I’ve been snowboarding for a long time. My hips hurt and so does my caboose, or rump. I know a trick that has to do with using my feet to spin. This is something most other people I’m with can’t do. It makes me proud to know I can perform something unique.
I’m now in a large library. I thought it was a bookstore. In Spanish, bookstore is librería. Perhaps that is how I was confused. The large library is full of reference books, many of which can’t be checked out by patrons. I decide to find the Education or Pedagogy section. This generally happens in real life, too. It’s not just a dream decision.
I find the section. I’m upset that the books are on the bottom two shelves. It would assuredly be more comfortable to stand whilst perusing. The books are terrible. They’re all really big and heavy. I realize that their heaviness doesn’t mean they carry any weight.
I’ve become familiar with a Burger King commercial during the dream. The content is as follows: there is a geriatric woman facing the viewer. To her right, the viewers’ left is a meat grinder. It is spitting out a tube of raw red (color, not necessarily cow) meat. The geriatric takes the tube of meat and scores it continuously with her teeth. When the meat comes out to the geriatric’s left, viewers’ right, it is brown, as if her scoring was in some way cooking the meat. The meat seems to defy gravity between the grinder, the geriatric, and the infinity that exists to the geriatric’s left.
I’m then, in the library, audience to a demonstration about making some sort of stuffed meat thing. Evidently, the cute host tells me, the meat must be scored, cut, and stuffed. She shows me how to do this. I’m to score the meat, the job of the geriatric in the Burger King commercial. I don’t seem to have a problem doing this. I don’t remember tasting anything.
The cute host is describing the meat. She’s telling me everything it has in it. In the meat are grains, like quinoa, and others. Quinoa is the only one I remember. As she tells me this, she makes the little meat pie patty things. They’re stuffed with some kind of cheese bullshit.
We get to the last patty. It comes out in a skin like a sausage. However, it is made entirely of grains, mostly quinoa. She is telling me how to hold it so that it will not fall apart. As she does, a man joins our group. He has dark blue Dickies and a shirt with a crying clown on it. He has some sort of mustache whether he likes it or not. His hair is faded. The last piece of patty will be for him.
I’m holding the ultimate patty for the cholo as the cutie pie describes the process to him. I seem to be losing control of the patty. The more she yams on about the process, the worse off his patty seems to be. Initially, only a few grains of quinoa are falling. I decide to place a small, brown trashcan under the patty to catch that which escapes. Before long, we’re losing lots of stuff. Amongst other things which escape are quinoa, M&Ms, little tomatoes, chochos, and other grains. They’ve almost filled up the little, brown trashcan.
The cute lady is talking about Dolly Parton. She says that her mom ‘wouldn’t teach [her] the oatmeal trick because Coat of Many Colors is her most famous song.’
Evidently, the cutie pie’s mom wanted her to learn some sort of sewing, rather than the oatmeal trick. I’m assuming the oatmeal trick had something to do with the patties we’ve been working with. At this point, the patty has become a handful of the aforementioned ingredients, wrapped burrito-style in a piece of brown butcher paper. The butcher paper looks as if it has encased something greasy because it’s really dark in color.