Heated dreams

I had a dream that I was hanging out with Whoopi Goldberg in my house that wasn’t actually my house. She played some piano for Gabriella and me, and she talked about Bill, the man she’s being seeing. “Really?” I said. “I don’t recall ever hearing about anyone named Bill.” “Sure!” she laughed her throaty laugh. “We’ve been together for 22 years!” “Huh,” was my only reply as I berated myself for not knowing such an important detail about our good friend, Whoopi Goldberg. We hung out for what seemed like hours in comfy, lay-about-the-house clothes. We didn’t stand on ceremony with our friend regardless of her fame.

Out of nowhere (because anything can happen out of nowhere in a dream) paparazzi appeared outside the living room of not-our house. They stood on the patio pointing a camera at Whoopi through the sliding glass door. I threw myself over her in a protective and completely platonic fashion for which she was grateful. We stayed there nestled on the sofa together for a long while appreciating how friends snuggle in their comfy clothes and keep each other so very warm.

When I woke up, I realized I had forgotten to turn off my electric blanket before I fell asleep.

Some people have a Whoopee cushion, but I have a Whoopi-blanket.

You might think it odd to associate Whoopi Goldberg with a warm blanket. There may be a connection between warm blankets and a long, full-bodied hugger like Whoopi. I know a good hugger when I see one. Lesbians can tell these things because we tend to be skilled in the art of hugging. It’s a boob-on-boob thing.

Where was I?

Right. It is odd that I would dream about Whoopi Goldberg. I rarely dream about celebrities at all. There was a tawdry encounter with Madonna in a dream I had in the early 90s. She so wanted me. And after she begged, I gave it to her and she wanted more.

Wait, what?

Oh yes. There is a good reason why I cast Whoopi in my dream. The other day, Gabriella and I were hanging out in her neighborhood when we went on a tour of Thomas Edison’s house.

Edison’s house sits inside a residential, gated community where fancy people live who require privacy. I kept thinking to myself that if I were a resident of this exclusive and elite community paying big bucks to keep the great unwashed out of sight and out of mind, I would take issue with all the common folk like me forking over a few bills to traipse in and out of my neighborhood every day peeking in houses and trying to get a glimpse of my privileged self. I wondered if Whoopi knew that tourists would be driving in and around her private enclave every day when she bought her house. Living on our dead end road void of any tourist attractions, I would guess that we get less traffic in front of our lawn than Whoopi does around her shrubbery.

Gratuitous shrubbery video


I feel sorry for Whoopi, really, having to keep watch in her own neighborhood to avoid the public. The next time I’m “taking a tour” in Whoopi's wooded hamlet, I’m going to seek her out and invite her to our house where she might look out our windows to enjoy The View and where she can find some true privacy. We can all sit under my Whoopi-blanket and appreciate how friends can snuggle in their comfy clothes and keep each other so very warm.