Dreams of Doom: Episode One

I have weird dreams. Not in a disturbing, prophetic way, simply in a 'my subconscious is on drugs' way.

For example, I once had a dream that a giant people-eating strawberry was chasing me through the vegetable section of a grocery store, causing a lot of property damage. Also it was terrifying.

Eeep!

I don't recall the middle, or if there was a middle hunk of plot, but by the end of the dream I was helping the evil strawberry into a pretty blue dress so that she (yes, it had a gender) would look pretty on her date with Justin Timberlake.

...

Indeed.

Recently however, I have had a string of dreams with similar concepts in the same-ish setting. That is, my dreams have been set in different post-apocalyptic universes.

With fewer beards.

To add to the oddness, many of the post-end-of-the-world dreams take place at my grandmother's old farm house. It was basically a bigger, classier version of the Monster House, plus a barn.

Ah, childhood.

I am going to record some of them in blog format. For no reason other than because I can.

Dream of Doom the First

I was a half-ferret, half-human mutant. I lived with a small colony of such beings, including my cousin Bobby. We lived in the barn, not the house. For the love of anything you hold dear,

My joys are simple.

DO NOT GO IN THE HOUSE!

I have no idea why, but I got the impression that Beings similar to the I Am Legend rage zombie things lived inside.

The movie aside, these guys were terrifying.

There is a church across the road from my Grandmother's old house. A refugee group of humans lived inside of it, and it was mine and Bobby's job to go steal food from them. There was a third ferret person with us, who had no name, that I am going to call Red Shirt for now.

Google Image pleasantly surprised me this time.

A van drove up with food, and as soon as they popped the trunk, the three of us dashed forward, grabbed one bag each, and fled up the driveway towards the barn. The humans let us go, as they pitied us.

Also, my grandmother's driveways is a good 150 meters long, plus an extra 60 meters to get to the barn.

As we passed the house, Red Shirt questioned why we do not live there. We told him he is stupid and to keep running. Red Shirt then entered the house.

Yep.

We abandoned, him like the good friend we were, and continued to the barn. The elder ferret-man laments Red Shirt's stupidity, and we eat.

The End.

I still wonder what kind of apocalypse would result in ferret-man mutants.

His master plan - we'll never see it coming!

Fire?

There was a riot in Downtown Vancouver when we lost a hockey game the other day.

Burn?

I live in Downtown Vancouver.

The crazy people were actually several blocks away, so I was in no danger of murder-by-Canucks-fans. But, considering that most of my friends live in Ontario, the fires might as well have been 10 feet away from me. Clearly I was in mortal peril.

Indeed.

Unlike all my lovely friends who were concerned for my well being, I was not concerned for myself. I don't care enough about hockey to join a riot, or to tell the rioters that they are dumb, so I remained in my apartment with my sister, lamenting the finale of Angel. And while I do very much enjoy fire and burning things, I was not about to go risk being near an explosion just for a romantic kiss.

I hate romance.

No, all I cared about was a comic book shop that is very dear to my soul. One that happens to be right in the middle of all the mayhem.

Red: The Riot. The blue dot: Comic Book Store.

True, I rarely buy things from this shop, as I am exceptionally poor, but that doesn't mean I don't care. I look forward to the days when I put on some clean clothes and venture out of my cave into the sunshine to go have a wee adventure there.

Sunlight?! It burns us.

I probably bother the employees with my space-eating. I pretty much just browse and hang out there while listening to the soundtrack from Majora's Mask on my iPod for around an hour, then leave. But really, where else am I going to make nerd friends?

Oh yeah...

Thankfully, my beloved comic book store was unharmed. Less thankfully, all the destruction was completely cleaned up before I had even stopped playing Tales of Symphonia the morning after the craziness. It was lame.

And awesome.

I wanted to see some smashed stuff! Oh well. I guess I'll have to wait until next time Canada flips a shit.

Oh yeah, I forgot, we're CANADA....

I am bored. And short.

I don't have a job. I want one, but simply wanting something really hard won't make it so. Much like my childhood desire to be tall. I didn't really want to be pretty (choosing instead to play in the mud), and I didn't really want to be rich (oh how times have changed). No, all I wanted was to be tall. 

Not just tall, but very tall. 

So tall small that children would look up at me a cry.

FEAR ME!

So tall that Japanese tourists would mistake me for Godzilla.

Also an influential TV show from my childhood

But as anyone who has met me knows, I am not tall. Not even a little bit. I know for a fact that I haven't grown since Grade 7, as two pairs of jeans I bought then still fit me like a dream. I probably haven't actually grown since I was 9 years old. Yup, it is fair to say that my genetics kicked my childhood dream in the balls.

A dramatic re-enactment 

My one glory is that I am every-so-slightly taller than my older sister. Its a short lived glory, however, because although I am bigger than her, she can totally kick my ass. We arm wrestled a day or two ago, and 2 minutes in she asked me, “Are you going to start trying soon?”

I replied sadly, “I AM trying!” And I was trying. Very hard.

My defeat that followed was so rapid and great that even France would have laughed at me.

He's also more popular with the ladies than I am.

Yes, I am indeed the tiny, weak, ineffectual girl that men get taunted for screaming like.

The moral of the story children:

Some dreams can't come true, because science won't let them.

As seen above.

Zombie Apocalypse

I am a nerd. I didn't actually understand how much of a nerd until I realized not everyone has been playing video games since they were 3, loves Star Trek, hates the Star Wars prequels, and understands all of Andrew from Buffy the Vampire Slayer's references.

For some odd reason he's less popular than Spike

I learned this at University, when I encountered people who had never played The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask and believed vampires ate animals instead of people. I encountered these people outside of my residence building of course, as in my residence we had regular Red Dwarf marathons and Dungeons and Dragons nights.

Above: Me.

I was unsure how to interact with these strange beings. I haven't been self conscious since grade 10, when I was sure everyone was judging me for the way I walked or the way I opened doors. Until now. What if I made a Science Fiction reference that no one understood? What if I quoted a famous line from an obscure cult movie that only I would laugh at, and then have to explain awkwardly before hastily changing the subject to the weather? It was like Hell people. If Hell was full of socially awkward situations.

"Hey, long time no see! Fancy us being eternally damned together"

"...................."

"So, do you come here often?"

I had a plan. I would weed out those I would not be compatible with by asking a single innocent question. I would usually ask this question after the third or fourth social gathering, like lunch time. It was genius. I would be able to tell apart those with whom I would be able to discus Firefly, from those I would have to explain what Firefly was. I would calm the group by expertly raising my hands and catching their attention with a quick “Okay okay!” Then I would ask, in a humorous yet serious tone:

What's your zombie plan?

The worst candidates would say something like “I dunno, hide,” or “If that happens I'll probably be somewhere else,” or even spew nonsense like “Get on a plane and fly to Hawaii until it goes away.” Everyone knows to avoid planes, because all it takes is one infected person in that extremely closed space to not only kill you all, but transport the disease elsewhere, causing an even faster global outbreak! Geez people! These are Resident Evil level mistakes!

Witness me after playing Resident Evil for 5 minutes. Fail.

I found my salvation in the Dungeons and Dragons group. You would think they would have been my first choice, but I was intimidated by their superior knowledge of everything considered nerd-worthy. I am also a hermit, so venturing down to hall to socialize was really not a common adventure for me. But eventually I was assimilated, and my fear of going through university completely alone was exterminated faster than you can say Time and Relative Dimensions in Space.

For those who missed reference.

We had a great zombie plan, and were going to survive. However, since the school year ended, I have relocated to downtown Vancouver. I hadn't actually thought about this before, but my recent viewing of amc's The Walking Dead has reminded me that I'm not in rural, barren Southern Ontario anymore, or sheltered, isolated island populated by primarily elderly people, and I need a new zombie plan.

I am realistic, and so I know that if the zombies are anything more than weak, moaning, brainless, snail-paced cannibals, I will die. I will not survive. I am a tiny ineffectual little girl who can't win an arm wrestle against a 12 year old. I will not survive the zombie apocalypse.

In The Walking Dead (the television series mainly - the graphic novel is on my extremely long list of things to read) the zombies can run, are strong, and know how to use things like doorknobs. They're basically just below the I Am Legend beings and the rage virus nightmares from 28 Days Later. If the world is overrun by zombies like in The Walking Dead, I will not win. Really, in this scenario, its more of a choice between taking the real man's way out and shooting myself in the head, or taking the real asshole's way out, and becoming a badass zombie to take the rest of the world down with me.

...

I'll make that decision when the time comes.

Ahem.

My original Zombie Plan was to stock up on food, practice my aim with my brother's BB guns, while he keeps watch over the surrounding fields in case a rouge zombie accidentally gets lost and winds up in our corner of the boondocks. Its almost a perfect location for a zombie outbreak. And nothing else.

population per square 5 miles of previous Zombie Plan location

Now however, I live in Vancouver. Not just any part of Vancouver, but the West End in downtown Vancouver, the most densely populated area in Canada.

Population per square 5 miles of current location

If there was any hope of my surviving, it is gone, but that doesn't mean we still can't have a good plan. In our current plan, me, my sister, and her two puppies will likely starve to death, but as I said, we have only recently started to plan for this inevitable apocalypse, and it is still a work in progress. Basically we run down to the pier, steal a boat, and float harmlessly away from the hoards of undead. Like a happy place or comfort zone.

No happy place is complete without puppies

A Blog. One that is mine.

I am lazy.

I intended to start a blog, probably a few months, possibly more than a year ago. It's really quite hard to say, as I have not documented every passing thought related to starting a blog on a post-it, dated it, then stuck it on my fridge, just in case.

This happening is as unlikely another Avatar movie. Oh wait...

Three days ago I decided to actually sit down and begin this blog, as I am unemployed and legitimately have nothing better to do (for now!). I sat down at my computer, cracked my knuckles, and Google searched 'blogspot' with intense determination. This time, for sure!

And then, very early in the blog-making process, I realized I needed a name for my blog.

If determination had a face, it just got stabbed.

A name for a blog is like title for a book. It will be how people will refer to your blog in conversation. It is any blogger's dream for their blog to become a household name. In order for that to be possible,  my blog would need to have (other than millions and millions of fans and followers across the globe) a good, snappy name that still reflected me, my inner self.

Inner self got bored.

For the next two days, in time not spent waiting for the next episode of Glee, replaying a Zelda game (again) or simply spending time with my sister and the puppies, I was tirelessly wracking my brain for the perfect name. My sister, growing concerned for what this 'decision making' business was doing to my mental health, decided to help me. She gave me several ideas, all of which were good, but only one really struck my soul on a very intimate level. Yes, this was it. It was the perfect name for my blog. A true reflection of me, who I am.

And then it was unavailable.

Grief stricken, I fell to the floor and cuddled with the puppies. Puppies can fix any problem.

As I lay there, on the floor, I had this train of thought:

“Mum once called me 'toad' when I was little. Toadstools look weird. Mushroom is another word for toadstool. I like Mario.”

And thus, the Indecisive Mushroom was born. Hello Internet, I'm here.