I will be up until midnight tonight watching Dancing with the Stars. I get up at 5:30 each morning during the week. That is not much sleep for me. I need my beauty rest. There are those who would opine that a beauty coma would not do me much good, let alone a beauty rest; but even so, 5.5 hours of sleep on a work night ain't much.
I work with a guy who seldom sleeps, it seems. He has written me at 1:30, 2 o'clock in the morning. I have written him back at 3 in the morning, or later (or earlier, depending on how you look at it), when I get up to do that which makes my bladder leave me alone and allow me to get back to sleep. The way I figure it is: I am just standing there; I may as well do something useful for that period of time, so I send off a quick e-mail to him if he writes me. Freaks him out, too, because he figures I keep an even longer day than he does. Please do not tell him I do this. It is our little secret, ok?
Still not sure what was up with Cloris Leachman last night. She wandered around the dance floor last night while her professional partner tried to keep her from falling into the orchestra pit. She behaved with the judges in such a way to give one the impression that she thought she was visiting her physician. She received a standing ovation from the audience because she didn't collapse and die out there. It was oddly entertaining, but disturbing, too. I didn't hear how good the ratings were, but the Cloris Leachman performance was water cooler talk. Well, in my case, it was Tim Hortons talk this morning.
Have you voted for me in the best blog category in the Coast reader's poll? Don't you love me? Don't you? Don't you? C'mon. I need the ego stroke. Once I'm married, life will be over as I know it, so I need this last little bit of self esteem.
Vote for me!
Bevboy
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