Tuesday, January 13, 2009

The Dreams and White Tales of Cheeky Greek

Last night I had a wacky dream, which is no surprise in itself. Us wacky Greek sisters have them more often than not (should we check into this? Quite possibly, however it will go on the back burner for now). After waking with my adrenalin pumping then frantically feeling my husband's face to make sure it was in tact, I realized that at no point in any person's life is it a good idea to own a tiger.
To sum it up, in dreamland we decided to get a cute, cuddly, rolly-polly tiger kitten. I did not understand it myself, but why question it right? In dreamland do you ever question going back to elementary school completely naked with a bowl of fruit on your head while pushing a wheelchair that's covered in the cafeteria's turkey gravy? Probably not. Back to the tiger. The tiger began to grow very rapidly, then would shrink back down to size, then back up again. Weird. Once it began to lunge at our throats it wasn't so cute anymore, or even weird, just plain ol' scary! I recall the tiger was dangling from my husband's jugular when I decided I had better call 911. That didn't work like it is supposed to, they put me on hold, and yes, there was elevator music. We are in hysterics, I don't know where my three year old is, and my husband (we'll call him Jack) is trying to pry this tiger kitten's dagger claws out of his neck. It was much like the last scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail where the cave dwelling rabid rabbit is hurling itself and it's razor sharp bucked teeth toward unsuspecting victims. I realize this is the second time on my blog I have referred to buck teeth.

So I'm still on hold, then finally someone answers. "Thank you for calling, would you like to hear about our specials this week?".......WHAT?! And this brings me to another thought, whenever I dream that something terrible is happening I always call 911. Never once has it worked. Later I'll tell you all about my recurrent lion dreams. Oh, and the contact lens dream my hairy sister used to tell me about which eventually became one of my dreams.

Well, I suppose I should begin my tale of how I came to be so white (eggshell). I really don't know honestly. I must have stuck my little embryonic toe in some recessive gene pool that my family didn't know existed, considering I'm whiter than my non-Greek mother. And there the story began.

I'm not like redhead white, I'm olive white. I know, weird combo. It's so much fun picking out a foundation color! I can never decide which one I like better, the orangey fake-n-bake, over-baked, yet still the lightest shade color...which manages to make me look orange and pale at the same time and very oompa loompa-like. Or the one that is supposed to work great for neutral or yellow undertones that actually is so pink it would make a lovely blush shade. Aha! I finally find a great match, I'm feeling good. Then walks in my dad. "You are SO white!". Really Dad? Thanks for that long-lost gene.

I don't burn too badly in the sun which is nice, but I don't tan real well either. By the time my tan is starting look like the average person's in May, the summer is already ending. So here is my awesome, and oh so white tan next to everyone else's, and the clouds surround for the next six months completely ruining my chances at getting a real person tan. This last summer I finally became a self-tanner. It is so shocking to people to see me tan that they start to ask questions like: "Are you taking vitamins, you look healthy?! Have you finally gotten out of your house?". No, I still reside in my sun-deprived albino cave living off of Twinkies and kool-aid, I'm just bottle-browned now.


  1. Wow. I am afraid to go to sleep tonight...

    I am afraid of tiger-striped Oompa Loompas, filling Twinkies with pale foundation for my dinner, while I jump rope using my jugular vein, holding a rabid bunny, named Jack, covered in turkey gravy. Then my arm hair will get caught in a wheelchair wheel, and I'll fall into a cave, feeling people's faces while I rake the side of the cave with my buck teeth, trying to soften the fall, which is onto a pile of contact lenses.

    I am FREAKED OUT I tell you!

  2. Thanks. I was TRYING to eat my cereal, but it kept spraying out and dribbling down my chin, because I was laughing so hard.
    See? I told you that you were a good writer.
    I'm going to introduce my very talented Little Sister on my blog tomorrow.
    It's a huge accomplishment to make your Mean Big Sister laugh THAT hard. :)

  3. OMG Kim,
    I just read your comment and choked on my last bite of granola. You are hilarious too...is it the hairiness?

  4. I hate oompa loompas! THEY give me nightmares. I can handle the tigers but not them. Ugh.

    I came over from your sisters blog....Im glad she sent me, I loved your post!

  5. Um, didn't you know, phones NEVER work in dreams. I have been using phones in my dreams for nigh on 30 years and have yet to get a call through. Sometimes I can't even get a dial tone. Oh yeah, and for some reason, my legs don't work in dreams either. When I need to run down the street, I have to use my arms.

  6. I didn't know you could write. We painted together and now I find you can write. CC let me know this morning. Welcome to blog land. Land of insantity and fun. :))

  7. Welcome to the blogospere. Now that you are here you will find that weird dreams, strange happenings, and annoyances are quickly embraced as delightful blogging fodder. Lovely to meet you and look forward to more of your cheeky Greeky posts!!

  8. I came to visit from your sister's blog, and am glad I did, despiute the oompa loompa. I shall return.