It's all for me!

I don't know how many of you have a significant other who talks in his or her sleep, but it is equal parts cute and creepy. And 100% entertaining. See, I'm the type of person who falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow and, if undisturbed, stays in the same position until she wakes up.

My husband, on the other hand, has a sleep persona we have nicknamed Sleepy Jones. Sleepy Jones is a selfish jerk, where my actual wakeful spouse is a caring, generous person. Sleepy Jones can't tell the difference between time to sleep at home and time to work (like he's still on a ship). And most importantly, Sleepy Jones is a nonsensical chatterbox and wanderer, where his counterpart is so quiet most of the time, I have to call out to him to see where he is in the house.

Over the years, there have been varied hilarious encounters with Sleepy Jones. Trying to climb out our bedroom window, for example, because he thought it was time to go relieve someone on the bridge of whatever ship he was working on at the time. Or the night he was shuffling around the perimeter of our bedroom trying to find the door so he could go to the bathroom, only to end up in the closet trying to find the toilet. My least favourite, and only time I was furious enough to yell and actually strike him in the ribs to wake him up, was when I was rudely awakened by his elbow on my forehead, muttering something about a thief and pinning my skull to the mattress.

My personal favourite, however, and one that we still laugh about to this day, is the time I woke up in bed with no blankets as Sleepy Jones was stealing my pillow. It seemed that he had rolled around in bed so much, his own pillow ended up on the floor, so rather than pick it up like KJ would have done, Sleepy Jones decided mine was more convenient. As I lay there, shivering and pissed off because he was swiping my pillow out from under my head, I latched onto it, took a fistful of blankets and started rolling away from him so I could regain some comfort before my rage set in.

He pulled harder, straining against my weight on the blanket with his own; a 4 AM tug of war.

The rage haze rolled in, and I said, "Will you just let go of my fucking pillow and give me some goddamned blankets?!", to which Sleepy Jones replied (clear as day in a creepy voice), "It's all for me!"...and I laughed. Loudly. It woke KJ out of his stupor and he saw what was happening but wasn't fully sure what the situation actually was. To him, it looked like I was stealing his pillow. I recounted the story to him, he laughed and apologized, picked up his pillow off the floor, kissed me and went back to sleep. Then promptly tried to steal my blankets.

For a man who would give me anything, he sure is a greedy ass when he's asleep. But sometimes, he is super cute and ridiculously funny because this morning, in the dark comfort of our bedroom, I was browsing Facebook on my phone while he slept peacefully beside me and out of nowhere, he says "You know what I just realized Jurassic World was missing? Jeff Goldblum." Zzzz...

How can you not love that?

Thank you, Sun Lord!

This weekend's weather was just as atrocious as it has been ever since the day after KJ got home from sea. We both had given up hope to ever see the sun again, and so we comforted ourselves with food, alcohol, frozen yogurt (it may have been cold outside, but it is never too cold to go to Menchie's), and people-watching at various public locations.

"See that one? No, the other one! Nevermind, you missed it...thong outside of her pants!"

To help ourselves forget the misery that was the hideous excuse for summer we were were suffering through, we decided to have some people up for a BBQ on Saturday evening. Since it turned out to be a rain-free evening, we also managed to get a fire roaring in the back yard fire pit! Naturally, fire pits attract more alcohol (and marshmallows on sticks), so suffice it to say, I over-indulged. A lot. I'll spare the details that ended with me swinging from a tree branch and being rescued by a friend (maybe two? I'm not sure) and led safely to stairs so I could go inside, but don't think that is because I am embarrassed by them. I simply can't recall said details.

While I may not regret the things I can't remember, I certainly was regretting the amount of drinking I forgot I did when I woke up yesterday. Yesterday was what my best friend and I affectionately refer to as "Sack o' Shit Sunday", and it lived up to its name. I felt like shit. I looked like shit. Hell, for the first half of the day, I felt like throwing up and shitting simultaneously, but it never happened. Thankfully. After awhile, the sickness passed and I was left with a dull headache and a savage hunger for fish & chips/ poutine.

"Can't it be both?"

Yes, it can. And it was delicious. So after ruining my insides all weekend with fat, sugar and booze, today I started back where I left off. We got up this morning and walked the trails from here to the nearest Tim Horton's (which is 3.5 km away), and back. The hike burned 767 calories and took 1 hour and 20 minutes, give or take a few. We stopped for a gawk at a forest fire/ car fire on the way home, since we were in the forest (a safe distance away) and could see the fire trucks heading in the direction of the billowing smoke. Of course this kind of thing happened on the one time I didn't bring my phone with me to capture a couple pictures. On the plus side, everything went fine, nobody was hurt, and the fire was extinguished.

As rare as watching a fire fight is, the really exciting part was that we also got the treat of seeing the SUN come out on our walk home. And it stayed out. All day! It was calm, hot and I even got a slight sun burn from sitting on the patio since I'm an idiot and forgot sun screen.

"Forgot"...my ass.

In any event, today I feel great. I got sunshine and exercise, and consumed no alcohol and very little sugar or fat. After this past week of dietary carnage, that is a huge victory. And with camping with some of my favourite people/bad influences coming up this weekend, I need the drying-out period.

So does my liver.

Send out a search party!

No, not for me. I have been missing from blogging, that is true, but I need someone to go locate summer for me. It seems this province is in a funk this year. The temperature today (19C) is the warmest it has been in 2 weeks. A friend of mine posted something on Facebook the other day that sums it up perfectly:

Because this summer has been unseasonably cold, even for this land of fog and wind, many of us have taken to staying indoors like we do in winter. Getting people to do things is like pulling teeth. All we're asking for is some fucking heat, or a sunny day that isn't windy enough to blow your head off. Is that so much to ask?

Could be worse, I guess...

Anyhoo, the weight loss journey continues. I've been maintaining plateau status for the past 3 weeks, but this morning it finally broke. By a paltry half pound, but that's to be expected when wine enters the picture. I've been counting calories, exercising (albeit not as hard as I could be), and drinking more alcohol than I have since St. Patrick's Day. That's not a jab at the Irish. I legitimately started this whole process on St. Patrick's Day and haven't been drinking much at all, but this weather makes me want to drink until the sun comes out. Or until it kills me.

Whichever comes first.

I have the Sailor home for another 2 weeks; if, in that time, it remains cold and shitty, yet turns warm and sunny when he goes back to sea, he has vowed to find summer and kill it when he returns home again. I can't say I blame him. He was pressure-washing the house in the rain yesterday because he doesn't believe the sun exists anymore. Without sunshine, nothing makes sense.

Ah well, at least we have booze.