The Henckel Toe........

Hello VW!

I’m awful…really truly awful.  I’m like a Guatemalan YMCA on a hot summer day – there’s just nothing good about me.  That was my apology for not posting in 3 weeks. For those that understand the work that I do you can appreciate my tardiness.  For those that have no idea what I do for a living I’m a CIA operative and my latest mission was an extraction of highly sensitive material from Guatemala hence my knowledge of what the current YMCA conditions are like.

Well I’m back now safe and sound and ready to whip it out – “it” of course being another great (based on true events) story of what happens to me when the sun goes down.  I had promised in my last post that I would tell you about the “Sleep Destroyer of the Bathroom” but what happened to me just mere days ago was far too appetizing to not share.  This is my encounter with “Henckel Toes”

As I was laying down to rest recently I went through my standard range of emotions – a strange and overwhelming mixture of excitement and relaxation.  You see the prospect of going to sleep gets me so excited that often I can’t actually fall asleep for some time.  It’s a classic “Catch 22” scenario.  The whole process is just amazing and thankfully tiresome so slumber typically happens rather quickly.  This night appeared to be like any other – I had sufficient juice stores to keep me hydrated and my socks were on (soon to be off).  This was a night of sleep before returning to work which is always bittersweet but there was nothing in the air to suggest that I was – again – going to be a victim of a physical assault.

To give you a little back story, recently SO suffered a pretty interesting and self inflicted injury.  Someone cutting themselves is a rather common injury at home.  In fact, webmd.com lists cuts as the 5^th most common injury behind falls, choking and suffocation, burns, and poisoning.  Part of me feels like these “injuries” are more like “conflict resolution events” but who am I to say.  In any event, we’ve all been cut before…..that said, how many of you have been cut on your hand by your OWN TOE?  You read that correctly: Your toe, your hand, SLICE!  Right now you’re thinking to yourself :

“But how did this happen?  I mean my toes and my hands are friends…they would never want to hurt each other!  Even if they were somehow sworn arch enemies, how could the toe generate the sheer velocity needed to pierce the flesh of the hand.  I mean they are literally on opposite ends of the body!”

Well it’s true.  When I first heard it I started to keel over with laughter…then I saw the wound which made me laugh even harder!  I’ve included the transcript below:

SO:         “I cut myself”

C:            “Sorry to hear that.  Whereabouts?”

SO:         “My hand”

C:            “Very common injury.  Hands are used pretty steadily throughout the day so odds are stacked against them for sure.  How did you cut yourself?”

SO:         “My toe”

C:            “I thought you said you cut your hand”

SO:         “I did.”

C:            “OK…but HOW?”

SO:         “With my toe.”

C:            “I’m sorry…..are you trying to tell me that your own toe cut your own hand?”

SO:         “Yes.”

C:            “I have a couple of questions obviously now…..what was your toe doing up near your hand and perhaps more importantly, why is your toe SHARP ENOUGH TO CUT?!”

SO:         “I don’t know…I was trying to have a nap and it just happened.”

C:            “You and I nap very differently.  You know I’ll have to blog about this right?”

SO:         (dejected) “I know.”

C:            “Thank you for making my material unbelievably true to life. Any chance I could get a photo of both the injury and the toe?”

SO:         “NO!”

So there I was, still stunned and confused about the mechanics behind cutting yourself with…well….yourself.  Cue karma (living up to its reputation of being a bitch). Let’s fast forward to slumber time.  As I was just about to find my optimal sleep positioning – lately I’ve been working on the “pillow choke” - I was struck by an instantly hot (friction) sensation immediately followed by a cool (bleeding) sensation on my left ankle. What had just happened? Have you ever been so confused that your face hurts? That was me.  As I reached for my foot I couldn’t help but think that there wasn’t a reasonable and rational explanation for what had just occurred until I heard these next two words:

SO:         “I’m sorry.” (rather casually and somewhat mumbled…a little too cavalier to be sincere)

C:            “Are you serious?!  Was that your TOE?”

SO:         “I didn’t mean to….” (rolling over and away and still mumbled)

C:            “Sweet Baby Jesus!  First you cut yourself and then that wasn’t enough?  Is it logical for me to think that somehow your toe is even SHARPER than before? No wait…. That last cut probably dulled your weapon. Look at this!”

SO:         “zzzzzzzzz”

Now I was going to take a picture but it was late.  Then I was going to put in a picture from Google for “illustrative purposes only”.  Whatever you do, don’t search “cut on foot” on Google.  You will forever regret it and there some things that you simply can’t “unsee”.  I’m serious. Don’t do it. It’s f@#king disgusting.

After tending to my now one inch non-surgical incision I was left shaking my head…..was I the first victim of a “Henckel Toe”?  Were there cases of this at local hospitals? Support groups for victims?  It seemed like such a senseless injury.  I vowed from that moment on to focus on prevention through education. There is no need to use your toes like a prison shiv people….in fact, as proven above and similar to guns in the home, you are more likely to be a victim of your own weapon. Learn more at my dedicated website www.softfeetandtoes.org (don’t click…it’s a joke people).

True story.

Sleep Well!

So That's What That Means......

Hello VW!

Busy week for probably everyone so you probably didn’t even notice that there hasn’t been a new post in a little while.  Let’s face it, between Christmas, my birthday, and the single malt scotch my hands have been pretty full.  On a side note I did have an amazing (or at least personally gratifying) moment yesterday that really struck a chord with me. 

As a child I was “energetic”…the type of energy that was typically disciplined 80’s style.  It was a more “tough love” type of parenting than what is typically exercised now.  How tough you ask?  Well in many cases the physical discipline would only stop as a result of poor cardiovascular conditioning or weakened structural integrity of the instrument being used.  Translation: When Mom got tired or the belt broke, I was free to go lick my wounds.  Nowadays, children get “timeouts”….perhaps a more civilized approach but hard to discount the impact that some good old fashioned sub-dermal bruising has on a child.

To keep my energy in check in public places I was put on a leash. The same type of leash that you would use with an animal…..in fact I’m almost positive my collar said “Rex” so it’s likely I was put in an actual dog leash.  PROVE ME WRONG MOM! Now I’m not a parent so I can’t sympathize with the plight of parenting in a chaotic world filled with danger at every turn BUT I can honestly say that when I hear the word “leash” I expect to hear the words “dog on a” prior.  Now I know the more preferred descriptive words are “tether” or “safety harness” however the word leash has an awesome hilarity to it that I like. Interestingly enough, many child development experts are against the use of a leash (shocking) as it limits parents from teaching children appropriate behavior and reduces parent/child interaction. Now I’m no Early Childhood Development expert so I use a much more simple illustration.  I call it the “S&E Index”.  The S stands for safety.  The E stands for embarrassment.  It seems often the more “safe” something is, the embarrassment level seems to increase proportionately. See below:

You see some things can be safe and not embarrasing like owning a Volvo. On the other hand, some things can be safe yet very embarrassing. Insert child leash.  As I navigated my way through what felt like the busiest place on earth yesterday I noticed several babies / children / Grade 2 students on leashes.  They were EVERYWHERE.  I was truly perplexed at first then my natural inquisitive nature took over and I started observing in an attempt to spot a trend or pattern.  It didn’t take long to notice that all of the leashed humans that I saw were all of a certain ethnicity. Curious indeed. 

Why would one race in particular feel the need to leash their offspring?  Were genetics at play? What was the consistent concern? Why the need to keep such a close tab?  Then I said it out loud and slowly: “TAB”.  Holy shit……TAB was actually an acronym for “Tethered Asian Baby”.  Now I’m not sure if my experience was unique or if the sightings were purely coincidental but it was very revealing.  I’m 100% confident that every race must use this type of close proximity parenting…it was just interesting that I didn’t see it.  I really felt for those children having grown up with a 9 foot pivot point with my childhood experiences limited to the radius of my leash……SAD.

Now to the story – another late night experience that came a few months after my initiation to sleep talking.  I was in a stage where I was still surprised but it was becoming more expected…like watching the 6^th Sense for the third time.  On this particular night I thought that I would push the boundaries to test the level of consciousness that SO had while sleep talking. Setting is late night juice run to the kitchen:

C:            (in my head) “Damn that’s good juice…..how do the good people at Tropicana produce such consistently great results with their grapefruit juice?  Always the right amount of tartness mixed with sweet.  They claim that there are no additives….good God that’s amazing. I hope their Quality Assurance personnel are well paid." – you can see that my thought process at this time of the night isn’t exactly profound.

SO:         (as I return) “What are you doing?”

This is the moment that I thought “let’s see what’s really going on”…….so what did I decide to do you ask? I went with the classic cold shoulder.  I figured why bother answering the question of a sleeping individual? So I continued on my way excited to fall back in to a sumptuous slumber.  Before I could take two more steps I was greeted with a much more forceful tone:

SO:         “I said – WHAT are YOU doing?!” (I can’t say for sure but I feel like the phrasing and emphasis had professional training behind it…..I was genuinely concerned for my safety)

C:            “Cheese and Rice! I’m getting some juice….what did you think I was doing?! Are you sleeping?”

SO:         “zzzzzzzzzzzz……”

C:            “Oh for the Love of God.  You just HAD to know what I was doing in the middle of the night like I was coming back in from plotting a coordinated terrorist attack and you’re not even awake?!”

SO:         “zzzzzzzzzz…….”

C:            “You are fascinating.”  (This is the term I use when I want to say “frustrating”)

SO:         “zzzzzzzzzz…..”

Have you ever been so angry that you can’t fall asleep?  Your mind replaying recent events over and over again? There I was wondering why a normal rational human being would behave like this. The answer was overwhelmingly simple….sleep talkers are not normal rational human beings when they are in this state.  Quite the opposite in fact…they become nocturnal enigmas.  A mystery that is only rivaled by tethered Asian babies.  Some mysteries are perhaps better left unsolved like Easter Island, Stonehenge, orgy odor removal, or why I keep eating spicy chicken wings knowing that the “physiological aftermath” is rarely worth the treat.

Next post – watching a sleep talker become a “sleep destroyer of the bathroom”. True story.

Sleep well,

C.

Rapid Fire Diarrhea.......

Hello VW!

I’ll start this post with two sincere apologies.  Firstly, I’ve been extremely ill over the past few days and wasn’t able to muster the strength to write a new post.  Let’s be honest…there are likely only two people on the planet that “eagerly” await new posts from me and my mother and father really shouldn’t count.  Secondly, the title of this post was a not-so-subtle marketing ploy AND gift to Friend.  Some of you may recall Friend from my previous post.  In any event, it was important to Friend that I find a way to incorporate the term “rapid fire diarrhea” in to my latest post. It will also be very telling of my audience if this is my most viewed post. Consider yourself part of my virtual marketing research!

Let’s get to the meat and potatoes of this post – my late night encounter with a flying elbow that would have sent shivers through the spines of former WWF wrestlers.  Now to set the stage I want you to imagine being in the deepest sleep you’ve ever been in.  The kind of deep sleep that is almost surreal in its blissfulness.  You know what I mean……just imagine a sweet serenity of slumber that dances between the line of stage 4 sleep and a coma. Are you there?  Can you feel your body starting to drift off? Perfect……

So you’re in what I like to call the “Sleep Groove”…body position is ideal, ambient temperature is as warm as a hug from Oprah Winfrey (imagine her now – not skinny) yet the pillow was as cool as Tom Selleck (imagine him then – not now). For illustrative purposes I’ve included a color wheel below for reference. 

Everything on that particular evening was aligned for an epic night of sleep.  Cue: Massive head trauma.  From literally out of nowhere I felt an elbow deliver a crushing blow to my orbital bone. The pain was both instantaneous and astonishing in nature.  My first thought was that I was a victim of a home invasion.  Take out the man first….smart robbers.  As I attempted to open my now one good eye and have my pupils dilate I noticed that there were no shadowy hulking figures in the room. Nothing of the sort at all….just the barely comprehensive mutterings of my SO:

SO:         “Owwww…….your face hurt my elbow”

C:            “Excuse me?! You’re Jackie Chan inspired flying elbow just gave me a hematoma!"

SO:         “zzzzzzzzzzzz”

C:            “Are you KIDDING ME?!”

SO:         “zzzzzzzzzzzzz”

I couldn’t believe that I was a victim of a physical assault and the response was a snore.  As I sat in the living room with a bag of frozen peas on my forehead hoping it would magically fix the bones on my head I was still imaging what my night had been like just 7 minutes prior.  Did I need to go to bed with full protective gear and mouth guard moving forward?  What was SO dreaming of that would prompt such a violent outburst? I recognize that shared sleep comes with certain inherent risks but none of the below prepared me;

The Dagger Toe – a dangerously sharp big toe toenail. In extreme cases, blood will be drawn.

The Dutch Oven – a.k.a "The Covered Wagon" a.k.a. "Nuke Town" a.k.a. "The Merchant of Death". This is potent flatulence released under cover then wafted up to the unsuspecting victim.

The Jimmy Legs – Also known as “Restless Leg Syndrome”. Unbelievably annoying for the person with well rested legs.

The Mack Truck – the type of 80+ decibel snoring that can cause tone deafness.

I laid back to rest and fell back to sleep relatively quickly. Doctors would later tell me that was a result of the internal bleeding and soft tissue damage.  When the sun arose I had (surprise surprise) a splitting headache. When SO awoke I immediately went in to cross examination:

C:            “Sooooo……do you remember last night?”

SO:         “I remember that your face got in the way of my elbow at some point.”

C:            “Yeah….that’s exactly what happened.  I think they usually describe hit and runs with pedestrians the same way…..pesky people getting in the way of speeding cars and causing bumper damage.”

SO:         “Sorry?”

C:            “Please don’t say it like it’s a question……it plays down the magnitude.  On another note, have you ever thought of a career in mixed martial arts?  That elbow smash could be measured on the Richter Scale.”

So that was that.  I now needed to be prepared for anything from conversations/accusations to hand to hand combat.   Brings new meaning to the term “sleep with one eye open”.  Have you ever been struck in the middle of the night as a result of the wreckless negligence of someone else? I’d be curious to know because to date I have yet to hear of anyone getting run over like I did.

That’s it for now folks…… Happy Holidays and as always – Sleep Well!

C.

"Are You Drunk ?!".......

Hello VW!

Well I never could have imagined that my blog could stir up a little controversy after just 2 posts!  Imagine my surprise when a Friend of mine took time from their busy day to express their discontent.  Now to be fair, there was actually no commentary on the content of my blog but rather the mere fact that I was contributing to a blog in general.  I took the liberty of recording this electronic conversation for your enjoyment:

Friend:                  “Dude, you and I need to talk!”

C:                            “About?”

Friend:                  “Don’t even pretend like you don’t know”

C:                            “I don’t. Honestly.”

Friend:                  “Duuuude.”

C:                            “WHAT?!”

Friend:                  “I noticed something on your facebook page…….I’m appalled.”

C:                            “My blog?”

Friend:                  (sick face emoticon)…. “I expected more of you.”

C:                            “As in ‘more humor’?”

Friend:                  “Mhm, whatever you have to tell yourself”

C:                            “What are your specific views on blogging?”

Friend:                  “They are for chicks.  You are not a chick”

C:                            “That seems like an antiquated notion don’t you think?”

Friend:                  “I find it clear and concise”

C:                            “Well what if I’m able to bring a bit of laughter to someone’s life with my stories? Don’t I have a responsibility to do so?”

Friend:                  “Yes. By sharing it with them over a beer!”

C:                            “My first post had nearly 200 views in the first day….that’s a LOT of beer”

Friend:                  “Don’t you like beer?”

C:                            “I do but that volume of beer is likely to lead to liver failure and/or an alcoholic coma”

I’ll spare you the excruciating details of the remainder of the conversation……bottom line was that there was some serious concern from Friend that my blog was going to put my “manliness” in to question.  Joke is on Friend – I have very limited manliness.

As promised – “ARE YOU DRUNK”:

This was one of the single most awkward experiences I have had in a bedroom and that includes the fact/theory that a cousin of mine trained a seven year old Golden Retriever to use my face/pillow as a make shift fire hydrant.  So here’s how this experience went down……

I awoke in the middle of the night for (wait for it)…juice.  Tropicana Ruby Red Grapefruit to be exact.  It’s the Mercedes Benz of juices.  Priced slightly above the “comfortable range” for most but appreciated by many.  Took my standard four chugs as three leaves me wanting and five is a recipe for bloating.  I know what you’re thinking – “No glass? No class.” It’s ok…it’s my juice exclusively. 

As I entered the bedroom, my manly silhouette casting a manly shadow (eat shit Friend) I was greeted by an incredibly accusatory tone asking an incredibly accusatory question –

SO:         “Are you drunk?”
C:            “ Huh? What? I’m a …… No.”

SO:         “ARE YOU DRUNK?!” – really important to note my case sensitive intensity

C:            “No. I really don’t think so.”

SO:         “You and your friends are out there getting drunk.”

C:            “Ummmmm....are you sleeping?”

SO:         “NO. I’m awake!”

C:            “You sure?”

SO:         “zzzzzzzzz………..”

So as I stood there bewildered, recently hydrated, perplexed, and cold I had an expression one could only describe as mildly constipated.  What had just happened?  Why would someone verbally assault me in the middle of night? I attempted to lie down but my mind was a flurry of activity…was I drunk? Who were these friends? How can someone start snoring near mid-sentence? Every neuron in my cerebral cortex was firing and no amount of Ruby Red Grapefruit juice was going to satisfy my thirst for understanding WTF just happened.

The following morning I attempted to explain what had transpired just hours before.  SO was in disbelief….and I’m inclined to think that there was a strong suspicion that I made the story up purely for comic relief.  Frustrated I was.  Imagine having a great story and not a witness to be found.  You look left, you look right….NOTHING.  I might be willing to invest in bedroom surveillance equipment but my fear of “humorafterdark” turning in to a mockery of the male form keeps me from making that leap.

I wish I could bring you all back to that night.  I wish my writing could do justice to the events.  I can do neither so if you are ever interested in hearing this story live and in person I’m more than happy to oblige. (Seriously …. I LOVE telling this story over a beer.)

My next tale: The “Comparable to Randy Macho Man Savage Flying Elbow” delivered to my face in the middle of the night story. Yes….. it hurt.

Sleep Well,

C.

Every Word Is True........

Hello Virtual World,

So my first attempt at "blogging" was relatively well received...by that I mean two people said they laughed, three chuckled, and one claims to have laughed out loud.  Encouraging news...almost like being told you are an "adequate lover" your first time around.  It's not a home run and no one in the crowd was screaming "YOU DA MAN!" but you made contact and didn't embarrass yourself. 

Well here is my second effort....as in the situation mentioned above I hope that I have learned a little and slowly become more comfortable with all of the moving parts.  I wanted to provide some perspective on my commitment to “late night juice”.  While the story itself is not significant in the grand scheme of things, it will help explain why I’m perpetually in the situation of hearing a somniloquist.

I’m originally from the world’s coldest capital city and at the time this story took place it was bitterly frigid.  I was roughly 12 years old and sporting a sweet Theo Huxtable flat top.  I awoke in the middle of the night and made my way downstairs for a soothing glass of Old South.  As I made my way to the kitchen I was immediately frustrated the moment I opened our avocado green fridge (neighbors so jealous)….NO JUICE.  I say frustrated because that now meant I was going to have to go even further in to the abyss and make my way to the deep freezer to retrieve a can of frozen nectar aka liquid cocaine.  Like a Pavlovian dog or a recovering addict going through withdrawl, my body had begun to react in anticipation. Mouth was dry and there was some panting…..somewhat reminiscent of the “adequate lover” scenario. 

As I made my through boxes of frozen Jamaican patties,  Eggos purchased at A&P, and what I now understand to be my father’s secret stash of Lean Cuisine frozen dinners I couldn’t find a single can of juice.  No Old South. No Five Alive. I would have taken prune juice from concentrate….. sooooo thirsty.  Now I know what many of you are thinking….”have a glass of water Theo and call it a night!”.  What you need to understand is that I was TWELVE.  You’ve been there…you want what you want when you want it and juice was my drug of choice. 

So I had to make a decision.  Risk dehydration or become a MAN.  So rarely does one remember the exact moment in time when they leap from adolescence to adulthood. This was that moment.  The moment Theo becomes Heathcliff.  Alex P. Keaton becomes Stephen Keaton.  Steve Urkel becomes Stefan Urquelle.  Long story short – I threw on every piece of insulation in my possession and walked three miles in minus 35 degree conditions to get a “hit”.  I can still see the face on the Mac’s Milk store clerk.  It was a glorious mix of utter confusion and euphoria….logical given the time of night.  I bought 5 bottles of juice, slammed one down right in front of him without saying a word, and made my way back home. That was my level of dedication to juice (or contempt for water depending on your vantage point) at the time.

To this day I’ve never told my Dad that I found his stash of nutritionally balanced frozen meals.  If you see him, please do avoid the subject:

You can tell by his choice of headwear that he considers the sun to be a serious health risk... see the irony?

My next story……”Are you DRUNK?!” (as spoken by SO)

Sleep Well,

C.

The Subtle Beginnings

Hello Virtual World,

I would like to start my blog by stating that I have ZERO professional or personal experience in "blogging".  To that same extent I am not even an active reader of blogs.  Truth be known, I'm not even wholly convinced that I have the stamina to maintain my blogging efforts.  That said, I needed to find an outlet for my single greatest source of comedy.  My inspiration comes in the wee hours of the night..... but before I explain allow me to give you some baseline knowledge about me.

I enjoy sleeping.  Correction: I LOVE SLEEPING.  Actually, to be as specific as possible I love GOING to sleep.  The moment when I jump (yes. jump.) in to bed consistently ranks in the "Top 5 Things I've Done Today" list. I giggle a bit.  I wriggle a bit.  I start smiling like I'm on a commercial for dental hygiene and this NEW & IMPROVED product is the dawn of a new era in a world free of gingivitis and tartar.  Needless to say.... I look forward to this moment.  I've looked forward to going to sleep since I was a child.  I had a ritual of going to sleep with my socks on and then deftly using my toes to remove my socks.  My mother would constantly complain of the "mile high pile" of socks that would accumulate by the end of the week.  My mother has a fairly strong Carribbean accent so feel free to do your best impression on the transcript below:

Mother:  "Lawd a Mercy!  Whya gotta have all ya socks pon de foot of da bed?! "
C:           "I don't know mom....they just end up there"
Mother:  "Ah Lawd Jesus Christ King of the Jews...giv me da strength to deal wid dis child!"

Without stating the obvious, my mother often looked to the heavens above for divine intervention to deal with my sock piles.  Probably not the favor I would ask for but if this was her greatest burden of motherhood who am I to judge?  I'm off on a tangent.....

So the history is I love going to sleep.  My sleep pattern could be described as "rythmic". Jump. Giggle. Wiggle. Drift. Toss. Turn. Sleep. AWAKE. Juice. Bathroom break. Drift. Sleep. AWAKE.  There's a key moment every night where I wake up to have juice. Not water. Juice. It's been juice forever.  I'll be regaling you with an incredible "late night juice story" in a future post.

This aforementioned key moment is actually what has now led to me creating a blog.  There were several one-sided conversations taking place in the middle of the night that were quirky and confusing.  Random subjects.  Startling accusations.  Obscure observations.  All of which became even more confusing given the time of night when mental function is comparable to a healthy potato.  The source of these conversations you ask?  The inane ramblings of my significant other.  I was the helpless victim of the sleep disorder known as somniloquy a.k.a. SLEEP TALKING.  According to Wikipedia - "Sleep talking by itself is harmless, however, it can wake up others and cause them consternation - especially when misinterpreted as conscious speech by an observer.  Quite common in children and lessens as we enter adulthood".  Roughly 4% of adults are reported to talk in their sleep.  Not sure on the quick math but logic would dictate that another 4% of adults suffer from the 4% of adults that are reported to talk in their sleep.

So after months of keeping these "conversations" confidential I have decided to go public.  I've kept a sweet stockpile of these conversations to bring a little humor to your day.  This will most likely be the longest post you'll ever read so take solace in the knowledge that investing in reading this blog should take 60 seconds of your day...rather than the 20-30 minutes of overwhelming confusion that inspires it.

So stay tuned - in the meantime, perhaps take a peek at the 80's hit by The Romantics "Talking in Your Sleep" to get you in the right frame of mind.

Sleep well!

C.