A Dream From Yours Truly

(a warning: contains a bit of mild-ish language.)

They were trapped.

A dozen kids, all appearing to be in their early teens, were sitting on the green carpeted floor of a white room. Only one doorway, a white door with no handle, was the only hint that escape was possible. The teens were silent, staring off into space, barely moving except for the occasional deep inhalation of breath.

"Where am I?"

A sudden thought, seemingly voiced only inside of my head, turned out to be verbal. As soon as the sound of voice hit the walls, the teens looked up, fully alert. I stared at them, and they stared back. And then, as though triggered by a silent gunshot, there was commotion. The dozens of quazi-zombies sprang up, and the air was quickly thick with the feeling of panic.

The teens began to pace, rushing from one wall to the other, banging their fists on the walls and each other, looking for some sort of exit. All at once they were curious as to how they came to be in their current predicament, and the need to escape was suddenly extremely urgent. As I watched from my safe, calm corner of the strange room, I noticed one particular boy reaching out for the handeless door. Why had no one else reached for the door?, I wondered. No sooner had the thought tickled my mind when the door burst open from the other side.

The door was opened so quickly, that the boy was knocked on his rear, his expression turned stormy in a matter of milliseconds. I lifted my eyes to see what had caused such a change of moods, and seen a most peculiar sight.

Standing inside the room was 3 new characters. 2 of them were men, obvious by their build and posture. They were clothed in protection suits of some sort, and their masks completely hid any features of their faces to the curious public. The 3rd person of the interesting trio was a young woman who was completely drowned in black. Black long sleeve shirt, black slacks, black glasses, black pin straight hair; The woman was a shadow in a room of color.

Without speaking to one another, the 2 men reached down and grabbed the fallen boy by his arms, lifting him up to his feet. The woman looked at the boy for a second, her face expressionless, then produced a needle out of thin air. The needle was filled with a glowing pink substance, a bizarre contrast to the woman's all black attire.

The boy began to struggle, his eyes glaring at the injection. The woman simply laughed and progressed forward. As she lifted the needle to the light, I heard myself speak.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Words such as though rarely come from my own mouth, so I had to hide my surprise at myself so as not to appear foolish to these strange new people.

The woman whipped her head to me. Her now apparent cruel mouth turned into a most unpleasant smile, and before I knew what was happening, I was being grabbed by the two men in suits. I struggled to get free from their grips, but it was useless; These were full grown men, and I simply wasn't strong enough. Or was I?

I fell slack for a moment, awaiting the loosening of the villains' grips, before I sprang into action. I was suddenly more agile than I had ever been in my life. With a quick chop to the neck, a kick to the groin, and a well placed knee to a nose, I was free of the masked goonies and now only stood before the woman in black.

The woman growled, and made to stab me with her mysterious needle. I crouch rolled to the side and ended up right next to the strange boy. His youthful face was filled with confusion, but his eyes held strength. With a tug, I pulled us both up to our feet, and started running out of the now open white door.

Outside of that hectic room was a totally different environment. An extravagant mansion, a spiraling staircase, a huge wooden door leading to the unknown; It was so difficult to keep up. As we made out way out of the mansion and into the dark, rainy street, I began to search for an available car.

After a bout of rushed searching, we finally found a decent getaway car, and with me behind the wheel and the boy in the back seat, we took off.

"Who are you?" I asked the boy, while searching my pockets to see if I had a phone on me.

The boy stared at me in the rear view mirror without speaking.

"How old are you?"

"...19." was the quiet response. His voice was deep, quite unlike what I had expected, given his youthful appearance.

I was shocked. I was 19, and yet I didn't look so young as he did. Didn't guys usually always look older than girls? I nodded my acceptance of his answer via mirror, and proceeded to find a cell phone stashed away in my coat pocket.

"I need Ryan..." I mumbled, as I searched through the contacts. I found his name towards the bottom of the list, and went to hit the call button. Something was wrong with my hands, though. Every time I tried to hit the correct button, my thumb would jump and hit a different button, always making me exit out of everything I was attempting to do. I growled my intense frustration, and then suddenly I hit the correct button. The phone rang and rang, never reaching a person or a voicemail, until I eventually had no choice but to hang up. I hissed through my teeth as an attempt to keep my temper in check.

"Damn it!"

The boy(though hard to call him such knowing his true age) said nothing from the back seat this entire time. He only continued to stare at me with an intense gaze.

"I think I know where he's at. We're almost there." I spoke, mostly to reassure myself.

(It was at this point that I awoke, and my dream was discontinued. Anticlimactic? I think yes.)

Love and Marriage

People keep asking me why I want to get married so badly, and I can never come up with a non sappy, safe answer. The truth is, I want to be married because I'm in love.

I'm madly in love. Head over heels, butterfly-infested stomach, weak knees, giggly giddy girly in love. My fiance is exactly the man I want to have and to hold, for better or for worse. I want to spend my every waking moment with him. I want to be the first person he sees in the morning, and the last one he sees at night. I want to have the honor of sharing his last name. I want us to share new experiences together. I want us to be man and wife.

I'm tired of having to tell him goodbye after a day together. It just gets harder and harder every time. I hate having to text him goodnight, instead of just saying it to his face. I'm ready for more.

I'm prepared for the title of "housewife". I look forward to it! I'm ready to be a wife that Ryan can be proud of; One he can brag on, if he wants(I won't object to a little flattery). I want to try my hand at juggling good wife, working woman, and someday, doting mother. I feel ready for all of that, and I'm ready now.

I'm ready to start the next chapter of my life with my best friend at my side. Call me lovesick, call me naive, call me immature. I don't care. I am ready to say, "I do.".

An Idea

So I was wrong about getting my great idea out later that day.

Anyways, my great idea started with a very fed up attitude that was directed towards the media. I was sitting at work one day last week, watching TV with one of my clients while I washed the dishes. My client switched the channel to TLC's "Millionaire Match up", a show in which one stuck up woman finds girlfriends/boyfriends for these random millionaires, most of them cocky jerkholes. Already I was quite disgusted with the whole idea of the show(I'm against any form of assisted dating, whether it's TV shows or online dating), but it wasn't until the hostess started attacking this one guy that I got REALLY mad.

This particular millionaire was a computer guru who owned and operated his own computer software company. He was nice enough, seemed polite, but according to the hostess, he was "unfortunate enough to be a legit nerd."'. The guy had light red hair, glasses, and mostly wore casual dinner jackets, but that so called match maker made him to it to be a total loser. After mercilessly bashing his every feature, she concluded her judgement with, "No one wants to date red heads, and certainly not nerds. That's just how it is!"

.....Really?

Maybe I took it too personally(being known myself as a nerd AND a "strawberry blonde"), but that little snippet of a stupid "reality" TV show made me much more angry than I care to admit. I've already been so sick of stars, celebrities, and related topics, but that was just the last straw.

I'm tired of no one ever being "good enough". I'm tired of hearing about our so called flaws, how we need to be improved in order to make it, and shown what "perfect" really is. I'm normally pretty good with ignoring opinions of others, but recently it's all really started getting to me and it's started effecting me WAY more than it needs to. That is why I present you with this...

(link)

I want to start my own site where people can be themselves and enjoy it! I plan on posting motivational posts, uplifting quotes, fun challenges, and more. My goal is to get people of both genders and all ages to feel good about themselves again. I don't want the Hollywood way of life to prevail; I want us to start a new trend and be happy being us!

If ya'll could follow, suggest ideas, and help me out, I'd greatly appreciate it.

3 Things

1. The previous post was obviously a hack.

2. I have a fantastic idea.

3. Said idea shall have light shed upon it later in the day.

That is all.

Yeah

I am one beautiful woman, and I am not afraid to say so! I have a beautiful face and gorgeous hair! Don't think so? Tough!

I also love my amazing fiance Ryan.

A Story for a Rainy Day

Peppermint.

That's all I could smell as Mrs Pump hugged me. Every inch of her 4' 9" self was covered in the scent, "overpowering" not even beginning to describe the strength of the aroma.

I knew from the second that I walked through the door that she had eaten the whole bag. I had always assumed that there was no way on earth that a human could eat so many round mints at one time, one or two being a natural maximum limit, but I was wrong.

The house reeked of the smell of peppermint. The living room, the kitchen, even the bathroom was filled to the ceiling with the scent. It was so strong it made my eyes burn. It was as if the peppermints were in the air, hanging around like some kind of quasi-air freshener.

Not only was it in the air, but the peppermints had also left their mark physically. The living room floor was covered in candy wrappers, all marked with the same brand and design of the peppermint company in which they were from. There was not a step you could take without hearing the crunch of a wrapper beneath your feet. But alas! It got worse.

The absolute worst part of it all was Mrs Pump herself. The poor woman, not normally a very hygienic person, was reclined in her chair, covered in wrappers and not yet eaten candies. She herself had eaten so many peppermints that she oozed of their scent. It was as if she were sweating peppermint from her pores, the smell was so strong.

I believe now would be a good time to explain why this bothered me so. It was once upon a time in a time not so far away that I tried my first ever bowl of chocolate chip mint ice cream. I had never tried it before, and being an avid ice cream fan, I was quite excited to finally experience what was sure to be a great bowl of dessert.

It started out with one bowl. I loved it. I loved it so much, that I had another serving. After that one, I decided that one more serving couldn't hurt anything. It wasn't until I had finished that last serving that I started to feel funny. My head started pounding, my throat felt swollen, my stomach weak. I was just starting to break into a sweat when I puked all the servings of ice cream all over the floor.

Did you know that puke can be pale green?

Since that lovely experience, I haven't been able to stand the sight or smell of peppermint the same way. Though able to down the occasional candy or York patty every so often, I simply cannot stand the sight of chocolate chip mint ice cream or even a minor scent of peppermint without feeling instantly nauseous. You can imagine how I felt being in this minty house; What you can't imagine is how I felt when Mrs Pump gave me a bear hug.

I was sitting in the kitchen, filling out paperwork, when Mrs Pump comes in telling me she was going out to run a few errands. Since she didn't know if I'd be gone by the time she returned, she signed her paper and then pulled me into a big minty hug.

My head had already been hurting from the putrid stench of too much peppermint, but it began to pound upon being engulfed in Mrs Pump's new perfume. Eyes watering, head throbbing, and throat closing, my gag reflexes were on the go, trying not to upchuck breakfast all over dear Mrs Peppermint...I mean Pump.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Mrs Pump released me and I was able to breath again. Was I alive? Had I really survived such an attack? Had I really managed to hold my breath for so long? She bid her farewell and walked away, the trail of mint floating along behind her.

That night, after I had took a shower and washed away all traces of my near death experience, I vowed to seek revenge on the person who gave Mrs Pump the bag of peppermints, and once I found them, I would make them eat buckets of chocolate chip mint ice cream, York patties, and peppermint candies.

The end.

Oh Darling Chin, Be Mine?

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