Revenge of the neon echiladas

Have you ever had a weird dream? You know, the kind that doesn’t even make sense to you while you are dreaming it. A lot of dreams make perfect sense while you’re passed out in bed or on the sofa, but I’m talking about the kind of dream that leaves you wondering, “What the heck?” while you are still asleep.

That’s what I had last night. I’m going to blame it on what I ate for supper. We had our employee dinner last night, the evening before campus is once again covered by students crawling around the grounds and throughout the buildings trying to get set up for a new semester. This dinner, of course, was sponsored by the company that is contracted to provide our cafeteria services – meaning we had cafeteria food.

We had an international flair theme for the dinner to go along with our “passport to success” development days earlier in the week. The food service was to prepare a variety of dishes with a little international flair to them, which in West Texas means we had enchiladas. Of course, the cheese in my enchiladas had a slight neon glow to it and the sauce was like no enchilada sauce I had ever seen. It closely resembled mud. There were some other dishes too, such as something that resembled the beef/broccoli that you can get at the local China buffet and some chicken with a toupee.

For some reason, every time I closed my eyes last night, I was dreaming about death. It was all in a somewhat humorous light, not like a dream I had a few months ago that really freaked me out. The weirdest of these dreams, however, came to me around 4 a.m. I remember because I woke up thinking the aforementioned, “What the …..”

It took place on a harmless city street. A person (me I presume) sitting in a front yard, looking across the street in the neighborhood. Suddenly the area is covered with thousands of dead dogs who all start barking at the same time. I personally own cats because they don’t bark at the moon. We used to have one who would occasionally go into heat in the middle of the night, moaning and wailing at anything that came nearby. That was unpleasant so we had her fixed. Now she is just a little “female dog,” if you know what I mean.

Back to the dream… The dogs continued to bark until someone in the neighborhood decided to tell them to stop. So they did. Then they all disappeared. Althoug I watched as the two front legs of the dog directly across the street fell off while it was disappearing.

Next came the little old dead people who were suddenly walking around the neighborhood. This scene quickly switched to one of the little old ladies' living rooms where I watched her stand up and play the piano … something she had never done before … before falling over dead. The strangest thing was that I knew her name. I can’t remember it now because I failed to see the sense in writing it down when I woke up at 4 a.m.

Then came the weird part. Back in the yard, looking across the street at the same sidewalk where I had just watched thousands of dead dogs disappear, I saw none other than Michael Jackson break dancing with The Cat in the Hat.

“What the …… “

Can't we all just get along

Aaaahhhh, the beginning of yet another semester. New students wandering around campus … old students wandering around campus … last minute renovations being completed on the dorm rooms or in the cafeteria … faculty and staff members counting down the minutes to the dreaded development workshop days, fighting off the terrifying memories of last years FERPA lecture.

Another fall term is about to get underway. And with the beginning of school comes the beginning of athletic season. We don’t play football at our university. I know, you’re shocked that a West Texas school doesn’t have a football team, but the Fighting Jackrabbits bit the dust many moons ago. However, we do play volleyball.

Yesterday it was my *cough, cough* pleasure to spend roughly an hour and a half with the volleyball team taking publicity photos for various publications. I am always amazed at the relationship dynamics when you bring together a group of women/girls. As I observed this group interacting with one another it dawned on me that there were issues that might have to be dealt with somewhere along the way – personalities just waiting to conflict.

Among this group representing our faith-based university there are a couple of girls that I know a little bit who seem to be good, solid, Christian young women. Then there are a few who I really don’t have a read on, but I have some reservations about. Then there are some that, well, frighten me.

There is the loud, opinionated one who comes across as a bit of a spoiled prima donna … several others who follow her lead. Then there are the quiet, strong ones who will speak up only to get shot down by the more opinionated group. Then there is the one who, in all probability will be the best player on the team, but who is quiet and reserved and would rather not get involved in the controversy. And, of course, you have the doe-eyed freshmen who aren’t quite sure what to think and just wander around doing whatever they are told.

Then you have the one who every time she walked over to look at the digital readout on the camera I was using for photographs made sure her endowment brushed up against my arm. Little bit uncomfortable with that, but what do you do. I understand if it was an accident, but after three times, I would think you would know where your breasts are going. But what can a guy say? My arms are tucked into my rib cage as tightly as I can get them. There is no place for me to go. I don’t really want to call attention to it because our university has just relieved a professor of his work-related responsibility due to accusation of harassment, and I feel that me pointing at her and saying, 'Put those things away' could be cause for reprimand. God forbid it shows up on my "permanent record." So … I resign myself to getting boobed. By the way, I know I have commented on the assets (that a-s-s-e-t-s) of the fairer sex before in this blog, but I’m a guy so get used to it.

Quite an eclectic array of personalities among this group of 11 young women. Being a veteran team-watcher of many years, I only had one thing to say to the SID when the photo shoot was over.

“Wow! It’s going to be a long season.”