Ten clever things to do at 3 in the morning.

1. Walk your dog!
2. Run a mile!
3. Make 7 sandwiches. Eat them!
4. Prank call all the friends you know are sleeping!
5. Make a bookshelf naked!
6. Solve P versus NP!
7. Bass fishing!
8. Grease a pig. Catch it!
9. Sing an opera in front of your neighbors home at the top of your lungs!
10. Go to Wal-Mart. Steal all the food you can carry. Donate it to the homeless. Eat it in front of them!

Comments

Dinner isn't ready

There is blood all over my exquisitely painted walls. And on the imported carpet from China. And soaked into the thousand thread-count sheets. This is going to take absolutely forever to clean up. I was never informed that death was so messy and if I had known I would have put down some plastic over the furniture or something. Now I have to pay someone to get all the stains out. Such a hassle. I was just playing a bit of a game with my husband, you see. It seems that we got a bit too rough and he has hurt himself. Such a clumsy man I am married to. He has managed to make a mess of everything in the room, and now it's going to take me even longer to clean up before dinner can get made. We always play little games like this with each other though. The last time we played tag, he accidentally pushed me too hard and I hit my head on the kitchen table. I ended up with 4 stitches, but I know it was just a mistake. Another time while we were playing hide and seek at the mall, he acciden...

Eyeliner Sideburns

In another life, known as the age of 14, I had a big crush on a boy. Before I get started recalling any type of detail about the nature of our relationship - no relationship whatsoever, actually - I feel compelled to describe our differences in outward appearance. Jason, last name Whothehellknows, was a rather attractive specimen of boy. Tall, slender, rather nice hair, amazing glasses. He was probably the boy that got me started on my love of guys that wear glasses, actually. I liked them so much that I even renamed him. Pretty Glasses Boy he was dubbed, PGB for short and I was completely infatuate. So was the rest of the female student body, to be honest. He delivered letters and memos to other classrooms for the office and you could hear the murmur down the hall from the girls after he left a room. I, on the other hand, was on the other side of aesthetically pleasing. I was short, too skinny, and my hair was wrong. Come to think of it, when isn't my hair wrong? I digress. He...

Better

I was eleven when the hospital called to tell us that Momma had died. Eleven and a half when Papa started drinking. Twelve when I realized that I could no longer sleep. Thirteen when Papa found out that he loved me too much. Fourteen when I found out that his love was, indeed, too much. Seventeen when I finally ran away. One night Papa came home from a long night at work with his partners Jack Daniels and Jameson Irish in the bar around the corner and he came into my room and he held me close and crawled into my sheets and I blocked out everything because I had gotten so good at blocking it out and then he was done and he told me he loved me and it would all be better in the morning and I heard him go downstairs and start snoring from the couch and I thought about what he said and and and It would all be better in the morning. I got out the suitcase that Momma had gotten me for Christmas that one year that we decided to go caroling in the streets and bring our neighbors Christmas cook...

I mean it from the bottom of my [HEART].

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