It's 4:25 am on Monday morning.  I've been tossing and turning for over an hour, trying desperately to convince my mind and body that I really could use just a little more sleep.

But obviously, I've been pretty unsuccessful.

The fluffy dog woke me at 2:50 am to let me know that he just couldn't hold it anymore. That's cool; I prefer that to the alternative of sloshing thru a icky, cold puddle on my bathroom floor first thing in the morning.  But after just a few quick minutes awake at this undgodly hour, my mind starts doing something that I like to call "the mind dump."

"Gobacktosleep;gobacktosleep;gobacktosleep!!" Nope. No good. Let's think about these things instead:

1) Calling an applicant first thing in the morning and letting her know that we've offered the job to someone else.  Not necessarily pleasant, but also not something I haven't had practice in doing.

2) Duncan Donuts Coffee: Why the hell does it taste better than every other coffee I've had?  REALLY don't want to think about this one because now I want some....

3) This would be a good time to get on and write something for Xanga...about how I can't sleep...and what I'm doing at 4 in the morning.

4) Talking to the boyfriend about my fears of having a real relationship (gotosleep, gotosleep, gotosleep....)

5) Also telling my aforementioned boyfriend that I'm afraid I'm just screwed up enough from my divorce to be unable to cope with actually MAKING myself act normal in a healthy relationship (brainnotlistening, brainnotlistening, brainnotlistening....)

6) And finally: how the heck does AvenueToTheReal come up with her topics anyway?  I bet she's not up this early, burning with cool ideas of how to entertain her readers next.  I don't think she has to work that hard at being creative....it just happens. Like shit.

Anyway, I finally got up. The melatonin in my brain has officially stopped being produced due to the amount of light that shines off my cell phone, which I've checked a kabillion times in the last hour.  And now I've got time on my hands.  But it's too dang early to do anything useful. And surprise, surprise:  now that I've had my first cup of java, caught up on the Olympics, and written this short piece, I'm feeling like I could use a nap.

Unfortunately, it's 4:47am.  Still early.  But only an hour and a half before I'd wake up anyway. Not nearly enough time to get any useful shut-eye.

*yawn*

I had to put this up in honor of this guy:

“I’ve seen at least 4000 penises.”

“WHhwwwwhaaatttttt?  Did you just say that you’ve seen 4000 penises?”  I had been staring contentedly out into the surf, sipping on cold vodka lemonade when this comment penetrated my subconscious.  I rattled the ice in my drink as if that might help clear up my hearing.

“Yep…4000 of those suckers.  Or maybe I should say suckees?” 

I squinted my eyes, already hidden behind big black sunglasses, and looked over at her. M had the funniest, most confused look on her face as she thought about the correct form of the noun in question. “What the hell are you talking about?  How is it possible for anyone to see that many of anything, especially THOSE, and live to talk about it.  For that matter WHY are we talking about it?  What made you think of such a thing?” I replied.

“I was thinking about all the surgeries I’ve scrubbed in on over the years, which is around 8000;  divided it by half since roughly 50% of them were women.  That leaves me with 4000.  I’ve seen, give or take a few, 4000 penises.”

The 16 year-old boy in me started thinking that this was becoming funnier and funnier the more she kept saying the “p” word.  I’m sure the vodka helped.  Our best conversations over the last few years have been on the beach, drink in hand, discussing the important facts of life.   But this nugget of information was an amusing piece of minutia that I had previously been completely unaware. 

After a brief pause:

“4000.  Wow.  I bet there are hookers in Vegas who haven’t seen that many dicks.  That’s crazy!”

We both busted out laughing.