Monday, June 11, 2007

To the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal, light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle

I used to have all the words to Ice Ice Baby memorized. True story. Now I only know like every few lines. Because drinking kills brain cells! Brain cells you NEED. Like the ones that house the lyrics to Ice Ice Baby. Also the ones that know your phone number, the difference between their, there, and they're, and what a hypotenuse is. Don't drink, kids!

Are there ever moments in your life where a song is playing in the background and you stop and think, "if I were in a movie right now, this song would be the perfect soundtrack for this moment." No? Just me? Awesome.

Friends, I have a problem. OK, I have lots of problems but let's focus on one thing at a time, shall we? For some reason, my early morning brain thinks I can hit the snooze button fifteen times and still have time to get ready. Snooze Button Jennie is stupid. So very stupid. I cannot complete my morning routine in 20 minutes. I just can't. It takes me the entire length of this CD to get ready, minus one song. I usually skip number 10, because I'm depressed enough in the morning and if I listen to that song, the chances are great that I will crawl back under the covers and mope my way back to sleep.

No matter what I do, I hit snooze at least twice. I tried setting my alarm earlier so if I did hit snooze, I'd still be getting up on time, but that didn't work because Snooze Button Jennie was not fooled! She just hit snooze more times. I also set my clock five minutes fast. Which only serves to freak me out in the middle of getting ready because I think I'm later than I actually am.

I wish I were one of those people who don't even need an alarm. They have some sort of crazy internal clock that tells that it's time to get up and, oh, also to smile and be really happy and annoying until someone like me punches them in the face. I've never been one to get out of bed until I absolutely had to. When I was younger and lived at home, my dad had this bullshit rule (I'm sorry, Dad, but it was) that I had to be up by 10 on the weekends. Which, OK, is not early by any means but I was a growing teenager and I needed my sleep! One morning, I wouldn't get out of bed. My dad opened the door and let the 80 pound dog come in and jump on my head. I pulled the covers over my face. He ripped the covers off the bed. I burrowed my face under the pillow. He took my pillow away. I shoved my face into the mattress. He turned on my clock radio to one radio station and my CD player to another. I covered my ears. He turned on the light and my TV. And I STILL refused to get up, even though I was wide awake. I was trying to prove a point. I don't know what it was. But while my dad wasted all that electricity, I'm sure I got an extra two seconds of sleep and sometimes that makes a real difference, you know?

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