that's what you get for wakin' up in the suburbs*
*Did I say wakin' up? I mean waking up would presume I've slept and I'm still sleeping for hell wherein the word sleep should be a verb, but instead it's something akin to the jackass 11th grade boy who mocked you relentlessly when you were a somewhat freakishly overdeveloped 9th grade girl who would've preferred the earth open up and swallow her whole when it was time for gym class and your uniform tshirt was grossly tight rather than endure his taunts and tirades while you kept one eye on the clock and the other on the other side of the volleyball net so as not to be smacked in the kisser when the smudged white orb came sailing over after being helped along by an overly aggressive boy from your homeroom who used to eat crayon shavings in first grade but now apparently has a mission in life to be remembered for being a tool.
(or the short version - still not sleeping at all)
Thank you for all your suggestions and sympathies to my post earlier this week about my insomnia. Short of the suggestion to start having an evening libation, I've been following most of the suggestions to the letter (except I like to read before bed because typically, I'd fall asleep and wake up in the morning with the book over my face, but lately, not so much). I even take an over-the-counter sleep aid, which I've started to look forward to a bit like Pavlov's dog. To save a bit of money, I bought some generic version of Tylenol PM called Sleep II, which is apparently the a sequel (the Electric Boogaloo) of Sleep (also? sigh...I'm so tired it took me forever to think of the word sequel. Instead, I thought of things like follow up, that which comes after the first, next thing, thing that often isn't as good as the first, should have just left it alone after the first one, and what's it called?). That's to say Sleep II is like the bastardization of Teen Wolf starring Michael J. Fox in which Jason Bateman is now failing to lull me into slumber through the likes of Teen Wolf Too, but the manufacturer knows I'm going to buy it because I loved the first version so much the second one has to be good too, right?
Answer - no.
Also - thank you, Betsey Booms, for making me constantly think of Teen Wolf!
Anyway, I cried a lot when I read some of your comments, as well as the emails some of you sent me, too. Cried, you say? Yes. Because I am just that tired. And because you're all so nice. Perhaps if we hugged, I'd be lulled into the false sense that someone was rocking me to sleep and I'd quickly drift away while my chin dug deeper and deeper into your shoulder, but because you felt sorry for me, you'd stand there, unmoving, even though you might have to use the bathroom or damn, your favorite show is over and the remote control is all the way across the room, or your nose started to itch, because you felt sorry for me and wanted me to get as much sleep as possible. You people are good people!
So...are you still with me? Have you really read these first rambling paragraphs? Then you'll realize THIS is part of the reason I can't sleep! My mind never seems to shut down and spends the wee evening hours as a springboard of inane thought. To share, and to perhaps exorcise some of the demons in my head, I thought I'd share a sampling of what goes on in my mind in the midnight hour:
- Does anyone ever use an entire bottle of fingernail polish? Ever? I've got bottles that are older than my children.
- Ack!! Why am I in bed with my father-in-law!! Oh, it's just my Tool Man, who, after shaving off the goatee that's been a staple of his face for so long, looks scarily like his dad now. I hope he picks up these subliminal messages I've been sending him as I whisper in his ear as he sleeps to grow the facial hair back. I'll even welcome the full beard should he want it back.
- Why was that weird old dude wearing sunglasses and sitting in the corner of the Dairy Queen, suspiciously not eating any treats (tip - the Tagalong Blizzard? Meh.) staring at me the entire time I was trying to eat my hamburger and french fries?
- Did it make me paranoid? Yes. So paranoid, in fact, that here would be a perfect opportunity to insert a Jonas Brothers video of their song of the same name!
- Joe. Joe. Joe. Joe. I feel sorry for Kevin. Joe. Joe. Joe
- Goddamn you, Nickelback!. I do not want to like you. Get the hell out of my head!
- If the Ed Hardy clothing line ever releases a shirt that reads Team Kate in their tattoo-inspired design, I promise you I'll go out and buy one for every damn day of the week. She may be a bitch, but when you've been married to a complete douche like Jon Gosselin for 10 years, who's out parading a 22 year old girl around the south of France on a yacht (he's on a boat!) and calling what is clearly his girlfriend his stylist (which would infer one has style, but him? clearly not)(nor does he have class) then I think there's a pretty defined reason why Kate kept his manhood in a jar on top of the fridge.
- Speaking of that douche Jon Gosselin, is it just me, or is he another set of hair plugs (sorry that first batch doesn't seem to have done much for you, bub) and a bad straw cowboy hat away from morphing into Bret Michaels. Douche. That one's for Jon Gosselin again. Although Bret Michaels? Yeah, you're kind of close.
- Speaking of douche some more, is it just me or does there seem to be a rampant, wildfire-like use of the word douche and douche bag on television these days? I should note that using that word makes me cringe. It doesn't delight me in the way the word conundrum does, but it seems to be all over TV these days. I don't even watch that much TV, but it's uttered on nearly every program I tune into. I'm expecting Jim Bob Duggar to fire off a rant filled with bleeped out expletives and douche this and douche bag that any day now on 18 Kids and Counting.
- If he did, I, of course, would be even more delighted in that than I was when Josh Duggar crowned his wife Anna a master swallower (which HELL YES! I just googled that line to see if there was a video clip of it out there yet and the post I wrote wherein I proclaimed that line to be a perfect gift bestowed upon the universe much like that of the birth of the Christ child - except I didn't go quite that far - comes in JUST AFTER Josh and Anna Duggar's official website!!! As the Duggars might say, God is, indeed, good. By the way, that same post was where I posted photos of myself from my junior prom, so if you haven't seen those, or you wish to see why that douche (see!? EVERYWHERE!) 11th grade boy mad fun of me, here's your chance. You know what else is good in addition to my blog standings there? Take a look below:
Oh, Internet, you are so, so good to me! I love you, sweet collection of wires and pulleys! I don't know what the cat is all about, but apparently it's playing them out (is this some fad I'm unaware of as I fail to sleep?), but if that's the case, I should let it play me out of this post because it's far, far too long now and my son has a play date coming over in an hour and I'm still in my pajamas, which is funny because why do I wear pajamas if I don't sleep, and I'm laughing, laughing, laughing at the irony, but you're probably not because I'm the one who's exhausted and you? You're probably just exhausted of me. I completely understand.
p.s. - I just realized someone googling any of the Duggars may now get this post and believe my rampant use of the words douche and douche bag (shudder) relates to them. I assure you that will never be the case. At least as long as Michelle Duggar and her girls never buy any Ed Hardy tshirts at their local thrift stores.