I'm not posting anything else until you guys figure that damn dream out!

Okay if anyone can decipher this, I'd appriciate it!
So for the last three nights I've been having this dream that I'm in some strange house with my dad and this kid that seems to be about my age, tall, and with dark hair. I guess I know who he is in my dream, but I don't think I know him in 'real life'.
Anyway, we all started out in the kitchen when I decide to go downstairs into the basement/bonus room to get...something...and as I get to the bottom of the stairs, I start walking towards this door that's across the room. And the closer I get, the worse this feeling of overwhelming dread and fear gets. I end up opening the door (don't ask why) and I see this dark, damp, long cement hallway with doors lining it on either side. At this point, I'm scared out of my mind and I start struggling to close the door and proceed to release this bloodcurdling scream until my dad comes running down the stairs to comfort me and then I start to cry.
Flash to reality:
Charlene wakes up dripping in sweat.
Your turn! Explain!

I dislike History Class.

I don't watch this show, and I wouldn't have even seen it if Joey hadn't made me change the channel and witness America's worst television programming idea EVER: The Glutton Bowl.
To give you an idea of what this consists of, let me recap my short and horrific experience:
Four men of varying height and weight stand behind a table in front of an audience and then proceed to eat as much Mayo/Butter sticks/Hard Boiled Eggs/Hamburgers/Whole Cow Tongue as they can, before the rest of the Neanderthals behind the table with them can gorge their stomachs as full as the first guy. They have nicknames like "Gaseous Maximus", "The Jalapeno King" and the "Doginator".
For your further amusement, here are some things said by the professional commentators (yes! PROFFESSIONAL COMMENTATORS!):

-"Look at him! He's gnawing away on that stick of butter like a Squirrel!"
-"Remember, lady's and gentlemen, these are Professional Eaters. Please, I repeat, please do not try any of what you see on our show tonight at home."
-"Look at this! Joe-Bob and Jim-Bo BOTH at 29 eggs! They're Neck n' Neck! Cheek n' Jowl!"
-"Now Joe-Bob is pulling away from the pack, with the maticulate two-part eating of his egg. Yes, I believe he's swallowing those halves whole, without wasting time to chew them!"
-"This is pickled beef tongue. It's dense, it's heavy, and it’s going to take a lot of jaw strength to break it up. Furthermore, it's in large capacities, making it very important that their stomachs can hold it all."

At this point, I was laughing to hard to really remember what else was said, but found myself wondering how these commentators go to sleep at night, knowing what they do for a living.... probably with about six glasses of Scotch and a few J's.
On the upside, this show does make your appetite crawl out the window with fear.
To close, I think I'll quote Rachael: "Damn, this show makes me feel Anorexic."

The first kiss is like falling asleep. In retrospect, it's impossible to remember exactly when it began, where the border was between before and after. There's no transition, no change -- just one state, and then another, with an infinity between them. It happened, but a grasp for how always comes up empty. It's like going under anesthesia and swearing that this time, you'll remember the last number you counted to. And in the end, you wake up the next morning smiling, happy, and completely bewildered.


Sleeping is also like death, but that's completely unrelated...
(Stolen from Adam)

"The purest form of pleasure is Anticipation."

Well boys and girls, looks like its back to Portland for school next year...thanks to UM fucking me over, I get to go to PSU for my Sophomore year! Whoo-hoo! I dunno, I'm kind of excited about it. We shall see.
Time to go ni-night, Babelfish is tired.

Things to do tonight:
Laundry
Research for my History paper due Thursday
Watching the Olympics
Go to the Gym
Reading for Human Sexuality
Reading for Anthropology

Things that will get done tonight:
Laundry
Going to the Gym
Watching the Olympics

Damn, I'm such a good student.

I've decided something.
*Insert question "What?" here*
I've decided that tenths of seconds only count in two things:
Sex, and the Olympics.

You know...somehow saying that seems much cooler in person.
Pretend it does.

I don't know how many of you actually went to that link I posted yesterday, but I've decided that there's not way I could possibly go back to it. I also realized that the link includes all of my personal information, so if you guys want to fill it out you're going to have to change it. Sorry about that.
Anyway, after I finished submitting all the answers to those questions, this seperate window popped up which happened to contain a bar graph of how far into my life I was, and a clock in the corner counting down the seconds I had left to live. It doesn't seem so bad, until you actually sit there for a minute and watch the seconds tick by, as this huge number gets progressively smaller. After which, you feel incredibly guilty for sitting there and wasting an entire minute of your life by just watching it pass by on a neon colored counter.
Anyway, this immediately triggered a mild anxiety attack, in which I felt the sudden urge to get off my computer and go do something productive. Of course my mind was reeling so fast with the fact that I'm actually going to die, I couldn't come up with anything worth doing. Screw schoolwork, I'm going to die. I can't take a shower, I'm going to die. Sleeping?! Oh my god, what an utter waste of time that suddenly became. Of course as soon as I grabbed my mouse and closed the window that contained the horrible truth, it seemed my heart-rate slowed, the anxiety attack went away, and I suddenly felt that there was nothing wrong with sitting at my computer surfing away, idly wasting away an hour by listening to Pink Floyd and Incubus.
There.
Much better.

Want an anxiety attack?

How long do you have to live?

Today has been the most pointless day ever. I woke up at 1:30 in the afternoon, took a shower, and sat around and watched the Olympics for most of the afternoon. That act alone basically makes you feel like the biggest, laziest person alive considering you're watching the best athletes in the world. Oh well. I'm off to dinner :)
(But I haven't eaten anything all day, so it's okay!!)

"I’ve been celibate so long, that I’m starting to feel like a can of kitchen cleanser. You know...sterile, gritty and abrasive." -- Casual Sex

NAME THAT MOVIE:
"Your obviously the big dick and the men on either side of you are your balls. You know there are two types of balls. Big, brave balls and little minzy faggot balls. Vinny: These are your last words so make them a prayer! Tony: Your shrinking and so are your balls. You lack vision. Dicks aren't really clever. They smell some pussy and want a piece of the action. You thought you smelled some good old pussy and brought your two little faggot balls along for a good ole time. But your mistaken. There's no pussy here, just a dose that will make you wish you were born a woman. And the fact that your guns say 'Replica' and mine says 'Desert Eagle .50' should precipitate your balls into shrinking along with your presence. Now....FUCK.....OFF.

I know Cupids routine. He goes around shooting unknowing geeks and nerds in the ass with his "crush arrows" so they fall in love with the most beautiful guy (or girl) around, only to have their still-beating hearts ripped out and stomped until they're reduced to quivering little masses of bloody pulp on the carpet. Cupid is a prick. He's a tiny little asshole with a massive inferiority complex (because of his height) so he arms himself with a bow and fires at will. If I had MY way, I clip cupids wings and break his little pink bow on his little pink head. I'd reduce him to no more than a meaningless Gary Coleman in a sea of 6 foot tall weight lifters and biker chicks. Cupid needs to be dipped in pancake syrup, rolled in the remains of all the broken hearts he's caused, and thrown into a pit of hungry, rabid Wolves.
Eat up, boys.

OH MY GOD, I'm actually leaving my bubble and going out tonight. Marguerite decided that my hang-out-in-my-dorm-room-on-Wednesday-night streak needs to end, so she's dragging me to the Top Hat. Something about getting wasted (not happening, by the way) and listening to some tight band. Okay, so I'll go...which means I have to drag my dusty "cute clothes" out of the back of my closet, assuming they're still considered cute. Fuck it, I just might as well go in a sweatshirt and jeans. Either way, I'm still gonna have to shower, so I'll talk to you cats later. No having fun without me now, ya hear?

Well, Aileens good hearted attempt at creating a loophole in the ever-continuing Universal Laws has been done in vain. In these attempts, she generously walked OUTSIDE with no paticular destination or reasoning, just so a rip in this continuum could be made so that yours truly could find some sort of romantic interest by Valentines Day ( T-3 days and counting.) Unfortunately, our so-called "generous and loving God" caught on to our mischevious plan and promptly halted all unnatural occurrences in their tracks. Mission scrubbed. I don't know Ben, you might be right. Maybe God Is Always Angry

Current Reading:
Page 2134 of the 78th edition of the WLHS Yearbook
Current Listening: Pink Floyds "Wish You Were Here", "Us and Them" Stone Temple Pilots "Sour Girl."
Current Mood:
Am in dire need of some Valium.
Quote Of The Day:
"...Hang me long out in the sun,
Exonerate me,
Forget about me,
I recommend measures for ending it."
-The Tragically Hip

12-11-00
A solid form displaced the air, and heat escaped into the earth from the penetrating cold. 72 steps down the hill until my sight bounced back to me, and all I saw was giant glowbugs encased in white, lining my path.
Back up and out of the valley it's 23 steps to the next bare hand of the earth, reaching up through the solid white, and held there while thousands of its fingers shed glistening tears. It's 34 steps between the hovering glowbugs, and the solid white is MOVING...carrying down shallow light to slit the earth in suffocating silence, rough with pain, and pools of collected sorrow. It's too many steps back to what was, and what should have been, and now I will continue on...
In and out of valleys,
23 and 34 steps,
Until I reach what cannot be.

3-26-01
Dude, where the fuck are we?
Coming down on Oregon City,
99's right here.
Yeah, but do you respect it?
It's the new Floyd.
Momentary Lapse Of Reason.
Yeah....I respect it.

Today in Charlene's Junkmail:

Flower.com - Save $5 on Romantic Red Roses
LOVE BUG - THE INTIMATE WAY TO PURCHASE INTIMATE APPAREL
Lisa B. - DOZEN ROSES & FREE CHOCOLATES ONLY $39.99!

I'm really beginning to think about relabeling my Junk Mail folder into something like, "Place for all those mocking E-mails that once again silently laugh in your face over your 18 year streak of not being in some sort of romantic relationship during the one day the world actually makes a big deal about being in love with someone."
And no, I'm not bitter....

Well, it's come to my attention that obviously no one reads my page, so it's basically for my own mentality that it exists. However, the addition of the comment bar just makes it that much more blaringly obvious, daily cutting into my self-esteem and removing tiny tidbits that will eventually lead to it's complete destruction. This of course, excludes all other outside forces, which will only bring about its deterioration that much faster. No WONDER I can't lay off the Junior Mints.....

I haven't posted this enough lately:

So, so you think you could tell,
Heaven from Hell?
Blue skies from pain?
Can you tell a green field,
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from veil?
Do you think you could tell...

Did they get you to trade,
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
Did you exchange a walk on part in the war,
For a lead role in the cage?

How I wish,
How I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls,
Swimming in a fishbowl,
Year after year.
Running over the same old ground,
What have we found?
The same old fears...
Wish you were here...

Okay, now I have to introduce my new little feature. See the little green "comment" link next to the date and stuff at the end of my blogs? Now you can WRITE BACK TO ME. Cool, huh? Anyway, just click on that...and well the rest is all pretty easy. Anyway, feel free to write me back on the previous posts I've had, I'll look at those too.
Love ya'll,
Char

WAHOOOO! LOOK AT THAT!!! I played with the Template ALL BY MYSELF and it WORKS! I need a cookie.....

As I pretend to be:

I've dealt with my ghosts and I've faced all my demons,
Finally content with a past I regret.
I’ve found you find strength in your moments of weakness,
For once I’m at peace with myself.
I’ve been burdened with blame,
trapped in the past for too long,
I’m movin’ on....

I’ve lived in this place and I know all the faces,
Each one is different but they’re always the same.
They mean me no harm but it’s time that I face it,
They’ll never allow me to change.
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don’t belong.
I’m movin’ on....

I’m movin’ on,
At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me,
And I know there’s no guarentee’s, but I’m not alone.
There comes a time in everyone’s life,
When all you can see are the years passing by.
And I have made up my mind that those days are gone...

I sold what I could and packed what I couldn’t,
Stopped to fill up on my way out of town.
I’ve loved like I should but lived like I shouldn’t,
I had to lose everything to find out.
Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road.
I’m movin’ on...

It took me by surprise,
When I saw you standing there.
Close enough to touch,
Breathing the same air.

You asked me how I've been,
I guess that's when I smiled and said, "just fine".
Oh but baby I was lying.
What I really meant to say:

Is I'm dying here inside,
And I miss you more each day,
There's not a night I haven't cried.

And baby here's the truth,
I'm still in love with you.
That's what I really meant to say.

And as you walked away,
The echo of my words...
Cut just like a knife,
Cut so deep it hurt.

I held back the tears,
Held onto my pride,
And watched you go.
I wonder if you'll ever know....

What I really meant to say,
Is I'm dying here inside.
And I miss more each day,
There's not a night I haven't cried.

And baby here's the truth,
I'm still in love with you.

What I really meant to say,
Is I'm really not that strong.
No matter how I try,
I'm still holdin' on.

And here's the honest truth,
I'm still in love with you.
Yeah...
That's what I really meant to say...

So I was laying on my bed last night flipping channels, when I came across a VH1 Pink Floyd "Legends Never Die" Documentary. HAPPY ME! The whole thing was amazing. I'm going to restrain myself from giving you a play-by-play, but it was awsome to hear the artists telling you what their inspiration was to all their albums and songs. Rodger Waters went on a five minute rampage about what the "Wish You Were Here" album meant to him. I was in love....contently laying there for a good hour, mindlessly muching on a bag of baby carrots. Needless to say, my CD player has been on overdrive shuffling through Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here, Pulse, and the Echoes CD's desperately trying to satisfy my current never-ending need to hear Pink Floyd every waking minute...