Polluted steam of consciousness

Once a morning person*, I have been spending the first fifteen minutes of my mornings praying for death. Or, maybe just for the chance to Mariah Carey it and be put down for eight days to suffocate the crazy with sleep and bed rest.

My lack of sleep doesn’t make sense at all. I’ve been staying at my parents’ place for a while now (with the newf, don’t go jumping to any scary conclusions here, folks. We’re demolishing our apartment through spring cleaning efforts), meaning that we’ve been enjoying their window-free guest room. You wouldn’t even believe how dark this room is. A few years ago I accidentally slept in until 2pm. I woke with a full bushy beard and realized that it was 2007 and immediately started blogging.

Aside from being a haven for vampires (which I think are very sexy*), my parents’ house also offers me the convenience of having my car parked directly outside at all times, a fenced-in backyard for pooch-poopery, and the ease of crating Calvin when I need to pop out without having to worry about noise complaints. Stress level = zero, exactly the way it should be at when you’re with your parents.

Oh – and there’s always booze around. At any given time you can find at least one quart of Bombay Gin in the freezer. Most days there is also a back-up bottle. I’d prefer Jack Daniels* but moochers can’t be choosers. (Did I ever tell you the story about when my friends named a drink after my mom*? You pour three shots of tequila into a glass and hold a lime in your left hand while drinking it. Try it. No…don’t).

So why am I not getting very much sleep? My guess is that I’ve ironically been paired with someone who “can’t fall asleep without the television on”*. I’ve come to terms with this but still wonder why I suffer for being able to fall asleep the traditional way. Would the newf have to let it slide if I could only fall asleep after doing three bodyshots of tequila off strippers? Probably not…but then again, strippers aren’t really my thang. I’ve only been to one strip club on purpose in my life* (one by accident, don’t ask…) and it was for a hilarious adventure rather than being pervy and watching the drop outs from my high school work the pole. Not cool.

For now I’ll keep putting up with the TV and the newf will keep putting up with my my all-round awesomeness at life. I suppose it’s all part of the C-word…Compromise, you nasty pervs.

[*Editor's note: Today's post is a tribute to the lovely Ms. EP over at Stylish Handwriting. I read her blog every day and it never disappoints. (her letter to a booty-shaking teenager is awesome)..except in that she tags me in a lot of memes that I never actually do.

I finally succumbed to the guilt (another reason why I might be losing sleep) and have identified six random facts about me and my life throughout this post for your meme-pleasure. Meme prononced me-me or the french way? Riddle me THAT.]