I’m not feeling terribly well today. My belly hurts. In fact, it feels like someone filled my intestines with Mentos and Diet Coke. I’ll just let you enjoy that visual for a moment. Some days I wouldn’t mind going through menopause again.
You know what else hurts? My face – thanks to my dear husband’s elbow.
My husband has taken to voguing in his sleep. When I got up to pee around 2am last night, he had made a tent with his knees and then rested his hands on his raised legs. Just as I as about to smack him for being ridiculous, he pursed his lips into a little pout. I swear, although he was still lying horizontal in the bed, he had somehow managed to channel his inner Marilyn Monroe and re-enact that heating grate photo.
His other favorite pose is very complicated. First he twists his torso in a Bollywood beckoning kind of way. Then he kicks up one leg as though he’s some blond bombshell on the receiving end of a Dean Martin smooch. While cradling the back of his head in his hands, he lets his arms fall open like butterfly’s wings…if butterfly wings had hard pointy bones covered in rough scaly flesh, that is.
This pose always involves some sort of major trauma to my face. Usually I get struck in the striking of said pose. Fortunately for me, Rocco has a flair for the dramatic. So he swings his arm in a slow graceful arc, minimizing the momentum behind his elbow’s impact with my sinus cavity.
The real problems arise when the pose is already in place, the elbow quietly laying in wait. Then I, flopping with wild abandon, inevitable roll onto my side and impale my face on his elbow. Fucker.
…and then we’re both crabby. We’re both sleep deprived as a result of the fracas and I’ve usually got a black eye or other sexy bruising. Poor Rocco gets the worst of it though. The boy has to listen to me yell while he tries to pull himself back to reality after he’s spent the night parading about in an itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny yellow polka dot bikini on a secluded beach while Jorge Posada and Derek Jeter shower him with affection.
I really like sleep. I do not react well to interruptions. I’ve had my peaceful slumber disturbed in many ways: blaring alarm clocks, fire trucks responding to the gas leak across the street, the cat hacking up a hairball on my pillow, a drunk neighbor screaming as she topples down a flight of stairs, a strange man giggling at the foot of my bed. I prefer them all over the elbow to the face (ok you’re right, the cat puke one is worse).
I’m going back to bed now.
Ouch… that sucks monkey balls. I too am guilty of sleep beating. And several other sleep activities which we shall not name.
.-= mepsipax´s last blog ..I am a comment whore =-.
You puke on the pillow too?
Your husband is BRILLIANT! Pretending to sleep while simultaneously taking out his rage regarding the overcooked chicken.
Thanks for the tip!*
*I do not condone the abuse of women..even if you pretend you’re sleeping
.-= moooooog35´s last blog ..Buggin’ Jesus =-.
Oh that’s cute! You think I cook!
I am SO going to fix this problem for you and you are SO going to be licking my boots and calling me Sweat Sugar Tits in thanks to my brilliance:
Duct Tape and a Cattle Prod
Seriously, it works.
.-= Miss Spoken´s last blog ..Latex Gloves and Vomit: It’s Not As Fun As It Sounds =-.
I’m already calling you Sweat/Sweet Sugar Tits after that joke yesterday. Do you know how many phone calls I got on that one? You’re a legend now…
You’re hilarious! Love your sense of humour!
.-= Debra She Who Seeks´s last blog ..The Blue Bowl of Glastonbury =-.
Aww! Would that everyone thought my bitchy ravings were hilarious. I’m totally toasting you later.
Get a water bed, one of the old style where it’s just a big balloon full of water, and then jump into it like a pool.
The wave throws Rocco his side of the bed, cats and all, and while he’s crabby and complainy you quickly get into the I’ve-been-asleep-this-whole-time,-what-happened? pose.
Before long, he’ll be convinced he’s sleep leaping. Then tell him that when he does it, he disturbs you and that he should buy ice cream for you to make amends for his bizarre sleep hopping.
.-= KeepingYouAwake´s last blog ..OMFG MAH NEW FONE ROCKZ! =-.
Ok, now I can’t stop laughing. You made my day. I keep picturing my poor cat flying through the air and bouncing off walls.
…and I really want ice cream.
So my husband has sleep apnea (boring), and yours dances in his sleep (awesome). Not fair. A random elbow to the head is almost worth the entertainment value there. You should take pictures of the different poses. 🙂
.-= Andrea´s last blog .."Been caught stealing" =-.
Doesn’t he get to wear one of those cool machines and be all “Luke, I am your father,” and all that jazz?!? Way better than elbows.
I fully appreciate that you impale yourself on his elbow and he is his a fucker for having it there. because he is.
.-= magda´s last blog ..Speaking of Pussy… =-.
I love that you get me. I also LOVE the title of your latest post. SHOCKER.
Yet another reason to bring back the Ricky and Lucy beds
Ha! voguing in his sleep …xoxoxo!!!
.-= Mrsblogalot´s last blog ..Aerial View of Insanity =-.
He DOES have an unnatural attachment to Madonna. I bet Ricky did the Bossa Nova in his sleep.
Oh shit, the Ricky and Lucy twin bed syndrome! No wonder those two stayed married for so long. My hubby snores like a fucking buzz saw and sleeps like the dead. I can actually pinch his nose shut for minutes at a time before he even stirs. The kids sleep punch and kick me but I think that’s proper revenge for fucking them up so badly.
.-= Kelly´s last blog ..Pocket Atomic =-.
I love to pinch Rocco’s nose shut when he’s snoring! It’s easier for me to return to my I’ve-been-asleep-this-whole-time,-what-happened? pose with the nose pinch than when I try and smother him with a pillow.
Only one “fucker’. Interesting.
Just one more thing, there was something at the end there, about a strange man giggling at the foot of your bed?
It was not Rocco and it was not pretty. It was followed my a loud crashing noise in the stairwell – THAT was Rocco.
Since he’s all so flexible and stuff… (You know where my mind is going…) Or does this flexibility only come when he’s sleeping? Sorry about that love.
.-= submom´s last blog ..Trouble Maker? You talking to me? =-.
I’m not sure I’d describe him as flexible – just pointy. Speaking of impaling…
At least your intestines are filled and not your testicles!! ;0)
I feel for you, I really do… but it IS funny!
.-= Eternally Distracted´s last blog ..Be careful what you wish for… =-.
I’m going to clip HIS wings.
I sleep through everything my husband does (roaming about mostly) except when he’s been drinking. Then my subconscious wakes me up so that I can follow him about and stop him pissing on things.
Fun life, huh?!
.-= pixielation´s last blog ..Pants on the floor? No star for you! =-.
Stop it. Really? He’s a sleep pee-er? That’s fantastic and horrible all at once. I wouldn’t want it to happen in my own house, but I sure would be intrigued to see it happen somewhere else. I’m a tiny bit jealous but mostly I offer my condolences. Mostly.
And I thought I had it bad…MOTH is an occasional sleepwalker/talker. I have gotten up in the morning and found a sink full of water and a jar of peanut butter on the counter, with no explanation. But at least my face is intact.
Can I suggest those pop-up tire-stabby things they have at the DEQ?
.-= Falling´s last blog ..Happiness Is… (think Beatles, not Precious Moments) =-.
Ok, doll, so the previous post referenced Fireflies, this one referenced butterflies……you are clearly obsessed with Bollywood dancers…..I am digging you! As long as the reference wasn’t that fucking gawd awful Firefly song (get out of my head, off of my radio and just go the fuck away already you over played bitch!!!) Anyway, love of my life used to toss and turn and throw elbows, even threw a punch one night, I dodged it, but, on to my point, turns out, they become less mandiva-ish, after having been tossed off the mother fucking bed a couple times. Quite literally. After he would get back to sleep and I was still in pain, I would get quite enraged, so, I would just roll him out of bed. When his obvious immediate sleepy response to this was, “what happened? What’s wrong?” I would say, “Fuck you, fucking asshole, I’m still awake and hurting and it’s your fault.” Then I would get the speech about him being sorry but it’s not really the same to do something in your sleep and do it on purpose while you’re awake. hehehe So, from then on, I would roll him out of bed and when he asked what happened I would just say I didn’t know, but since he was awake, he could get me some ice. LMAO
.-= Wicked Shawn´s last blog ..So Now I know Why They Call It NashVegas =-.
You’re a handful, aren’t you? I respect that.