Last night was hysterical in its hi-jinx and creepy dreams, but it wasn't too conducive for sleep--I tossed, I turned, my arms fell asleep, I got laid upon by my husband who pretends in the middle of the night that I'm either the mattress or a pillow. You see, John and I went for wings. We weren't there long, but we were there long enough for me to come home roll around on the floor with John and the dog, then pass out on the couch while trying to watch Aqua Teen Hungerforce (which is kinda a little ritual that we have--watching ATH not the passing out...ok, maybe that too).

Apparently John undressed me, because I woke up this morning in only socks and when I went to grab my bra it was still clasped...he's the only man I've ever met that removes a girl's bra by pulling it over her head like a shirt. That got me to thinking about my dreams...but I said nothing at first because they were just soo weird. John said to me trying to distract me from my temper tantrum--I was beating the blankets whining about not sleeping enough, "I had some really crazy dreams last night," but he didn't know who he was talking to because in between getting woken up by John's sleep sneezing where he would do the following all in one swift motion:Sneeze. Sit Up. Flail arms. Hit me in the boobs--so while he was doing all that, I was having the weirdest dreams in the world.

First, I dreamed that I was trying to write a short story about mechanical sharks created by the government to kill people ( an odd little idea). Then I dreamed about the same sharks but this time they were out to get John and myself--it was like watching Jaws but my stumpy legs were in the shark's eyes view right before he chomped on me! Then I dreamed that John's mom was a heroin drug runner in a college town and that a shipment disappeared. For the rest of that dream we were frantically trying to get ahold of more heroin to replace the missing heroin so that we wouldn't be chopped into tiny pieces. We were not successful, unfortunately--I'd like to thank the creators of Fargo and Quentin Tarentino for providing me with enough bloody references to create a dream that was that gross! Then I dreamed that John and I were having sex...that turned out to not be a dream though, I think. Let me explain.

I asked John this morning, "Did you have sex my inebriated body last night?" as I picked up the His reply, "Maybe? Why do you ask?" I looked at his little grin and said, "Well I dreamed we had sex but I couldn't remember if we actually did or not." Johnny says to me with a straight face, "Well if you can't remember then...no, we didn't have sex last night."
He's such a rascal, and I honestly still don't know.