Talking in my Sleep

I had a friend sleep over Saturday night. And he hilariously talked in his sleep. Like, non-stop, all night. He suffers from insomnia, as do I. And he talks in his sleep, as do I. But, unlike him, I also sleep walk. In fact, I can interact with my environment to a disturbing degree in my sleep.

Check out that creepstache.

I have some theories about insomnia, sleepwalking, and sleep talking. I’m not here to debate the science or research behind any of that. I know that for me, the less I sleep, the more I sleep walk, sleep talk, and have symptoms of OCD and depression when I’m awake.


With all that said; this is the totally true story that I have absolutely no memory of.


My sister J and I shared a room growing up. We shared a bed for several years, and even a pillow when we were very young. When I was 10, we had bunk beds.

Ours looked like this. No rail to keep you from falling off and they were made out of splintery wood. Like old pallet wood.

I got the top bunk both because I was older and already a giant freak, and because J would fall off the top bunk every time she slept there. She even re-fractured her arm once.


I’m getting a little off topic, but we also used the call the space between the bed and the wall “the creek.” It always cracked us up when she would slip down into the creek and she would call out to me “Help! I’m stuck in the creek!” And I would be helpless with laughter watching her struggle to get free.


Anyway, I rarely slept growing up. I couldn’t fall asleep, I couldn’t stay asleep, and once I was awake, I couldn’t fall back asleep. I am still this way to a lesser degree.


There were nights where I did not sleep at all. On a good day, I would sleep for 4 hours or so. As a result, I had crazy bad sleep talking. I even used to sing sometimes.


One night, my brother T was at a friends house so it was just J and I upstairs. J says that at some point in the night I woke her up with a high pitched voice saying “J, turn on the light. There’s a monster outside.”

We didn’t have a nightlight. But there are some kick ass ones, like this adorable Tardis.

J turned on the light and there was naturally no monster. She looked up at me on the top bunk and I was fast asleep.


She turned out the light and went back to bed. A short time later, I woke her up again. “J, turn on the light. Please?” She says I said this in a bizarre sing songy voice.


She turned the light on again and looked in on me. She said this time I had a creepy smile on my face. In fact, I had creeped her out so much, she decided to go sleep in T’s room.


But after only a few minutes, I had gotten out of my bunk and followed her into T’s room. I was still completely asleep, just so you guys know.


I bent down to wake her up. “J, you forgot your pillow.” And I handed her the pillow off her bed.


She thanked me and told me to go back to bed. Which I did and she again fell asleep. She doesn’t have the same sleeping issues I have.


But after an hour or so I came in and woke her up talking about monsters. Then she says I stopped, turned to her, and exclaimed, “J! What’s in your ear?”


And that’s when J realized she DID feel something in her ear. She freaked out thinking I had placed something in her ear in my sleep (which is a valid fear and something weird I would probably totally do).


She ran down the stairs to our bathroom and peered into her ear canal. There was a roach. In her fucking ear. There are pictures of this on the internet, but I just cant look it up. Feel free though, readers.


If this was me I probably would have just curled into the fetal position on the floor of the bathroom and been found that way by one of my parents in the morning.


But J pulled the roach out with a pair of tweezers like a fucking superhero. Then she went back upstairs to check on me. She didn’t even wake me up because she knew I would never get back to sleep. And because she is the best sister ever.


She found me back in my bunk talking about owls and making my fingers dance? I am a little unclear on that part.


The next morning she told me this story and I did not believe one word of it. I mean, except that I do sleep walk. And sleep talk. And have nightmares about monsters all the time. And am scared of the dark.


It was getting pretty tough to deny. And then she showed me where I had put her pillow. In T’s room. So, I guess that whole thing happened. And is freaky as shit.

I guess the moral of this story is that you should never stay the night with me. Because what the hell?

Baby Robot Octopus

Alright, I am about to do something I have never done yet on this blog. I am going to show you a semi-sexy picture of myself. I am really nervous about posting it. but I want you all to get what I am saying here. Please be kind in the comments, at least about my body. Feel free to be dicks about everything else.


After every heart surgery, and still at random intervals even now, I have to wear a portable heart monitor. This thing looks like a baby robot octopus attacking my chest. It’s how I have always imagined it.

It actually looks like an iPod until it is attached.

The first time the nurse tried attaching it to me, I wrapped the cords around my neck and pretended it was choking me. I was shouting and fighting it off like a hero.

Oh god, it has me in it’s slimy grasp!

She was not amused. She was a tough older Russian lady. She was clinical, cold, and very unfriendly. I was a little bit intimidated.


Until I turned around to assist her in attaching this thing to me. Apparently, I was the first person to ever help her attach it to me. I was dumbfounded. I was just being courteous. I mean, she wasn’t my servant, she was my nurse. But after that, and ever since, she has always been very kind to me. She still doesn’t think I am funny, though.


The way this thing works is that there is a small box, about the size of a deck of cards. It has a green light and four leads that come out of it. The leads are wires with snaps on them. The snaps attach to half dollar size stickers that attach to your body.


So, this is how it looks attached. Fun bonus for you guys, you can totally see my third nipple here.

The real issue is that you can’t shower while wearing this. And you have to wear it for 24-48 hours. I work a pretty physical job, in Florida. That means lots of sweating.


Not only do I smell bad, but the leads can come unstuck. The trick to keeping them stuck to you is two things: sandpaper tape to rub off the top layer of skin and hair, and a skin safe epoxy to keep them extra stuck.


The problem with those two options is that I have EXTREMELY sensitive skin. I have a mild form of dermatographia.

Mine is not quite this bad, but I do have a future story about it.

Also, as mentioned here; I am allergic to everything. This means that by the time the leads are attached, my skin is angry and irritated like a huge blotchy rash. It also means that when they are removed I have giant scabs, like I really have been attacked by an octopus.





Yeah, it looks exactly like that.

So they rub my skin raw, coat the raw skin with epoxy, and then coat it with a lead patch. They take the actual device and put it either in a halter mount, for men, or in your bra, for women. I don’t know why they cram it in there, I mean, my bra is already being used to hold my boobs. But that’s where it has to go for some reason. And you can’t remove the bra to sleep either. That is super uncomfortable all night.


When wearing these leads, I have to keep a journal of everything that I do and also any symptoms I feel. I like to make that fun for the people reading it, which I suppose is my cardiologist.


Here is an example of what I like to put (just so you know, all these examples are true things that happened):


6:30pm-7:00pm eating dinner (I eat really fast and food excites me, don’t be surprised to see palpitations here).


8:00pm-8:15pm sponge bath (bow chicka bow wow).


10:30pm-10:40pm I thought I saw a roach and freaked out, but it turned out to be a very roach realistic woodgrain pattern in my new wood floors (definite palpitations).


3:27am-3:45am I had a dream I was in an abandoned construction site fighting a zombie horde (definite palpitations).

7:00am-7:05am really hot guy smiled at me and I accidentally punched myself in the face trying to put on my seatbelt (possible pounding heartbeat).


After the allotted time, I would go back to see my nurse and she removes all the leads. She tries to do it carefully, but it doesn’t really matter. I usually remove my bra while still in the office. It peels off like a used band-aid. Then I drive immediately home and shower. And wash my bra.

The giant sucker marks generally go away after a week or two.

July Search Terms

I know I am a few days late with this one. And my last post was a bit of a cop out too. I promise I am writing wondrous things and working on my weird crafty little projects. But here it is. This months search terms:


You fucking my sister: I am imagining this as being said by a young Robert De Niro. YOU fucking MY sister?!


The shit roach killer: Well, I don’t know if I am the shit, but let me tell you guys a quick and terrible story. It was 1am on my birthday morning. I had stayed up till midnight to be the first person to wish myself happy birthday. I woke up and felt something tickling my neck. I brushed it away, thinking it was a stray hair. I shed like a golden retriever. But it was still tickling. Moving even. I jumped up and brushed it away even harder. In the dim light I could make out a black shape crawling across my sheet. Now I was wide the fuck awake! I jumped to my lamp and grabbed my glasses. I knew it had been a giant roach on me. And I would not rest until it was found. I go looking for it and the fucker ran right at me. I freak out and grab a shoe to kill it and it magically disappears. So then, I am looking around, trying to find this thing. And I cant. So I am hunting around, frantically, when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. The roach is on the ceiling now. I try to smack it down with the shoe and it flies right at my face. I try to smack it away and knock my glasses off my face. Then I hastily put them back on and it is gone again. So I am losing it now, thinking it is on me. I start mussing up my hair and it isn’t there. So I grab the front of my shirt and shake it. The roach was on my shirt! ON my shirt! Ugh. It was like a horror movie. So I crush it with the shoe (grinding it’s guts into my quilt). And all the while I am whispering “Fuck you. You fucking roach fucker.” And then I couldn’t sleep because I was so full of adrenaline and fear. And I had to take a shower and wash my sheets and my glasses. I stayed up till 6am. It wasn’t the best beginning to my birthday.


Cockblock perish, Venice FL: There’s a Cockblock Parish in Venice FL? Between that and the giant rats, I think I need to visit this place.

Hollow tooth from under: From under what? The stairs? The ground? It’s like the title of a Goosebumps novel.


Animal Zoo Vegina (sic) xray: Okay, I have to admit, this made me curious too. It is a thing.

Is it just me or does this look a lot like the ghost trap in Ghostbusters?


A sugar mummy fucked by his real brother: This is just, intriguing. Is it like a sugar mummy like a sugar skull from the Day of the Dead celebration? Or are you looking for porn about rich mummies?


I had sex with him, in an orange grove: Internet high five!


Apartment maggots Maine: Can you please email me this story, search term searcher? I love maggot stories!


Ken doll genitalia: I think Ken’s genital bump really confused a lot of little girls. And probably some boys too. What the hell Mattel?


An xray skeletons that spells happy birthday: You know me all too well.


I feel like I’m in a Twilight Zone blackside trash song: You know what, I don’t even know exactly what this mean, but me too. Me too.


Why men mastermate (sic) with Barbie dolls: Men; #1 Do you guys ‘mastermate’ with Barbie dolls? #2 Why?


“search my vagina”: I don’t know why this is in quotes, but I feel so tempted to use this at some point in the very near future.


Co-worker: Why would anyone put mustard on spaghetti? (A Co-worker did this recently and I was baffled.)

Me: Search my vagina.


Search Terms

There are some wonderful bloggers out there that like to talk about the search terms used to find their blog. And I laugh until I can’t breathe when I read them. But I know I am not clever in that way and am not good at that kind of funny. In case you were wondering, my kind of funny is more talking about how idiotic I am. I am really good at that.


However, the shit people have been looking for lately is too good to not share. So, you’re welcome wayward searchers. I hope my blog was able to answer your bizarre and smelly questions.


List of characters from giant monsters and dra- I don’t even know what this means or why it took you here. I should say both of you.


Body odor of rotten potato- I have smelled rotten potato and the only way to kill that smell is with fire or acid. Sorry about your body odor, though, that’s tough.


Have you ever fucked your sister doll- Um, no. Are we talking about that kid sister doll or what? Or maybe I don’t really want to know.


Good roach killer- I am the opposite of this.


Barbie fuck- I know why that would lead you here, I just don’t know why you were looking for that.


Gas stations without bathrooms- Those are ideally, the best kind. It’s probably better to just pee yourself.


How to tighten your retainer with the key- My mother did mine. I can’t even imagine trying to do this to yourself.


Fingering hospital story- I could not be more proud of this. I should change my headline on this blog to this. Thank you, dear internet searcher.


What to do if your car smell (sic) like rotten potato- As I mentioned above, the only solution is fire or acid.


Bedpan use myself- I hope you haven’t been sharing these.


Old Cabbage Patch dolls with vagina- I guess I missed the production of that line of Cabbage Patch dolls.


ECG taking inner the vagina whole part while fucking- Were you looking for a really specific porn? It reminds me of Mary Roach’s book: Boink. What a wonderful book about the study of sex.

Wizard of Oz tattoos- Man, mention Wizard of Oz one time and the internet never lets you forget it.

Roach Wars

My father is a collector. He makes jewelry, as do I. It is an obsession for him (and becoming one for me), but when I was a child I didn’t get it. He has vast row after row of baby food jars filled with beads, broken jewelry, semi-precious stones.


He also collects records. He has over 5,000. They are stacked in boxes all over the downstairs of the church where he lives. He also has between 10 and 15 turntables to play the records on. Only two or three are functional.

I'm beginning to paint this weird picture of a hoarding family.

I’m beginning to paint this weird picture of a hoarding family.

And he collects plants. I know you may be thinking: How can you collect plants? Aren’t they alive?


Yes. They are. We moved many, many times in my childhood. And each move involved packing up all his plants and taking them with us. House to house. All over Florida.


He has a particular fondness for bromeliads. So do I, as it turns out. I’d rather get a bromeliad than flowers. It must have been all those years helping him in the yard. Digging plants up, transplanting them, watering them. We had a compost bin that had to be turned and sifted through.

So beautiful.

So beautiful.

Even now I love the smell of rich fertile soil, the sound of a sprinkler spinning, the smell of fish emulsions (basically, ground up, concentrated fish heads, yum!), earthworms.


But for some reason, bromeliads seem to attract palmetto bugs. Which is basically a polite way of saying; giant flying roaches.


When we were kids, my brother, sister and I found a way to amuse ourselves with them. My brother was in charge of catching the disgusting creatures. I could never stomach that. As you all now know.


My brother never had that issue. He still doesn’t. He can crush them with a bare hand. In fact, when he was very little, family legend has it that he used to eat them. That’s right. Roaches. They could never tell if he was eating dead ones he’d found or catching live ones and eating them. Either way, it’s horrific. My mother used to see him chewing and reach into his mouth only to pull out roach parts. *SHUDDER*


Anyway. On one side of our house there was a brick paved walkway with bromeliads on both sides. And tons of lizards.


We would catch the roaches and run over to the walkway with the roach squirming around in my brother’s cupped hands. I like to imagine us digging through the trash bags of aluminum cans in our yard and overturning rocks, trying to find roaches to use in our sick game. I don’t even know where we got them all from.

Why were these all in my yard as a child?

Why were these all in my yard as a child?

My brother would throw the roach down onto the center of the brick walkway. Not hard enough to kill it, but hard enough to daze it a bit. It made a very specific and particular sound when it hit.


The roach would sit for a second and then go crazy, trying to get back to the safety of some dark corner. But it was too late. The hungry eager eyes of the lizards would have already locked on to the defenseless roach. We eventually trained the lizards, Pavlovian style, to come running when they heard the sound of the roach hitting the bricks.


Three or four lizards would come running up. And they would tear the roach apart, fighting each other in some kind of tug of war. It was fascinating. Like a microcosm of the Serengeti. The roach was a zebra and the lizards a pack of lions.

They should make a documentary about this.

They should make a documentary about this.

We were bloodthirsty. We watched, riveted by the spectacle. We couldn’t get enough. My sister and I would beg my brother to do it again and again. Over and over. Till he got bored and would refuse to continue. But we were thrilled.


We would have done that to the exclusion of all other activities if we could have convinced him. Catching them ourselves was not an option.

Honestly, I still kind of want to see it again. Even now. Twenty-three years later. The thought of it is so compelling to me. And not just because I fucking hate roaches.


When I was growing up in the small town where I lived, there was a retention pond less than a block from my house. I spent a lot of time down there.


It was rarely full of water and I definitely didn’t realize it was intended to hold storm water runoff that had overflowed through drainage pipes. Believe me. I didn’t know.


One day, being in an adventurous mood, my little sister and I went down to the good old retention pond. There was a large opening that looked almost like a cave.

Not a cave.

Not a cave.

I had heard about caves. I even knew what spelunking was. I was 12, but had a decent vocabulary.


I don’t know why in the hell I felt compelled to crawl into that fucking tunnel. I guess maybe I had been sleeping too well lately. I don’t even know.


We crawled into the hot, pitch black, muggy hole that could really only lead to the depths of hell. We crawled for maybe 100 feet, which felt like an eternity to someone with the type of mounting claustrophobia that I suddenly had.


We finally got to a point where we could stand. But it was so dark. We decided to go back home and come back out with a flashlight.


I don’t know what exactly we expected to find. It’s not like the lost city of Atlantis was tucked away down there. If I had taken 30 seconds to think about it, I would have realized this was a horrible, horrible idea.


We crawled back up the dank tunnel, our knees filthy and wet. We left the light off till we got back into that small room.


We turned the flashlight on with the anticipation of explorers discovering a new world. And what did we find?



I thought about posting a picture of a roach here. But I couldn’t handle it. You all know what they look like and I want to sleep tonight.

Thousands of them.


I know living in Florida there are tons of giant goddamn roaches everywhere you fucking look. But they also happen to be the only animal or insect I am afraid of. The only one.


I once had my arm, up to my elbow, in maggots with no hesitation. (That’s a story for another post). I have touched hundreds of lizards, snakes, and spiders.


But I can not handle roaches.


And now I was in a room at the end of a tunnel full of the little bastards.

Absolute horror.

Absolute horror.

Needless to say, my sister and I both freaked out and crawled out of that drainage pipe as fast as we could go. So fast, I even injured my knees.


And I never again had even the slightest urge to ever investigate anything. Ever.