I Just Want to Go to Sleep

I am answering questions posted by Sean from the Just a Jeep Guy blog. The questions are based around the bedroom. Precisely sleep.

Number five: Do you hog the blankets?

I learned a valuable lesson from an incredibly sexy man (Steven Mies on Facebook) I quazi-dated in Dallas years ago. His philosophy was that if you forget to make your bed, it will begin a string of daily tasks you will forget. Meaning, if you get lazy and don’t make your bed, then you have a green light to slough off everything for that day. “Didn’t make my bed...guess I don’t need to floss either. Didn’t floss? Cookies for lunch.” Feel bad from eating nothing but cookies, crank it up on the toll-way. Bam!  $200 speeding ticket. That $200 bucks was to take out that hot guy you’ve been stocking on Scruff for two months. 

You have plaque, you’re fat, your car insurance is going up, and that hot guy wont go out with you because you had to cancel that one time, all because you didn’t make your bed. I’m trying to help you get laid here. Make your bed. 

I live by this philosophy. When starting to share a bed with the Fuzzy Monster, my lifetime homosex companion partner, I quickly noticed two things, first was he believed in the “buy a set of sheets; put them on the bed; never take them off” concept. You know what I mean. Second, he is also is a major blanket hog. So is the bowling ball of a dog. If you ask Fuzzy, he’ll say he is not. He’ll vehemently deny that he even uses the covers. “I’m Italian, we’re hot blooded, we don’t need blankets.”  Yet, for the first two years, I’d wake up in the middle of the night with a quarter inch supply of sheet. The majority of the blanket acreage would be balled up under the Shar-pei and the around the Italian’s legs.  This is when I started to move to a new approach to making the bed. 

I went out and bought a replica of our blanket, and began making the bed, by only placed my doppelgänger blanket only on my side. Genius! No one in the bedroom was the wiser. I had my comforter I could wrap around just me and left the original to my bed fellows.  

It was just this Christmas that I switched my tactical operation. Tired of making the bed as one would make an Excel spreadsheet, I requested  a new high-end comforter, in king-sized for the queen-sized bed. Now the dog and man can have their tiny amount barely hang off their side as my vast tracks of down comforter cascades down onto the floor. Heaven. I have also found it’s easier to make the bed in the morning. When I remember.  

I JUST WANNA GO TO SLEEP
1. What do you wear to bed?
2. Who or what sleeps with you at night?
3. Do you like a cold room or a hot room?
4. Many blankets, or just one?
5. Do you hog the blankets?
6. What size is your bed and what kind of mattress is it?
7. Do you eat in bed?
8. What kind of sleeper are you?
9. What is under your bed? 
BONUS: What won't you do in bed?

I Just Want to Go to Sleep

I am answering questions posted by Sean from the Just a Jeep Guy blog. The questions are based around the bedroom. Precisely sleep.

Number four:

I had recently blogged about my down comforter I received last Christmas. 

“Growing up without the simple knowledge that bedding wasn’t all animal themed acrylic blankets,” I now am a self-described bedding snob. This means the very best down duvet I can afford. I sleep with one blanket, plus a color coordinated coverlet, folded down daintily at the foot of the bed. I did; however, insist that our comforter be king-sized on a queen-sized bed. This will be answered in the next question pertaining to blanket hogs. 

I JUST WANNA GO TO SLEEP

1. What do you wear to bed?

2. Who or what sleeps with you at night?

3. Do you like a cold room or a hot room?

4. Many blankets, or just one?

5. Do you hog the blankets?

6. What size is your bed and what kind of mattress is it?

7. Do you eat in bed?

8. What kind of sleeper are you?

9. What is under your bed? 

BONUS: What won't you do in bed?

I Just Want to Go to Sleep

I am answering questions posted by Sean from the Just a Jeep Guy blog. The questions are based around the bedroom. Precisely sleep.

Number three: Do you like a cold room or a hot room?

We have a ritual in our house. Every fall I pull the bed away from the wall and cover the heat/AC vent with massive amounts of aluminum foil.  This is to stop any heat from making its way into the bedroom. During the spring season, the ritual is reversed to allow as much AC into the bedroom as possible. This is done in hopes to make the bedroom cold as possible. 

I love a freezing room. This is so I can sleep like a bear under massive amounts of down and fluffy blankets. I’m also a sheet snob, and 800 thread count cotton sheets are very warm. When I do get warm, I also have a heat sapping Shar-pei that sleep in the covers. 

I JUST WANNA GO TO SLEEP

1. What do you wear to bed?

2. Who or what sleeps with you at night?

3. Do you like a cold room or a hot room?

4. Many blankets, or just one?

5. Do you hog the blankets?

6. What size is your bed and what kind of mattress is it?

7. Do you eat in bed?
8. What kind of sleeper are you?
9. What is under your bed? 

BONUS: What won't you do in bed?

I Just Want to Go to Sleep

To hop on the theme bandwagon, I’m going to answer questions posted by Sean over athis Just a Jeep Guy blog. The questions this round are about the bedroom. Precisely sleep.

Question 2: Who or what sleeps with you at night?

I JUST WANNA GO TO SLEEP: 
1. What do you wear to bed? 
2. Who or what sleeps with you at night?
3. Do you like a cold room or a hot room? 
4. Lots of blankets or just one? 
5. Do you hog the blankets?
6. What size is your bed and what kind of mattress is it? 
7. Do you eat in bed? 
8. What kind of sleeper are you? 
9. What is under your bed? 
BONUS:What won't you do in bed?

I Just Want to Go to Sleep

To hopupon the theme bandwagon, I’m going to answer questions posted by Sean over athis Just a Jeep Guy blog.  Thequestions in this round are about the bedroom. Precisely sleep.

1. What do you wear to bed?

Uponhearing the warning bell to the First Class passengers to leave their warm bedsof the Titanic’s staterooms and assemble on deck, I would show up sporting gymshorts and a grey wife beater.  Iwould be cold, yet hip. I sleep in gym shorts because I pretty much do everythingin gym shorts. Sans work. During the summer I sleep without a shirt leavingopen to several occasions waking to find a deep imprint on my side of the TVremote control. So I really sleep in gym shorts and the TV remote.

I JUSTWANNA GO TO SLEEP:
1. Whatdo you wear to bed?
2. Whoor what sleeps with you at night?
3. Doyou like a cold room or a hot room?
4. Lotsof blankets or just one?
5. Doyou hog the blankets?
6. Whatsize is your bed and what kind of mattress is it?
7. Doyou eat in bed?
8. Whatkind of sleeper are you? 
9. Whatis under your bed? BONUS:What won'tyou do in bed?

Read what others have to say:

Pac

Jim

As a side note: I Googled "hot men in gym shorts" for
a photo on this post and
on page two, Homer and his cat.
That guy is everywhere.
Google results, my fantasies...  everywhere. 

He Shoots, He Misses

Sorry about the gap in my blogging. I have been working on a project for work that has me directing a team from 4AM until 2PM.  After work, I have been taking an hour nap, then heading off to the gym, before school. The project ends this week, so I just might get my life back. During the small slices of time that I haven’t been working, texting Pac, attempting to stay awake in school, or just passing out, I have become addicted to filling up the remainder of my time watching British Football on YouTube. God I love British Football.

I showed up last week to start my work project to find an amazingly hot, sexy, oh-my-God-I-want-to-lick-you guy assigned to my team from another unit. Being a responsible adult, and with my gaydar bleeping in full tilt, I immediately started my reconnaissance work to find out his story. Single, gay, and goes to the gym regularly (which was obvious due to his solid arms and beefy wrestler frame) he plays on a soccer team, and also attends the same college as me.  Score. We chatted. He touched my arm. We flirted. He gave me his number so we can “hit the gym” together. 

He’s seventeen.

Yeah. He goes to my college in a “transition from high school program” due to bullying. The same high school that my bud, Jerrod’s daughter graduated from last year. So… and I am not making this up, the reason I found out his age was due to the greatest hits of the eighties.

“What is this lady singing? Zan-a-doo?”  The beefy wrestler-turned soccer player asked. “It’s not a lady, it’s Xanadu. Ya-know, the muse to open roller discos.” I said as if I was explaining a common fact like cheeseburgers, or piston engines. His left eyebrow moved up a little.

“What year were you born?” I asked.

“1995.”

Olivia's voice wistfully floated through the ether...  ...Xanadon't... As I turned on my heel, I mumbled, “I’ll be in my office” for the rest of my life.

Oscar Pistorius Stumbles and Falls

In what seems a lifetime ago, I lived in a stone house along the Appian Way. During this brief time in my life I dated a Flying Dutchman.  Named this because he was Dutch and an airline pilot. Although I always suspected he was a flight attendant. As after sex he would always attempt to give we warm towels.

One time, after a nice warm towel, and supplying me with a soda, although never giving me the whole can, he asked me who my heroes were. I was dumbfounded. I quietly realized that I didn’t have heroes to follow and use as guideposts though my life.  From that night onward in the stone house along the Appian Way, I would always have some sort of hero or role model in my life to strive to be as good as and emulate.

Upon becoming addicted to watching the track and field portion of the 2012 Summer Olympics, I watched a small story about a South African sprint runner struggling to even participate in the men’s 400 metres sprint. Upon Oscar Pistorius competing in the London Summer Olympics as the first double leg amputee, and the controversy died down about his cutting-edge prostheses giving him an unfair advantage over able-bodied runners, I became obsessed with this amazing man’s struggle to overcome obstacles.  When I got lazy about going for runs, I used Oscar for motivation. Tired and not wanting to drive to the gym, I would think of Oscar the amazing athlete.

On my birthday, I even turned into a crazy fan girl and asked via Twitter for a birthday wish from Pistorius:

So my other role models are a fictitious British 

TV character and a You Tube Vlogger. What’s to ya?

 Quickly Pistorius replied via Twitter:

When he replied, I squeed. My running deity, whom I worshiped daily; and motivated me to be a better athlete, wished me a great birthday…. This buzzed lasted me until yesterday morning. When changing at the gym to go for a run I hear my heroes name on the locker room’s TV. “Oscar Pistorius accused of premeditated murder of girlfriend by South Africa prosecutors.”

I stood in my UA undies in stunned silence watching a video of Pistorius holding his head in his hands weeping openly in a courtroom as prosecutors said they would purse a charge of murder against the paralympic superstar.

Thinking back to being asked about heroes by the Flying Dutchman, in that house, on a street in Dallas, TX ironically named after the most important Roman roads of the ancient republic, I realize now how strategically important that turn in my own Appian Way was. To accomplish anything in life you need role models. Sometimes… dare I say, most of the time, your deity will fall.  

Desktop Friday

What's been the computer's desktop theme this week? More bunnies. God I love bunnies.
What?
Bunnies are butch.
They're fast, mean, and total sex machines. Like me. And they're fluffy. Like me. ...wait a minute...

Coffee in a Cardboard Cup

Yesterday, I took the day off as I had one goal in mind. To spend the day at my favorite coffee place to work on filing my taxes. It started off smoothly, after ordering my non-Venti latte at the non-Starbucks, I settled in at a table by the window.  Within moments I had linked to my files and began entering numbers into the government e-form. As I reached out to enjoy my first sip on my non-Venti latte I brushed the large cup and sent it flying across the table and onto the floor.  Pouring the entire cup near the feet of the next occupied table.

To be clear, none of my coffee actual hit my fellow gay coffeehouse patron. It must of just been the shock of a random handsome man tossing his full steaming latte in his general direction that sent this Kindle reader in to a tizzy. This empowered Mr. Grumpy to lecture me on proper coffee ownership, the responsibilities and burdens that adults have when deciding that they are mature enough to purchase coffee. All traits that I was, in his opinion, lacking. Mr. Grumpy then decided to explain how I had misjudged my ability to handle drinking coffee, and I should be sorry for involving him in my poor judgment.

There are only so many times you can apologize for a simple accident. In my case it’s four. And because he apparently was such a great judge on who should, or should not be left responsible with a paper cup of coffee, I offered to buy him his next cup of coffee. After my fourth time apologizing, his outrage of my destroying his morning became exceedingly humorous to me. When I pointed out that he might be acting like a Chihuahua whose tail had been stepped on, he grabbed his kindle and coffee stomped to another table. Mere-moments later I could hear him retelling his torturous affair to someone on his phone. He spoke loud enough for me to hear, “Some complete idiot threw his hot drink at me.” Silence… “Yeah. Then he called me a f*#king chihuahua…. No! That’s not funny!!”

Needless to say, I bought a Diet Coke in a bottle and completed my taxes. I’m getting a refund. Maybe I’ll buy sippy cups with some of the money. 

How The West Was Won(ish)

I truly despise the American west. Well, not the actual American west… The fictional west. The west where John Wayne defended settlers from savage Indians, and where Mormons proudly conquered the un-tamable desert. 

 Growing up on an American Quarter Horse ranch in the middle of Colorado, I was raised with examples how “we as strong cowboy stock” claimed the west. As a kid my father’s idea of decorating was to festoon the house with cowboy art. You know the type; majestic cowboys have defeated the evil savage Indian to bring peace to the rolling countryside. Even then, I looked at the shady Native American and wondered how it will feel to have ones lands and history torn away.

In fifth grade our school trip was to visit the site of the Sand Creek Massacre. In case you’re not up on this event, in 1864 a force of 700 Colorado militiamen attacked and slaughtered 150 Native Americans. Two-thirds of who were women and children.  My fifth grade teacher quoted the Colonel in command,

Damn any man who sympathizes with Indians! …I have come to 

kill Indians, and believe it is right and honorable to use any means 

under God’s heave to kill Indians.

If I knew the term “royal ass-hat douche bag” I would of called my teacher this, with his prideful smirk, after reading this quote to the class. This lesson of having a warmongering lack of compassion for your fellow human, has stuck with me all my life. Making me the bleeding heart liberal I am today. The story of taming the west is actually a story of systematically destroying a part of the planet. Systematically wiping a culture off the earth all for big business.

You may ask why am I going off on this anti-west tirade today? Well, I’m taking an American History class this semester.  It is taught by a tiny gay man that started last class on how the native peoples, who lived on the land in the west for thousands of years, were hunted down and wiped out like a ghetto in Poland. What? I was dumbstruck.  A professor whose lector doesn’t sound like my Father’s view of the world? Well… like my Dad always said; “Generally, you ain't learnin' nothing when your mouth's a-jawin.”

Ironic that this is the picture
 hanging on the wall
above my toilet?

Favorite Cowboy book: The Man Who Fell in Love With the Moon   Favorite Cowboy line: “I speak horse. His name is Susan. And he wants you to respect his life choices.”

Groundhog Day