NO MORE CHILI BEFORE BEDTIME

Ya ever had one of those dreams where you just seem to piss everyone off in it?

Man ... I just came out of a MARATHON dream of irritating the SHIT out of people.

I'll try to keep this short and tell y'all what it was about. I know nobody likes reading about someone else's dreams ... but I'm still trying to wake up, this is still fresh and ... I still feel like I've irritated some folks.

I was involved with a show that was half wrestling/half fashion show.

Strange enough...right?

Apparently, there were a lot of local people involved with the wrestling thing, sort of as a charity. It was a big "every man for himself" battle royal ... something like 30 guys with 20 of them being local media guys, including me.

I was the last media guy to get in the ring, and then the professionals were supposed to come in. When I got into the ring, I threw out all the other members of the media and stood alone. The crowd was dead. No applause, no nothing. I was walking around shirtless and in jeans, pounding my chest like Tarzan and screaming "WHO OUT THERE THINKS THEY CAN TAKE ME?"

In my asleep mind, that was my cue to the professional wrestlers to come in, throw me out and continue the match in a more professional way.

It didn't happen. I heard a guy behind me say that the wrestlers thought this whole idea was lame and had left.

Me, being Mr. Spotlight Hog, didn't know how to end the segment, so I kept walking around, screaming "WHO OUT THERE THINKS THEY CAN TAKE ME??" to a crowd that was clearly there to see a fashion show.

Finally, an older man yelled at me from backstage, "GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE NOW!!"

I acted offended by the "F" word, and asked for his name and told him I was going to report him. He was so angry, he threw me out of the ring, onto the ground below and kept yelling at me.

Susie was in the audience taking pix of me and told me she had just given a kid a "Welt". It seemed the audience was turning on not just me, but my wife too.

We got out of there and I woke up for a few minutes. It was 3 a.m. I had to pee, but didn't.

I fell back asleep and this time I was walking around completely naked in the fashion show audience. People were now agitated with me and saying mean things to me. Susie managed to find me a t-shirt and coat, so now I was just naked from the waist down. I was sitting on the end of one of the rows next to an open seat. When a lady tried to sit down, I told her it was saved for my wife. She started getting pissed and yelling. I got up to find my wife, who was sitting about ten rows behind me having the time of her life.

"I'm leaving," I huffed. "I'm naked and people don't like me."

"Okay," she laughed. "See you at home!"

I walked upstairs in the building where all the judges of the fashion show were. Yes, I'm aware that fashion shows don't have judges, but in my dream they did. And they all HATED ME. As soon as I got up there, they were all snippy saying, "Haven't you ruined enough around here?" Then they started making fun of a male judge who had two raised rows of skin going down his forehead and on either side of his nose and mouth.

"Doesn't he look like he's behind bars?" one of the snippy women laughed as she pointed at the barfaced guy.

"I'm sure he's a very nice man," I said, shaking his hand and finally bonding with another outcast at this fashion show. Then I called the snippy female judge "Tomato Face" and left.

I walked out of the building, pulling the t-shirt down over my genitals to protect what was left of my dignity and walked out into a state-fair-like atmosphere with tons of people walking around and I couldn't find the parking lot or my car.

I found a door in the fence, and pushed it open and toppled the fence over. People started streaming in from the outside for free and the police started looking for me.

Yeah right. Like I didn't stand out already. Look for the guy that made an ass of himself during the wrestling match and is currently naked from the waist down.

The last thing I remember was talking to a hot blonde who asked me what time it was. I told her 6 p.m. I was really horny for her too.

I woke up. I still had to pee and had what is commonly known as a "pee hard-on" which guys get when holding their pee for several hours while asleep. Which would explain my "horniness" for the hot blonde.

I got up ... peed .... stumbled here and started typing this out.

So ... that's my dream.

Dr. Freud? Paging Dr. Freud??

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So much for keeping that dream short. Sheesh.

So yesterday was the first day when I've actually felt decent in about a week.

Went to the chiropractor. He and his staff had discovered over the weekend that I'm the funny guy that writes for the local paper. So they wanted to know if I was going to write about my trip to the chiropractor.

I had no idea WHAT I was going to write about this week. But that seemed about as good an idea as any, so I wrote the column yesterday. I hope I don't offend the doctor when he reads it. How can you write a humor column about going to the chiropractor and keep it all positive and upbeat? You HAVE to show pain in the column. Which I did.

At his expense.

In the end I said I feel like a million bucks and highly recommend him. It's free publicity for his ass. I'm sure he'll take it.

Anyway ... he said I've done great in rehabbing the bone in my neck and I don't have to go back until next Monday.

Woot! Woot!!

(For those of you who don't know what "woot! woot!!" means...it's the text equivalent of a wolf whistle. The kind of whistle that construction workers give for pretty ladies. THAT whistle.)

Y'know...just to clarify...

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We had the phone company come out and check out our phone system since it had been out since Friday morning.

They finally had it fixed about 2 p.m. yesterday.

Except our cordless phone where we could barely hear a dial tone. The other phones worked fine ... just the cordless phone was almost dead.

At 3:30, a guy showed up while I was trying to feed Andy and wanted to know if everything was okay with the phones. I told him we couldn't hear anything out of the cordless phone. He went outside and did a test...everything came back fine.

He checked the phone...still dead.

Went back outside, changed a few wires around, checked every other phone jack in the house ... everything fine except this cordless phone.

Finally, he turned the volume up on the phone.

VOILA!!

The phone magically worked fine after that.

The miracles of modern day stupidity never cease to amaze me.

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I had until the end of the month to get auto tags for my car.

Rather than wait until the last day of the month when every Tom, Dick and Harry are in line at the probate office fucking with me because I'm not wearing any pants, I told Susie I wanted to go yesterday.

So before she leaves the house, she gives me a check for the exact amount of the tags. I decided at lunch that Mattie Gee and I would ride over to the probate office and get my tags.

We get there ... there's one person ahead of me. Perfect. In and out.

I approach the window and give the tag information and the check to the lady behind the window.

Instantly, she says "I need Susan's drivers license number".

Apparently, because Susan wrote the check and DIDN'T include her Drivers License number on the check.

I don't know my wife's DL number off the top of my head, and she was at work.

"Do you want to call her for it?" the lady asked.

"Sure," I said, checking my watch and hoping Susie wouldn't be at lunch.

I call and get her voice mail.

"Can we hang up and try again, but PAGE her this time," I asked.

"Sure," the lazy lady behind the counter says, dialing the number again for me, since I quit carrying a cell phone years ago.

We call again and I get Susie's operator at her business.

Now then ... this operator is somewhat mildly retarded. Nobody knows the full story, but her grandfather used to own the company. He sold it to Carquest and one of the stipulations of the sale was that they would always have a job for his slow granddaughter ... the operator.

She's a sweet woman...just dumb as a post.

I reach her and ask her to page Susie. She says sure.

I wait five minutes...no Susie. Princess Dumbass picks up the phone and answers it like it was ringing.

"Carquest?" she says.

"Kathy, this is Uncle Bob again," I say patiently. "I'm still on hold for Susie."

"Oh yes, Uncle Bob, right. I'll get her," she says.

I wait.

Five minutes later, she picks up the phone again "Carquest?"

"Kathy...it's STILL Uncle Bob. Did you find Susie?"

"Yes, Uncle Bob...she's in her office with the door closed."

Okay ... that meant one thing. She was pumping milk for the baby. That's the only time she shuts her door.

"Okay Kathy ... I need you to open the door and ask her for her license. This is an emergency."

"I'll do it Uncle Bob. Hold on just one minute."

She puts me back on hold.

Meanwhile, the lady behind the window is looking at me.

"My wife is a new mother," I explain. "And I think she's in her office pumping."

Then ... to let the lady behind the window know what I mean by the word "pumping", I LITERALLY grab my right breast and begin squeezing.

I got a look from her like I was the one who was mildly retarded.

Five more minutes pass by. Then Kathy picks up the phone and says "Carquest?"

"Kathy, it's STILL Uncle Bob, did you get the license number?"

"I wrote her a note and slid it under her door."

Mmmm-hmmmm.

"Kathy," I said, my patience wearing thin ... "I REALLY need to speak to Susie. Knock on the door, open it slightly and tell her I'm on the phone and that it's an emergency."

"Okay," she said, putting me on hold.

At this point, the lady behind the window FINALLY decides to be helpful after I've been on and off Hold for 15 minutes.

"Do you know your wife's birthdate?" she asks. "We can find her number from that."

Holy fucking shithole dumbass dicklicking shitbitch dumbass dumbass dumbass. Hell yes, I know my wife's birthdate you simpleton bitch.

"Yes, I know my wife's birthdate," I confirmed, giving the phone to the woman so she could hang up on Kathy the Kornhead.

I told the woman my wife's birthdate, she typed it into her computer, BOOM there was her Driver's License number, she wrote it on the check, gave me the tags and I was gone.

I'm still not sure who I should be mad at in this situation. Kathy, the slow idiot who can never be fired for her ineptness ... or the lady behind the window who likes to make people bust their ass for something that she can find with a few keystrokes.

I think I'll hate 'em both.

But I promise to love YOU forever.

Notice how I can take an incredibly boring story and turn it into such a loving tribute to you?

Yeah.

Me neither.

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