No Cheese For You!

Whatever you do, don't ever feed me cheese after 10:00 pm. No,
I don't turn into an evil gremlin like that Stripe character who spat
on precious little Gizmo while he was tooting his Christmas horn.
I have bizarre dreams. You may not be able to handle the dreams.
Read at your own risk.

It happened Monday night. I had some running around to do
after school. We had some unexpected visitors and phone calls.
Supper as we know it did not happen. I had stuffed the kids full
of Sonic while in town, so Hillbilly Husband and I made do with
what we could find. Part of my supper was some Oberle cheese.
Do y'all know what that is? It is a soft, garlicky long stick of cheese,
made in Ste. Genevieve, Missouri. I googled it to see if maybe
it might be found outside of this area, and gosh darn, wouldn't
you know it, the first thing to pop up was something from April
about Listeria in Oberle sausage. So maybe I did have some bad
cheese. You'll have to be the judge if you dare read about this
dream.

I made the mistake of not wanting my slices of Oberle cheese
with my hearts of romaine, shredded cheese, tomato, and
sunflower seed salad. It sat on my desk for a couple of hours.
OK, 3 1/2 hours. I thought it was fine. It's cheese, right? That
stuff is cured or already spoiled or something.

So around 10:10, I returned to the computer. Mmm...cheeeese.
I felt like Homer Simpson. I took a bite. It was kind of soft,
but tasted fine. About an hour later, I felt queasy. Maybe I
should have said no to the cheese.

I had the oddest dream. I haven't been remembering them lately.
What good fortune to remember this:

I was in a limo, going to some big awards show. It was like the
Emmys, or the Oscars. My parents were with me. I was the
guest of honor. So we get there, photographers all around, we
go up the steps, dressed to the nines. Up some more steps was
Lily Tomlin. She had her hair done up in an Audrey Hepburn kind
of twist. Or a Jennifer Love Hewitt playing Audrey Hepburn kind
of twist. She was in a long white evening gown. I couldn't see if she
was wearing comfortable shoes. Because that seemed important to
me, right after I saw a big banner proclaiming THE GAY AWARDS.

What? Why was I guest of honor? It seemed like they were
humoring me, like I was part of the Make-A-Wish Foundation.
Hey, people. I'm not sick! Oh, I had to get a thyroid ultrasound,
but I ain't kickin' it yet. And I don't recall this being my wish, either.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.

So they whisked me behind the scenes while TV cut to a commercial.
There I saw some chick that I don't watch on TV. Someone like
Mariska Hargitay, who last year wore some green dress to an
awards show, and whoever won asked her to come up on stage,
and there she stood like a giant 5th wheel in a green dress during the
thank-you speech. Not a 5th wheel camper. She's not that big. A
5th wheel like someone totally unnecessary. Like an extra actress
on stage while a winning actress gives a thank-you speech. Well,
this Mariska kind of chick was acting up with another chick, like
kissing with a gigantic open mouth. They thought it was hilarious to
do that while TV was on commercial. The other chick looked like
Britney Spears, only pretty, without her eyes too far on the sides
of her head. Some kind of blond in a ponytail.

That embarrassed me, so I went to another backstage area. Oh,
my! Was that ever a mistake! Here was another blond girl in a
fancy shmancy dress, and she saw me and my parents and pulled
up her dress to reveal, er, shall we say, a very manly part. And
very large. It looked like the fake one on Marky Mark in Boogie
Nights, if I had ever watched that movie, which maybe just maybe
I have, because hey, it has Burt Reynolds and Julianne Moore and
Don Cheadle and John C. Reilly. And my mom was cheering at
it! The manly part on the blond chick, not the movie Boogie Nights.

After that 'part,' my 5:00 am alarm woke me. I was still kind of
queasy, though if from the cheese or the dream I am not sure. I took
a shower, packed the boys' lunches, and took a short nap in the
recliner while HH took his shower. Well, it was intended to be
a short nap, but my Hillbilly Mama woke me with a call at 6:05,
which is my emergency plan and I ask her to do it every morning.
I did not ask her how she enjoyed my special award honor the
night before, as I was worried about my other dream from which
she had awakened me.

I was worried about my friend Brian. Except I don't have a friend
Brian. He looked like that guy Jason from the Sci-Fi show
Ghosthunters, but his name was clearly Brian. The only person
I can think of named Brian is from the blog An Audience of One.
They both look kind of similar, I guess. So this Brian was a teacher
AND a bus driver at my middle school, and he had been called in to
a meeting in the Superintendent's building. Because it was the first of
the month, and they had to let fired teachers know. Except that happens
in April, but anyhoo, Brian must have been fired and was ashamed
to tell anyone, because he was standing with me on bus duty while
I wondered, "Who's driving your bus?" I had also been called in,
and had gotten a glowing recommendation. By that I mean the
principal had told me, "Well, for some reason they want to keep you."
Okaaaaaay. I don't have to worry. I have tenure. And I haven't done
anything stupid like pretend I'm dying so I can be the guest of honor
at THE GAY AWARDS.

So I am not going to eat warm cheese after 10:00 pm anymore,
because this is just weirding me out. I will have to look it up in my
Dream Dictionary, which I keep at school for entertainment
purposes only. Hey, any book you can get a kid to read is a good
book.

This is about the weirdest dream I've had, after that one where I
stabbed a woman in the back 57 times and got on a schoolbus to
ride to a bar where I planned to sit and drink until they caught me.
But nobody ever caught me, so we had a good ol' party. And I
didn't even eat warm cheese for that one.

So, Alexandrialeigh, don't worry so much about your dream of
dating that hairy Robin Williams. It could have been worse. Or
maybe not, because now that I think of it, I would rather be the
guest of honor at THE GAY AWARDS as long as I wasn't dying
than be on a date with Robin Williams, because I was almost
physically ill when I saw his naked hairiness in the movie Moscow
on the Hudson with Maria Conchita Alonso, who now has some
kind of nervous twitch, most probably from being so near to a
naked hairy Robin Williams.

If you made it through this whole crazy post, congratulations to
you! Not many people have been commenting lately, so there,
take that! See what happens when you let me run wild? There's
nobody to restrain my craziness, and my two loyal readers must
put up with this nonsense. Sorry Mabel. Sorry Bean. If you had
your own blogs, maybe I could be stopped. Or not. Bwahahaha!