Sleepy Time Gal

Most of the time, I'm not the jealous type. I don't really go around envying people about the bling in their step or the skip in their rings. I'm pretty happy with what I've got and that's the honest-to-britney truth. Off the top of my head, I can think of two things that make me feel the fang-pangs of the green-eyed monster. One of them is height. I feel like a shorty shortcake a lot of the time and I flippin' hate it. It is infantalizing to have to constantly ask your friends to get things off high shelves for you. And one of the reasons that I am Skirt McGurt is that when I try to buy pants, I always feel like a member of the Lollypop Guild because the legs are always, always too long. I think that in the grand scheme of things, I'm actually not very short. I'm of average height, is what I'm told. But I feel short. Perhaps I have some strange version of a Napoleon complex. Or maybe I just happen to hang out with garagantuan people.

The second thing I am jealous of is...ready for this? People who talk in their sleep. Of all things, right? I know.

It all started with an ex-boyfriend. One night, as he slept, he started to say this: "bubonic...bubonic..." This gave me no end of giggles. Why is it entertaining when someone talks in their sleep? Why, when someone starts to do it, do we gather around and prod them into saying more nonsense? You know you've done this. At some slumber party or in some relationship at some point in your life, you have tried to make someone talk in their sleep, and felt some sense of victory when they started spewing gibberish. That's what I did with my boyfriend. I said "bubonic" back to him. To which he replied "mmm...cactus...bubonic cactus." I teased him about this forever. I made up a song called "bubonic cactus" which I would sing to him whenever the need struck me. Months of entertainment came out of that.

Nordic Boy will sometimes tell me a little something when he sleeps. And one time he told me a real earful. It went like this: us, both asleep. Me, needing to make a midnight pee-pee run. I got up, not wanting to make any noise as to wake Nordic Boy up. I tip-toed across the room, careful to step around any creaky parts of the floor. Trouble was, there was a chair in the middle of the hallway. I crashed into it in the most grand, spectacular way you can imagine. Like, remember that Sesame Street skit where they would focus on a particular number, and then that guy who played Bentley from the Jefferson's would dress up like a chef and stand at the top of a flight of stairs and sing something like "SEVEN...SPECTACULAR...CUPCAAAAAKES," and then he would go crashing down the stairs, smooshing the cupcakes all over the place? It was a fall like that. (And man, was that a convoluted, weird-o pop culture reference? Mr. Bentley and the falling cupcake chef from Sesame Street! How many of you got that one?) Anyhoo. So I crashed into this chair, and fell flat on my back on the floor. In response to this, Nordic Boy sat straight up in bed and yelled "GODDAMN IT, LIBRARIAN GIRL!!!!!" I am not sure I can describe just how hilarious this is. First of all, I have known Nordic Boy for many, many years, ever since we were young hoodlums. And in all this time, he has never once yelled at me. Ever. And I mean EVER. You think I'm exaggerating, but I promise you, I shit you not. Nary a raised voice, not even an irritated sigh, has come my way. So to hear this booming, roaring, in-need-of-a-serious-chill-pill voice come out of my sweet Nordic Boy was friggin' comedy of the highest order. I literally sat there on the floor and cracked my ass up. He, however, proceeded to flop back down and reconvene with the sleeping. And, when I told him about it the next day, he swore up and down that he didn't do that, he couldn't have done that, and I was crazy if I thought I had really heard such a thing. He still disputes this story to this day and seems mortified that it just might be true. Lemme tell you, it totally happened. He was just completely asleep the entire time.

Why does this make me jealous? Why do I want to have someone tell me that I said something crazy in my sleep? I'm not sure. It's like, when people talk in their sleep, they seem so close to their unconscious. It's right there, out in the open, and for some reason I envy that.

Last night, I almost got my wish. See, I was having this dream, where a housecat who was the size of Hulk Hogan was trying to kick my ass. He was walking on his hind-legs, coming towards me, and I was determined not to turn and run. I bent both my knees and prepared to go Charles Bronson on his ass. And as I started to go for the roundhouse kick...

Nordic Boy: (shaking me) Hey! Hey!
Me: (waking up abruptly) What?
Him: You were yelling out in your sleep.
Me: I was?? Really? What was I saying?
Him: It was like a Bruce Lee sound. "Bwaaaah!" Like that.
Me: Really? Bwaaaah?
Him: Yeah. Are you ok?
Me: Yeah. This gangster cat was after me and I was about to chop him down.
Him: Oh.

So, what do you guys think? Does this count? Am I a sleep-talker? I think it counts, but can anyone use "bwaaaah" in a sentence? Go ahead, try it.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl