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You mean, when I was a teenager? or in general? I don't follow.

When I lived the life of an aimless bon vivant, a period which lasted on and off for about 5 or 6 years starting in my late teens, I wound up on a 28-36 hour cycle. I'd sleep between 4 and 6 hours, with usually one good 8-hour stretch a week.

To quote the great poet and philosopher Bryan Adams, those were the best days of my life.

(So far.)

Sorry, Sam - I should have said. I mean now - or tomorrow.

When I was a teenager I didn't sleep much, and neither did the crowd I ran around with. But we certainly got into horizontal positions with each other in all possible combinations at all hours of the day and night.

Heh.

I seem to have been the opposite of tizzie as a teen, though not for a lack of trying. But to answer the original question, I do dearly love sleep and lying in bed more and more as I grow older. Ideally, I'd be a get up at noon, go to bed at 3am kind of guy.

When I was writing my thesis - four years - I was happiest when I went to bed one or two hours later than the day before. This way, I went to bed and woke up at a different hour every day and every two weeks I'd have gone through the clock. I also had the thrill of "staying up" and "getting up" late, every single day.

Nowadays my goal is to nap two hours (bare legs, fresh sheets in a proper bed) four times a day, every four hours. One day I might push it to eight one-hour naps a day, which would be ideal.

The result of that would be round-the-clock bedhead, sweetie.

A neverending series of intelligent, erudite, giggly brunettes that smell faintly of cinnamon and exhibit a complete and utter lack of conventional morality and inhibition.

Barring that, I'm an owly sort, I stay up until 1-2ish most nights anyway, so I'd stick with that, perhaps a bit later, followed by a leisurely awakening about an hour before the martini's arrive for lunch.

2 am until 10 am. that's the best time. it's not so much how much i get, but when i get it. 2 to 10 is fine, but 10 to 6 sucks.

when j was born, his mother and i took shifts with him, and i went to bed at around 3 or 4 and woke up at around noon. that's a good cycle, too.

Ideally, I'd sleep from about 3-10. As it is, I usually sleep about 1:30 or 2:00 - 7:15-7:30. Then a catch up on Saturday.

The same as when I do have commitments, late; go to bed late and rise late. Hell, I had opening shift today at 6:30 am so I will be going to bed now.

I love sleeping. If there was a US Olympic Sleeping Team, I'd be its captain. Can't stand naps, though. Never feel quite right when I wake up from them.

My perfect sleep schedule would probably be something along the lines of 2am-noon. Noon might turn into 11am after a few weeks of it, but I pretty much function best after about 9-10 hours of sleep. I have a very hard time falling asleep much before 1am, though, so I kind of suffer through the work week & sleep in on the weekend.

When I was a teenager and in my early 20s, it was not uncommon for me to sleep 12 hours a day. In a former life, I was probably a cat (but a monkey-friendly cat, of course).

I enjoy the sleeping, in all its myriad guises, except for the Sweaty Nap. The Sweaty Nap is best experienced when you have been drinking coffee all day, yet you come home from work and plop on the sofa in front of a sporting event. You lie back, telling yourself you will only rest your eyes for a matter of minutes. When you wake, you are bathed in a grimy ichor that has oozed forth from your pores, cold and rank. The Sweaty Nap is usually one that ends with an all-consuming body convulsion that makes you wonder if an invisible doctor is zapping you with those paddle things that George Clooney likes so much, and if maybe you should be a Solid Gold dancer.

Other than that, I am down with eleven to six on the weekdays, midnight til nine on the weekends. I have, in the past, slept for extended periods of time. Once I slept for so long, I woke up and someone was trying to embalm me. What a surprise!

I was probably a cat (but a monkey-friendly cat, of course).

How do they do it though, aine? We have three cats and I observe them attentively, trying to glean their secret drug - to no avail. I suspect they actually never sleep, as they pass so quickly into wakefulness, even with their "persian blinds" still down.

My mother says the secret of cats is boredom, which they embrace. According to her, they have five modes:

1) Hungry

2) Sleepy

3) Thirsty

4) Bathroomy

5) Playful

They figure out what their mood is by elimination:" I'm not hungry or thirsty; I don't feel like fun and games and i'm not sleepy either - Ah so, I must be in need of a crap." So there they go. Nothing depends on actual will. If they don't feel like eating, playing or having a shit, they conclude they must be sleepy and close their eyes.

Enviable but - until now - inimitable.

The nap is not the nap if done in a proper bed with sheets. The nap, per long tradition, requires the sofa.

And when one is asked "Are you asleep?" the proper reply is, "I was only resting my eyes!" This, in spite of any drool on the chin.

I've pretty much been on my own schedule all week, and I'm sleeping less than I was when I was working.

Apparently, I needed to not have anything to do in order to get everything done.

Apparently, I needed to not have anything to do in order to get everything done.

*deafening sound of bell ringing and stomping of enormous crowd of angels of truthj*

truthj is the original Anglo-Saxon form of truth and it's a great pity they dropped the final "J" because of Dutch influence.

This is provably true. I have been blissfully unemployed for a good month now, and I'm getting a lot more done than I ever did while I was working. Take THAT, Mistah Gummint Man!

9622: provavly the truthj.

I have been blissfully unemployed for a good month now, and I'm getting a lot more done than I ever did while I was working.

EXCEPT BLOGGING, APPARENTLY!!!

I'm pretty much a 3am to noon kind of guy by temperament, but I love being awake in the early morning. (I just don't like going to bed early, or getting up...but once that long painful process is complete, being awake in the mornings is great.)

And sleep is wonderful. As Woody Allen said, "It's death, without the responsibility."

Alas, six years of shift work has completely bollixed up my body clock, and I sometimes find myself awake till 4am, when I'll crash, only to wake up wired at 9am, and then crash again at 3pm when I really need to be alert for work.

Two and half years of the overnight shift were the worst -- working 10pm to 6am, Tuesdays and Wednesdays off. The shift itself wasn't so bad, but dealing with phone calls, light coming in through the blinds, etc. when you're trying to sleep was rough. I was tired all the time and averaged about five hours a day. Worst was trying to maintain a normal life with friends and such...converting to a normal schedule each "weekend" and converting back to the vampire shift was a real grind. I told people it was like flying to Europe twice a week, but without the free liquor.

Yeah, John, but since you are once again making with the fucking of the blog, I can but diminish, and go into the west. We, as always, must cancel each other out.

I've taken the last two days off work to deal with a slight plumbing disaster in my basement and have instead been sleeping most of the time... I'm just waiting for things to dry out down there, I swear!
Stress is a grand soporific.

Towerbrave, how do "slight" and "disaster" go together? Is that like being a little bit pregnant?

I recommend throwing eight hundred packets of generic brand jell-o down in that basement and having a party.

Well, some of my housemate's artwork and baby photos were distroyed, but given how many boxes of good stuff we have piled in that corner, it could have been alot worse (the water shut-off appears to have been gently leaking for the passed month or so. There were mushrooms growing out of the carpet!)

M-M-m-m-mmm, mushroom jello!

Nonononono. Harvest the mushrooms. Then throw eight hundred packets of generic brand jell-o down, along with 80 bottles of vodka. Serve mushrooms as canapes. Have poison control on speed dial.

That, my friends, is a party.

"generic brand" is an oxymaroon.

So, speaking of jello shots... I don't drink. I haven't in years. But this weekend? well, this weekend...I drink. Who's with me?

Yes. The drinking. Yes.

I began last evening, in fact, with the enticing double feature of Polish and Himalayan beer. This was, of course, a dangerous gambit, as the Poles and Himalayans are the bitterest of enemies.

You know, Lupo, engaging in lusty, debauched sex with wild abandonment is another way of coping with these sorts of setbacks.

*wink*

I agree. Maybe tonight I'll really let loose--tie myself up and tease myself with hot wax and ice cubes.

a dangerous gambit, as the Poles and Himalayans are the bitterest of enemies.

Due to the bedevilling intractability of the effing Himalayans!

There will be Poles on the roof of the world, oh yes, there WILL be Poles!

*puts up dukes, waits for the equally intractable Himalayan supporters to get snotty and pink in the face*

Doing what they do best.

I'm back...

No matter what time I go to bed, if there's no alarm clock, I wake up between 10:45 and 11:00, CDT. When I was underemployed, I'd stay up till 'bout 3AM, wake up, do something remotely useful, and go drink cheap beer. *That* was both the best and worst of my times.

When I'm on road trips and want to catch the sunrise, I don't need an alarm clock.

Oh, and shameless flirty winks to all of you!

Ideally I'd sleep from 1:30 - 11:00. This never happens. Damn classes.

Snotty! Check your e-mail (the one listed in your MeFi profile).

sleep during the week is about 7 hours or so from midnight to 7, with much hitting of the snooze.

During the weekend it's either 5 hours or 12, depending on what I'm doing.

And what is it with this place that never all 4 of us can be employed at the same time?

And what is it with this place that never all 4 of us can be employed at the same time?

I'm glad you (as in, not me) asked that question!

Hey, Dana's back. She saw monkeys.

What is it with this place that never all 4 of us can be employed at the same time?

Something about the prophecy coming to pass and, you know, gelflings.

Skeksis' Midnight Runner? That's perfect.

Chico and I were sitting around last week trying to think of good racehorse/band names. That beats anything we came up with.

Did you notice I was gone, even? Anyhow, here are some photos. I *did* see monkeys. I had a lurvely time. I also didn't poop for a week. I suppose that's a good thing, seeing as you're not allowed to put toilet paper in the toilets in Costa Rica, but seriously: who goes to Central America and doesn't poop?

So what'd I miss? I hear there was an election or something. ::weeps bitterly::

Since you weren't here, doesn't that mean we can blame you for the result?

So what'd I miss?

Well, young lady, while you were off gallavanting in the tropics, I was suffering through oral surgery (with hard drugs, natch), food poisoning from iffy fish, bad TV that included a Hunter marathon, and the election of a despot through questionable means.

Actually, it was kind of like a Latin American vacation without leaving home. Up to and including the armed Spanish people walking around, because it is New York after all.

Chicks shouldn't talk about teh poop. Bad form.

Ah, c'mon crash. What with your wifely woman and whatnot should know just as well as everyone that the even the most noble of thundersluts shits and farts and bleeds and has snot. That doesn't mean they're not warm and soft and cuddly and....

*saunters off to bed*

Dana, won't you please post the "monkeys for breakfast" over here? And tell us what happened!

Or the swimsuit photo! That would be good, too!

In my (admittedly not exhaustive, but still) experience, the prettier the girl, the stankier the flatus.

One can only assume, based on the high level of attractiveness displayed here, that any thunderslut can, on a good day, knock d6+1 birds out of a tree with a well-aimed air biscuit.

Related story: I was introduced to the concept of the "dutch oven" by a very pretty girl who, in addition to a rather wanton sense of humor, apparently had some sort of intestinal condition. She could make a strong man's eyes water, no kidding. And when no strong men were around, she'd do it to me.

All of which is to say: welcome back Dana! Enjoy your well-deserved poop!

Actually, I have toilet talk about my trip, too.

I found British plumbing to be as perplexing as the driving. Everyone tells you that you'll have to drive on the other side of the road, but no one tells you that you have to use your left elbow to flush. Now that's an adaptation.

I assure you all that I fart magnolia blossoms.

I am terrified of flushing the terlet while sitting on it. Too much potential for backsplash action.

Ugh, no swimsuit photos. No more photos of me at all. Now I know what "carbface" means. I am starting my summer 2005 diet NOW.

Monkeys Come to Breakfast: The Zapruderesque movie.

It's low-quality, so you can't really tell what's going on, but here's the backstory: At first the monkey family was just hanging out in the trees outside of the restaurant. Then someone stupidly gave one a banana, at which they all wanted a banana. They came closer. Then one monkey jumped up onto the table next to ours and threw a napkin holder at a waiter. The waiter cursed and swatted him with a towel. This, of course, only made the monkey angry. Then another monkey jumped up onto the table and they showed us their fangs. BANANA NOW!

I left quickly.

Aw, c'mon, party (dare I say it?) pooper.

They just wanted to play!

And when I lived in London briefly ten years ago, I rented my apartment and almost immediately had major death struggles with the fixtures.

An unrepentant Anglophile like me should admit this only with eternal shame, but I must admit that I did have dark thoughts along the lines of "If they couldn't figure out plumbing, how the hell did they manage to run an empire?"

The nicest toilets I visited were Victorian-era public conveniences on Queen Street in Cardiff, Wales. Mahogany and brass, all shined up fancy. An atendant rushed in to mop my rainy footprints off the floor as soon as I finished up.

I knew that the signs would say "Toilet" instead of "restroom," but then I kept seeing huge "To Let" banners on lots of buildings, and thought they were getting a bit too enthusiastic.

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