Me: *sipping coffee at 7:30 a.m.*
Me: *climbing out of the shower at 8:01 a.m.*
Me: *staring stupidly at my laptop at 9:00 a.m.*
When the bulldozers quit, Trailer Trash Barbie's two little dogs, who were apparently annoyed with the sweet, SWEET sound of silence, decided to fill the void with non-stop yapping. Every half hour or so I would hear her bellow, "SHUT UP!!!" and the yapping would cease for a minute or so, and then...
"YAP YAP YAP! YAP YAP YAP! YAP YAP YAP!"
And so on.
I could not take a single thought from point A to point B. Little random ideas were spritzing around in my brain, kind of like popcorn or the bubbles in my Coke Zero, but I was incapable of bringing any of them to fruition.
So I finally quit trying.
I decided to spend the entire day NOT THINKING. You cannot imagine how unlike me that is. I am generally incapable of doing less than three things at the same time because if I'm only doing ONE thing, I get bored. On one hand (for example), I can do things like create, cook and serve a 5 course meal and get every single item on the table at the exact moment that they are supposed to be there. I kick ASS at Thanksgiving dinner because all of the food is ready at the same time. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, two vegetables, homemade cranberry sauce, gravy and rolls... You want it done at 3:14? I'm on it. I'm like Dani Scissor Hands, only with food. (I did not inherit this skill from my mother, who couldn't serve a meal on time if her life depended on it. If she says we're eating at 5, we ALL know we won't be sitting down until 7 and there will be one thing still in the oven that she will forget until the meal is half over, like the dinner rolls.)
On the other hand, my brain gets so tired, y'all. Seriously, I can't stop thinking. There is no quiet time in my head. My inner-dialog is never-ending. It's like having a conversation with my sister about every movie she's ever seen. (My sister will literally take 3 hours to tell you about a 2 hour movie. And since she loves watching movies, having her explain them ALLLLL would take years. YEARS. And she'd do it, too. My parents were afraid I'd never learn to talk because they didn't think she'd let me get a word in edge-wise. So all of you who think I talk a lot? It's a self-defense mechanism. I HAD to talk a lot. Otherwise I'd be like Tarzan, and speak only in grunts and sign language. True story.)
I turned off the computer, turned on the tv, and spent the rest of the afternoon watching Absolutely Fabulous.
(When I die, I want to come back as Patsy Stone.)
I love this show because not only is Jennifer Saunders a comic genius, I find the total and complete narcissism of the two characters, Patsy and Edina, completely refreshing. Rather than extolling the virtues of goodness and morality, they are so fantastically self-absorbed that it's beautiful to behold.
Anyway, it was so peaceful. I absorbed pearls of wisdom like, "Your tits are the key to your CAGE, sweetie!" and "You can not give these sorts of clothes to the poor! Don't they have enough humiliation to contend with without being caught wearing last season's fashions?" and my favorite, "A mixed-race baby is the finest accessory anyone in my position could have! It's the Chanel of babies!" (Sidebar: Is it just me, or do celebrities carry their adopted children around for wayyyyy too long? I quit toting my boys on my hip when they were around 3, and only then when they were a) tired or b) having a fit and needed to be removed. I mean, sheesh... Put the kid DOWN! When they're as tall as you are, they need to walk. Am I right? It's like they bought a really fabulous handbag and are showing it off, only instead of a big, expensive logo it's a precious little dark face. And no, I'm not putting down celebrity adoptions or foreign adoptions or any kind of adoption... I'm just saying that once Angelina started hauling kids home from Africa, next thing you knew, EVERYONE was doing it. One of these days, I guarantee it, Paris Hilton will be carrying a pygmy around with a little pink bow around it's neck, saying, "That's hawt...". You can quote me on this.)
I didn't even cook dinner last night. I re-plugged in the crockpot with the night before's spaghetti and that's what Dan ate. (I went even one step less for myself... I rolled up some sliced turkey with swiss cheese and ate it while standing up in the kitchen plugging in the crockpot.)
It was amazing. After Dan got home, we watched American Pickers and Pawn Stars together, then he tuned in to the Mets game and I watched back to back episodes of King of Queens.
I slept like a rock. No Ambien, no insomnia... my head hit the pillow and I was out. No voices in my head keeping me awake, no rapid-fire questions and answers going on in my brain, just... white noise.
I'm thinking if I want to get a good night's sleep every night I need to dumb it down.
Which is why I'm DVR-ing Maury AS WE SPEAK.
There is nothing that requires less intelligence than getting knocked up and having no clue who your Baby Daddy is, yo. Ambien's expensive, I'm unemployed, and I need some rest.