Last night's dream 11/15/09

Last night I dreamt I was a judge for pies at State Fairs. I would travel from fair to fair and judge the pies. The judging was supposed to be like wine tasting. I was supposed to take a bite of pie and chew a little and then spit it into a bucket and nibble a saltine to clear my palette before tasting the next pie. I started to cheat almost immediately and swallow the bites of pies. I was a basket case. I was very afraid I would get caught and lose the job and I really needed the money. I kept telling myself, "Just spit it out. Go back to the rules." But being a Gemini there would always be an argument.
"Just spit it out. Go back to the rules."
"Screw you. This pie is GOOD!"
"You NEED this job. Spit into the bucket."
"Mmmmmm. PIE!"
"Spit. Spit. SPIT!"
"Blueberry and hmmmm what is that secret ingredient?!"
"For the LOVE OF GOD woman! Spit!"
"Is that cardamom?"
The evil Elliott was winning the war. My teeth were stained blue from the blueberry pies and I had gained 30 pounds. Finally I couldn't take it anymore I realized I was on a spiral going down, down, down. So I went to management. Management was really "Management", the guy from the show Carnivale. I said, "I have to get out of the pie judging biz. Is there anything open at the petting zoo?"
"Can you grow a beard?"
"No, I..." but I reached up and darned if I didn't feel a five o'clock shadow! "Yes, sure. I...yeah."
"Ok, ok. I'll give you a few days to grow it out and then you can take the Bearded Lady gig. It's either that or the fat lady."
"The...what?!?!...Oh my god..."
So I went home and sat around eating pies because I have no willpower. After 3 days I was walking around with an amazing ZZ-Topish beard that I stroked lovingly every few minutes. A nervous twitch of sorts.
I didn't know if it was a promotion or a demotion but now I sat on a chair and told stories about my beard to little snotty nosed kids and their bored parents.
I still argued with myself.
"You left behind PIES...PIES....for THIS?!?!?"
"I think I've lost 6 ounces..."
"Remember those coconut cream ones that I swear were a foot high?"
"Six ounces may not sound like much but I think my jeans are fitting a little looser..."
"Then there were the chocolate pies and the rhubarb ones and the mixed berry..."
"And six ounces today COULD turn into a whole pound by the end of the week."
"Remember that one in that little town in Oklahoma? What the hell was it...not sweet potato pie...not quite pumpkin...maybe a mix? I gave that gal two blue ribbons it was THAT good!"
I would usually begin to cry at that point and have to close down my tent until I could gather myself back together.
Finally Management came over and sat me down.
"Look honey, this bearded gig isn't working for you. It's either the fat lady tent or back to the pies."
"PIES!" I shouted before I could stop myself. And pies it was. That is until the bi-plane pilot joined us and I realized my true calling. Wingwalker.