So I had a most bemusing/amusing dream last night. I dreamed that I was at a convention center or office building of sorts with a big glass atrium and lots of different levels and escalators. There was a big singing contest going on and I was a finalist of some sort. I was singing “I Will Always Love You” as I rode one of the escalators higher and higher into the big glass room. I was going from one side of the building to another because there was a different competition going on simultaneously. I thought, “self, yes you are a finalist in this competition but maybe you should cover your butt and audition for this one as well.” So I get on over to the other competition, which was taking place in a darker space. There was a huge monitor and a set of those sad discotheque lights that DJs schlep from wedding to wedding. So all of the contestants were in front of the monitor and learning a dance. I jumped in, and, to my surprise, I was quite good at the singing and the dancing. Here’s the kicker. We were learning “The Right Stuff” by New Kids on the Block.
Then suddently I’m on a level back in the sunny, windowed atrium. I’m standing at a registration table of some sort and then in the distance comes a tall lady wearing a metallic animal-print hooded outfit. She is glorious. She is CHER.
This is the closest I could get to what Cher was wearing in my dream. So perhaps it wasn’t Cher but instead Chad Michaels doing Cher. That matters not. You have an idea of the general Cher-fierceness. Just imagine this Cher wig and outfit but a lot sparklier and with a cape. So kinda if you combined Chad with this:
Anyway, as soon as I saw Cher I started crying. “Oh my god, Cher!” I had someone at the table take a photo of me with her. Cher was huge. Like Shaq-tall. Amazing. I thought she would leave but she was just kinda standing there. So we strike up a conversation.
Me: So, what are you doing here?
Cher: I’m going to get my thighs shaved down.
Me: That sounds painful.
Cher: I’ve had my neck done, too.
Me: I think I look pretty good but I’m worried about my neck.
Cher: I don’t know how early someone should have the rip and snip. You know,I’ve had a lot done but at least I don’t look as bad as Mr. Belvedere.”
Me: Or Bruce Jenner.
(I swear to God this was the actual dialogue from my dream. Mr. Belvedere, Cher? WTF?)
So Cher and I walk over to another corner of the room to a window. She sits down and I join her. As I ask her, “so what’s the most painful thing you’ve had done?” I realize that Cher is dangling her high heels over the edge of the building waaaaay above the streets below. I lose my shit. I’m trying to get away from the window but it seems like the floor is tilting ever so slightly, pushing me out of the window. I’m clawing at the floor and my shoes are slipping. Some guy in jeans and Converse (I don’t know who) gives me a little pull so I’m a little farther away from the ledge. But I’m still desperately trying to get away from the window and into the middle of the room. Cher says to me, “I think you need therapy.”
And then I woke up.
Yeah, I know that none of that has anything to do with anything. But it was just so damn weird I had to share. I will gladly accept any Jungian or Freudian dream interpretations.
Now for the food and drink portion of our evening.
I made the mushrooms just like the card told me to. The only adjustment I made was that I only used 1/4 cup of the bread crumbs and added some Old Bay (but of course!)
Cleve was convinced that there was sausage of some sort stuffed in there, but no sir! It was just the minced stems that gave it that meaty texture. Kinda like when I made my attempt at vegetarian manicotti.
I liked the mushrooms a lot.
The New York Sour ended up like a regular ol’ whiskey sour. Except topped with white wine. We had to make a hybrid of the 2 recipes because I had hard boiled all of the eggs in the fridge (they were about to go bad) and I only had 1 lime so that wasn’t enough for more than 1 round of cocktails. So my NYS contained, whiskey, lemon juice, sugar, white wine and a maraschino cherry. Like I said, it was a whiskey sour.
The drinks were drinkable.
Here’s the finished product. I don’t have any artificial flowers in my house, so that’s an awesome photo of my Gramsy (yes, the original owner of DiS!).
I’m seriously running out of tchotchkes for my pictures.
I’m gonna let Cher play me out. Cheers!