Friday, December 3, 2010

It's 3 am and I'm Not Dr. Phil

*NOTE: If you are my actual neighbors who were involved in a Domestic Disturbance last night, I am TOTALLY being facetious and NOT REALLY talking about you. Because I'm fairly sure that you've all committed numerous felonies and I'd prefer *not* to be one of the reasons you finally go down on an assault beef. Remember, NOT you. Some other, loud, crazy neighbor, that may or may not have used the exact language you used. While you screamed in your driveway. But it's NOT REALLY YOU. Also, why would you be reading my blog?*

So last night, I was in the middle of a very detailed, cinematic quality dream. I should actually take a second to jot down the plot, because frankly, *that* dream had far more plot than I can come up with during my waking hours. There was something involving a grossly deformed crime figure who collected rare disfigured animals; but he was chasing a woman who knew his secrets to try and kill her! Sure, she looked a lot like Cheryl Crow, but she also killed her would-be murder with a sharpened hair pin! I drove the get away car, and drove it pretty well, I MIGHT ADD.

In the middle of all THAT jazz, I woke up. Which was okay, because the crime figure was getting close to finding where Cheryl Crow and I parked our stolen Cadillac (did I mention it was pearl white?) - see, we'd planned to park it in long term parking for a cruise ship line and then escape from the parking lot....

Aaaaanyway.

I woke up.

I thought it was because of my Ongoing Obnoxious Paging Dr. House Medical Mystery that makes me feel like I have to pee every hour on the hour, but no. It was some sort of loud action occurring outside mah bedroom window.

The Man was already up and at 'em and it was the sprightly hour of 3 or so am. FUN. Let me be clear when I say that the only thing waking me up at 3 am had BETTER be the Sweepstakes People who bring balloons and big fake checks with LOTS of zeros. But if they woke me up in my bedroom, or even outside my bedroom, they might get shot by a gun I named "Bertha" in my dream (but I would *never* name my REAL gun Bertha because it's just undignified somehow)(Now I'm distracted thinking of what I really might name my shotgun)(I'm at a total loss here).

I was totally confused, had to pee (or not), and could only hear the phrase "motherfucker" being yelled repeatedly, as in "You'd BETTER not leave, Motherfucker!" or "Motherfucker, don't leave!" and I'm thinking, usually when *I* try to convince The Man of something, it ALWAYS goes better if I'm not calling him Motherfucker when I do it.

But, Motherfucker apparently didn't leave and eventually after shouting a few more things at each other, my *chaaaarming* neighbors (read this as: NOT getting a last minute Christmas card THIS year) went back inside. And I lay awake. Because AWAKE is sooooo where I want to be at 3:45 in the morning.

Then the Children of the Corn came in at 5. A.M. And wanted breakfast.

Didn't happen.

Finally, I had to get up for the day at 6. I dragged my decrepit leaky bladder downstairs to make some coffee and get this Friday started.

And, because the Advil worked on my burgeoning headache AND I believe in karma, I didn't even honk my way out of the driveway to annoy Mr. and Mrs. Still Happily Married Motherfucker. But I may name my gun. Because really, why not.

Comments, questions, how did YOUR Friday start?

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