Bravo for a fever

What, exactly, does the phrase "under the weather" have to do with being sick? Really, aren't we kind of always under the weather, unless we're flying in a plane over the clouds? Anyway, linguistic arguments aside, I've felt like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag for the last couple of days, and have spent an inordinate amount of time in front of the television.

Not just any television, mind you: Bravo TV. I'm addicted to Bravo's reality shows. Did you know that Bravo often runs marathons of their own shows during the day? Well, I know it pretty well now. I've sat through hours of The Real Housewives of Orange County, which is a way for middle-class folks to feel better about ourselves when we see these spoiled, privileged, rich bitches and their brain-dead offspring acting like the nincompoops that they really are. My favorite quote of the day, from the idiotic lips of one of the rich offspring, said to a girl visiting from Ontario: "Do you speak Canadian?"

The shows that really get me, though, are their competition shows. I got hooked on Top Chef about halfway through the first season, and came in on Project Runway when they started their season three. Yesterday, I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that I spent the entire day in front of Project Runway reruns from the seasons I missed. I more or less watched those all day until this week's PR was shown last night, and was so disinclined to move that I watched it yet again immediately afterward (they usually run the new episode twice in a row on Wednesday night). Then, just when I thought I was going to move from the couch onto my bed, they popped up with an early showing of the Top Chef holiday special, where chefs from all three seasons come back to compete for a one-off cash prize for the night.

After all that, I figured I'd just pass out in bed and the next thing I know, it would be morning. But between the Bravo overload and the slight fever I was running, my mind went on overdrive and I had weird, vivid dreams all night. It's been a while since I've dreamed so much that I can actually remember in detail upon awakening. To begin the night, I was a Top Chef contestant who was packing to go home because I'd been eliminated, but couldn't manage to get all my stuff down to the car. Every time I'd think I was ready, I'd remember more shit that I'd left up in my room, and I always had to take the stairs to get back up there. Once I finally got all my stuff out of the room, I tore out of there in my car and proceeded to drive the wrong way down the highway while the hotel clerks shouted warnings at me. After I woke up and fell back into a mildly disturbed slumber, I dreamt that Molly and I were coming out of a museum and heading to our car, and then we saw a van bearing down on us, obviously intending to squash us like bugs. So she grabbed my hand and took off running, around cars, and most impressively, right over top of a parked car. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up her pace and let go of her hand so she could get away, but luckily, I woke up before the van was able to turn me into a tard pancake. In my next set of dreams, I was staying at the Parker Hotel in Palm Springs (Bravo actually did a short series about them, but I hadn't seen any reruns of it recently, so I don't know what brought that on). My old calico, Nudgie, was there, but she belonged to someone else (apparently, I'd given her to them...you know that had to be a dream). I found out that they'd let her escape outside, so once I was able to chase her down and catch her, I told her she was coming home with me (which is quite a feat, considering that she's been dead for years). But then I realized that Friday was missing, and I was frantically running around, asking everyone "Where's Friday? Where the fuck is Friday?" but it was one of those dreams where you're on the verge of busting a vein and everyone around you is totally indifferent to your panic. I raced outside to find him, and in my dream, I woke up and realized it had been a dream. While I was still dreaming. You'd better believe I went and found Friday as soon as I actually woke up.

How come I can't get sick and have completely realistic sex dreams? It's what I think of 90% of the time, so you'd think that would carry over. All that Project Runway, all that Top Chef, and no Heidi Klum, no Padma Lakshmi? What the fuck, people? Truthfully, I'm not sure I want to go to sleep tonight. I'm stepping away from Bravo now. Anybody wanna come over and play Uno Attack all night?