Someone Please Make The Sun Come Up

The good thing about insomnia is that when it snows for the first time this winter – gigantic fluffy flakes so thick you can hardly see through it – at 4:30 in the morning, you don’t miss a second of it. And because everyone around you is asleep and dreaming, you feel like it is just for you.

The bad thing about insomnia is that at 3 am, you discover that all the HBOs and Showtimes are working for no reason. And you flip past 30 Days of Night – the one with the nasty-ass vampires in the snow – and you get sucked into watching it. And then you have to go out into the snow all by yourself.

I really want to tell you about Janternet’s party, but it involves so much HTML and remembering stuff and being witty, and all I want to do right now is forget about those ugly vampires by curling up with a book about sexy vampires. Run on sentence, hi. I also want to tell you about my rekindled love affair with New Jack Swing. I will have to do it later. Maybe in a few hours when I am still awake and totally delirious?

Tonight I hung out with my high school friends and it made me so happy. Ted and I played 8 games of Egyptian Rat Screw. We won 4 games each. This battle has been going on for a decade. I think we subconciously tie on purpose because trash talking with Ted is one of my favorite things in life.

I’ve been on a New Friends Kick recently, but sometimes it helps to recharge myself by hanging out with some of the oldest, some of the best. Even when they’re farting nonstop. Even when they’re teasing me about nothing just so I’ll make “that face”. Even when they remind me that I am very, very short:

Seriously, has Warren always been two heads taller than me? Why couldn’t they make me feel this little and dainty back in the day?

I love how I started this entry with a gimmick/concept, and now I’m just rambling about anything and everything to keep the vampires away.

UPDATE: I’m all better; I just stumbled across What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, and after that is Pump Up The Volume. YES.

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