Nailish Polish and Unfulfilled Sex Dreams

I think its really funny when people fart in their sleep. I woke myself up the other night snoring. I didn't used to snore. Its like my body held onto that flaw until I got married. I'd lived with someone before too. But it never started until I was married. Like somewhere in my psyche I thought I wouldn't be marriage material with snoring. But now, fuck it, I guess. There's no point caring if you snore. But when I was 18, I bet I would've been embarrassed about snoring. You get embarrassed about weird shit when you're 18. Or 21. One of my friends had her first baby when she was 21. She was really concerned about getting waxed before the birth because she didn't want anyone to see her yoni all gnarly and hairy. I thought that was funny. It just wouldn't have occurred to me that anyone would pay any attention to that during birth. I mean, I don't want things getting all george-of-the-jungle down there, but if they do, again, fuck it.

When I was a little girl, I loved my nails getting painted. My aunt Carole used to paint them from time to time when I was teeny tiny. I called it nailish polish and I loved it. I thought it meant I didn't have to cut my nails or clean under then because if you chose a dark enough color, you couldn't see the dirt. I was right too, for the record. I generally keep them neat and short and clean these days but that's mainly because I can't paint my nails. If I'm painting, the whole finger's coming with it. The best I can generally hope for is painting my fingers and toes, getting the nails completely covered, and then waiting a few days for the polish to wash off my skin, sticking to the nails. And that's assuming I don't pick all the polish off before that happens.

I painted my nails this weekend though. Pretty passably too. Its because I can't figure out what to wear to this wedding Rob's making me go to. He's really excited about it. And excited is not usually a word that hangs out close to Rob's name. So I couldn't bail on coming. It turns out to be a good thing though because my closest friend from home will be there and some other folks I like. Plus Rob promised me I can swim in the lake today. I love swimming. I mean LOVE.

Rob and I watched an episode of The Dog Whisperer the other night. In it was this really traumatized lab and Cesar kept taking him in the water in pools and stuff as part of his treatment to get him calm. Rob started calling me the dog's name on our vacation because you put me in water and I immediately relax and just lay back and can swim and swim all day long.

He's still sleeping though. We both got sick coming back from Belize this week and he gets to take Nyquil (the jerk.) So he's out. In the mean time, I'm still recovering from my dreams. I keep having really obnoxious dreams about people in my life lately. I've dreamed that pretty much every member of my family has been awful to me. Last night I dreamed that my mom was walking into the houses of my neighbors and stealing the middle sections of their bread. My mom makes bread. She wouldn't stop either. No matter how I told her that I had to live with these people, they were my neighbors, she just wouldn't listen. I woke up and went back to sleep and dreamed that I was in a bathtub with a friend of mine (male.) We were clearly going to get intimate (thank god, I was NOT pregnant in this dream,) But then I looked up and saw that he had my hot pink bikini top on under a t-shirt. You could see the little ties sticking out of the top. I pecked him on the lips and headed to take the recycling in. What the hell kind of sex dream only involves kissing? Not that I want to dream about sex with friends, but ???

So I'm thinking I might post some about Belize. Pictures and stories and whatnot. But I don't want to become a boring 1960s wife with my slideshow of photos no one wants to see. So I'll try and edit and be brief. But the trip pretty much kicked ass so I feel I should share.