Sleeping With The Jersey Wives

I recently had to get a sleep test (SPOILER ALERT – it turns out I have severe sleep apnea).  I was worried the entire time leading up to it about my ability to even doze, much less enter the kind of deep slumber I assumed they would need to detect abnormalities in the REM cycle, also known as the mystical… dream sleep. I had no problems dreaming, but they would be better classified as “hallucinations”. I discovered that I tend to go a little crazy strapped in one position for hours on end, especially with the added pressure of having to eventually fall asleep when one is not sleepy at all.

The first step was wiring me up to several electrodes, the ones on my head having to be applied with a thick glue substance. At some point in the night, a drop began to inch down and across my face like a slow, confused worm.  I was not physically restricted enough that I could not wipe it away with my forehand, but I had become so convinced I was undergoing some sort of torture that I would “lose” if I brushed it off.

Much of that abused mentality was due to the fact I watched the season finale of  reality show “The Housewives of New Jersey” before I turned off the light. It was not readily apparent who these women were, if they were really housewives or really lived in New Jersey – only that one of them saw fit to let her children sit at the table while she “joked” about her husband raping her when she was drugged up after her breast implant operation, but she told the children to leave when a discussion about the destructive power of gossip came up.  I’m not phased by too much on television, but presumably because of the circumstances, I couldn’t stop thinking about these ladies – I began to focus and hate, then focus my hate, then hate my focus – my thoughts began to spin wildly out of control to other subjects as well.  Soon, my legs were shaking with frustration and anger (SPOLER ALERT – i was also diagnosed with “concurrent movement periodic limb disorder”). I have my doubts to the validity of this finding – my kicking was largely voluntary.

The electrodes on my legs actually got pulled off a few times. This led to Brian, the technician, sneaking into the room to reattach them. A large black man sporadically sneaking into the room and pulling down my covers was another big reason I had trouble falling asleep. No, I am not racist, and I was not having flashbacks to prison (I have never been incarcerated)…  It was more about flashbacks to my childhood.

By 4am it was looking like I was not going to fall asleep at all. As the air conditioning came on causing the ceiling fan to start squeaking again (a curious feature for a room designed to facilitate sleep, for sure), I seriously considered ripping off all the wires and running out. This was right after I seriously considered masturbating to achieve some sort of drowsiness, even though I was being monitored by a camera and microphones.  At that point Brian came in again to “adjust” something – foiled again, guy, I was still awake!

I did ask him if I could have taken an Ambien – I had assumed they needed a natural sample of my sleeping and not the stoned version where I vocally marvel at the shadow puppets on the wall before drifting off. He said I could have taken one, but did not recommend doing that now since it was so late. I took one as soon as he left.

He woke me up two hours later and gave me a glass of orange juice. I almost passed out several times on the way home, but I had given them 2 hours of deep sleep and enough evidence for a diagnosis (which you already know if you’ve heard the spoilers). I’m not totally convinced of their competency, though, as there was no mention at all in the report of when I was wide awake, but began to fake-snore for about 10 minutes to see if I could fool them. I guess I did.

I Love This Life

Sure,  I woke up a bit hungover, but I’ll probably be too drunk to read later, much less proofread, so I’m writing this now.  What a day! It started off kind of on a downer by looking at Facebook photos of vacationing “friends” in South Carolina, Portland, and Ecuador… whatever, I’ve got a bowl of cereal and a movie about post-partum depression on Lifetime.  Seriosuly, don’t leave her alone with the baby – she’s already cut off the tip of her finger “accidentally”. Well, it was time to go to Target – I needed to pick up some new swimming shorts.  What better time to eat some thick, greasy corrugated fiberboard? Sadly, the personal pan pizzas at the snack bar had to suffice – hardly on the same level.  I came home, and while in my boxers and listening to L.A. Guns, replaced the LCD screen on a Macbook for a lady at work (I wonder if she’ll pay me?). Then, I realized it is stupid for me to ever have self-esteem issues. I also watched the end of Cocktail and the entirety of Overboard on A&E. An entire bag of pretzels and slices of extra sharp cheese are delicious. In the shower, a song from Twisted Sister came on off the album, Still Hungry. It is a 2004 note-by-note re-recording of their seminal album Stay Hungry. Isn’t that the best thing you’ve ever heard of? If somone will pick me up, I’m supposed to go to Toby Keith’s bar in Mesa called I Love This Bar. I love this life.

Nathan The Godly Stalker

An e-mail for the other Nathan Fuller accidentally landed in my inbox the other day.  Apparently, my shadow Nathan is experiencing some heartache… or something…

Hi Mr. Wall

Thanks for the email. =) I see your reasons and I respect them, that is ok.  I was actually praying that whatever you would say would determine what I would do.  I am content to be just friends, and if sometime in the future if the interest is still there we can continue are friendship at a better more logical time.  Essie is young, and your right about her not needing anything official with any guy while at NCA.  I appreciate and respect both you and and Essie =) thank you for the email.  Essie did say that if I wanted to talk/email her after I left that I needed to ask you first.  Do I have our permission to email/chat with her?

~Nathan Fuller

His response…

Yes, that would be fine. Thanks for taking the time to write as well.

Dave

And my response to Mr. Wall, in hopes of getting a restraining order taken out on somebody…

Fortunately, I have had a change of heart via the transmission of God’s Will through my daily prayer sessions. Ultimately, I must do what God says, not (like I had hoped) what you say – I’m sorry.

True love is a gift like the holy sunshine and we must bathe in its warmth – so I will follow Essie to NCA! If we cannot live together right now, then I have found a small room for rent  in very close proximity to campus. It is under a bar – technically a basement – but the rent is cheap if I agree to work as a busboy and I share my space with unopened palettes of beer.

I understand your concern that Essie is young… very young… but there is no age requirement for love. I mean, legally, there might be one according to man’s law, but that is not the Law I follow… anyway, I don’t think that necessarily applies here. How old is Essie again?

I have yet to make it official with Essie but as soon as she logs into her IM we will chat about it. I’m sure she will be happy to here my decision! I long for the day when she sends me the “love emoticon,” which is a little throbbing heart – I must say I’m getting frustrated by the constant smiley faces.

Sincerely,

Nathan

Emmanuel: First Contact

The stripper wasn’t on my list. I was just supposed to pick up helium balloons and maybe a birthday card. The goal was to buy as many balloons as it would take to fill a bedroom so they would spill out when the door was opened – surprise! It turned out balloons, especially three hundred of them, cost a lot more than I was willing to spend. Still, I got everything on my list and made it Abbey’s surprise party just in time (stuffing two dozen balloons into the cab of a truck takes some work… another reason why three hundred would not have gone smoothly). Some other people had some lists, too, and they were just as successful – chips, streamers, beer, and as you may have inferred, a bronzed hard-body named Emmanuel.

The birthday girl, Abbey, was a friend of mine from work. She has a roommate named Val, who organized the whole thing… and yes, by “thing”, I do mean penis. The “thing” did not arrive till later in the night. The reason for it for even being there had more to do with Val’s love for good times than Abbey’s love for man junk. Earlier in the day Val had ripped the entire back of her dress open but continued to run errands (sans underwear), often proclaims to pee herself when excited (I know from my mommy friends this not unusual if you’ve given birth, but she was childless and I think she was kind of serious), only stops drinking to take vomit time-outs, and tried her hardest to order the midget version of Emmanuel (he was already booked) – that’s just who she is.  She does what she wants.

Around ten o’clock, Abbey was informed a cop was at the door and there was a noise complaint. This had the ring of authenticity because they had gotten several of these before. Not so authentic was this policeman’s overpowering cologne and boom-box. Abbey was too drunk to notice, though, so it seemed to come as a shock to her when the young patrolman took off his shirt and backed her onto a stool. He quickly disrobed down to his thong, and while he was quite muscular, he was not as endowed as I expected. Never having seen a (male) stripper before, I just assumed this was a job requirement and he would make us all call him by his nickname the “Hispanic Horse”.

His dance started off with a gentle waltz of tease and insinuation, but that did not last for long. He then spanked, humped, face-crotched, straddled, and did a bunch of other things to her whose names can only be found somewhere in the dark corners of the internet (Melon Dive, anyone?). While I cannot say I found this appealing, someone sure did. Val. After Abbey, she took her turn that involved even more positions and an even more alarming proximity between the buttocks and face. She also did some flashing. Did I mention that her parents were in attendance? They seemed pretty nonplussed by the whole affair. Once the performance was over, Val’s dad shook Emmanuel’s hand and expressed his respect for the fact he could perform and chew gum at the same time.

Overall, my first experience with erotic male ballet was… eye-opening. And I’ll be having another birthday of my own someday. I’d put Emmanuel on my own list… but I think I want the midget.