Dreams Are Said To Be The Pathway To Thy True Self; I Am Not Afraid of Ground Beef Monsters

Here is the second dream that rocked my subconcious years ago, though I still remember every detail. Keep this tiny fact in mind; I've never done drugs. And here we go;

In this dream, I had a job on a cruise ship. Unfortunately, it was not the glamourous cruise ship job we all want one day. My job description entailed packing ground beef into 7 designated closets. Don't ask me why. But I did my job as well as I could. Until I finished the 6th closet. I turned around to retrieve the last back of ground beef to be packed, and when I turned back, all of the closets I had previously packed were empty. So, in a fit of rage, I threw down my apron and left.

When I walked up onto the deck of the ship, I noticed a crowd of people staring into the water. I decide to take a look, only to discover that there is a monster made of ground beef attacking the hull of the ship. My initial reaction is "well, there it went." Everyone disperses because they realize that it cannot get onto the deck.

Suddenly, the monster is on the deck. Everyone freaks out. The monster begins walking towards a group of people, the whole time transforming into a more human shape. It is then I realize that the monster has transformed into a naked Cuba Gooding, Jr. Then I wake up, confused. Again.

What?

My Parents; The Model of Being A Kid While Being Responsible

I have the greatest parents in the world. It's as simple as that. And there isn't a person who could argue that, because if you did, you'd be wrong.

Growing up, I was one of the few kids who had parents who were actually together. As I got older, I began to realize that what should have been a normal situation was not the case, and was actually the reverse of most people. My friends whose parents were still together also hated each other, so it was kind of weird to say "my life is normal" to them without feeling like a braggart.

Here is why my parents are the best, though. It is not every day you meet adults who are young at heart. Sure, they didn't have an easy life, but they had enough sense to understand that we are only here once. They knew what they liked and what they wanted, and they always got it because they worked for it. It might not have always been practical, but it made us all happy.

My mom is the mom who is the nicest person. Ever. She busts her ass working in food service just to save up for some wild Disney vacation. She's not a good dancer, but she dances anyway (which I think both my brother and I have acquired that trait). She is super ticklish, but you don't even have to tickle her to torture her (spider hands work just fine). Most importantly, she was always that mom who defined mother. She sacrificed everything to raise us. If she wasn't at a baseball practice, she always made it to the games. Half the time, I thought she worked at my school because she was so involved with PTA. When I moved out the first time, it broke my heart to see how disappointed and scared she was for me. And she was right. But when I had to move back in, she kept a room just in case. She saved my life.

My dad is a bit of a different story. Deep down, I know he cares, but he's quiet about it. My sex talk was him tossing me a box of condoms and saying "you know how to use these" (oh how wrong was he). He taught me how to throw a baseball (even though I still throw sidearm). I knew he always had hard jobs, so I always tried not to bother him as much. For as long as I can remember, he has driven a Chevy Camero. Some of my friends say he looks like a less crazy, better looking Gary Busey (and he kind of does) but he hates it so much that I have blocked that thought from my mind. I would say he reminds me of a less Scientology-y John Travolta (sans cleft chin). But despite the quirks, he always showed me that it was important to treat women right. He always showed my brother and I that my mother was just as important to him as we were. He was the example of a man that every child should have in their life (thanks dad).

I have always felt guilty growing up without some hardship. Yeah, we didn't have alot of money. Sure, we didn't always have the coolest new toys. But we had food. And clothes. And a decent house to live in. And a family that cared about everything you did. And I couldn't have asked for a better childhood.

So thank you, Mom and Dad. I never say that enough.

A Case Of Multiple Identities

Growing up, I lived in a normal neighborhood. We lived on the corner, and there were a number of kids down the road, although I was the only one born in 86. Everyone else was either 2-3 years older or younger than me, so I eventually resorted to bookworming. Between Goosebumps, Animorphs, and fighting with David Valderama, I didn't really have an interesting childhood.

It wasn't until I was almost out of high school that I noticed the anomaly that lived at the end of my road. I'm still not sure what his name is, or if he is even considered sane, but I do know this; he was never the same person twice in one week.

My first memory of this man was his house. It wasn't that he lived in a house that was covered with elven decor or painted with psychedelic vomit. It was a normal brown house in Coventry Forest. Most people would drive right by it and not think twice...if it weren't for the 20 or so vacuum cleaners posted in his driveway.

The man had a collection of cleaners that were continuously on sale. What was worse is that it always seemed that they were different. And it wasn't often that you would see him sitting outside trying to sell them, but every now and again, he'd be out there. In a robe. Or a dress. Or a state troopers uniform. Or a Muslim head dress.

There was also the story of my late night encounter with this gentleman. It had to be 4 in the morning, coming home from Orlando or a friends house (the event doesn't matter). As I go to turn into my neighborhood, I see a man directing traffic towards my road. It wasn't until I was 50 feet from the man that I noticed it was the vacuum salesman. In full trooper garb and caution vest. Alright then.

The next day, I pull up next to a white molester van only to notice that it was the vacuum salesman/traffic trooper. Only this time, he was wearing a sundress, full makeup, and diamond earrings. In a windowless van.

I hadn't seen him for months after that, mostly due to my busy schedule, or my aversion to seeing him, but the next time I did, it seemed that he found religion in Islam. His beard had come in nicely, terroristly, and his head dress was certainly traditional turban.

Since I moved from the neighborhood, I don't see him so much. The last time I did, though, his yard was still dressed with cleaners and a new addition; sewing machines. I mean, all I know is that if I ever really met this man, I'd be afraid to shake his hand, but afraid that if I didn't, he'd hurt me in some horrific, torturous way.

So, godspeed, Mr. Identity Crisis. May all your personalities thrive and be successful.