Predicting the Future via Butt Pimples

Your love is like   Dayquil and Nyquil as meal replacements

Sad Realities 2022: Google rolling out Air Raid Alerts app for Ukraine

Today I identify as  sweaty sheets

HER: I feel bad for asking, but would you help me put this necklace on?

HIM: Don't feel bad, it makes me feel like I'm strangling you. I like it.

I just saw a picture of Robert Plant, with what can only be described as a sort of impotent man bun.

It really has me questioning many things about my life, loves, and goals.

Forward, Back, or left? 

We're very pleased around here that Mrs. lefty remembered the time change. My mom used to call and remind us, but that ain't happening again. Is this a female thing, cuz I certainly didn't know it. She went around the house, changing the clocks. Then she realized she changed them in the wrong direction, so she went around the house, changing the clocks again. The positive parts of this is that all the clocks that didn't get changed last time are now correct, like the car. Oh no, wait, I just fixed the car, so I'll have to re-fix it again.

Starve a cold? Feed a fever? Shovel the food in regardless? 

I felt weird(er) last night, and gave it some Serious Thought<tm>. Then I gave it some Serious Digital Thermometer. My temperature was either 94, 99.8, or 105 depending on where I took it.  I'm thinking this isn't acceptable, because Medicine tends to operate a bit more accurately. I have electronic test equipment like this; where one component will have three values, depending on which meter I use. I don't think it's helpful in either case. The following morning, it was several different readings also, so I called in the Big Guns: WIFE. Mothers and Wifes have a magic ability to get past several different readings and cut to the chase: "You've got a fever, oh yes, I'll get some aspirin." It makes me feel sorry for bachelors... they have to visit their mom or another woman to figure out if they have a temperature.

My medical knowledge can fit in the (non-existent) ashtray of a new car, but my understanding is that the body raises its temperature in order to kill the infection. If this is true, why do we take fever reducers?  I have a vague memory of not feeling well, going to the hospital, having my temp taken, and the nurse saying, "104, time to panic." Fortunately I was seeing things and in my own little universe, so I didn't truly grok the reality of rectally-installed aspirin. I'm just not that kinda guy.

Being some sort of sick ironically provides some relief, in chores and Stuff needed to be done round the house. I have an excuse for not doing things, as opposed to Fat and Lazy, which is my go-to. Obviously I have a job too. In another weird irony, I don't like to miss work, and will generally work until my head crashes down on the keyboard (from passing out or sheer boredom). If you remember, I have to be forced to take vacation days, or I lose them. I'm at my desk like Bernie Sanders is thinking of more 'free' things to 'give' people. If I take off, my boss gets worried, because he knows it must be serious. He figures I'll be there long after I retire and possibly after I die. So with 9,457 accumulated sick days, it's pretty much up to me. 

As best I can tell, I got sick out of spite, or to break up the boredom.

Next day: I heard my alarm go off, so it was Decision Time. Mrs. lefty said STAY HOME. I didn't want to go 'in' because I might get my team sick (we all work from home).

I have no idea what's happening, but I seem to be cycling between 'I'm feeling eh' and 'OMFG, every hair on my body hurts,'  We've all had days when it's been difficult getting up, but this puts an interesting twist on it.

ME: Ok, I need to get it together to call out sick.

Also ME: Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

HER: What did you do?

ME: Tried to open my eyes.

HER: It sounds awful.

ME: You probably want to leave - I have to try to get out of bed.

HER: What is that noise? It sounds like the radio. Do you have the radio on?

ME: You can hear that? That's each individual body hair, reporting in, in pain.

You know I have my phone set so nobody calls. It's a gift.

So naturally this morning, I became very popular. The Tree Guy wanted to come out to cut off some dead tree. I asked him to check on the dead area over my neck, but he said that would be another estimate. I told him to come on by, then spent then next 45 minutes trying to figure out how to get out of bed and leave his payment on the door. Fortunately Mrs. lefty was up and said she'd take care of it. Well, if she'd take care of it, why was *I* getting the calls? Come to think of it, she seems very excited when he comes out. I was too sick to care.

I think this guy uses lasers or something - the last time he took down two trees and I never heard him.

So it was back to bed.

RADIO: Arm hair #22476, pain

Back hair #43720, pain

Nose hair #77345, pain

ALL HAIL- we have a 90 degree turn to portward, sometime in the next 90 minutes.

This went on for half an hour.

I was up at the decent hour of 3pm, regardless of spring ahead, fall backward, or 'change the fscking clock.' I can tell the time is correct when 2 clocks match. This after all the hairs checked in again; I was on the Pain part of the cycle, but at least it only took an hour to get out of bed. The dog is sympathetic, or at least I think so. She's heavy-lidded, napping on her mommy's new pillow. It's not like I didn't take her to the vet when we suspected cancer.

I'm hungry. I can tell by my stomach, which gave up growling when I ignored it, and is now singing loudly. I think it's Joe Cocker. The problem here is that we're completely out of candy bars. We have lots of soup, but it has to be heated. This is not do-able, as it hurts to think of it. The dog is still refusing to heat anything for me. I'd go back to sleep, but the singing would keep me awake.

It's 4am, I'm sweaty, and I don't want to remain sleeping. I think I need a Coke (my needs are few and simple, not counting the guitars that cost more than my house). After only 45 minutes, I manage to haul myself out of bed, not even using the winch, or any of the other high-powered equipment in the bedroom, but now's not the time to go into that. My body hair is at only 50% hurting; I think this is a good omen. In the living room, all is normal at 5am: the dog is comfy and asleep on the couch, and the wife is 'cleaning'' like mad. When I say 'cleaning,' I mean something like a modified pinball game. You pull the lever, which launches the ball, which bangs around and goes DING a lot, all over the place. So if you took the balls and made them explode, leaving a lot of debris all over the place, you'd have her 'cleaning.'  Bathroom: DING, explosion, debris. Kitchen: DING, explosion, debris. Normal people would look at the procedure and say 'that's not cleaning - it's creating more dirt.' This is why they're normal people and don't live at lefty Manor. The dog can't take any more following her mommy all over the place, so she remains asleep. 

I got my Coke, and sat up for a bit. The tv was on, as it always is, and I was astounded at the lineup of alleged shows. It was so bad, my brain protected me by making me forget it. Mrs lefty continued her cleaning, this time leaving debris in the basement. I had noticed her eventually sitting on the couch, quickly followed by her falling forward and snoring on the couch. You can't fool me, so I suggested maybe she go to bed. She completely ignored me, so I knew everything was normal. This continued for an hour or so, then I went to bed. The doctors told me arguing will only raise my blood pressure, as Mrs. lefty does not observe many of the laws of physics. My favorite is when she goes to sleep with her head 4" above the pillow.

When my alarm went off, I was assured I still had a fever, but only 25% of my body hair hurt. I took this as a good sign, calling out of work another day. By 4pm, the next time I got up, my body hair didn't hurt at all. It only took me 30 minutes to plan and execute getting out of bed. I kept pulling at my body hair, trying to make it hurt, just in case, but it wouldn't. As my wife had finally made it to bed, after only 3 days of not sleeping, she snored. And when I say snored, I mean it sounded like there was heavy construction and tearing up the street in front of the house. She stopped, asked if I felt ok, and I asked to check my temperature. I'm not going to say she was tired, but she said ok, then fell asleep with her arm halfway to my forehead.

According to the wacky thermometer, my temperature was either 32, 98.5, or 98.6. I found out if you add them and take the square root, you have way too much time on your hands. As two of the results were pretty close, I was fever-less! So at 4pm, I finally had my morning coffee. The dog loves coffee, but smartly stayed in bed, where she is somehow able to ignore her mommy's use of heavy equipment.

To top it off, Mother Nature decided to get even with me by making the last two days absolutely beautiful. Walk around without a coat beautiful. To show you how glad I am to be getting over being sick, I almost look forward to taking out the trash. Slow down, lefty. As a warmup, I might put my shoes on and get the mail.

It should be interesting when Wife gets up, which could be any time within the next few days. It looks like while cleaning the fridge, the BANG happened, and the debris was a shelf, which spilled its contents onto the floor. Have you ever had a shelf expel its cold contents onto the floor, possibly throwing them at you? Half the powdered creamer is now on the floor, spelling out HELP ME. We now have purple silverware. And someone finally found my toothbrush. It tends to stray, but this time it got moved during cleaning and no one knew where. At least they took the cereal out of the fridge. When Wife finally wakes up, she's going to ask what happened and who made the mess. I think I need motion-sensitive cameras in the house.

I tried to keep my activity to a minimum, like I do every day, but this time I have a reason; not getting re-sick. So I only took the trash out and carried stuff all over the house. This might not have been a smart idea, like running a marathon without a leg. Here's another phrase you don't hear often: I can't wait to go to work tomorrow.

Adjusting Ring Adjusters - or - Forced Vacation, more or less Day 11

 lefty.

lefty?

LEFTY!

huh.. oh.. uh... what? Is the house on fire? Sale on ice cream? Does somebody want sex?

What's today's date.

You have no phone?

I don't know where it is.

So it's my problem, then. 

Yes.

Never, even on forced vacations, wake me at 8:30 to ask the date.

Ok. Don't forget - you have to go shopping with us today.

I know.

What day is today?

This is more than you've said to me all weekend. Why does it have to come out all at once, during NSH (Normal Sleeping Hours)? 

I'm... sorr.... [snore.....snore...snore...]

So... she goes back to sleep, I can't sleep, and the city is about to knock on my door, asking to see my permit for operating heavy equipment. It's ok, the inspector will hear her snoring, we'll laugh, and he'll go back to prosecuting people who put pools in their yards or built some outdoor furniture. But you seriously want to be careful if building something in Philly. It's not that the inspectors are on the take, but there is a pre-printed, plastic covered sheet with the building activity and the suggested bribe for it.

POOLs (below 4')     $20

POOLs (above 4')     $40

Fix broken concrete sidewalk     $30 before it hardens, $40 after, 

POOL (in ground)     $100-500 depending on complexity and level of bikini around it

Homeowners are advised to make the 'donation' early. If my supervisor has to come out, all suggested donations are doubled. Beer would be nice too.

Please place 'donation' in brown envelope, on nearest steps, then turn around for 30 seconds, as if you were remembering something, Make sure you look thoughtful.

Kentucky is very busy cleaning up after that horrible 'weather event.' 

When they're done, they want to change the state motto:

• Kentucky - WHY?
• Kentucky - our tornadoes are better than your tornadoes
• Kentucky - there are states that don't have tornadoes at all
• Kentucky - roads are clear, drunken tractor races are on!

Our Kentucky reader had some damage to the house but is safe. And everybody is terrified.

PTSD is quite real, and as soon as the wind blows over 10mph, they're right back there, in the midst of things. Houses will be rebuilt - people take longer.

Being Attention Addled, I have to use every trick I can to help myself function.

I have a small container by the door, with everything I need to take with me when I go out.

This helps immensely.

Until last night.

I grabbed everything I needed, drove away, and realized I forgot my phone.

Why?

Because it was next to the container with everything I needed to go.

Sometimes I even outsmart myself.

Here's our tribute to 'Who's on First', called 'Who Has 98.6'

So I'm getting ready for that aforementioned shopping trip, now that it's 1:30 and everybody's awake (but me). I have a wisdom tooth that likes to pop up, just to annoy me, and cause mouth pain. It somehow knew I was desperate to get out of the house and popped right up. Just for fun, I decided to see if I had a temperature....

Where is the thermometer this week?

Hang on.... 

Ah, on the toilet. I should have known.

[takes temperature]

Well, I have either 96.7, 98.4, or 99.5. Isn't it supposed to DING when it's done? Why is this so difficult? 

Lemme look at it. I guess LO means it needs batteries.

I'll back you on that. The next question is where the batteries are today.

[looks in bathroom, dining room, under car] Dammit - where are they?

[returns with different thermometer]

We have a second one?

Yes, push the button and scan across your forehead.

Beep beep beep. 70.5

I TOLD YOU TO PUSH THE BUTTON AND SCAN ACROSS YOUR FOREHEAD.

Which is, strangely, what I did.

[grabs thermo, puts it to head, looks at result] Great - this one needs batteries too.

Good, I was terrified you wanted me to shove it up my ass.

I could do that, you know....

Perhaps later, thanks. Any idea which number we like?

You feel warm. Stay home.

Ain't technology grand?

• What's that noise?
• Something fell off the table, so the dog is barking at it.

Pandemic Pancakes - or - Forced Vacation, Day 10-ish

 One or two or several of the holidays are over. I think.

My friend emails, asking if I'd like to meet for brunch.

Well, sure, as long as brunch is after 2:30.

Just because it's after Christmas doesn't mean I started getting up at reasonable hours.

Off we went, to my favorite place, the one with the One True Pizza. And for the first time ever, it was closed. I was so stunned, I couldn't think of a different place to go. My friend opines that Mexican food, as well as Italian food, is made of about three ingredients. The name of the dish changes with the placement of the ingredients. When the cheese is inside, it's a calzone. When it's outside, it's pizza. When the ingredients are just warm, it's a burrito. When they're deep friend, it's an enchalito or something. Do NOT attempt to obtain the real names of these dishes from Taco Bell. Mexicans laugh at us gringos for eating there. They wouldn't feed that stuff to their dog. If you must eat there, obtain a DNA test on the 'meat.' That will probably cure your desire to ever go in there again.

We settled on a place I call "Used to Bees," because it tends to change names ever few years.  Their frozen strawberry margaritas (I told you I drink like a girl) are so potent, if you just smell it, you will singe your nose hairs.

After a long walk, we were seated. The long walk wasn't to the restaurant, or across the parking lot. It was from the front to the back of the place. Perhaps it's because I'm not pretty, I always get seated at the back, or at least out of the line of sight from the front. *I* wouldn't want me up front either, There wasn't another person for many tables. The lighting was specially designed by Stevie Wonder, so you could barely see the menu. My grandfather said restaurants were dark so you couldn't see the food. We couldn't see the menu. It wasn't just us, though... there was an entire restaurant with menus as close to their eyes as possible. It looked like some sort of cult, like Catholics. Half of the people were using their phones' flashlights, the other half using matches. The matches worked better, but the phones didn't set the menus on fire. Most of the menus looked a bit scorched for some reason.

We started drinking early. My friend was perplexed by sugar instead of salt on the rim of the glass. Don't you know - sugar makes everything better. Ordering was difficult because this restaurant delights in making things difficult for their customers. It's Mexican, so they send out a Mexican looking waiter, with an accent, making anything he says impossible to understand. I think I asked for Anthrax in my drink. The thing is, when the waiters go back to the kitchen, they speak perfect English. They spend the next seven minutes high-fiving each other. To make it even funnier, they wear masks. No one has a hope, so this makes it easier for the kitchen when everybody just orders 'a burger.'

We had to sit there until the one drink wore off, so I could drive. Apparently the manager was in a panic, because they were seating people near us. These people were very clever; they brought their own heavy accents with them, to confuse the waiters.

Speaking of reasonable, I just heard a sneeze. I went to say 'bless you' and realized I'm the only one home. Maybe it was the mice.  Although the dog frequently stares at one spot, unmoving. Maybe whatever she stares at sneezed. I'm working on the ability to just say 'mm-hmm' and go on. If I go out tomorrow and return to find the house sitting there, upside down, 5 feet in the air, I'll just say 'mm-hmm' and bring in the groceries.

Maybe it's the remnants of whatever happened last night, while I was asleep.

Before I went to sleep, I read for an hour. Sometimes I read better with background noise, so Wife helped me by snoring the entire time. As I'm getting ready to turn the light out, she looks at me and the book she's been holding up, while asleep, and tells me she's still reading. I play along, thanking her for snoring for the last hour. Since she's a/my wife, she gets agitated, closes the book, and goes downstairs for a few hours, because she obviously wasn't tired. Or snoring.

There is never a shortage of Weird Stuff<tm> happening in the house. I write about it often. Many times it's about supernatural-appearing things. Other times, it's 'cleaning.' Today it was cleaning. I say cleaning because when I awoke, there was not a single spot to sit on any couch or chair. It was like a women's clothing store exploded, coating the house with...  clothes.. There is a difference between an explosion and cleaning: cleaning causes more damage and doesn't get on the guitars. Later today, if she gets up, I'll ask what happened. She'll either tell me 'I dunno' or 'I WAS CLEANING.'  Sometimes I poke the tiger by asking if there's cleaning going on, why does it look way dirtier than before she started cleaning. Tigers, you know, eat people.

Sometimes I avoid the mess by starting up the front end loader and moving a small dump truck worth of stuff to find myself a seat. When she arrives it looks quite comical... rows and hills of clothes, me, more clothes. The bad mornings are when she doesn't see me there. I wait til she finds a seat, say hello, then wait for the terrified SHRIEK because I scared her. It would be so funny, if I didn't always wind up with the hot coffee all over me.

The Christmas presents went over pretty much how I thought they would: the kids loved theirs, and Mrs. I Want Nothing for Christmas decided the gorgeous new ring fit well. I got her one of those car magnets that says 'I love my English Cocker Spaniel.' There are so many words there, that the magnet would either have to be the width of the trunk, or the letters would have to be compressed to read 'I love dm&34n'. Right now it's holding the fridge together, but at least people walking by the fridge know we love our English cocker spaniel.

I got a rock.

But that's not all!  I also got to take out the trash.

Flying AIDS News  

Fauci made a proclamation designed to foment PANIC.

Drug companies said there will have to be more and different shots.

50% of the planet said PBTHLLLLLLLT.

President Taxit said there will be no mandates, as he drew up the paperwork for mandates and played with the new puppy, Rabies. His first dog, Major, took to biting people at the White House. For some reason, this was unpopular. Major was sent off to the Donald Trump School of Charm. Again. Who can blame the poor dog - if you spent time at the White House, you'd bite them too - it's a natural reaction.

It's Not a Rat - it's a Siberian Hamster!

It is claimed that by 2050, human-on-robot sex will be more common than human-on-human sex. You people had better start being nice to each other or it's going to be a long, cold life.

• Remember when I told you that your cable box spies on you? It's so the cable company can serve personalized ads to you, among other things.
• While we're talking about creepy, invasive tracking, Google's next. It (via Gmail) partners with businesses to send you ads when you're surfing. [1. do not give out your address 2. turn off cookies]

So this man filled up bottles of his own fluid(s) and deposited the contents on women in Maryland. When caught, he was given three years of probation. SUSPENSE! .. He's back at it again, in Virginia. He was arrested for taking upskirt photos and for depositing bodily fluids on a woman, but not from a bottle. C'mon, man, have you not heard of the internet? There are all sorts of... specialty dating sites... 

• Edward Snowden joined Twitter. His first follow was the NSA. Yeah, right, like they didn't know before he joined.

Justin Bieber "wants to live like Jesus."  --Got any nails?

• Microsoft 'responds' to concerns that Windows 10 is spying by saying nothing and not answering any questions.

I don't know why, but if you're considering voting for Carly Fiorina, she just bragged that HP's servers are used by the NSA for mass surveillance and that she rushed them out for this purpose.

• Still kicking, albeit a little long in the tooth, is Groucho Marx (125). Read Time's piece on him and simply laugh at a comedy genius.

The daughter (16) of Fast and Furious' Paul Walker is suing Porsche for 'wrongful death'. She claims Porsche took safety shortcuts. Allow me to suggest that the best safety shortcut was around the pole.

• Oxymorons: Congressional Ethics. Windows Security.

I snore, much to my wife's dismay (as does the dog - sometimes we jam). Looking at Amazon's solutions, people who bought them also bought selfie sticks. I don't know if this is personal, but it sure feels that way.

• What have the Great Unwashed been up to? Signing a petition to ban talking about politics and religion in public. The guy who produces these is an inadvertent comic hero.

A male staffer in a Capitol Hill office has complained his female boss has slapped his ass, talked about her vibrator, and asked him sexual questions. BRAVO for women's equality!

• Baboons in Zambabwe took a radio show off the air by eating the station's transmission cables. We don't have this problem in the US, because we keep our baboons in front of the camera.

The Bad News: Friends actor David Schwimmer is coming back to tv. The Good News: in England, so there's less chance of seeing him in the US.

• Just when you think it couldn't get any weirder, there's BIID. Body Integrity Identity Disorder causes able-bodied people to belive they should be disabled. As a result, this lady somehow convinced a psychologist to blind her with drain cleaner. Next week the good doctor will be slicing off the ear of a neurotic and removing the stomach of a man with major depression.

A British prison inmate cut off his penis and tried to flush it. Oddly enough, he's not the first inmate to do this. Link has timeline of penis cutting-off activities. Apparently it's not just a British thing, although one wonders.

• This week's best sentence: "Ever since Parliament’s funk savior Starchild brandished his bop gun to bring about intergalactic Funkentelechy.."

Bernie Sanders thinks illegals should benefit from Obamacare. Meanwhile my deductible is still $5,500. Socialist Bernie, meet socialist Barack.

• Greatest invention ever: Exercise in a pill!

AI theorist Eliezer Yudkowsky coined Moore's Law of Mad Science: "Every eighteen months, the minimum IQ necessary to destroy the world drops by one point."

The Week in Music - A Triumph of Excellence

The Yardbirds are touring this year. For those who do not recognize the name, they were a band in the sixties that gave us three of the top guitarists of our time: Jimmy Page (Led Zeppelin), Jeff Beck (my personal favorite) and Eric Clapton (Cream, Blind Faith, Eric Clapton). A quick check on the band's latest membership role shows us that the band is touring with the original drummer only. This beats Foghat, which is touring with the original drum roadie.

Long ago.. very long ago by most standards, I played with a band at this stereotypical dump in New Jersey (not to be confused with the stereotypical state of New Jersey). Up on the wall was a television - an old-style television, with a CRT. Imagine a time when televisions and radios had to warm up, if you can. On the telly was this brand new cable network called MTV. Anyone even vaguely familiar with MTV might still be shocked to learn that it featured actual rock and roll music, as opposed to what passes for content this week. Cable wasn't available in my neighborhood yet, so this was doubly fascinating. Triply fascinating was looking up and seeing a non-mainstream band performing. This was Triumph.

Triumph is a band of three hosers (Canadians). My area of concentration is Rik Emmett, the guitarist, singer and cowriter. Let's dive right in:

Midsummer's Daydream is a solo classical acoustic piece performed by Emmett. I tried to play this once (only once).  This is recorded live in Halifax (a suburb of Canada, located generally north of the US). He does a lot with one acoustic guitar. You can also hear the studio version on the Thunder Seven album. The live version contains a lot of... ummm.. spunk? Verve? Derring Do?  Enjoy the showmanship and sense of humor (and lycra pants).

Little Boy Blues (not to be confused by anything coming from the Vatican) is one of my favorite songs. By this I mean it has a lot of really interesting guitar work and, surprisingly enough, no vocals. It begins with some really low-key tasty blues, backed by a drum machine and other instruments that would completely prevent this song from being performed live by a three-piece band. This builds nicely to what I'd call a chorus, where the playing starts to get really spunky. At the end of the chorus, the real drums enter and the real rollercoaster ride takes off. This segues into a redo of the first part, a hyped-up chorus, and a surprisingly gentle end. Rik plays very dynamically and lyrically, even when he's performing digital acrobatic riffs.

There exists the possibility that Lay It On the Line is the video I saw on MTV first. It's one of their biggest hits (you olde phartes will remember it) and features a doubleneck guitar that you've never seen before, unlike Jimmy Page's.

Sometimes it IS Personal?

How was my day?
Glad you asked.

At work I came upon the perfect microcosm of its institutional madness: a VP was trying to stream radio, in spite of our no streaming policy.

Then I discovered that the iPeople are ordering iSoftware on my work credit card (for which I am responsible).

But I'll show them.
The new work room will be done with these..

Next up, it was time to install some really interesting security software.  I got the server all set up and wired into the rack then booted up.  Or rather, tried to boot up.  It might have booted but the rack's monitor flatly refused to display a single thing.  It did, however, completely lock up.  When was the last time a display locked up on you?

I had to make a phone call, which guaranteed that Nerf Wars (March 2012) would start.  There is some sort of invisible connection between me lifting the phone and the noise level in the room going through the roof.  Fortunately for me, someone had gone shopping yesterday and appeared with Nerf blow darts and an automatic Nerf rifle, which they proceeded to put to full use during my call.

Speaking of calls, just to make things more interesting, my wife called from the road.  The way she explained it, she was lucky to get the car pulled over in time for a precision display of Roadside Emesis (highway vomiting).  Much to my dismay, none of this made it to video.  She promised to remember next time.

Speaking of the wife, and possibly related to the above, my wife eventually made it to bed around 2am.  Within two seconds of her head hitting the pillow, the sound of heavy construction equipment permeated the room (and possibly the neighborhood).   Upon evaporation of my last nerve (approximately twenty seconds after the snoring started), I told her to turn over, as she was snoring.

"No I'm not," she replied.

How could I possibly argue with that logic?


So I didn't.  Or rather, I didn't until the snoring started back up again, which it did in approximately three seconds.

Honey, you're snoring.  Still.

"I was NOT snoring.  And besides, you snore and I don't make a big deal out of it and furthermore.... "

I didn't hear the rest of it because she had removed herself from the bed and left the room.  Oh well, at least I'd be free from that argument for a bit.

When I finally came down this morning, she was half-sitting on the couch, slumped over, asleep.

Oh well, at least she wasn't snoring.

Battle of/for the Bed [or Sleep-time Territorial Acquisition Games]

Come to think of it, during the years I've been with my wife, I have not had an easy time of getting into bed for various and sundry reasons.  This has to be on the order of eighteen years (which is why I'm better off not thinking about it).

When we first got together, I had my first rescue cocker, Joe Cocker Spaniel.  Joey was seriously deranged and more damaged than any four cockers you would meet in real life.  But he was my dog and really sweet (when he wasn't busy being deranged, of course).  He took to Mrs. leftystrat like a fish to water and in one month was her dog.  Part of being her dog was defending her turf, which largely consisted of the bed.  She went to be first and Joey followed, which apparently came with defending the bed from me when I came up later.  I'd get into bed and hear the soft growling, which rapidly ramped up to full-on defensive barking and Doggie Threatening Behavior<tm>.  This had the opposite effect on me, as the eighteen pound furry thing was threatening the guy who literally pulled him from the death line at the shelter.  Whoever had him before I did should have been shot.

Since the poor little bugger was abused, I tried to patiently let him know it was me, not a burglar, and that I was not going to hurt anybody.  This, of course, totally failed to make itself apparent to him and he continued to threaten me.  Since he would frequently fail to stop growling, I'd pick him up and move him.  The joke, as usual, was on me, as the dog would then submissively wet the bed.  Most of the time my wife slept on, blissfully unaware of the (most recent) chaos surrounding her.

But I was not going to win, one way or the other, in my largely futile battle to simply get in bed and go to sleep.

Fortunately Marshall, the latest rescue, does not defend the bed - at least in that sense of the phrase.  Marshall has developed a fondness for my pillow, to the extent that he's frequently sleeping on it or next to it when I get into bed.  As I get into bed in the dark, I will usually find this out by discovering that my pillow is a lot more fuzzy than I remembered.

Sarcasm is totally lost on cats and mostly lost on spaniels.  When I ask him if I'm in his way, he wags his tail and puts his head back down on the pillow.  When I tell him to move, bright dog that he is, he gets up and moves to the other side of the pillow (well, technically he has obeyed the command).  So I have to tell him to MOVE - NOW and finally he sets himself up on the shelf at the head of the bed or like an umbrella over my wife's head (yeah, another neurotic rescue cocker).

Sometimes, when he is not parked on my pillow, he is at the foot of the bed.  This is a very bad position to find him in, especially in the dark, which is always.  One should never sit on one's pets.  It's even worse with the cat: when I play sit on him, he still doesn't move.  But the cat is not allowed in the bedroom, as when he decides he's hungry, he starts clawing the bed until my wife feeds him or we play Feline Aviation<tm>.

So there I am, in the dark, almost sitting on the dog, when I tell him to GO LAY DOWN.  He obeys immediately and runs right up to lay on my pillow instead.  Repeat MOVING DOG FROM PILLOW TECHNIQUE (above).

SERIOUSLY

You have to appreciate my point of view: I'm very tired, having had a long day.  I just want to get into bed and go to sleep with no aggravation, territorial disputes, or obnoxious noises (or smells).

And that simply ain't gonna happen.

Because if it isn't a quadruped, it's a biped, namely the wife.  Sometimes she likes to Surprise Clean the bedroom, which usually involves rearranging huge piles of clothes (with the help of a small earthmover she keeps parked by her side of the bed).  Unfortunately the cleaning is usually interrupted by something, if not just her attention deficit disorder, and the piles now exist at the foot of the bed.

Unfortunately the foot of the bed is precisely my entrance point for the bed, which results in me finding the huge piles the hard way; in the dark, with me falling over them or onto the bed.

But I don't want to give the impression that my wife is always cleaning (or cleaning at all) or just putting things in my way for her own amusement (although I never hear the telltale chuckling that would prove it beyond a reasonable doubt).   Most of the time she just passively blocks my entry into the arms of Morpheus.

Some long-term sound guy I know observed that all guitarists twirl in one direction, which is borne out by their cords all being twisted into knots in that direction.  What does this have to do with me getting into bed?  My wife is a twirler.  She twirls around with the sheets (in one direction) and wraps herself up like an adorable little burrito.  This of course makes it more difficult to get into bed, as I have to

1. locate the sheets or covers
2. figure out how to obtain some small amount for myself

We tried in earnest to get by this minor impasse using what we thought of as intelligence: we put another sheet on the bed.  My wife trumped intelligence with sleep intelligence: she stole that sheet too and twirled up in it.

When she's not stealing covers, she's taking up the entire bed.  They say data expands to fill available space.  My wife expands to fill up available bed.  If we dumped the queen and went with a king size mattress, she would figure out how to take up most of that.  I would arrive (in the dark) to discover that she had taken up sleeping diagonally.

Last night my dear was sleeping in the middle of the bed, with her legs across my side.   After almost sitting on the dog, I moved to find some space (and kick the dog off my pillow) only to discover that most available space was already taken (in addition to the sheets). 

Have you ever tried to wake up a bulldozer?  It goes like this:

ME:  Honey, you need to move toward your side.
Wife: Umerrrrph...
ME: Honey, you need to move toward your side.
Wife: Umerrrrph...

Apparently there is an involved internal process involved in getting her to do something when she's sleeping.  I don't know what happens but I suspect that there are some internal messengers who write down the missive and begin the long trek to deliver it to my wife.  Eventually they discover her location and deliver the message to her and she's usually quite surprised, not to mention totally confused, by the request.

What feels like ten minutes later, but in reality is only seven minutes, she moves in the proper direction, allowing me to lay in some small space not already occupied by the dog, one of my wife's twenty-seven pillows, or random clothing that mysteriously appears on the bed.  This morning I awoke with a book of matches attached to my buttocks.  I dare not ask.

When obstruction fails (good title for a tv show, no?), there's always Mattress Dancing.  No, it's nowhere near as good as it sounds.  It probably looks like Restless Leg Syndrome (on steriods).   There's much random leg jumping, followed by what I can only describe as some sort of interesting involved internal argument, some twirling, and Random Arm Flinging (I was not born with this nose).

The next issue, which you would know instantly if you were paying attention, is attempting to acquire something with which to cover myself, aka a sheet.  As you will remember, the sheet is wrapped around my bedmate.  After some exploration and further tugging, the messengers manage to reach my wife and she unravels a few layers as a token gesture.

Fully satisfied and completely worn out, I am ready to pass out.   This would normally be a relatively simple effort, if it weren't for the snoring.  Trumpets and drums, construction equipment and small nuclear devices, as well as other sonorous events are marching across the room (and my eardrums).  It's not that I like to wake my wife from her extremely rare slumber (she gave up sleeping for lent about forty years ago), but if I don't get at least four hours per night, I'm no good at my jobs the next day.

HONEY - YOU'RE SNORING.

[long seconds later]  Mmmmrph.

Golden Silence.

Unfortunately at this point, my wife is agitated and up for the night, which sees her vaulting from the bed to begin her nighttime activities while I sleep.

And she always wants to know why I'm crabby when I get into bed.