Cookie Dough Nightmare: Pass

Last night's dream was disgusting.

Wait, back up.  I know that this is that moment when I say "I had the craziest dream last night" and you roll your eyes because no one ever cares about someone else's wacko dreams.  But this is different... really and truly.  Trust.

SO THIS DREAM I HAD...

I think it's safe to say it was a nightmare, because your average everyday situation turned into one of those graphic horror scenes.  You know the ones, with the close-ups of eyeballs and needles and ooze.  Those ones.

So it turned into that when my body started pushing out cookie dough.  Ew, don't be gross--I was not doing that.  Cookie dough was coming out of my nose and ears (and only those places).  Imagine watching the soft serve ice cream come out of the machine--it was exactly like that with a thick, creamy stream and everything.  DQ nightmare!  With cookie dough blizzards!

I'm not sure why this happened to me in said dream, because I was minding my own business when I sneezed the stuff.  Then I got a headache, and I started pushing... it... out... like the gross stuff that gets squeezed from an abscess.

Then when I woke up, I was legitimately still worried that this had actually taken place and that I might need to find extra tissues in case it started happening again at work.  Then I relaxed because I realized A) it was a dream, and B) it wasn't a weekday.  Then I got super EXCITED because my dream gave me a story idea!!  (We writers like to keep little notebooks by the bedside table so we can soak up our crazy upon waking. We don't like to lose any of those little dream gems.)  In this story, a young man (think dorky high schooler) wakes up in a strange place and has no idea how he got there.  All he knows is that he smells like dessert and he is surrounded by a bunch of dead people.  He feels lucky to have survived.  The blackouts continue, and the little town's body count is RISING!  What does he DO when he blacks out??  He is the key to finding the murderer!  He must know what happens!  Could he be the villain?  He cages himself and videotapes his transformation into a monster of disaster.  He learns the truth.  But what will he do now?

This exciting story idea hinges on two things: 1) That Stephen King agrees to co-author, because I think he would enjoy this idea, and 2) That I get to name the book.

I came up with a really great name.  Oh my gosh it is so good.  Are you ready? Are you ready?

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The Cookie Monster. lol

Bestseller, right there.  You'd buy it.  Ok, you wouldn't buy it, but you'd watch the made-for-TV-movie on the SciFi channel on Sunday.  You know you would.

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Eye Exams and Birthdays! Pass!

My birthday approacheth...

 

I near the ripe old age of 26, thus I will no longer be in my "early twenties."  Twenty-five was that no-man's-land when I could pretend to still be the youth of the age, but very much aware of how I no longer belong in certain clubs.  I now venture into that realm of adulthood in which my online dating box, if I had one, would include '26-30.'  Friends are getting married, girlfriends are popping out babies--adulthood is here, my friends, whether I like it or not.  Two years ago, I bashed the crap out of that Disney princess castle pinata.  I don't see any reason why I can't do that again this year.  You know, for uncomfortable laughs.

 

And, since I'm getting old, and since my contact lens supply is dwindling, I set up an appointment with my eye doctor to see just how blind I am this year.  Just as blind as last year?  More blind?  Dare I say, LESS BLIND?

 

It turns out I'm of the same exact blindness, which is nice.  Eye doctor lady told me that near sighted people tend to 'peak' at 25, at which point their vision stays the same, or begins to get slightly better... that is, until you hit another 'old lady' benchmark and start getting more blind, but in the I-can't-read-my-newspaper way.  So being 26 means my vision stays the same/gets better.  Who knew?

 

It also means I can take out a rental car without paying an astronomical insurance premium.  Hurray for small favors!  (Is this the last "benchmark" birthday? No, there's always senior citizen status, when people will start giving up their seat on the bus for me... and I'll get into Disneyland for uber cheap.)

 

ALSO ALSO.  Visiting the eye doctor meant facing my lifelong nemesis: the eye puff machine.  (Cue tension-filled instrumental music.)

 

Some may recall that last year's eye exam included getting puffed seven or eight times or something.  They assistant got mad at me and wrote in my file that I was "difficult" and "resisted the test."  Damn right I resisted the test...

 

This year I did GREAT.  I practiced all day.  I kept holding my eyes open real wide and staring at a dot across the room.  I psyched myself up.  Of course, once I got there and had to stare at the red barn, the twitching showed up.  I took some breaths and tried to calm myself... things like "it's ok, eyes, it's just the red barn... that clicking doesn't mean an air jet is approaching you."  It sort of worked.  It only took three four tries this year to SUCCESSFULLY puff both eyes.  Improvement!

 

This oldie but goldie is signing out...

 

 

This video has been cracking me up all day.

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