The old “I’m having too much sex with Brad Pitt to get anything done” excuse. Haven’t we all heard that one — one too many times?
PW – Parental Warning: If you are my parents, please refrain from reading!
The other day I was telling my Mother in Law about my latest dreams in which I’m working out. Sure, it could be the fact that I’m obsessed with The Biggest Loser, or that my new favorite pastime is finding new cellulite dimples, but whatever the reason working out is on the brain and these dreams are totally annoying. I’m waking up exhausted and I have nothing to show for it (other than sweaty sheets). Listen, I dread workouts in my waking world, so why would I want to waste those enjoyable “sex with Brad Pitt hours” at the “sleep” gym?
So she mentioned that there are people who actually get a workout in their sleep. I’m betting there are people who have sex with Brad in their sleep too.
Hello Angie, I’m talkin’ to you!
Though, I assume when you’re married to Brad Pitt, he does all the annoying things every husband does, which leads to this inevitable utterance during sex, “Brad, you just finish up while I: Watch The Real Housewives, stick pins in my Jen and Justin dolls, make a birthday card for Mad, or Shiloh, or Pax (when you have 6 it’s bound to be someone’s b-day), file my nails, read The Suburban Jungle …”
I guess Angie can’t never use the old “while I imagine I’m with Brad Pitt”. Nope, she has to slum it in her sex fantasies with someone like Rob Pattinson, or Ryan Gossling, or Johnny Depp … poor thing.
“Didn’t you ever watch Oprah?” my mother in-law inquired, snapping me out of Angieland.
“Was she on Disney XD?”
“She had people on that did all kinds of stuff in their sleep. They’d eat, clean, garden … cook. One of them tried to strangle his wife with the string from her hoodie and didn’t even get jail time.”
Wow, I had no idea how productive one could be when sleeping. Here I am, wishing for more hours in the day, when they were there all along.
To think, all these years I’ve been using my sleep to explore my carnal desires for movie stars I will never meet, and to deal with those ego shattering incidences that I’ve repressed since middle school.
“Now, these people on Oprah that you speak of, were they complaining about their afflictions?”
“Well sure, they’re in sleep therapy, and studies. They’re trying to find cures.”
“Are they freaking nuts? They’ve found the answer to a more productive fountain of youth (if you will) and they want to get rid of it?” Look, if we get to pick which sleep disorders we are plagued with, I call sleep cooking, then sleep cleaning, sleep aerobics, sleep showering, and sleep sex. Wait, scratch that last one, as you know, I’ve already mastered it.
Seriously, let’s take a second here to contemplate what would happen if sleep accomplishments could be taught? The next Hollywood workout craze would be “Slumber Jacks” (cardio for the upper body) and let’s not forget the potential for Tony Horton’s newest video line, P90Zzzzzz.
Frankly, I’m certain a few celebs are ahead of the curve. Ryan Seacrest, Steven Speilberg, and Martha Stewart, who up until now I was sure were androids or at the very least vampires, are clearly doing sleep stuff.
Take Martha, who can cook a multiple course meal, invite friends to eat it with hand written notes, make season appropriate place cards that are not only edible, but look like wreaths, and can be reused as lingerie drawer sachets, and still has time to make shady deals and verbally abuse the help? (That’s just breakfast.)
I’m going to try giving myself subliminal messages all day. If all goes well, I’ll awake in a bed that is already made. I’ll be refreshed, clean, and moisturized. My thighs will be firm, my buttocks taught, and the smell of lobster risotto and bananas foster will be filling my home. If all does not go well, I may strangle my husband in his sleep. I’m gonna do a pro/con chart on this one, but I’m thinking the reward outweighs the risk.
PS- Mark if you’re reading this, don’t sleep in a hoodie.
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