemini,” he asked cockily. Again, she never could resist a confident – if somewhat arrogant – attitude.“You’re gonna go out with me tonight, right?” YES! She screamed inside. The cartoon version of her was performing antics reminiscent of a ditzy cheerleader. Dear Lord! Get a hold of yourself! She admonished her Lizzie McGuire counterpart. Still, she wasn’t at all sure how to respond. After all, she knew nothing of this man except that his name was Michael Lehman, he was a twenty-seven year old denizen of Kansas City, Missouri, and worked as a traveling salesman for a wireless insurance company. And what about his gorgeous visage? How could she ever deny herself this one night of…fun?
She glanced at his friend, Quinn, for reassurance.“I’m not vouching for him!” Why our flight attendant did not heed this red flag was a question she later kicked herself for. Michael rolled his eyes at Quinn, then once again settled his lavish gaze upon his intended target.
“So?” he grinned alluringly. After much consideration, of course, two minutes later our protagonist decided to go out with Assho…I mean, Michael.
“Here,” he said, as he deplaned, handing her a blue and white card. “I know it’s cliché, but here’s my card.” She took it and reciprocated, telling him to call her in about an hour. Our “lovely” – as Michael had called her – heroine quickly changed at the hotel and fixed her tumbling hair, reapplying what makeup had rubbed off throughout her long work day. As promised, he rolled into the hotel parking lot, meeting her in the lobby with a small hug. Damn, he was bony. She never had liked guys skinnier than herself and he certainly was. Still, those eyes and pearly whites won over any issues he may have had in the weight category. Taking him to the counter in the lobby, she called the hotel clerk over.
“I just want you to see this man,” she said to the woman at the front desk. She handed the woman a card. “Here is his information, and if you don’t see me come back in here tonight, call America’s Most Wanted. He’s your guy.” Michael laughed with the hotel clerk, but he could see his date was serious. “I’m taking every precaution. It’s not a silly thing to do,” she defended herself.
“What if you end up killing me instead? Should I be worried?” She assured him she was harmless, but as she glanced again at his threadlike bulk, she couldn’t help thinking she’d probably strangle him should she sit on his chest.

The movie was bursting with gruesome scenes – which, of course, she chose on purpose. What better excuse for hiding her face in his cologne-scented shoulder? Any smart woman knows how to plan things such as these. He playfully touched her knee…and her arm, and her shoulders, and well, you get the picture. Thankfully, though, he never was inappropriate, in his speech or actions. That was what surprised her most of all. The entire night she was waiting for a monster to appear, but it never did. Michael was the perfect gentleman, paying for everything, taking charge of the evening, but in a good way, and flawlessly playing the ladies’ man by opening doors – including the car – and giving her his coat to ward off the snowy coldness.There was nothing stiff or cheesy about his manner, and for fear of being irreverent, it was almost as if little Miss Stewardess worshiped him.
Over dinner, the conversation never skipped a beat, not even when it came to the “touchy” topics. He told her his opinion as she gave hers, each respecting the other and agreeing to disagree. They laughed the night away, and as she realized how much she liked him, she told him of her Christmas day layover in his resident city.
“Wow! I’m so excited you’ll be here,” he smiled at her. “We’ll have much more time to see the city. I know, I’m going to take you downtown to see the country’s second-largest Christmas tree, we’ll ice skate, and there is an amazing restaurant which is open year-round that I’ll take you to. It’s so beautiful with the lights…you’ll love it,” he said with shining eyes. She had to pick up her jaw.
“So,” she said with a flirtatious sweep of her lashes, “You’re asking me on a second date?”
He grinned at her. “I suppose I am.”
And that was that. The rest of their evening was cut a bit short for she had to be at work quite early the next morning. He pulled up to the hotel doors and thanked her for a fun night, emphasizing that he couldn’t wait to see her again, and, like a true gentleman, refrained from making a move. He drew her into a warm hug and told her to fly safe, winking at her as she closed the passenger side door. She floated on air, of course, all the way back to room 218, barely sleeping because she was way too excited.

Our “gentleman” emailed her two or three times over the next few days, still stating he had a wonderful time and would see her again soon. Still, he never called to talk as he promised he would do, and after a week of not hearing from him, she began to get anxious. Don’t call him, don’t call him, she chided herself. It was torture. She HATED not knowing why. What had she done? The inevitable questions of self-doubt began swarming her thoughts day and night. She hated that she allowed this man she barely knew to gain such a hold over her. Finally, two weeks before her scheduled trip, she gave in. She called him. He answered on the first ring, his voice exactly as she remembered, seeming to be happy to hear from her. She told him that she knew he was busy, but that she needed a definite answer concerning their date plans. If he had family to attend to, she completely understood, but she wanted to change her trip to get paid a little extra instead of spending all day alone in a hotel room eating ice-cream, getting fat, and pining after him. Okay, so she left that last part out. Still, he assured her that his family lived elsewhere and this Christmas he was going to be alone, so they would definitely keep their date plans.He said those dreaded words. “I’ll be in touch.”

And so, our lonely, pathetic flight attendant kept her trip and arrived in Kansas City early in the morning on December 25th. She had remained true to her sex and was allowing Michael to be the hunter, to pursue her, to be in touch as she had the faith that he would. Hours passed, and still no call. She almost had to sit on her hands so that she wouldn’t dial his number.Finally she let go of her hopeless day dream and called her fellow crewmembers to see if they wanted to go to the local theater for a movie. That night they watched “Sweeny Todd” and “I Am Legend.” She stayed away from the sappy romance crap. As even the McDonald’s was closed, her Christmas dinner consisted of Bagel Bites from the local Quick Trip which she microwaved in her empty hotel room.

She never heard from Michael Lehman again.

So Close And Still So Far

"It's all going to better now," he murmured into my ear, his lips softly brushing my hair. I leaned into him, the heat of his strength seeping into my bones, the well of unshed tears threatening to spill.This, I thought, this is what it means to be truly happy. To be truly whole. All of my life I have searched for a feeling such as this and for so long it remained illusive. Suddenly a devestating thought occured to me. "But...but what of her? What of your other life?"

He smiled down at me gently, his dark head tilting to one side, the emerald green of his eyes full of promise.

"There is no one else. There is only you...only us. And nothing can ever keep us apart again. I have waited until the right time, just as I always promised you. You only needed to be patient and I knew that one day the stars would align and we would meet again." I believed him. I touched his face, I let him kiss me with all the time of empty years gone by. I never wanted to lose him. Please, don't let me lose him. Nothing could ever top the feeling of ethereal happiness which settled its misty arms around my soul.

A bump in the night.

And I awoke.

I was wrong when I said nothing could top the feeling of happiness in my dream. My soul screamed in protest at the fatal wound inflicted upon it. How could it have been a dream? I just knew it was real. I knew he had come for me and that my life would never again feel empty.I thought I would never feel the bereavement which settled like lead upon my chest.

The words of a song drifted through my head...

"So close and still so far..."

And countless tears wet my pillow.

My Dream....It's a weird one...

I had a strange dream last night - well, I always do, but this one was very vivid and I wonder what it means.

I had tickets to see the Broadway production of Spamalot and I was very excited....that is, until I found out the troupe would be performing in some sort of church that they were using as the "theatre." I was angry because I knew that the show wouldn't be as good and I had paid a lot of money for the tickets. Andy Still and Jonathan Harris were attending the show with me even though they had seen it before.
We arrived at the theatre and waited in line for a woman with frizzy hair sitting at a rickety old table to check us in. I glanced about the room and saw the actors warming up on stage in front of everyone. I also noticed that the room was decorated like a Valentine's Day banquet with red-clothed tables, candles, and tiny hearts everywhere. I left Andy and Jonathan and went to find someone nice to sit with.I saw a young, attractive boy of about fourteen sitting alone at a table with my favorite flowers - red and yellow tulips - at the empty place setting next to him.I sat down and smiled at him, and as he glanced up at me with his big brown eyes something in my heart reacted to him. He was a small boy, with shaggy locks and the sweetest face. I noticed confusion on his brow and then I realized.
"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Is someone sitting here?"
"Well," he said hesitantly,"I was sort of hoping my crush from school would come and those flowers are for her."
I jumped up and assured him that I would sit elsewhere. He seemed to feel badly about it, but I thought he was so cute and hoped that whoever he had gotten the flowers for liked him back. Suddenly I was whisked away to a department store of some sort, I think a JCPenney. I noticed the boy in the store as I was arranging clothes, and I went up to him. He seemed happy to see me, and I told him I would show him my favorite place if he would follow me. I suppose I worked in the store, because I went through an "Employees Only" door, urging him on when he said he was afraid and didn't want to get into trouble.
"Just trust me," I promised him. We went to the back of an old hallway and got into a rickety elevator, pushing the button to take us to tenth floor. As we stepped out of the sliding doors, we were on the roof of the building. On one side we were surrounded by snowy alps and on the other a huge city skyline. Blue ocean was all around, and big ships - the ones from the old days - were at sail. The sun was setting over the mountaintops, casting an orange glow on everything. The boy and I stood looking about us, taking it all in, when the building changed to a rocky cliff and the boy asked if he could climb it. I told him yes, but that I had an easier way. I put some sort of spell on him and changed him into a beetle!!Suddenly, my sister, Matti, came out of nowhere, and thinking it was a harmful bug, crushed the tiny beetle. I screamed in protest, but as the beetle "breathed" its final breath, I knelt by him and wept my apologies, saying I never meant to hurt him.As I realized there was nothing else I could do, I boarded the elevator again. Upon reaching the bottom, my mother was there with several thick envelopes.She told me that my health was in critical condition and that I should be sitting down to read them. Then she left me. My heart was beating fast as I opened the letters, afraid of what I would find. The documents said that I was having trouble breathing and that I would have to have nasal surgery...the only thing was that this "surgery" mimicked the way Egyptians pulled the brains through the nasal passages with a hook during mummification.I was horrified and would rather have died than have this surgery. And then I woke up.

Strange, huh? Any interpretations?

P.S. I SAW THIS BOY TODAY ON MY FLIGHT!!! No joke, I had to do a double take because the boy looked so familiar and I couldn't place him. Looking him dead in the face I realized it was the boy from my dream! I asked him his age and he said fifteen, but he was small for his age. I told him and his mom about the dream - not all of it, lol - but she was cool about it and said I probably just come into contact with so many people that it's not hard to dream about someone I don't know and then see them.
Freaky.

A New Story

*NOTE*
Okay people - I don't usually write fiction, but while I was in Portland, Maine, this weekend, my two friends and I came up with a brilliant story line surrounding the central lighthouse of Maine.
I will write in sections as I think of them, but I need feedback - let me know what you think!!!!!
P.S. There is no title yet, if you think of one, let me know!

I am barren.

The dusk of early summer is broken occasionally by the rotation of the lighthouse in the distance, the bright flash making its way across the wind ruffled pages of my journal.
I have known about the painful emptiness of my womb since losing my heart to the man of my dreams twenty years ago; I am now forty-two.
I am the last of my bloodline.
I close my eyes to the sounds of nature around me, filled with the beauty of the water lapping gently against the rocks, the screeching of the gulls as they banter for food and romance, the tinkling of the wind chimes hanging from the roof of my porch, feeling the warmth of the lighthouse beacon against the blackness of my eyelids.
With a sigh, I turn back to the empty paper in my lap, lifting my pencil to compose the beginning of my end.

I have lived in Portland, Maine for the entirety of my life. Having done an extensive amount of traveling, I can say with utmost certainty that this city is the one to which my heart is closest. Actually, my entire family originated in Portland, near the lighthouse now gracing my veranda with her radiant beam. There is quite a story in the history of the Portland Head Light. It isn’t known to many people, albeit many people would not believe it if they heard it.
You see, dear reader, I am, in fact, one-eighth of a Vampire. My fingers are chilled with the breezy intake of your gasp, one of which I much anticipated, worry not. The possibility of Vampires in the world of Lamborghinis, Ipods, and the World Wide Web seems ludicrous, I am well aware. However, exist we do; only, it’s quite a myth that we feed on human blood. Of course, that myth did begin with my family, but we’ll get to that.
First, I must tell you why I am writing this story.
You see, I am the last direct descendant of the Beaumont bloodline, and as I am unable to bear children, the story of my existence will end with the covering of my deep grave. Thus, I must leave my mark on the world by a different means. It shall be my way of living forever, so to speak.
Ah, I see the frown of confusion upon your brow. Don’t Vampires live forever?
Dear reader, you have a lot to learn about my kind.
My story really begins in the year of 1791, while America was still young and vibrating with new settlers. As I am more human than Vampire, it was my human ancestors who are the main reason for my existence. They were the first keepers of Portland Head Light’s beam, maintaining its life for the sailors roughing the Atlantic Ocean, the bright sweep of light protection from the treacherous cliffs of the rocky coastline.
In the first days of its operation, the quaint house now adjoining the white tower was non-existent. The people of my family lived near the lighthouse, their one job to protect the ships on the horizon. The clan of Flannery’s filled the small house to bursting, with four children and two goats.
There was one brother, however, who was unlike the rest, the “black sheep” of the family, if you will. His destiny lay elsewhere.
And it was he, dear reader, who set into motion a curse so powerful it took hundreds of years to break.
His name was Simon Flannery.