I said what to who now?

We've all seen Animal House, yes? If you haven't, please take this time to crawl out of your hole in the ground and visit your local video store. Warning, milk will shoot out your nose. Even if you're not drinking milk, it's inevitable. (Moving on...) A lot of us have had "those nights," you know, the ones we cannot remember no matter how hard we rack our brains. Exactly how many lemon drops did I consume? Who sent all of those text messages from my phone that read, "Im os drnk" or "I lobe u man."? (What is it in those alcoholic beverages that makes everyone so loving?) It has to be such an awful feeling to wake up in the morning and not remember the last 15 hours of your life.


I'm not much of a drinker. Two cocktails will make my face all red and I'm done for the night. The closest I've ever come to the stereotypical, drunken blackout was the morning after my friend's bachelorette party last summer. I woke up after a night of two amaretto stone sours (See, two drinks = my limit.) and felt movement from the other side of the bed. Considering that Bridge Man was in a bed three hours away from the one I woke up in, I panicked and tried to remember what I had done the night before. I could remember everything; we went to a minor league baseball game, headed to a friend's apartment for some gift giving and cake, then headed out to the local bars to consume my two drinks, and went to bed. In my panicked state I laid there for what seemed like hours. I was freaked out that I might roll over and see a stranger looking right at me. After reliving the night in my head I mustered up the courage to turn my head to see what random stranger lay in the bed next to me.



It was Moon Beam. The feeling of relief at that moment was so relieving, I was lucky to keep from peeing my pants.





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Bridge Man (how do you like that segue?) is sleeping on the couch across the room right now. We have settled in this ritualistic way of going to bed every night. Bridge Man falls asleep after watching Seinfeld reruns and an always compelling hour of Countdown. I, on the other hand, spend the evening on the Internet returning emails and reading my ever growing blog roll before I flip the television to an episode of Scrubs and fall asleep. We're barely newlyweds, people. Yet we spend every night like an old married couple. My favorite is when the B-Man falls asleep in the same position in which he was watching TV. His head will slowly fall down, pop back up, and then he looses all control; his head will fall so quickly it wakes him from his slumber. He will look around confused and unsure of what took place. This goes on until about 3am, when he'll wake up and decide that it's probably time for us to finally go to bed.



Fast forward to the following morning. B-Man gets up before I do to get ready for work. I'll lay there is bed and try my hardest to remember how I got there in the first place. For those loyal readers out there you'll remember how insane I get when my sleep is disturbed. Sleep is a drug for me. Once I move into REM sleep there's no turning back and I black out. You can "wake" me, have full conversations, dance the meringue and I don't remember a wink. I slept through tornadoes that wiped down homes and buildings around me. (Seriously.) I slept through the earth quakes that shook the Midwest this last Spring. And I have to set two bloody alarm clocks each night to insure that I wake up for work each morning. I'm not exaggerating, people. Is this a survival method? Do my ancestors include bears and lady bugs? (Do you know that lady bugs hibernate? That's a fun little fact for you.)

As I reread my last few statements I realize that it's time for bed. Once I begin contemplating the existance of a cross between a bear and a lady bug my mind is offically shot for the day.