No, really, I've thought this through.

I was thinking my best friend should teach a class. On me.

No, no, hear me out, this is good. It came to me during a car ride where I should have been paying attention to her valuable wisdom. See, there she was, answering questions, dispensing theories and advice and it hits me. "She knows me WAY better than I think she does." Now. This was a tough fact to wrestle with. First of all, wrestling with facts is difficult. They are intangible; incorporeal. Hard to grasp. Second, it means that I am not the mystery, wrapped in an enigma, sprinkled with intrigue that I always believed myself to be. I mean- How does she know about "the walls" or "the excuses"? I thought I had it carefully tucked away in my esoteric nature. That I had a divine existence that transcended human understanding.

But, alas I am not. I am *clenches teeth* ordinary. But wait! (cue: trumpet fanfare)

Maybe I'm not that ordinary. Maybe It's just her that knows me. She's an expert, a doctor (honorary of course). She has a degree in me! She's a professor. You with me?

So I'm picturing this class, right. It's a night class, of course, held at the Learning Annex. Although, seriously, I don't know what a Learning Annex is. Do we even have one in AZ? So maybe it can be in one of those convention rooms that corporations rent out to talk about their "exciting" new products. You know- the conventions executives use to cheat on their wives? And Shea's there- and there's a white board. Every week, there would be a new topic. Here are some topic ideas I have:
Why Pissing Girls Off Isn't Funny
Calling During Prime Time: Don't Do It.
Musicals, Musicals, Musicals!!!
Clue: The Script, the Wonder, the Legend
Letting Her Borrow Your Hoodie: Don't Do It. (That's for them. Fact: I have never bought a hoodie. Blog high five!)

I can even imagine how they would go. For example, in the Musicals, Musicals, Musicals!!! class, Shea would prepare a reasonable lecture where in she would discuss the importance of getting to know your musicals if you are getting to know, um, er- me.

SHEA- Look, she's gonna have a "musical of the week". Sometimes of the month. It is important that you understand it's meaning, its music and why it's important. You must listen to her belt the music from it and agree when she claims that she could "totally nail" whatever role she's obsessing about. Which brings me to (this is the part where she takes her pointer and thwacks it against the words MUSICALS SHE'S IN, which she's written in all caps and underlined, twice.) When she's in a musical, you will go see her in it, you will bring her flowers and you will tell her that she was the best part of the show. Yes, you there in the back, a question?

GUY IN THE BACK- Yeah, uh- if I do go to "every" musical she's in and I tell her everytime that she was the best part of the show, won't she know I'm lying?

SHEA- Are you saying she isn't the best part of the show?

GITB- No- of course not, I'm just- that is, what if she isn't the best part of-

SHEA- THAT WAS A TEST!!!! She knows you're lying but she needs the lie.

GITB- What?! That makes no sense! Besides, musicals are totally gay anyway.

SHEA- Leave my classroom.

Oh, it's totally perfect. Because then- guys would get it- they wouldn't make the mistake of calling during Lost and wondering why A: I didn't pick up the phone or B: I did but I said something strange and violent like "IF YOU ARE CALLING ME NOW YOU MUST NOT LIKE YOUR FRONT TEETH, DO YOU, ASSHAT?!?!" They would get that if they make it too easy, I run like the wind but if they make it too hard, I get a weird fixation with them. She could tell them that I don't think being sexist is funny- you know what else? Racism. Not funny. Oh- and how I can't talk if a guy is abnormally hot? She'd totally get that. Yeah, she should teach a class. I wonder if the Learning Annex is booked....

Even London has to have a Compton.

When you think of London, what do you think? Buckingham Palace, West End, Museums, cobblestone roads, Piccadilly Circus- am I hitting the mark here? Look, I've been there several times and it's still all romantisized in my mind. I mean- even the most disgusting dregs of humanity that cus and smoke like chimneys still have the accent, and the bad parts of town still have the cobblestone roads- its a win win. There's another thing too. They look down on us. I know it's incredibly xenophobic, but can you blame them? I mean they have a different cafe on every corner, free admission to museums, artful cathedrals, etc- we have monster truck ralleys, Walmart on every corner and George Bush. (Even after he's out of office, he's still from here and we can't do anything about that. I've given it some thought...)

So Imagine my shock to find- A ghetto. A real, live, more liquor stores than banks ghetto. even more shocking my BROTHER, my flesh and blood,more stable, better educated, better spoken, (but not better looking. Hey, sorry. God doesn't give with both hands.)brother living in it. At first I thought I might be mistaken. I mean- It's London, after all. The Queen- she's the Queen of England, you know? How could a place that has the most amazing history, architecture, and the ROYAL FAMILY have a ghetto?

And then I saw this. You're reading that correctly, friends. It's a chicken and rib house. I mean it might as well be Rosco's. That's when I started to really look around. I mean- take some walks around the neighborhood. One thing I realized- there was one grocery store on the block and one drug store- and yet FIVE liquor stores and THREE bars.

And the kids! Look, okay, I think little kids from England with the little accents are maybe the cutest things ever. I mean, come on. But these kids? No- these were like thugged out, dickhead, drunken, bat-shit crazy mutant kids. And yes- while I will freely admit that a thugged out Brit is incredibly funny; when you see them take a bag of rocks and hurl them at a bike cop with absolutely no fear, it's also quite disturbing. Especially for an American. It's like seeing a sweet old lady give a beat down to her cat. It's like DOES NOT COMPUTE.

So I started getting used to the idea. And the noises. For example, there was a loud and drunken shouting match practically every night in the streets. And the sound of raucous, drunken teenagers, swearing and breaking wine bottles, became but a white noise after the first week. And then came the GUN INCEDENT!!!!

I bet you're thinking "But wait, no way. Aren't guns illegal in the UK??!" Yes, yes they are. But sure enough, on my last night in London, there was an incident. A full blown, fight in the street, shots fired, CSI: London incedent right across the street from my brother's house. Here is my proof:

I'm not being a drama queen (type c, thank you very much) here. This was literally ACROSS the street from the flat where my brother, sister-in-law and this little man (If you don't think he is the CUTEST thing alive, you simply are not human.)live. Where they live, sleep, eat their vegetarian meals, where they watch tv and read the paper! Across the street. Like we heard the entire fight from beginning to end!We saw the gun and got the plate numbers from the shooter. I mean- DOES NOT COMPUTE!!!!

So- what is my purpose in sharing this little gem with you? Was it to get all self righteous and "Proud To Be An American"? No. I simply wanted you to remember that every rose has it's thorn, every model has a flaw (just ask Tyra)- and even London has a ghetto.

And there ya go.

What you don't know about women....

I want to talk to you all about something men do that really pisses me off. And for those of you that think I'm about to say anything about a toilet seat- get out of the eighties stand-up routine, will ya? I mean come on, toilet seat? It's so not that big of deal- one, two- it's up, it's down- where's the problem? And if you're really not looking where you're sitting before you sit down, ladies- well we got a much bigger problem here.

No- this is a big deal. This is something that only men do- specifically those cocky, 'I get alot of action', guys' guys. It's the thing where they antagonize you- not because they want a healthy debate, not because they want to play devil's advocate, not because they actually believe the opposite of what you believe- but because they think it's fun to piss you off.They actually think it's cute when you get mad. They love to see if they can get you all riled up. And isn't it adorable when they can?

NO!!! I repeat: NO IT IS NOT CUTE, FUN, OR ADORABLE!!!! I completely don't get this phenomenon. Don't they get that pissing us off isn't a good idea? Haven't they been in enough fights with females to know that they cannot and will not win? And, AND, if they do- what then? What happens when they win the big debate? What do they expect? That we will crumble to their feet exclaiming "Oh, I will never be right, for I am stupid and female and submissive..." Uhhhhh no.

Because A: They don't win.
And B: When they don't, they always try to win by going "I'm playing with you, baby!" (which is such a cop out. We all, that is all of us, know that you're only saying this because you realize you're in too deep and you need an easy out..)And it doesn't work, does it?

No it does not. And here's why. Here is what happens to a girl's brain when you you stupid boys pull that "I'm playing with you" stuff.

Wait, what? This was a game? We've been fighting for half an hour and it's been a game to you? I used my best material! I questioned your ethics and morals- I wondered if I even knew WHO YOU WERE! And this was a game? This wasn't even real? You PLAYED ME?!?! Maybe we calm down for a second- but know this.....

It is not over. Girls- we don't play that way. Have you ever seen girls in competition? Not like tennis or volleyball or anything- I mean girl competition. We're brutal. We take no prisoners. And we don't give in.There's no "I'm just playing with you.." with girls! We're serious competitors- You may not know it yet, but your little game, it cost you, buddy. And it cost you big. And someday when you least expect it- we're calling it in. Maybe it's a tantrum in front of all of your friends. Maybe it's a really important "talk" during the game. Maybe it's a really embarrassing sexual detail you thought no one knew about that we put online. Whatever it is- consider it check and mate. Not so cute now, is it?

I want that image to haunt all men whenever they start to imagine how cute it would be to get us all pissed off. It's not a good idea. Trust me. It's NOT a good idea.

4am and she's typing cuz' she's still awake.....

Sleep. The ungettable get.


I've been functioning insomniac for fifteen years. I'm gonna let that sink in for a second. I get alot of reactions to that. Usually the reaction I get to that is "You haven't slept in FIFTEEN YEARS?!?!" Well, no, of course not. I'd be dead if that were true.

Sometimes it's just pity. "Oh, my God. That sucks." Yeah, yeah it does.

Some people have to know how I cope- "Well, what do you do?" I lay there, I toss I turn. I turn on the tv, I turn off the tv. I read. I listen to music. I blog.....

And then comes the advice. Oh, the advice. I think that some people think that insomnia is like the hiccups, and that all I have to do is come upon the perfect cure and then, poof! I'll sleep like a baby! Trust me, friends, I have in fact, tried everything, EVERYTHING you can think of to fall asleep. (Except meditation, brother o' mine, which I will explain in a minute)

Some things I've attempted in my pursuit of the perfect night's sleep:
Teas
Warm Milk
Warm Baths
Warm Milk Baths
Exersizing right before bed
Performing the exact same ritual before I go to sleep every night so my body knows it's time to shut down
Reading
Counting Sheep (yeah, I did that)
Melatonin
Moving all of my furniture that isn't my bed out of my bedroom, so that my mind will only associate the room with sleep (Laughable)
A glass of red wine
A bottle of red wine
No alcohol at all
Repeating a mantra
Not eating for 3 hours before bed
Lavender
sleep masks

Are any of these sounding familiar? It's probably because either you've heard it or you've dispenced it. Truth: NONE OF THEM WORK FOR ME!!!!! Infact, I can count on one hand the amount of times I've fallen asleep naturally in the last fifteen years without the aid of some sort of drug. Off hand- three. THREE.

So what do I do? I take pills. I take ALOT of pills. I know it's wrong and unhealthy and probably doing unspeakable things to my liver- but I need the pills. I NEED the sweet release of sleep, when my body and my racing, ADD mind simply can't fight the glorious strength of whatever OTC remedy cocktail I've concocted. And it's always OTC, mind you. I'd love- no, love isn't a strong enough word- die, kill for, maim for, pillage and do unspeakable acts for a paid prescription to one of those drugs I see comercials for. Lunesta. Isn't that green butterfly pretty? I WANT IT!!!! Sadly, no money and no medical insurance..... You know what the worst part of it is? Sometimes- once a week at least- the pills aren't enough! So I'm blitzed out of my mind and still awake! What justice is there in the world?!?

The most common reaction I get to the admission of a fifteen year old bout with insomnia is this "What happens? Why can't you sleep?" I usually try to explain by saying "I have a racing mind" or "I can't stop thinking". But this isn't an accurate depiction. Thinking isn't exactly what keeps me awake- because it's not neccesarily tangible thoughts. Picture this: There you are lying in your bed. It's the perfect temperature, your body is relaxed, you have the absolute ideal number of pillows to support your head and neck- yet there next to your bed, someone is sitting there talking. They go on about your day, what so and so really meant when they said whatever they said. How so and so may have taken it when you said whatever you said.They talk about tv shows. They sing songs. Not just popular songs- showtunes, commercial jingles, the musical bridge to November Rain, the theme song to Family Matters. They do poetry. Jaberwocky- really, That person is sitting next to your bed literally going "Twas brillig, and the slithy tothes did gire and gimble in the wabe...." Monologues, jokes, the perfect comeback to something someone said six years ago. They tell you what to wear tomorrow- do you get it? THEY DON'T SHUT UP!!!!! The only way to shut them up? DRUG THEM. Drug them hard, drug them alot. Drug them now- drug them before they get a chance to pull up that chair- Drug the hell out of them so severly that they not only shut the fuck up, but they do not regain the ability to speak until a few hours after you wake up.

So we're clear, I don't actually believe that there is a person next to my bed talking, singing, etc- that would be crazy. Plus I'd have killed them off long ago and buried them where they'd never be found. (Kidding. Crazy again.) It's just the closest thing to describe the absolute torture that is insomnia. Because it isn't that you aren't tired. Nay- you're exhausted. Your body aches, you've got a day tomorrow, a flight, an interview, a date- whatever. Sleep is a fickle bitch. She'll be there when she wants to be there. If she doesn't show- well that's your loss. Read another book, watch another rerun of Becker and change positions for the eight-hundreth time.

Sweet, unmerciful God. I'm so effing tired.