Cheek to Cheek
Chris says I talk about her too much so I’ve decided to pretend she’s on some exotic vacation without a phone for awhile. Farewell, Chris!
There was a thunderstorm last night. I know this not from actually hearing the thunder, nor from actually seeing the lightening or even from opting to watch the news instead of my cartoons, I instead know this because I was woke up extremely early this morning by a 45-lb Boston Terrier sitting on my face.
Not a pleasant sight. Trust me on this.
To make my rude awakening even worse, it was like 7 AM. I know. I know. Not that early, right? Well it’s really fucking early for me. I work the night-shift, baby. My 7AM is like everyone else’s 3AM.
So there I am, pleasantly snuggled into my blankets, snoozing the early morning away, when I realize a big black doggie ass is firmly planted over my nose. We were cheek to cheek, if you know what I mean.
I pushed him off, swore a bunch of mangled profanities in my grogginess and then rolled back over and fell asleep on my face (to prevent further butt-planting attacks).
What felt like moments later, Fatty was scratching at me to get under the covers. I accommodated the big shaking wieney and fell back asleep.
Minutes pass. I’m slipping blissfully back into a REM cycle when I feel Fatty scratching at me again. I nudge him towards the edge of the bed thinking I could just roll him off and go back to sleep, but he keeps scratching at my stomach under the covers.
I cursed something about hating him with the heat of a thousand suns and roll over until he can wedge himself between my lower back and the bed. I slept the rest of the night curled with my back around him like some torturous yoga position.
Basically I was his shelter from the storm. Which would have been sweet if I hadn’t woken up not being able to feel my toes.
I’m pretty sure I hate that dog.
There was a thunderstorm last night. I know this not from actually hearing the thunder, nor from actually seeing the lightening or even from opting to watch the news instead of my cartoons, I instead know this because I was woke up extremely early this morning by a 45-lb Boston Terrier sitting on my face.
Not a pleasant sight. Trust me on this.
To make my rude awakening even worse, it was like 7 AM. I know. I know. Not that early, right? Well it’s really fucking early for me. I work the night-shift, baby. My 7AM is like everyone else’s 3AM.
So there I am, pleasantly snuggled into my blankets, snoozing the early morning away, when I realize a big black doggie ass is firmly planted over my nose. We were cheek to cheek, if you know what I mean.
I pushed him off, swore a bunch of mangled profanities in my grogginess and then rolled back over and fell asleep on my face (to prevent further butt-planting attacks).
What felt like moments later, Fatty was scratching at me to get under the covers. I accommodated the big shaking wieney and fell back asleep.
Minutes pass. I’m slipping blissfully back into a REM cycle when I feel Fatty scratching at me again. I nudge him towards the edge of the bed thinking I could just roll him off and go back to sleep, but he keeps scratching at my stomach under the covers.
I cursed something about hating him with the heat of a thousand suns and roll over until he can wedge himself between my lower back and the bed. I slept the rest of the night curled with my back around him like some torturous yoga position.
Basically I was his shelter from the storm. Which would have been sweet if I hadn’t woken up not being able to feel my toes.
I’m pretty sure I hate that dog.
Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings
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on 15.6.06 at 5:17 PM.
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