Voldemort has a son?
I'm at my high school doing typical dream stuff—trying to remember my locker combination and the location of all of my classes—when I receive a note from the front office. It's sort of in code, but the gist of it is that I need to contact Mr. Barnes (my jr. high band director) because there's new information about my dad from the 1970s that has something to do with a flute. My high school friend, Danielle, and I try to track Mr. Barnes down, with little luck, since he doesn't teach at the high school. So we decided to break into his apartment, where we interrupted Voldemort's son in his plans to raise an evil army of flutists. Before I had time to ponder on practicality of this plan, Voldemort's son started trying to bite our necks, and I woke up thoroughly creeped out.
A Friends and Boy Meets World Mashup
The main cast in Friends decides to pretend to act like someone else in the main cast to throw paparazzi off their trail. (For example, Monica did a killer impression of Ross). Who do they call to sort out the mystery? None other than Eric Matthews. He bungled the whole thing, of course.
BYU's new assistant football coach: me
My contribution to the team was to make them run around the church a lot and eat Chinese food after practice. Unsurprisingly, fans were not happy, so they sent the cops out to get me. I spent a lot of time running in this dream.
A series of elevator dreams
Dream elevators are bad news. For example, I once dreamed that the elevator I was in broke free from the building and floated aimlessly around San Francisco for hours. Another time I stood in line for an elevator at BYU for a long time, and when it was finally my turn, the elevator was just too tired to carry another load. My elevator mates and I plummeted to the basement, which was approximately 15 miles beneath us. I would not wish it upon anyone to have their life flash before their eyes in this manner. In my latest elevator dream, Kimberly was the culprit. We were headed to the basement of the Payson Temple for a family reunion, and the corner she was standing in disappeared and she fell several stories to what should have been her doom, but luckily a pile of Barbies and pillows cushioned her fall. My dream-elevator victims are not always so lucky.
Moral of the story: always take the stairs.
Every now and then I just come here to see what I can find, since your blogs don't always show up in my blogger feed. This did not disappoint. I laughed really, really hard at the picture of you making cops eat chinese food.
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