Weekend Postcards : Miracle Sunday

“Chocolate Milk and Whales In Ice”

Every week I’m on CHAMPS duty is a Miracle Sunday for me. This Sunday was no exception. Thank God for my CHAMPS team- I couldn’t have asked for a better team (okay, so I could. But the fact that they were assigned to me makes it more the more miraculous). Granted, Andrew was missing and I forgot to remind Su Ann to come- but I had super-dependable Wan Ling and on-the-fly stoic Ken Han. The kids were as well behaved as they could physically be. Principal Carol had to threaten detention and I had to ply them with Cheap Plastic Gifts. My teachers were oblivious about the short-staffing and so incredibly calm about our under-preparation. They rock.

Teacher Wan Ling gave a powerpoint presentation on the Bible Story for the day in her ‘stone’ (and I quote Ken Han here) voice. The remarkable thing was the kids remembered every detail of the long narration when I needed to refer to the lesson plan to ask them review questions after. Have I told you lately that Teacher Wan Ling rocks harder than a Gwen Stefani concert? (I think she’s having exams or something, even.)

I have never seen Teacher Ken Han give a more inspired Object Lesson. Chocolate milk and clear plastic cups- tied into a lesson about giving more praise to God that even *I* can understand. While I was in the PA box panicking about the next segment (which was- well, nothing); I could hear Ken Han’s voice tense up slightly. Looking up, I saw Senior Pastor Joshua (*dum dum dahh*) grinning like a loon from the back of the hall. Y’know, that goofy grin he has when he’s overly pleased about something. The only thing scarier than having Pastor Josh dropping in on you is to have Deputy Senior Pastor Carey watching you teach. Teacher Ken Han was flawless. You go, bro!

I didn’t mean to, but somewhere in between asking review questions and giving them Cheap Plastic Gifts I started talking about whales, holes in the ice and the open ocean. It was the second Object Lesson I’d read but didn’t understand. I wasn’t thinking about what to say next, it was more like - ‘dude, what the heck am I talking about?’ The words just flowed and I made the most amazing allegory about praise and worship every Sunday like a breath of air for the soul until we reach the open ocean and exist in a state of open worship. Never in my life have I had words so profound and powerful come out of my mouth. It was so good I almost cried. There is no way in all of creation that those words came out of me. Probably the closest thing to an out-of-body experience that I’d ever have.

Lydia came down from her Mini-CHAMPS just in time for me to assign game team leaders for ‘Team Flydia’ and ‘Team Fen Han’. Team Fen Han had the obvious lead with thirteen Bible-Carriers to Team Flydia’s nine. ‘Course, the fact that Teacher Fen Han’s team was twice the size of Teacher Flydia’s group had something to do with it. We all made paper airplanes and the objective was to see whose plane flew furthest. The glaring flaw in that game was- firstly, the lack of space we had to throw th’ planes. Secondly, that they’d run to the front screaming like kamikaze pilots to throw said planes at us point blank. I crouched down screaming, “Not the face! Not the face!” Thank God I was wearing two layers of clothing. I think I have tiny pock-marked bruises on my back.
Ah, who cares about order? I threw my hands up in defeat and let ‘em run wild. After all, they’d been so incredibly good today. I’d survived another Sunday lock-down with a hall full of First Service CHAMPS Kids- I went where lesser mortals feared to tread. My liver is safe for another week from those little savages. Life is good. This feeling is what keeps me coming back week after week, year after year. Nothing like it.

“Noisiest row dismisses last! Straighten your chairs in 10…9…8…” I didn’t even have to keep the Standard 4 Boys for our weekly ‘Special Care Group’ detention. *sigh* Life is so good.

Snapshots and Thoughts To Keep Forever

~ My first thought on entering the Hall : ‘The kids outnumber us twenty-to-one, but as long as they don’t know that, we should be fine.’

~ Weldon going ‘aieeeee!’ in the highest-pitch scream I’d heard from a boy and throwing paper planes at me point blank. He’d throw ‘em, pick ‘em up from the floor and throw them again with alarming swiftness. It feels like being repeatedly poked in the back with tiny fingers.

~ “Why? Why you don’t come teach us anymore?” From Heather in Mini-CHAMPS and a few other kids from Second-Service CHAMPS. My heart just melted and I gave my standard answer- “Because you all so naughty I scared of you already.”

~ Timothy the Tiny Ten-Year-Old Terror waving his arm at me frantically all throughout Question Time although he didn’t know the answers. I gave him Cheap Plastic Gifts anyway. It gives me the fuzzies to realize that he’d been sooo incredibly good- he hardly ran about at all.

~ Note : Teacher Fen Han owes the kids a 3-minute dance. Maybe he can do the Cha-Cha Song with Teacher ‘Hey, Mr Naidu’ Flydia.

~ I want a T-shirt that says- “I Am a First-Service CHAMPS Teacher. (If you see me running, try to keep up!)” or “Second-Service CHAMPS Teachers Are Wusses.” (of course, the latter would get me beaten up by people on a regular basis)

~ A tiny PDsode : *gasp* Joey is sooooo cute! Such a big girl now! I MISS THE MINI-CHAMPS!!

~ Seven-year-old Eunice passing about a small jar of raspberry-flavored lip balm. Nuff sed.

~ While we were counting Bible-Carriers, I had a matter-of-fact conversation with the Standard One Girls about brushing your lips when you brush your teeth because lipstick looks bad on chapped dry lips. So, Jaimes- if your little sister starts brushing her lips, you now know its my fault.

~ Thank you Teacher Flydia for helping. We’ll get a “I Teach BOTH First & Second Service CHAMPS. So There.” for you.

~ My CHAMPS class – Its almost as good as seeing the lame walk and the blind receive sight.

~ Final thoughts : Dude, not me. Just Him.

Political Posers 2 : The Return Of The Jaded

It had been a half hour since Mike donned on his full-face motorcycle helmet. The clear plastic visor had long since fogged up and I watched uneasily as he mimed being underwater. He was Neil Armstrong for the first 10 minutes before lapsing into a French accent whilst quietly exploring ‘ze reech depths of ze ocean’.
“Mike, you okay?”
“Oui.”
That’s it. “You’re taking that off now.” I reach for the helmet which was strapped on tightly to his empty head.
He waves his arms haphazardly to slap my hands away, “Stop it!”
“At least lift th’ visor, you dumb*ss. Its misted.”
Sticking out his tongue, he attempts to trace a smiley on the fogged visor, but ends up leaving a diagonal swath of drool on the surface instead.
“Words cannot begin to describe how disgusting that is,” Mae grimaced. “You’re keeping that on til you go home and shower.”
“Hey Mae?” Mike’s voice sounded distant and muffled. “You ever wanted to be Prime Minister?”
“You know I did. When we were little.”
I know at least five girls in school who really wanted to be the First Female Chinese prime minister of Malaysia. And they all truly believed they would be too. I used to wonder how they’d all get to be prime minister within their lifetimes. And they would argue over who got to be First.
“How ‘bout you?”
I shrugged, “Yeah. Who didn’t? Up til I was eight actually. Ah, good times- ignorance of gender-racial distinctions.”
“Boy, you jaded early. You rolled your eyes a lot as a child, didn’t you?” Mae remarked.
“That explains why I kept having dizzy spells.”
“I’m dizzy,” Mike whimpers faintly.
I flip open the visor and shove a wad of serviettes in through the opening. “How about you, Jacque? Ever wanted to be first female prime minister of Malaysia like us?”
“Yeah. ‘Cept for the female bit or the Malaysian prime minister thing.” He paused and furrowed his brow. “Actually, I wanted to be King of England. Til’, y’know- I realized Elizabeth’s too old and I look nothing like Charles.” (Author’s explanation : Mike likes Twain’s Prince and the Pauper. You should too.)
“Maybe you could be Queen of England instead,” I snickered. “I hear William’s broken off with his girlfriend.”
“Really?” Mae asked a little too eagerly for someone who sent us all an actual memo saying that she was too old for ‘all this Prince William nonsense’. She caught the look both of us were giving her and blushed, “Sorry, habit.” Used to be, if you badmouthed her Prince Charming or damage her veritable William paraphernalia in any way, she’d kill you slowly and refuse to speak to your corpse for a week. Times change.
“Times change,” I remarked. “What happened to all those ambitions?”
“Jaded and died of disillusionment and cynicism,” Mae replied matter-of-factly.
“I’m quite certain there’s a dig at me somewhere in there”
“Not everything is about you, Grac.”
“Yeah, see? When did that change?”
Mae rolled her eyes at me, “Y'think if we waited long enough, you’d die of disillusionment and cynicism too?”
“More likely you’ll die of anal-retentiveness first,” I shot back.
“Oh, dudes! Ew.”
We both pause our bickering to roll our eyes at helmet boy. “Y’know, maybe he’ll go first.” I mused. “I mean, look at the dodos.”
“I’m not stupid.” Mike counters hotly. It would’ve been a more convincing statement if he didn’t have a helmet on indoors. “I know what you were talking about. ‘Bout how I can’t be king an’ you can’t be PM like how Arnold can’t be president.”
“Astute and succinct. You’re not that dumb after all,” Mae complimented. “Good boy.”
He gives us both a toothy grin and a thumbs-up before flipping the visor down whilst humming the Darth Vader theme and breathing harshly.
“The farce is strong in that one, Mae.” I grin. “Except that Darth Weirdo isn’t quite correct. Arnie can’t be President because of nationality issues. We’re Malaysian- there’s no law that says we can’t be Prime Minister.”
“And?”
“So why aren’t there any? What’s stopping us? What killed the dream?” I jumped to my feet in the heat of the moment and gestured dramatically. “What happened to all those little girls who wanted to be PM? Surely at least one would’ve made it through the disillusionments.” I ignore the clueless group of yuppies sitting at the next table who were staring. They are fools to point and laugh. This is a moment in history. “By George, I think I’ll be PM someday just to prove them wrong. What can stop me?”
“You aren’t even registered to vote” Mae interjected calmly.
That’s true. "Oh, yeah." I’d never bothered, claiming the futility of voting for something that’ll win anyway regardless of whatever I do. “So not th' drama,” I shrugged and sat back down.
My little fit of political epiphany did not escape the notice of the café owner who’d been giving us the evil eye for sharing a small latte between the three of us. Mae drags us all out the door amidst the staring and muted laughter.
“Another shop we can't show our faces at again, huh?" I mumbled sheepishly.
“Boy, I’m glad I got my helmet on.”

(Author's note : Back by unpopular demand. Presenting- my make-believe friends Mike and Mae.)

-----------------------------------------------
You know what Political Poser segments mean… SNEAK PREVIEWS!

ROAD TRIP

Super : “Hour Six”

(The camera fades in on James STILL full-tilt gung-ho singing the beer bottles song lustily)

Super : “Ninety-nine bottles later…”

James : One bottle of beer on the wall, one bottle of beer. You take one down pass it around, no more bottles of beer on the wall. No more bottles of beer on the wall, no more bottles of beer. You take-

(He stops, blinks and spaces out.)

James : Huh.

---------------------------

8-BALL : The Future Movie

(Cue cari pasal music ala WWF Smackdown entrance theme. Mel strides into the smoky pool parlour in slow-mo with Seng and Anya flanking her. Take static longshot focused on them with Shark goon in foreground. Frame speeds up choppily as they approach him from behind. Goon is bent over lining up a shot and Mel yanks the cue out of his hand and smashes his face into the pool table in one fluid movement. She hauls him upright by his shirtfront till they are eye to eye. Goon looks dazed.)

Mel : Where. Is. She?
Goon : Hunh?

(Mel starts getting’ real mad now and shakes him hard.)

Mel : Where is she?! Where? Tellmetellmetellme!
Goon : Okay! Okay, I show you!

(She drops him like a hot potato and he slumps onto the floor)

Mel : (turns to Seng) See, you can always get an answer if you shake something hard enough.

----------------------------------

A POEM FOR THE BIRTHDAY GIRL...

Since I fudge your birthday every year
It's November or August, I cannot be sure
"Well, who gives a piss?
When the actual day is?"
It's just merely a marker
Of when you popped out of your mom's vagin- er...
(Body, I meant to say body)
Getting the month wrong isn't that bad
It might even start being a fad
We'll celebrate twice!
Now isn't that nice?
Two special days, without any teasing
About your height or even your dressing
You can wear bright pink lace frilly booties
We promise not to make fun of your small boobi- er...
(Body, I meant to say body)
So... a night on the town
Turn your frown upside down
We'll dance and have fun
Show other ah lians how its done
(It's your birthday today
FYI, just in case
You didn't get the entire poem)
It's Angel Choo day
What else can I say?
So, well... um, Happy Birthday?

PS- We'll celebrate your 'second' unbirthday when you read this poem and decide if you ever want to speak to me again, okay? Heh.

Love ya, dude.

Lessons I Learnt From My Best Friend (Episode Six)

Lesson Six : Carpe Diem! Or “Poke it! Poke it, poke it now!!”

(Disclaimer : The following ‘Lessons’ segment is not in anyway naughty despite its suggestive title.)

“How do you know you won’t like it until you’ve tried it?”

(Author’s note : Again, its not naughty. Read on.)

I’ve never been very adventuresome. A a matter of fact, the sole reason why I am sometimes known to have ‘spur of the moment’ moments is just ‘cause I procrastinate till the very last minute. Keith and Bri tells me I’m boring because I won’t do that Jello thing with them.

(Really! Not of the naughty!)

I have a Flintstones collapsible wading pool that’ll fit about three people. ‘Course, our knees would come up to our ears, elbows would be poking into eyes and our toes would be jammed up Keith’s posterior orifice.

“It’s *so* stupid,” I sneered. “Do you *know* how much Jello we would need?”

“You’re saying it wrong, Doc.” Keith interrupts, clearing his throat and pitching a tone near to mine, “Its so *stupid*. Do you know how much *Jello* we would need?’” Complete with a goofy grin and a slightly maniacal gleam in his eyes.

I roll my eyes, “That’s what I just said.”

“In the wrong tone.”

“Shut it, you dumb*ss.”

“You’re so boring,” Bri sniffed. “Have some sense of adventure!”

I do too. I eat dodgy Hokkien noodles at a place called Cockroach Alley and once I ran a red light. Of course, it was night and the streets were empty. And the red light was for a school crossing and more of a ‘Berhenti’ sign rather than an actual traffic light.

“I am not boring.”

“Are too!” The both of them said together.

“Am not!”

“Prove it!”

Bear in mind, we were in our late teens and the physical evidence of growth was not an indication of maturity. Or brains.

I sigh. “How are we even going to make so much Jello?”

They sport matching grins of triumph as Keith pulls out his notebook. Pails of hot shower water, a big pot of boiling water and all the Jello in South East Asia made up the list of ingredients. We would cook the Jello in pails, leave it to cool then stick ‘em overnight in Keith’s room which resembles an icebox in Alaska. Next day, we pour it all into my Flintstones wading pool and voila! Instant (rather, overnight) Jello pool.

“That’s stupid,” I reiterated. “It’ll never work. Besides, getting into a vat of viscous matter? Ew.”

““How do you know you won’t like it until you’ve tried it?”

“You’re *so* boring!”

By the way, did you know cherry Jello mixed with lime Jello turns into grey slush and not into Christmassy chunks?

-------------------------------------------------------------
In a story I read once, a character was explaining her life's motto- "See a bear in the forest, walk up and poke it with a stick" (With regards to Ms. Bowers). It's a go-getter, You-Only-Live-Once kinda attitude which I've never really been accused of having.

I used to believe in trying anything once. Well, twice if I was too busy puking my guts out the first time. (Never go to theme parks after lunch and slightly hungover.) Yet I don't find myself doing so now. I make excuses, projections of the supposed outcome, claim a lack of ability, etc. I'd put off so much assignments and chores that I have now done so with Life! Have I put my life on hold for the sake of existing in a safe risk-free zone? Whatever happened to the 'try-it-you'll-like-it' and the large-scale 'all-or-nothing' person I used to be?

Perhaps my ideas have been shot down too many times that I now stop myself before I get stopped by others (and severely disappointed). Or big ideas were deemed 'too complex' to be used that they get shelved, or worse- executed by the Uninspired who compromise the vision and thus making it substandard. Stuff that I helped produce go through so many changes that it really isn't mine anymore and I'm literally ashamed to even be credited for it. Getting yanked off something you've worked on for a whole year. My heart actually aches when that happens. I've never wanted to hit a person more than I did then, I'm ashamed to say. I had a million words on the tip of my tongue, every fourth one crude. Did some serious internal auditing that day, I have to admit.

(Author's note: Don't get scared. Did I trick you into thinking that this entry would be funny all the way? LOL! Heh.)

I got told that it's wrong to get so involved with something. Then you'd commit too much into it, thus being too attached and getting self-centred. B*LLSH*T. That's all I can say. What about Jesus then? Should we not commit to Him and get 'too attached' and thus being Christ-centred? What happened to giving your all and giving your best?

'No more'. I've said this once a long time ago though it meant something else then. Then, it meant 'no more giving ideas', 'no more participation', 'no more getting p*ssed on by the Uninspired'. From hereonin, I'm takin' a new meaning on the phrase- 'no more sitting around waiting', 'no more need to censor myself', 'no more compromise', 'no more fear'. I'm takin' my business to places that visionaries can only dream of going.

Here's a coupla lessons I learnt:

~ have a sense of Adventure and go all out. You'll never get Jello in your pants until you wade into a vat full of it.

~ rejecting someone's idea is akin to tearing up their heart, spitting on it, lighting it on fire and crushing the ashes beneath your feet (at least that's how it feels when it happens to me). Small, big, stupid or not- every idea is worth something. Even th' terminally dumb one of having 40 gallons of flavored gelatin dumped pail by pail into the drain.

~ don't dump Jello into the drain during the draught.

~ week-old lime/cherry Jello smells like dirty socks after gettin' mixed up in drain gunk.

Didn't mean to get so introspective. Had Jello today and I remembered the Big Jello Adventure, is all...

Go ye therefore- seize days, poke bears, have a Jello shooter and remember never to wear your favorite pair of underwear when getting into a wading pool full of grey Jello. Also, run like h*ll when the bear wakes up.

Postcard Series : Midweek Musings

My first week at a new job and I've already worn more skirts than I have in the past two years. I dress so girly now that I freak myself out. Break out the hose, slinky cardigan and sleek office wear. Add some bling from ears to fingers, slap on the makeup, put up my hair, spritz on some expensive perfume and I'm good to go in my hot-to-trot strappy heels. Perhaps I should be more freaked by the fact that I actually have all this stuff. And that I know how to use 'em. I can dress fancy for two weeks straight and not even need to repeat my outfits- that's how freaky this is.

And no, I can't tell you where and what I work as. It's a top secret, hush-hush, need to know basis and I'd hafta kill you if I told you. So, Lyd, you won't get any pictures. Ever.

PS- No, its not a night job la. Th secrecy is just to avoid paparazzo like you. :)

As Political As I'll Get

Idle chatter about politics can turn into a full-blown ugly debate. And people wonder why I’m not the most patriotic of citizens. I don’t participate in National Day celebrations and the only way I can even remember the year of our Independence is by singing “Tanggal tiga puluh satu, bulan lapan, lima puluh tujuh…” (really singing with arm-pumping gusto). I don’t exactly know how many states we have nor their full names. I can’t (not for lack of trying) chronologically name all our Prime Ministers’ either (did we have five?). But, I tear up when I hear the recording the Merdeka declaration and bristle when I hear people diss the Prime Minister. I love my country, just not the people in it.

I was just telling them about how I once saw this leather-jacketed guy carrying a white cat (by the way, so the classic villain) getting off his bike- an ordinary kapchai-looking bike with a helmet compartment at the back. Now, the focus of the story was the bike which had shiny stenciled-stickers of slogans and statements that were extremely offensive about the state of government and Dr M. Vile statements in educated English, which probably makes it worse if you think about it. Any moron with a can of spray paint can decorate the whole of Petaling Street with “Dr M sucks large eggs!” and it still wouldn’t be as offensive. I was half-tempted to tip his motorcycle over, except that this dude was walking with the aid of a cane. Maybe someone else got to him first.

“I swear, if anyone insults Dr. M in front of me I’ll knock their blocks off!” Mike snarled, punctuating his sentence with a right uppercut. I don’t actually doubt he’d carry out his threat, should the occasion arise. He’s all principles and testosterone- the kind of guy who’d cling tenaciously to his values and fight for it without a moment’s hesitation. Also, he’d likely be the sort of guy his fellow prison-mates would call ‘Seng-Kor’ were he inclined to join a street gang.

Mae looks a little discomfited at all the staring we’re getting from the other patrons. I’d actually expect Mae to be the one all rabid about Dr. M since she actually owns every single piece of literature related to him including newspaper and magazine articles. She didn’t speak to me for a whole week when I accidentally recorded over the story CNN did about our previous PM. Putting in her two-cents worth, “Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of, um- being a tolerant, harmonious society and muhibbah- as per his vision?” she asks.

“Y’know, I never really knew what Vision 2020 was really all about. I only recently got the witty optometry wordplay.” I mused.

Mae frowned disapprovingly, “You’re such a traitor. Why don’t you just defect south?” I made a face- the Sterile South? I’d rather be tried for treason first.

“Look, I just wanna know if I can bash their heads in, okay? To puckery with th’ Vision,” demands Seng-Kor. Better start saving up money for a good lawyer now.

“No-lah, you idiot.” I slap him upside the head. “It’ll be like smacking people who diss Ghandi.”

“Yes,” Mae acceded “Cause that’d be, uh- against his… um,”

“Teachings?” I ventured.

She grimaced, “I wanted to say that but it sounded so Rajneesha cultish with the whole crimson robe-wearing, little bell-clanging and selling of daisies in airports.” She’s never been the same since her first Hare Krishna encounter overseas. It must have been quite the spiritual experience to have affected her so deeply.

“Okay,” Mike looked confused now. “So, no beating up of the Ghandi-dissers ‘cause that would mess up his peace mojo, right?”

“Oh, but the delicious irony! T’would be something to behold,” I expressed dramatically.

“Yeah, c’n you imagine?” Mike wraps his fingers around an imaginary neck in front of him and starts to throttle the air violently. “You little pr*ck! You take that back- Ghandi’s not a tree-hugging loony!” We laughed raucously as people started to stare at Mike who was really roughing up his imaginary foe. “…and take that, an’ that! So there, that’ll teach ya!” he ends his tirade with a spectacular left hook-right jab combo as Mae giggles non-stop at his antics.

And people say that youths nowadays have no sense of loyalty to the country.

END

Author’s notes : ‘Cept for leather-wearing, white cat-carrying, offensive lame dude and the part where I actually have to sing th’ song to get the year of Independence; it’s all fictional. Cool people like Mike and Mae only exist in my head.


-------------------------------------------------------------
An exclusive sneak preview of my in-progress project ‘Road Trip’.

SCENE : [The rest stop. Andrew (driver) and James (backseat driver) are fooling around with the camera. They drop it as Mel and Lydia get onboard the car. Camera is now sideways on right backseat (wedged between backpacks) and pointed towards front passenger seat. We don’t see much, but can see general movement of butts and hear voices.]

Mel : (gets into front passenger seat) Okay, let’s go.
James : I wanna sit in the front.
Mel : (sighs) Fine.

[They get out of car (we hear car doors open and close) and exchange seats. Mel sits on the cam and screen goes dark.]

Lyd : Where’s the cam? (muffled)
James : You’re sitting on it, Mel.
Mel : Oh. (she lifts the camera to film Andrew pulling out of the rest stop) Ew, its all wet. What did you guys do with it?
James : Andrew got sweaty hands.
Andrew : Eh!

[Everyone falls silent as Lydia takes a tissue and starts to wipe it down.]

James : I wanna go to the toilet.

[Collective tsk and sighing]

END SCENE
-------------------------------------------------------------

-------------------------------------------------------------
Plus, because you’ve all been so very good- a quote from '8-Ball : The Future Movie'.

Mel : Will the blind date go well? Is he hot? [shakes 8-ball] (NO). Okay, okay-
ask the right questions. Uh, let’s see… will I find him attractive? (YES)
Alright! [pumps fist in air]
[beat]
Mel : Crap. My standards have totally gone down the toilet.
-------------------------------------------------------------

Dream - Prince Of Stories

I almost always remember my dreams. It depends if I was industrious enough (or had enough time) to write 'em down or not. It also depends on whether I woke up to the gentle buzz-sawing of my alarm clock or my mother shouted to wake me. If I have enough time and compunction, I'll just start writing it down. If not, I lie motionless and retrace my dream until I got all the details in my head before I get up. Too bad my dream journal got taken with my laptop on the Day I'd Rather Not Have Happened. Reading back your old dreams feel alot like reading a stranger's journal. There are dreams you'd have forgotten about altogether or certain segues you don't remember having.

My dreams are usually in one chronological stretch. Then there are those that do not make any sense- usually a precursor to the next dream. Those'd be th' segues. If I'm really fortunate, I dream of someplace familiar and I'm let loose to basically do whatever I want. The best kind of dreams are the ones where your friends are in.

If you have to spark a riot as a cover to escape from your would-be assasins, there's no one better than to rely on than having Mel head up the other team. Two teams are a little bit more chaotic than one. The only downside is that I wouldn't have anyone I really knew or trusted to watch my back, were we split. All was good and we managed to cause enough ruckus for the schoolbus carrying Pastor Carey and Lois to make it safely 'cross the border and back into JB.

Ange features prominently in all my "Oh Cr*p, I'm late for service and I'm playing keyboard for worship!" Heh. Have I had any bad experiences with you and punctuality? Usually I'd be racing up the staircase and I can hear the strains of the first song already. Or we'd be in worship practice and I was downstairs trying to get up to where you were without having to pass the huge*ss carnivorous dinosaur in the lobby. (Note-to-self: find out where the real fire alarms are in church.) Anyhow, the latest dream I had with her was the one where we were in some sort of military thing doing a face-off tactical drill ala "Capture The Flag" against this other visiting team who had a team leader named Amanda who played bass. They cheated, we lost and I laughed at how bloody brilliant they were into replacing our flag with a decoy so we were running about thinking all was well when they've actually gotten our flag. *snorts* Remind me to tell you about that one. It was pretty detailed.

I had to haul Lyd's skinny ass down several floors via a steep staircase to escape this homeless guy who was about to attack us. Or the one time I was wandering about my primary school looking for her to ask her something about filming the assembly.

Eurgh, speaking of school- I can't remember how many countless times I've had the dream of me repeating Form 5 and *still* unprepared for SPM despite being older and supposedly wiser/smarter. I love school, don't get me wrong. But it stops being funny when I'm 23 and still cringing everytime Mrs Ing asks me why I don't have my homework. I'm an adult, d*mmit! I don't have to do your stupid homework if I don't want to!

Things I can / can't do in a dream:
~ Can't murder something/someone in cold blood even if I absolutely have to. I'm such a wuss when it comes to that. I cringed when I realised I was supposed to strangle a hamster and just started running. Shooting someone who would've killed you is a different matter altogether. Hey, he was going to kill me, okay? Besides, my guns always turn into toy ones and start shooting odd objects like calculators and string confetti instead.
~ Can't die in a dream. Jumped off tall buildings (floated back onto the ground), stood still in the middle of heavy traffic and let a car plow into me (it felt like being gently pushed into a pile of plush pillows), letting some boogeyman catch up to me only to fall to the really soft ground asleep. It's weird.
~ I actually know how to use a gun. Maybe its all that CSI I've been watching. I taught Lois how to take a gun apart, assemble it and load it up. I named all the parts and warned her about the hair trigger and recoil. Apparently, you're supposed to fire in short controlled bursts as not to lose your target because of the recoil kicking your aim off. Hmm. Maybe its all the Hitman I've been playing.
~ Can't use stick shift to save my life. Can't drive without having the car plow into something or getting scratched. Hey, it's not my fault if the car has really sluggish brakes, right?
~ I have both cried and laughed myself awake. There'd be tears on my pillow or I'd be smiling. I'd crack myself up in dreams sometimes and wake up realizing it really wasn't that funny after all. I guess I have lower expectations of myself when dreaming.

Most of the dreams I have end up as premises for stories or ideas. I had a dream in primary school that turned into a universe that I created complete with diagrams, character biographies and a long complex story that I still work on til today from time to time. Most of it was lost on the Day I'd Rather Not Have Happened. Here are a couple of snippets I dug up recently:

-------
No one has spoken for the last hour or so, prefering instead to wallow in self-pity. The darkness of the room was threatening to overwhelm us and physically swallow us whole. We were all huddled around the humming space heater which dimly illuminated our faces in muted orange. If someone doesn't say something soon, I'll start bursting into song. Hey, if you squint, Prescott looks like th' Cheetos cheetah dude with the sunshades. Why does she wear those at night anyway?
"So." We all jumped. Libby's voice scratchy from disuse broke our reverie. "We're... saving the universe." The two second pause after that felt longer than the previous hour of silence. "A mad scientist, mechanic, musician, jock, hairstylist, lawyer and a space heater?" I can't believe she just ranked us in terms of usefulness.
"We could mesmerise the enemy with my gift of song," Iris mumbled, her eyes closed. Exactly what I was thinking of earlier. Except that I wasn't being all sarcastic and cynical like her.
Ever the optimist, Paul lights up brightly "Aw, c'mon Lib. It isn't so bad, look at the bright side..."

"I can run very fast." Brett says hopefully. "An' lift moderately heavy stuff." Yessir you can indeed, I supress a grin; making out his muscular outline through the darkness.
"There, you see? All is not lost."
"Yeah! And I've got mad skills with the kung-fu and I'm a wicked cool demolitions expert to boot. We'll blow them bad guys away!" Everyone stared at Cheyanne like she had something hanging out of her nose. It's nice when that look isn't directed at me sometimes. She shrugged, "Just displaying my lawyering superpowers- quite convincing, don't you think?" I think I can hear Iris' eyes rolling.
Not wanting to be outdone, I contribute my two-cents worth "I'm moderately heavy."
Liberty sighed and rubbed her face "We're doomed."
Why does everyone keep looking at me like that?
----
----
(Scene: In the rebel makeshift lab where Callie Resident Genius Scientist has been hidden, working on super secret project to save the day. Cue dramatic music as camera flys through the cavernous space. Blue sparks, flashing light, fog rises from the ground and our heroes enter waving the smoke away, trying to walk without tripping over anything.)

(Pan to Liberty who cranes her head up to look at the contraption Callie built. Camera follows her gaze.)

Liberty : What the heck is that thing?

(Dramatic pause as we cut to Cal who gestures with a flourish. Music swells)

Callie : It's a- Time Machine.

(Music stops. Cut to everyone else. Cue collective WTF looks- shock! awe! raised eyebrows! resigned faces! rolling eyes! etc! )

Iris : (deadpans) I knew it.

Liberty : No, Cal- really...

Callie : We're all gonna hop onto the Time Machine and take us back to the past, right the wrongs and stop Kamisaka from killing people.

Iris : I knew it all along. Four words- Sci-fi soap opera. Maybe three words.

Brett : (stage whispers to Cheyanne) She's cracked.

Cheyanne : On crack.

Paul : Time travel... my God, it's like- Science Fiction!

Callie : (looks smug) Yep. Like a particularly bad episode of Star Trek, we will go back in time to save the day. It'll be like the war never happened.

Liberty : Quit jerking around, Prescott.

(Liberty and Callie walk up to the machine leaving the others standing behind. Camera tightens on them.)

Iris : (still mumbling to herself) Maybe more like a particularly bad season of Dallas... and we wake up realizing its all a dream.

Devlynn : There wasn't no time machine in Dallas.

Iris : Well, there's a time machine on this show.

Liberty : (off camera) It's not a bloody time-machine and this is not a show. Now get over here, all of you.

Iris : You know what's going to happen next? We gonna get thrown into the future instead where Noriko is the dark neo-empress of the galaxy and make us all her hentai slaves.

(end scene)

(Cut to Noriko Kamisaka sneezing.)
-----

Believe it or not, the story is supposed to be very dark and post-apocalyptic. People dying, losing hope and all that. LOL! Dunno why my drabblets always turn out weird. Noriko Kamisaka rocks! She's the coolest villian since Darth Vader... I wish there'd be more movies with bad guys like her. Heh. Doesn't take a Callie Prescott to know which side I root for most of the time. The good guys always get battered around. Poor Liberty.

Speaking of Liberty, here's a snippet from Vagabond Viking.
---
The seneschal sputtered upon seeing Hrafn's fingers run through his mistress' hair, "My lady! The vagabond is too familiar..."
She raised a hand to silence his shocked tirade, "Monteroy, liberty is scarce in this day and age. If my guest can find any with me then I welcome him to take as much as he pleases."
Hrafn raised his brow, mouthing "Liberties?" The Baroness merely smiled sweetly in a benign manner as though she did not just invite the Norseman to molest her.
"And furthermore," she continued, "You would do well to remember that my guests are to be treated with the same respect you treat me."
---
And no, its not a love story. Hrafn (Raven) the nomad viking who washed ashore ends up raiding the baroness' castle with his ragtag band of rebels to free the down-trodden province from her dominion. I had fun writing it. Just don't ask me to do it again.

By the way, go read Ange's stories... they're pretty good. Plugplug.

Have a good night and sweet dreams.