Chocolate O’ Chocolate, whatchyou do to me

i ate a lot of cake yesterday. i had an emergency chocolate, chocolate-fudge calling. BUT i’m allergic to wheat, so i had to take a benedryl.

now. it’s 9:00pm, i’ve taken benedryl, and most peeps can prolly guess what the benny-d’s does to me: sleep like a stone.

i thought about going to bed early so i’d already be in bed when i checked out for the night, but damn that couch be lookin fine! couch wins. matthew couldn’t budge me to bed, i was out like Fraser v. Ali, so he gave up and went to bed without me.

3:00am my drugged ass wakes up and i’m just omg i hurt so bad need bed and millet pillow stat. i actually take the time to wash off my waterproof mascara, unbelievably, and then ooze my way into the bed buck nekkid cause who gives a shit about finding a damn nightgown at 3 am? a few hours later and matthew gets me up. i am in so. much. pain. from sleeping like a pretzel on the couch. ow.

next time, benedryl = bed drill. (cough, yeah right!)

Tiara Trouble

as a Society Gal on the Go, i’ve lived always to the social extremes—most popular, pariah, belle, irritance, to the now ever glamorous ‘It Girl’ amongst the denizens of my couch.

as a kindergartner, i recall with perfectly that i was the most sought after by both boys and girls because i was totally balls to the wall in everything i did. whether it was making hotdog factories from blocks with the boys or playing dress-up with the girls, i squeezed everything there was to be squozen.

but the same friends started turning on me as we got a little older and i wasn’t balls to the wall Liz Claiborne. the fastest girl still wasn’t as fast as the fastest boy, and the fastest girl, def was not french braid material.

my teeter-totter troubles just tripped into motion a woeful tale of most my life in pecking-order’s dumps. i mean, the only thing i had going for me was that i wasn’t Nicky. dear Nicky’s of the world, i’m sorry, really sorry. but the Christine’s thank you! god at least i don’t *think* i was a Nicky, was i? omg my life is so over if i were secretly a Nicky. or worse, THE Nicky! i’m having heart palpitations! in the not swooning way!

i found my stride in college amongst intellectual peers and partiers, the two areas of my life where i outstripped most co-eds. the catch was i didn’t know this was my bright and shiny moment, i thought i’d finally arrived at me, Me, ME!

i started grad school, and it was totally like eighth grade Poodle Skirt Day, and i was the only one not in a poodle skirt. i did learn who Judith Butler was though. and i did learn it was possible to be smarter than a professor. i also learned that just like Poodle Skirt Day, the coolest kid still has to approve you for you to be “in.”

what i never learned was “who gives a shit?” i could blame social imprinting for teaching me that popularity is everything, but shouldn’t a decently intelligent person outgrow that at some point? i’ve always wanted to win Most Popular Girl tiara, but that’s once piece of plastic i’ll never earn. and that’s it, ultimately, it’s plastic. it’s a rigid, cheap toy easily broken.

popularity is as restrictive as a tiara: try to adapt it, and the pressure cracks.

Nail Me to the Couch!

i don’t know what is going on with me today, but i am super sensitive to sound.

it all started with Julia Roberts (laugh, don’t laugh, i don’t care!). for some reason i wanted to watch Runaway Bride (so sue me for bad taste), and i assumed it would be background noise while i convo-ed with a friend.

OMG no! i couldn’t quit watching the tv because it was all i could hear. and i had it turned down to whisper mode, but still, all i could hear was Joan Cusack. Julia Roberts sounded like an unhearable ghost, but lively Joan, she goofy side-kick squawked at me for all 15 minutes i watched it. Richard Gere tore through my brain like the cockroach fart-voice in Naked Lunch.

my husband’s voice breaks the sound barrier—and him microwaving his lunch was like slamming doors in a home built in 1900, echoing through my head with wild reverberation! shook my brain like the physical slam you feel from those heavy wooden doors unlike any modern thing.

my cat sweetly purrs in my ear on the couch behind me, a favorite sound. all i hear is a contractor driving nails installing a new roof—ow! ow! ow! bam! bam! bam!

if someone with a didgeredoo walks up to the door, i’m moving out.

ok, so you get it. every sound thunders. but why? what is this feeling? i think i am tired. i think i am very tired. i slept on the couch til what my body said was 3:30 am, which is not good sleep, but really the clocks turned back so it was 2:30 am. 3:30 physiological is not so great. then up at 9:15, which was supposed to be 10:00, but still… had looked forward to sleeping til 11:00 for some reason.

hammers, nails, super-sonic, sound-barrier blasts. i need a nap i think…