Sleep Deprivation

I believe I have previously mentioned my bizarre attitude towards sleeping with guys overnight. This is not an issue for me whatsoever with members of the same sex, but there is just something about catching z's with a guy next to me in my bed that rubs me the wrong way. Sleeping with someone is like the ultimate most comfortable thing you can do with a guy. Think about it, you are more than likely in a queen sized bed or smaller. In my case it's a full. So your face is like five infinitesimal inches away from his face. Every girl looks like shit in the morning when they wake up. Guys do not have to deal with this nonsense every morning. They look exactly the way they did when they were saying goodnight to you. Bullshit. They don't bleed profusely for a week every month risking their life if during that particular week they happen to be in an ocean that has sharks, it doesn't take them more than twenty minutes to get ready, and they don't look like they traveled to hell and back during a windstorm when they wake up in the morning. It's just not right. So you sleep less than a foot away from this guys face...breathing the same air, (again, that's just not right)you wake up and both have morning dragon breath, and then there's one more little issue that unfortunately I encountered last night. Snoring.

I finally did it. Anthony and I had just finished watching The Notebook, (an essential boyfriend requirement) after which we cuddled in my amazingly comfortable bed in my freezing little Doll House and shot the shit about anything that happened to come up. Before we knew it the clock was striking 3 am and poor little Anthony booger had to be up at 8 for a class. Well there were two reasons I decided to bend the rules and allow Anthony to endure a slumber party with me. One: I'm really starting to like this guy and I legitimately didn't want him to leave, and Two: It was three am. You know what three am is right? The witching hour. Since I'm the biggest pansy-ass known to mankind when it comes to ghosts and that bullshit, there was no way in H-E double hockey sticks I was going to let him leave me alone in my bed to try to sleep at the hour of the devil. No no no. So I tell him he can stay. He was surprised and mildly excited at my change of heart. However, Anthony came equipped with a disclaimer: "Caroline you cannot be mad if I snore." Here's where I'm thinking: Okay, there is no way he is going to snore again like last time... last time he was about ten shots of white grape vodka in which was his excuse as to why he was snoring louder than our hot water heater. So I decide to take my chances since I'm scared shitless and I thoroughly enjoy him. BAD CHOICE.

It is now four am and we are both hygienically ready for bed and dressed in our full on pjs for the occasion. He says goodnight to me, quick kiss... and not even ten minutes later he is snoring like a tractor 6 inches away from my forehead. DAMN IT. About thirty seconds after this nonsense starts he then proceeds to flip over and face the other direction. I'm somewhat relieved that I do not have to breathe his snoring air anymore, except for the tiny detail that he rolled over connected with all of the covers. He is now rolled up taco style in my down comforter and the fleece blanket I brought from home to temper the sting of the frigid air. It's about negative freezing in my bedroom so now not only do I have a tractor snore soundtrack to try to drown out, I am ice cold and smashed up against my plaster bedroom wall. I tossed and turned for four hours, getting maybe (MAYBE) an hour and a half of shut eye. I am startled to a jolt to an "Apple Bottom Jeans" ringtone at about notch 6 on his cell-phone's sound level as his alarm clock signals eight in the effing am when I didn't have to be up until 10:15.


Wakey wakey eggs and Bakey.