Seriously, you might want to skip this one.
I mean it.
Really.
You were warned.
I have a vivid dream life, as I may have mentioned. Az the Husband rarely dreams, and so is fascinated by mine, enjoying the morning entertainment that comes free with his coffee.
We have a long-standing agreement that we will apologize for what we do in each other’s dreams, a policy we agreed on because I so often dream about cruel neglect or betrayal by Az. In my dreams he tends to behave like his own soap-opera evil twin.
We still refer to the time I dreamed I was being chewed on by a bear and, instead of helping me, Az rolled his eyes at my complaints and sighed impatiently, saying, “What are you complaining about? It’s just a bear. It will leave when it’s done.”
Still, this dream-sharing can get a bit tricky when I dream about, ahem, you know. My dreams of the more carnal sort are, for better or for worse, rarely pleasant. I dream dark dreams about unpleasant situations that have more to do with Jungian symbolism than any actual desire on my part, and leave me so disturbed or queasy in the morning that Az is not the least bit threatened.
In fact, apart from one prescient dream I had about Az the Husband the night after meeting him, the habit of dreaming pleasurably about someone I actually desire is not something I experience.
I do have one category of happy, pleasant dreams about, well, um, you know, but they do not involve anyone I am attracted to in real life. These dreams always, without fail, involve one certain category of person.
Famous fat comedians.
It’s true. I cannot explain this. But while I am saddened whenever some heavy funny man dies from an unhealthy lifestyle, there is also a part of me relieved that there is now no chance of accidentally meeting someone in whose presence I would surely blush furiously, for reasons known only to myself (and now to you).
All of this is background to tell you that I had to apologize to Az for a dream I had two nights ago.
In a slight departure from my norm, I dreamed that I was in love with Will Ferrell, and we spent the dream blissfully canoodling.
(He is obviously insufficiently corpulent for my usual standards, so my exacting subconscious settled for a snuggle.)
Ah, Will Ferrell. You may be rich and famous with a beautiful wife and sons, and you may have a successful career as a slightly doughy middle-aged white guy willing to rob himself of all dignity, but still, you might want to watch that waistline.
My subconscious may know something you don’t.
Because, apparently, I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell.
Ah, John Candy. I miss him too.
Though not in the same way you do.
I have vivid dreams too. And distressingly enough, my vivid dreams are, um, uninhibited in who they choose to hang out with – like the 68 year old fellow church congregant who always wears a bowtie. Not my choice for erotic fantasy object in REAL LIFE, thank you.
This is the funniest thing I’ve read in ages. Seriously.
That was awesome. You are TOO MUCH.
A friend of ours also needed more cowbell and was horrified when we didn’t know the reference (the rock we live under is rather large). You have performed a great public service. Now my comedic repertoire will consist of more than My Cousin Vinnie and children’s literature references.
*Choke*
That is hilarious.
And stunning—because I have a very special recurrent dream about a certain gap-toothed, skinny, white-sock-wearing former stand-up comic who has been hosting a late night talk show for two decades.
I’m so tempted to get all psycho-analytical with your dreams. But what exactly would that mean to dream about naughty things with obese comedians? Is that one even in the books?
There is NOTHING better than more cowbell.
Eerie coincidence: my husband is often mistaken for Will Ferrell. Your post was all the funnier for it.
So, so …funny. I too, find when I am in that state of mind in my dreams… it’s always a man I wouldn’t normally consider. Like Jack Black. I don’t know what it is.
This is hilarious. I found your blog through someone and else and I’m glad I did. My hubby and I love that Will Farrell skit.
[...] And no, I do not mean the fat comedian kind. [...]
Wow, just wow. I thought I was the only one. Really.
Several years ago I dreamed I was on a road trip with John Candy, John Goodman, and Michael Keaton.
There was a motel and everything.
O
My friend observed that I had the Candyman, Goodman, and Batman, all to myself.
So archetypal, so weird, and just so wrong.
[...] sure Will Ferrell will be [...]