10 Bizarre Things That Can Happen When You Take An Accidental Nap

  You know the drill. All you really meant to do was lie down for just a second or two, letting your body regroup after that ill-advised Chinese buffet. You pick up a trashy magazine, barely finish the first paragraph, and the next thing you know it’s two hours later and everything in your world is not right…

1. You’re covered in sweat.

  I have never understood what that mess was all about. Why were you sweating in your sleep? Does your body have to work harder when it tries to sleep during daylight? Did you sleep-walk and do aerobics? Is it a reaction to the Egg Foo Yung? Was the bed on fire at some point?

2. Your mouth is completely dried out and your sinuses feel odd.

  This means that you were snoring really hard, like at the chain-saw level, a level you normally only reach after tequila has been introduced and there was a drinking game involving tiny plastic pigs. The violent-snoring also explains why the cat is perched in the farthest corner of the bed, eyes wide, wearing a crucifix and clutching a tiny designer bottle of holy water.

3. You have no idea what time it really is.

  Even if you look at the clock, because all the clocks in the room are showing that Devil Time that you know just can’t be right. Somebody has got to be playing a trick on you, right? Your panic and confusion increases as you check other rooms and other clocks, hoping that someone from Candid Camera is standing beside one, but you only get confirmation that, yep, two hours of your life done got sucked away. Just like the pig-tailed redhead in that movie where monkeys flew and people melted. Maybe you should  find three traveling companions that like to walk and sing happy songs and things will get better? Or maybe not.

4. The stumbling and general body dysfunction.

  The impromptu nappage has your body really whacked out, and now your system is not cooperating in a pleasing manner. So there you are, staggering around and slamming into things that you normally wouldn’t have any problem navigating around. (“The corner of that dresser has always been there, sweetie. Don’t hate the furniture because it’s beautiful and stationary.”)

  Of course, just as you trip over nothing and crash to the floor in front of your picture window at the front of the house, fanny waving in the air, Gladys Kravitz across the street will capture the action with her wireless phone, and then she will race to slap the evidence online. Within five minutes, 46 of your supposed friends will click “Like” and make rude comments about alcoholism and the elevation of your butt. You will have to un-friend these fools later, once you remember if you have a laptop and where it might be.

5. The fuzziness.

  Your head is all clouded, because your brain is confused, expecting input data that should have happened two hours ago, and the command center is short-circuiting trying to analyze and catch up. And you’re making things worse by sending signals to the brain like “I can’t believe I fell asleep!” (obviously you did, Rip Van Winkle) and “I wasted so much time!” (Did you seriously think you were going to do anything important, anyway? You were laying on your bed at three in the afternoon.)

6. Food tastes funny.

  There’s really no reason for you to eat, but you pinball your way into the kitchen and latch on to some comfort food, desperate for something that will return balance and normalcy to your life. But the food tastes all wrong, cottony and flavorless, so you pull your head out of the chocolate pie and shove it back in the fridge. You’re now starting to wonder if you’ve slipped into an alternate universe. This is a minimally interesting (“Hey, what if they have flying cars over here!”) but also terrifying (“What if they don’t get Ellen in syndication!”).

7. No one seems to care about your trauma.

  You turn on the radio, expecting to hear news reports that Anonymous has released a carefully-designed virus that makes people fall asleep on the job, meant as a political statement about Congress. But no, nobody seems to be saying anything about that. Just the same old songs from Britney (“Oops, I’m A Chipmunk On Helium Again”) and Bieber (“I’m A Millionaire And I’m Still In Puberty!”).

8. You have lost the ability to communicate effectively.

  Best friend Bitsy calls. She’s very excited about a new place in town where they serve rhubarb martinis and kiwi salsa. Everybody who is anybody is racing there right now in their Mini-Coopers. She heard that, just last weekend, RuPaul showed up unannounced and led a limbo competition using some guy in a thong as the limbo pole. She can be at your house in thirty minutes, run put on something cute that can be adjusted to slutty easily, should the need arise. If some of the men are already horizontal, this could be a good thing. Hey, gurl, hey!

  Your tongue is still fuzzy and too big, and this is far too much information. You briefly try to remember what drinking binge or unexpected pregnancy led to your friendship, but you can’t recall. (Something about New Orleans and two people really, really wanting those beads.) You simply hang up on Bitsy without a word. She’ll be fine.

9. The damage to your personal appearance.

  A bit calmer now, having just had a one-sided conversation with someone who might be in worse shape than your own situation, you wander into the bathroom for a physical assessment in the mirror. Your face is both mashed and puffy (was I dragged behind a horse carriage in Central Park?), your eyes are bloodshot and watery (well that certainly doesn’t say drugs and/or angry serial killer) and your hair is jacked, matted and twisted (the words “breach birth” come to mind). You will not be making any social appearances this evening.

10. The eventual fallout and backlash.

  It’s 3 AM. Your body is still out of whack with the sleep thing, so your eyes are wide open and you don’t feel the tiniest bit tired. You briefly consider resuming the story in the trashy magazine, but that thing started this whole mess and it’s not really your friend anymore. There’s nothing on TV, despite the satellite beaming 712 channels into your bedroom. There’s no one you can call to kill time, because all of your friends are already slumbering or doing a backbend under a RuPaul stage prop.

  You sigh, then happen to notice the cat is still crouched in the far corner of the bed. Has he not moved? How bad was your snoring? You try to calm him. “It’s okay, BoBo. I won’t do that anymore. I’m all better now. Come on over here and let’s have us a nice little nap. Come on, lay right next to my leg like you always do.”

  BoBo stays right were he’s at, clutching the bottle of holy water even tighter.

Backup Dancers From Hell: Taylor Swift - “Mine”

We start out with fashionable Taylor wandering into some diner, her hair all strategically messy and wearing a little-girl dress that would look awkward on anybody else. She sits at one of the tables, where there’s a lone flower in a tiny vase, so we can know that she’s unattached but pretty. She glances over and sees a couple arguing at another table, which causes her to flash back to her life as a Little Taylor, when she had parents who argued while she stood in another room and looked sad. But her hair is still pretty.

Then we cut to Big Taylor in some forest, where the trees bear fruit that are glossy pictures, showing scenes from Taylor’s life. Taylor fondles one of the pics, but we can’t see it so we don’t really care. Back to the diner, where a cute waiter struts up, ignoring all the other diners because they aren’t pretty and single, and locks eyes with Taylor. They instantly fall in love while the smell of patty melts fills the air.

More shots of Taylor flitting about in the picture forest, pausing here and there to paw one of the glossies while making sure that the woodland breeze caresses her hair in a wafty manner. Then we’re in the diner again, with Taylor and the waiter ogling one another and planning a life together. Cut to the pair on a random beach somewhere, and we see that some clueless stylist has convinced Taylor that wearing one of those headbands you normally see on babies would be really hip. It’s not.

Then Taylor’s new beloved does this really nelly hop-skip thing while they’re walking along the shoreline, and it’s very clear to me that the boy is gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but Taylor, honey, don’t be surprised if you find a copy of “Dreamgirls” in pretty boy’s backpack. But they keep up the pretense, nuzzling on the beach and clutching at each other.

Then we “flash forward”, according to the lyrics, and we have Taylor and RuPaul moving into a house together. She’s carrying more boxes than him, so all the warning signs are there if Taylor would just see them. Taylor proceeds to unpack some of the boxes, and she finds a picture of Little Taylor with her parents. So she has another flashback. Actually, it’s the same flashback, parents arguing and Little Taylor looking sad. What’s the big deal here? So her parents had a fight and she heard it. If that’s the worst thing that happened to her, she probably won’t even need medication or counseling. Move on.

During the unpacking ceremony, RuPaul comes in to help with one of the boxes. He smiles excitedly while he pulls something out that looks like a giant metal flower, waving it about like his prayers have been answered. Wake up, Taylor.

Well, she’s awake, but she’s back in that stupid forest with the pictures hanging everywhere. I really don’t like this place. Seriously, if you were strolling along in the woods and came across that mess, you wouldn’t think “this is really nice and soothing”. You would think “there’s probably a serial killer right around here somewhere and I don’t have my cell phone.”

Another quick shot of Taylor and Pretty Boy in their new house, dancing around with the lights out. If that’s not a euphemism for their sham relationship, I don’t know what is.

Then here comes that dang Little Taylor again, still looking sad and still listening to her parents have that same argument. This is an unhealthy obsession, Big Taylor. Let it go. I mean, it’s nice that it inspired you to write a song and all, but I’m starting to get bored. My parents fought all the time, about a variety of pointless things instead of just the one argument, and I got over it. Just ask my therapist.

Now the couple is on a slim little boat somewhere, looking all “Vanity Fair” circa 1920, and Pretty Boy pulls out a ring and proposes. This is SO Elton John during his Denial Period when he married that odd woman with a penchant for lace. I guess Taylor likes lace and denial as well, because she accepts and hugs her little chorus boy.

Oh look, now that they’re living together, Taylor and Ricky Martin are having a big fight in the kitchen, just like the one Little Taylor overheard back in the day before she was a pop star. (This always happens. You shack up, and you instantly hate each other.) It’s not clear what the fight is about, but my guess is that Ricky called her “Bruno” whilst playing slap and tickle in the bedroom.

Anyway, Taylor runs out of the house and into the night, just like she did as Little Taylor after hearing that one disagreement her parents had when she was still impressionable and hadn’t learned how to play a guitar. Neil Patrick Harris runs after Taylor, grabs her by the hair, and then mashes her face together with his hands so that she will look more masculine if he has to kiss her. This causes Taylor to remember the good times she used to have with her sexually incompatible mate, back when they were running along the beach and she was wearing the dumb-ass headband. All is forgiven.

Cut to scenes of Taylor and George Michael getting married, while their friends stand around and place bets. Two seconds later, Taylor gives birth, and we have a shot of Pretty Boy holding up the wee one and trying to figure out who the Baby Daddy might be. Then Taylor spits out another kid, so somebody’s getting some action, but I don’t think Pretty Boy’s name is on any birth certificates. Maybe the UPS man delivered more than just a package.

Then we have scenes with Taylor and Pretty Boy playing with their equally-blonde children. The kids like to jump maniacally on the bed while Taylor laughs and thinks they’re cute, which is SO not reality. Any normal parent would be spanking some hyperactive little bottoms. We also have the family splashing around on the same beach where the whole lie of a marriage began. Appropriately, everyone gets salt in their eyes, and we have an image of the little boys all alone on a rock, presumably while their parents are busy dating outside the marriage.

We wrap things up with another shot of Taylor back at that fateful diner, when she selected something that wasn’t on the menu. If she had just ordered the beef instead of the quiche, none of this would have happened…

　

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