Author: uberbudgie





This one was really weird and

exceedingly BITCHY.



I dreamed that for some reason, I was

in Burbank, CA, backstage before a

game show, dressed in this

gawd-awful white career ensemble

with navy trim, and hot pink MAC

lipstick.



The outfit was the sort of thing that

an upper middle-class matron would

wear when trying to appear "affluent"...

The sort of tacky outfit that costs

way too much in snooty

boutiques and looks very "I'm

trying miserably to look young

and spending way too much on

beauty spas" sort of look.



Worst of all, it had HUGE

goldtone buttons and was

accessorized with (EEEeeeeek!)

lots of heavy gold jewelry.



I looked like I should be en route to

some domestic pyramid-scheme

suburban womens' party to sell

kitchen goods or makeup. Or to

sell overpriced "New Homes" in

MiddleOfNowhere, CA to Dot.com

wage slaves commuting to work in the

San Francisco Bay Area.



One of the contestants, a dark-haired

woman in her 40's, asked me to sit in

her place at the contestants' booth.



She had to make a restroom break

and didn't want to give her space up

to another contestant, and the

contestants were currently taking their

places in preparation for the show.



So, I agreed to stay at the booth in

her place until she came back.

Except, she didn't come back and the

show was starting.



Now, here's a little background into

my mindset before I ran into this

woman:



I'd had a nasty head-ache to begin

with, and was waiting for my friend

to finish whatever it was that she was

there for so we could leave and have

some lunch -- we had plans to go to

this superb vegetarian place nearby

for a couple of drinks and a bit of lunch.



I hadn't yet eaten, and was feeling

a bit weak from low blood sugar.



So, when this woman asked me to

cover for her, I thought: 'sure, I might

as well do something useful instead of

just standing here idly thinking about

what I'm going to eat for lunch.'



But noOooooooo... Once again, I'd

agreed to do something nice for

someone and hadn't known of the

consequences before I acted.



So, here I was, with this bitchy

headache from Hell, hungry, low

blood sugar, not dressed the way

that I wanted to be, -LIVE- on

national television.



All I could think about was how

delicious the Japanese grilled

vegetables were supposed to be,

and whether this place had my

favorite seaweed salad. That, and

how hard I was hoping that my

friend hadn't decided I'd flaked

on her. (It just -had- to be

someone very busy who's hard

to get ahold of, too).



The game show is a lot like

Jeopardy. Normally, I'm really

good at quiz type stuff.

Uncommonly good, in fact.

I couldn't have cared less, though,

and just wanted to go have a

nice cocktail to quell my aching

head and something to eat.



I was like a she-cat who'd just

had her tail caught in a door -- rowr!



So, the host is introduced... He looks

all cheesy just like Pat Sajak of 'Wheel

of Fortune.' More like, cross between

this really annoying blonde used car

salesman that used to come into a

coffee shop I used to work at when I was

nineteen and Pat Sajak. Greasy

pomaded puffy hair, overly perfect

looking glazed white teeth, that

horrific mono-tone faux-tan pancake

face makeup that many men in show

business wear that is supposed to look

natural but just reminds me of "baked-Ken

doll beige" stucco... And this terrible

blue-grey shiny silk suit with HUUUUUUGE

shoulder pads. And I thought that

the 80's was DEAD! (I'd hoped so,

anyways... )



So, this dork of a host starts the show.

And they do introductions. I'm the last

person and all I can say is:



"Shut the F--- up!"

(This, I'll add, is quite out of character

for me to do).



The audience starts clapping like mad

and they start the questions portion. I'm

pissed. I was hoping that they'd do a

commercial break after that outburst

and escort me off stage. (I'm on live

T.V.)



But NoooOOOooo.



So then, all through the show, when

they're asking the quiz questions, my

buzzer goes off. And when my name

is called I keep repeating:



"SHUT THE F--- UP!"



And I keep on getting the answer

right every time, amassing almost

ALL of the points...



All through the semi finals.



My headache is so bad that I don't realize

I actually AM answering the questions

correctly, according to the hosts, the

recording media, and the audience (who

are cheering very loud for me and I hate

every one of them) until I finish the semi

finals and get a shot at the final question.



Only I know what I'm really saying, and

that pisses me off even more.



Then, my work pager, quite

mercifully, wakes me up.

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