Tag Archive: sleep


Dude.

I’m supremely hungover.

I slept until 4 pm today.

Actually, that is kind of a lie.

What really happened was I woke up at 8:30 this morning to pee.  I am fairly certain I was still drunk at this point, as I could not figure out how to execute the tasks of finding the light switch and turning on the bathroom light.  In all fairness, I was in a hotel (so my surroundings were less than familiar) and the light switches were on the wall outside of the bathroom.  I washed my hands in the bathtub (because I thought the sink was still full of ice and all of our liquor- it wasn’t.) and that’s when I found Seneca’s red thong hanging out on the ledge of the bathtub.

I remember thinking that was a little odd.

I crawled back into bed next to Seneca and went back to sleep until about 10 o’clock, when I heard Megan walking around our hotel room and starting to clean stuff up.  It was probably an hour later that we all actually woke up and pulled ourselves together enough to get in the car and go home.

When the girls dropped me off at home, I dropped my crap on my bed, grabbed a sweatshirt and headed back upstairs to plop myself down on the couch, where I had every intention of staying all day long.  I was too hungover to get up and grab a blanket so I used my hooded sweatshirt as a blanket and used a pillow on the couch to cover my feet.  I wished more than anything that I could just use the power of my mind to turn on the fireplace, but that didn’t really work out.  Instead, I watched The Office on DVD and froze my ass off.

I woke up around 2pm when I heard Grandma arrive.  I was drifting in and out of consciousness so I really have no idea what she was talking about, but it was too loud for my taste so I quickly turned the DVD player off, switched the tv to the channel that was playing some basketball, and went to crawl into my mom’s bed.

At about 3pm, I woke again.  Grandma had started vacuuming. I tell you, the woman cannot just sit and do nothing.  Even though my mom constantly tells Grandma not to use our vacuum (because she breaks them????), Grandma doesn’t listen and insists on vacuuming our house. I wanted to knife her, but not that badly because I didn’t expend any energy at all to ask her to stop.

It was about 4pm when I started feeling like I needed to stop procrastinating and do my homework. Only, it felt like death to not be horizontal.

I started my homework at about 7pm, and that shows.  I’m only slightly embarrassed to hand in my case study and I won’t be that mad when I don’t get 100%. I won’t be that mad because last night was fun enough to be worth less than 100% on the piece of shit case study I handed in this evening.

I am, however, a little disappointed in myself because, dude, I cannot drink like I used to.  Not like I could in college.  Growing up sucks.

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There are just some songs that stick with you sometimes, you know? The ones that replay in your head over and over again. The ones that you can listen to endlessly and never get sick of.

Dude. I totally have one of those right now.

This love affair has lasted longer than I can even remember. I don’t know the first time I heard the song but I’m fairly certain that I was like oh em gee, more please! the first time I heard it.

I saw the video for it and decided I would still love the song despite the fact that the video elicits the following reaction: uhm, what the fuck?

Any guesses?

Whatever, I’ll tell you. Just a Dream by Nelly.

What I love about it is that new Nelly sounds like old Nelly, which I think is great.  If only Christina Aguilera would go back to the days of What a Girl Wants or the entire Stripped album. Ugh.

Anyway, the best part about Just a Dream is this cover I found by these youtubers I am slightly obsessed with. Kurt Schneider and Sam Tsui do covers and make videos of all kinds of stuff and every single one is good. Even though Sam reminds me of a Disney Prince of some sort. He smiles all the damn time! Love love love!!

I especially love when Christina sings. Her voice is so so so so good. Oh, and the Usher part about not being able to let it burn, obviously. And the part where you have to put your hands up if you’ve ever loved somebody. I do it even though I haven’t been in love. Not for real.

And that time I did tell someone I loved him, I totally lied. Because, hello, it’s rude to not say it when someone expects you to say it. And apparently I’m a people-pleaser?! Dick move, self. Whatever.

It’s just that love is pretty much just fucked. And, while it’s a precious concept and I do wish that two people really could be together forever and stuff, let’s get real, it just doesn’t really exist.

Except for in the case of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Love exists for them.

Ugh. I suppose I can save my bitter cynicism for another day.

Hope your President’s Day-weekend is/was excellent. I have tomorrow off from work for the holiday. Win. I plan on sleeping in. In my own bed.

For Christmas, I gave Nikki a gift card to a salon/spa with the intent that we would get pedicures together. Well, as fate would have it, as a birthday activity, Nikki and I went to get pedicures yesterday afternoon. For an hour and a half, we sat in cushy, black recliners while we soaked our feet in warm water and got to have our toes painted.

I happen to be very, very ticklish, a fact I always seem to forget until someone is touching my feet.

Anyway, yes, for an hour and a half my feet were very well taken care of. And then I put my socks back on and shoved my feet into my boots and we ventured back out into the Michigan snow.

Later that night, I slipped my stocking-covered feet into some black ballet flats while me and my gal pals terrorized East Lansing once again as we tried to “re-do” new year’s eve.

My toes were perfect. Not a chip or a smudge.

When I went to put on some fuzzy socks I noticed that something is not quite right with my toes. I think it has something to do with the fact that the three toesies in the middle on my left foot also kind of hurt.

I’m sure you’re wondering why that might be.

Don’t worry, I’ll tell you.

This morning, after I woke up and told Megan that I had yet another dream where I was about to die, and after I asked her if she wanted me to give her a wet-willy, we decided we’d venture downstairs to reunite with the last leg of our Tripod. Megan left the room and headed down the stairs before me because I turned back thinking I would bring my fleece love-knot blanket and LP down with me. Then, because I realized that my hands were already full with a three-quarter of the way full plastic cup of water and my crackberry, I decided I could live without LP and good ole fleecey.  At least for the time being.

I had taken maybe two steps when I turned my head to say, “I’ll come back for you!” in a whisper to LP when all hell broke loose.

Before I knew it, I was in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs with nothing but an empty cup in my hand.

I’d just like to point out that Megan’s stairway is very, very steep and it’s probably a safety hazard. I’m not just an idiot who doesn’t know how to do steps.

Megan came back from wherever she had been and then started laughing when she saw that I wasn’t actually hurt. Apparently, all she heard was a big thuddddd and a “whoa” and knew she needed to check on me.

After I picked myself up off the floor, I went to go tell Seneca that I had just bit it down the stairs but my first question was if she was even awake. The response I got? Something along the lines of “how could I not be?!”  While she didn’t hear the “whoa” punctuating my fall, she did hear me whine, “Ohhh, now I’m all wet!”

I’m pretty sure I’m not telling this right because I was laughing my ass off as the three of us regaled the hilarity it was to know that I took a tumble down the stairs.

My point is, now one of my toenails is a tiny bit chipped and there’s some degree of rug burn on my three middle toes on just my one foot.

If we could have filmed me busting my ass like that, I totally could have won some money on America’s Funniest Home Videos.

I pretty much just need my own camera crew, a few corporate sponsors and a reality show/development deal with a major TV network. I’m pretty sure I’ve got my life all mapped out.

I don’t understand why people drink on planes.

Right now, at this juncture, I’m not sure why anyone drinks (to excess) in the first place. But that’s just because I’m experiencing the unfortunate after effects of a condition called Too-Much-Tequila.

I just feel like you see people drink a lot on planes, like it’s a good idea.

I don’t understand it.

There are pressure changes and recycled air. Tiny bathrooms. Too-small seats. Not enough leg room.  Too many people, strangers.

Not to mention that obviously if the flight is long enough to allow for the on-set of the hangover, you’re basically fucked. That would be terrible.

The only thing I want to do on a plane is sleep in hopes that when I wake up it’s over and I can gtfo. When I find my seat, I shove my shit under the seat in front of me, grab LP and lean against the window. I shut my eyes and hope sleep finds me. Luckily, it always does because I can pretty much sleep anywhere anytime.

While I don’t usually sleep the entire flight uninterrupted, I wake up long enough to turn my ipod on once the “fasten seatbelt” light has been turned off then zonk back out.  Next, I wake up just in time to tell the flight attendant that I would not like anything to drink.

See? I pass on all liquid on planes. How do people decide to hit the hard stuff while cruising at 30,000 feet in the air? What is the appeal?

Perhaps I’m looking at this the wrong way. Maybe I would enjoy flying if I got tanked? Just not too tanked before take-off or they won’t let me on the plane. That’s a rule, right? I’ve seen that in movies too.

Oh, in case you noticed, this isn’t a list. It is however another random musing. My lists of late have been stupid. And Drew complained to me about it. So I’m changing things up.

‘Cause it’s my party and I can cry if I want to.

There’s nothing that makes me feel more like a slacker in life than taking a nap at one o’clock in the afternoon on the couch.  I had zonked out in the living room while watching Grey’s Anatomy and awoke to the sound of the doorbell. It’s embarrassing to be startled awake and to sit up to see a man peering through the window at the front door.

Why didn’t I nap downstairs?!

That way, not only would I not have been disturbed by the doorbell, some creeper man wouldn’t be looking through the window as I sleep on the couch.

Never mind the fact that it was one o’clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday.  Never mind the fact that I woke up this morning at ten. Never mind the fact that I went to sleep the night before at a fairly early time, which I would share with you if I had any idea. But considering I woke up with my glasses in my bed, I can tell you that I fell asleep with my glasses still on my face, which doesn’t happen unless I zonk out unexpectedly.

Nothing says valuable member of society like a nap at one o’clock in the afternoon.

Also, I really sealed the deal when I made a complete ass of myself in front of his unexpected visitor.

I couldn’t figure out the lock on the door. And that was after I slipped on the hardwood floor on my way to even get to the door.

This man was from a local bathroom and kitchen cabinetry store. He was stopping by to pick up a cabinet.

If you’re confused, imagine the amount of fail that came out of my mouth and every move I made in front of him.

I was unaware we had a spare cabinet. Anywhere.

Not only did I make him repeat pretty much everything he said to me at least three times (my listening skills really are not what they used to be), I wandered around the house with him in tow repeatedly saying, “I have no idea what you’re talking about or why you’re here. I don’t know what’s going on!”

We looked in the kitchen, the laundry room, the basement, the storage room, the utilities room, the garage, the bonus room… we looked everywhere!

He awkwardly lurked in the house as I frantically called my mother, who never answers her phone. I called the switchboard at her work and made some nice man named Tyler transfer me to her office because I totally don’t know that number. And finally, I called her administrative assistant in a panic, and made her track her down across campus. My mom didn’t even have any idea why this man was at our house. We have no spare cabinets to return.

He was so not right.

Needless to say, he left. Sans cabinet.

And I was so embarrassed about my nap that I decided that I should be productive and do my homework instead. So, that’s what I did.

As for afternoon naps, let’s get real: I’m obviously still going to take naps. There is just nothing better. Even if they do get interrupted and make you feel super unproductive.

my room is still a mess. my desk stresses me out because I don’t know how to organize it.

I’m exhausted. My body hurts. All I want to do is sleep. My body heat keeps fluctuating so I can never decide if I’m hot or cold.

This whole move has been a roller coaster. There were times yesterday I was ready to punch someone in the face. But mostly I was excited and pretty nice to everyone.

This week of vacation doesn’t feel like “vacation.” It really just feels like “stress-city,” which I don’t really appreciate.

"This box just says miscellaneous. Does that mean bedroom miscellaneous or kitchen miscellaneous?" Yes, The American President does apply to everything in life.

Stella, aka Satan’s spawn, is freaked the eff out. She was a hot mess in the car on the way to the new house and then was too scared to do anything other than hide behind her litter box. She’s a weird cat.

The house is gorgeous and everything is coming together. Moving is a process.

I’ll post more pictures Thursday, probably. I’ll also maybe show you what my haircut looks like. Maybe. If you’re good.

I just can’t do any thinking tonight. I’m too tired. I’m going to go to bed. Yeah.  Super early.

What? It’s sexy.