here's something i just do not get.
not global warming.
not even Lindsay or Paris.
here's what i mean. i don't get how it can be when, on TV or movies or whatever, that right after a love scene (you know what i'm talkin' 'bout), when they cut to the next morning, the she in the he/she equation, wakes up the next morning with still-perfect hair, creamy skin, and looking like she just got out of the makeup chair.
which she did.
hell - these chicas often look better than they did the scene before, when the ravages of lust were taking their toll on their faces. and other places.
while i, in the real world, woke up this a.m. with one side of my hair STANDING STRAIGHT UP. mascara formed a map of the Continental United States under the eye opposite my scared straight hair. AND just to make it more fun was the zit forming, right where Washington DC would be.
not to mention the dried track marks of drool down my chin and neck.
all i can say is it's a damn good thing i got up before Brendan did. it might scare him enough to start wearing his sleep mask again, just to avoid that waking nightmare.