I somehow think that somewhere there is an official record of everything you ever do. And there are little statisticians who rate everything. You know, Most Embarassing Moments, Best 10 Kisses Ever, Jobs I Would Have Been Great At, etc. I don’t know who these statisticians are, but I’m certain that somewhere, someone’s keeping track.
And in the Top Ten Worst Nights of Sleep Weetabix Ever Received, last night was most likely at least #4 or #5 on that list. (The number 1 spot is reserved for the night we spent camping at Manitowish Waters when it was so cold, it kept waking us up and our tent leaked so much, we discovered what possessions of ours could, in the event of an emergency landing, be possibly used as a floatation device.)
Sometime between ‘Fear Factor’ and ‘Jackass’ last night, I developed the most feared sucky disease there is’. The summer cold. My nose is doing it’s impression of Niagra Falls. Or maybe Viagra Falls. Hmmm. That didn’t really make sense but I’m going to have to work that joke in somewhere, sometime. Viagra Falls. That’s pretty funny. To me anyway. But then, I’m doped up on cold medication, and I find mouse pads funny. Like feminine protection for mice. Get it? Huh? You know? Pads! Um. Ok.
Anyway, my nose did not stop running. And I couldn’t get to sleep until 1 o’clock this morning. Then Esteban came home and woke our noisy cat Chelsea, who then proceeded to ‘Mrow’ and ‘Mraaaaa!’ for an hour until she had been appeased with furious petting. He spoils her way too much. She is completely quiet when I go to bed, but when Esteban comes to bed, she knows it’s party time. You see, she knows that Mama Weetabix is a beyotch and won’t pet her. Stop looking at me like that. If you had to deal with a cat who is constantly meowing, you’d learn to ignore her pathetic attempts for attention as well.
Fine, Esteban appeases the Red Menace known as Chelsea. I could not stop shaking so I got up and put on my college sweatshirt over my pajamas and took an Advil Sinus so I could stop stuffing sodden tissues up my nostril to absorb the snot. Half an hour later when the drugs took effect, I was able to fall back asleep.
An hour later, a huge thunderstorm hit. Boom! Crash! Pow! At one point, I counted seven distinct police/fire/ambulance sirens speeding somewhere near our house. That subsided around 4:30 a.m. this morning and I managed to fall back asleep around 5:00 a.m., to be woken at 6:00 a.m. to go to work.
And I’m working 4 ten-hour shifts this week, which means I won’t be home until 7:30 tonight. And I only have four Ricola Cherry Mint cough drops. And they’re sticky because they’re leftover from winter.
I love my fucking life.
Last night on ‘Jackass’, I watched a man make an omelet by eating the raw ingredients and then regurgitate them back out and cook them in a skillet. Then he ate it, after it reached 160 degrees. And a warning played across the screen stating that the government has declared 160 degrees to be the ‘safe’ temperature.
Does it disturb anyone else that the government has regulated how one may eat their own vomit?
The people on ‘Jackass’ misspelled ‘omelet’ last night. I’m not the only one with spelling Alzheimer’s disease.
