Falling Asleep On Strangers

             Unintentional is the best word to describe what is happening during the event of falling asleep on someone you don't know. Unfortunate is the best word to describe what is happening when you are the unlucky bastard who discovers that someone has fallen asleep on you whom you do not know. The combination of my workaholic syndrome and incessant drinking has occasionally led to a series of unfortunate situations that involved meeting someone new in a manner not preferred with said situation usually ending in a bitch slap. This series of events was particularly apparent in New York City. The citizens of the Big Apple are already overworked, tired, and drunk to ease the pain of being overworked and tired. I, of course, was exponentially affected by this epidemic because of the fact that I am already all of those things. New York City amplified my insomnia and alcoholism to a new level. Couple this amplification with 24 hour public transportation and you  have a recipe for disaster.

          During those 3 years in New York, I believe I fell asleep on 4 different unfortunates. Looking back, I have noticed that I have a tendency to fall asleep on Black women; angry ones. I remember quite vividly the first time this happened. What makes this story even more tragic is that it happened during the daytime. It's slightly understandable to fall asleep on the train during the night (a regular occurrence for me usually resulting in my entire body being catapulted to the floor during a sudden screeching halt somewhere in New Jersey). But to fall asleep on another human being while on public transportation during broad daylight is about as acceptable as Pamela Anderson being awarded the Pulitzer Prize for her efforts in her 2004 book "Star" in which she details the necessary preparation for intercourse in the back vagina. To make matters worse, I wasn't even drunk the first time I fell asleep on a stranger (it was daytime after all). I couldn't be like Jamie Foxx and blame it on the alcohol (Side note! Why does Jamie Foxx say in the song "Take a shot of Nuvo"? What kind of straight person takes a shot of Nuvo? It's like the equivalent of Robitussin, not even the extra strength.).

            Even though I fell asleep on this random Black woman, whom I will refer to as Monifah, I can put back together the pieces from my memory of how it all went down, albeit slightly in a haze. What I do remember is being very tired and on the A Train on my way back home. I was going to school in Manhattan and upon moving to NYC I had brilliantly sought out a place to live way out by JFK airport. I am truly a mastermind of decision making. This caused my commute to be well over an hour especially in rush hour and even more so if the trains were running local (making my self diagnosed IBS even more precarious to deal with, but that's another blog). I had just finished a long fulfilling day at school and was on my way home in the late afternoon. I had done a very good job of making it about two thirds of my journey on the train without collapsing. I remained poised in my seat on the crowded subway car. About 15 stops in I began fading like Courtney Love. I tried to keep it together. I concentrated with all my might to keep my torso erect. I thought the best solution would be to just simply rest my head on the window behind me (perhaps I should explain that on NYC subway cars, the seats are situated along the periphery of the train in a rectangle shape which allows you the option of resting your head on the wall/window behind you and also allows you to stare uncomfortably at the person seated across from you along the other wall). This proved to be about as brilliant as a decision as it was to live next to the airport. At some point I fell asleep of course, yet I believe to have had a slightly out of body experience. Even though I was asleep, I could somehow feel and see myself beginning to lean ever so slightly like the tower of Pisa only to return to neutral. It's like I was fighting myself to not fall over. I kept swaying to and fro (only to the left) constantly negotiating between the precarious moment of falling and in an upright position. After several minutes passed, I finally entered into a dangerous part of my R.E.M. cycle and in one motion I gingerly dipped all the way over landing my bald bi-racial head into an angry Black woman's lap.

           This is the part of the story where things took an ugly turn. I am still confused as where the anger living inside of this African-American woman came from. Has Monifah always been angry or did my head landing on her drumstick cause her anger. I will never know the truth unless of course Monifah is reading this blog right now (HEY GIRL!). What I do know is by the time I woke up, Monifah was heated! Now to be clear, she woke ME up! So as I found myself in deep slumber in a cocoa butter scented lap, I woke to the sensation of my head being tossed ever so gingerly to the other side of the train. I was slightly alarmed of course. Before I could get my bearings or even feel any embarrassment I heard "You fall asleep on my one mo time and I'm gone slap you in the face!". "I'm SO sorry Monifah! I've had a really long day and I just can't seem to get my life together. I just wanna go home and grab my drink. I promise I won't do it again. Please don't cut me!" would have been my chosen response. In all of my Canadian-ness I simply chose to run away as fast as possible to the opposite side of the train. For the record, I did not get cut.

               Several times over I kept falling asleep on Black women; all angry. I'm not sure what it is that comforts me. I really do think it's the intoxicating scent of the cocoa butter. What is interesting to me is that when the situation reversed itself the outcome was very different. I have no one to blame except karma because obviously I had this shit coming my way. I remember being on the train perfectly awake during the day (I must have taken a Red Bull) when suddenly a White man was lying in my lap. He had an incredibly large, egg-shaped head and he was snoring. "Isn' this magical?" I said to myself. My first instinct was to pretend that nothing was wrong (very Canadian of me). This proved to be somewhat difficult considering I was on public transportation during rush hour. However, this was NYC after all and the one thing you can always count on is the fact that people really do not give a shit about the crazy things they see as those types of things are in abundance in the Big Apple. However, I still had the predicament of the bowling ball resting on top of my femurs. How was I supposed to get this large man off of me without getting punched in the face? Obviously I was attracted to falling asleep on angry Black women. Was my non-abrasive aroma combined with Old Spice enough to make an angry White man fall asleep on me? This had never happened to me before. I was worried he would be hostile. I considered petting him but then reneged on account of him having so little hair. Then I thought about making one foul swoop by very quickly and undetectably sliding out from underneath him. I would time it exactly when the doors opened so that by the time his enormous head hit the seat and after he got his bearings together I would have been long gone. I, again, had to reconsider because I knew even if I got out alive that Jesus would pay me back three fold. I had to come up with a new plan. This is when God spoke to me. God said, "Hey jackass! Tap the bitch on the shoulder and tell him to get the fuck up off of you. Ho!". Okay, so maybe it wasn't God, but it was good advice none the less. Of course I took my own Canadian interpretation of this. I leaned into his ear very slowly. I whispered "hey......hey......white man......this is my stop so i need you to stop sleeping on me please". He didn't budge. I must have been speaking too quietly. I tried again slightly louder to no avail. The third time I spoke a little louder than normal volume. I didn't want to start yelling because the last thing I needed to do was draw attention to my unfortunate situation. I needed to be the first person to blog about this after all. Unfortunately, White man still would not wake up. Truthfully, I was several stops away from my destination so I just decided to wait it out. I remained still as to not disturb his slumber. In my effort to no longer awake the bastard, I actually almost fell asleep myself until I felt the gentle grazing of hair plugs against my thighs. I felt like a mini cactus was being pressed down on my legs with a rolling pin. The man made several grumblings, scratched his head (the bald part), and then slowly maneuvered his torso to an upright position. He glanced at me, confused, and resumed his position of facing forward without saying a word. I couldn't believe it. How can you fall asleep on someone and not be apologetic in the least bit. This was crazy! At least I had handled my unfortunate situation of disturbing angry Black women with some humility and consideration. I don't even get a hello! I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman; completely taken advantage of (without lubrication)!

           Although I do not personally recommend or condone the idea of sleeping on an individual whom you do not know, I would say that it's important to try it at least once. I do believe that it can be a good way to meet someone as long as you are certain to start the conversation regardless of whether you are the sleeper or the human-sofa. It is a miracle that I am even alive after the billions of Black women I have used as ebony cushions and the countless White business men who I have witnessed horizontal on my lap on public transportation. Although it was a struggle to go through these horrific events, I am a better person for having experienced embarrassment and humiliation. I only hope that the next person who falls asleep in my lap is someone of African-American descent with a lot of hair. At least I will have something to braid to make the time go by faster.

                                      

Me Vs. Dental Floss

          Dental floss and I have always had a precarious relationship. Since my recent (and long overdue) dental appointment, I have been forced to reconnect with this bitch of a string. The idea of inserting thread between my choppers sounds about as appealing as a bath with my Grandfather. However, I have always committed (albeit inconsistently) to flossing because of Ellen Degeneres's strong avocation of the activity. I trust lesbians; their haircuts are just so sincere. Up until my dental appointment, I had apparently been flossing my teeth incorrectly. I had simply pulled the string back and forth between each tooth holding one end outside of my mouth and the other inside. I thought that was sufficient. Apparently not. I have learned since that I am supposed to suspend either end of the string around both sides of one tooth and pull the string back and forth to most thoroughly remove plaque around the gum area. This is some bullshit. What did the cavemen do? How did those bastards survive? Did they use weeds in the same manner? For Christ's sake! This absolutely absurd idea of flossing is completely unrealistic. Yet, I subscribed to it anyway considering the fact that I have 4 cavities that are only getting worse by the minute. So alas, I have attempted to floss correctly. Unfortunately I have failed miserably. Here's how the shit went down last Friday.

           I fully understand the idea of forking over some extra pennies for brand names when it comes to important items like multi-vitamins, microwaves, and tampons. However, I refuse to pay $3.53 for a brand name tiny box of dental floss when I can buy that ho at the 99 cents store! I mean seriously, how can there be any difference between that 50 foot white string and the one that comes with "Colgate" on the front? Apparently, much is different! Previously, when performing my toddler version of flossing, the cheap suggestion of dental floss worked sufficiently. However, with my new and improved technique, the cheap strands would not be able to survive what they were about to endure, unbeknownst to me of course. With a positive attitude in mind, I pledged forward with my new found awareness of flossing. I pulled the strand with both hands until taught and slipped it behind my front left tooth (the big one) and held each end of the string outside of my mouth. I began to simply pull on each end one at a time: right, left, right and then left. I kept working my way slowly around the periphery of my gigantic mouth. I began congratulating myself (too early as it were) on my accomplishment of thoroughly removing the plaque around my gums and thus defeating the evil bitch, gingivitis. It was not until I made it to my back molar on the left side that things began to take a turn for the worst. I slipped the floss behind the tooth and began to sway it to and fro as I had done on all of my previous choppers. I continued the motion several times before things came to a screeching halt. The little bitch was stuck! I could not move the floss. Clearly the devil was involved. At that moment, I realized that this wasn't going to be pretty. I immediately prayed that I wouldn't end up like Amy Winehouse.

          The first step in solving a problem is to accept the fact that there is a problem. This took a few moments. I was in complete disbelief that this tiny piece of dental floss was stuck in my mouth like a Kylie Minogue single in my mind. Furthermore, it seemed more than slightly preposterous that my teeth were so tightly knit that a glossy piece of string could not gingerly slide through. There certainly was enough moisture in there. My glands create so much saliva, you would think I was trying to be the next Paris Hilton. But alas, I had to eventually (after several minutes of grievance and utter disbelief) accept the fact that Jesus had thrown me a curve ball. With few options at my disposal, the first method I thought of was to frantically tug on each end of the string hoping that the sheer strength of the pull would force the floss through gap between the two teeth. This, of course, ended badly. The string broke, not on one, but both ends! So there I was with two frayed ends of dental floss hanging out of my face. With each growing moment I found the pressure in my mouth to become more unbearable by the second.  How I even manage to get the floss in this tiny Pamela Anderson's vagina tight space is still a mystery to me. Now, my only option left was of course to panic. I immediately turned into Linda Blair and began screaming. I started digging into the back of my mouth with my fingernails clawing away at what was left of the floss. Flashbacks of the movie "Saw" came flooding through my mind. The disturbingly low and evil voice said:

"INSIDE YOUR MOUTH IS THE KEY TO YOUR LIFE! ON THE BACK OF EACH TOOTH, A CODE IS WRITTEN THAT OPENS THE DOOR WHICH LEADS TO YOUR SAFETY! YOU MUST REMOVE EACH TOOTH WITH YOUR BARE HANDS IN ORDER TO RETRIEVE THAT CODE! IF YOU CANNOT CRACK THE CODE IN 60 SECONDS, A HIDDEN TRIGGER ATTACHED TO YOUR RETINA WILL DETONATE LEAVING YOU TO DIE A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATH! CAN YOU ENDURE THE PAIN OF SELF-SACRIFICE TO LEAD YOURSELF TO FREEDOM! OR WILL YOU CRACK UNDER THE PRESSURE? HAVE YOU BITTEN OFF MORE THAN YOU CAN CHEW?"

           I really should pitch this idea to the creators of Saw. This could totally be the prequel. Anyways, I was in absolute agony trying to impossibly pull out the remaining floss that was stuck, jarred between my teeth. Crying quickly ensued, followed by screaming. Diarrhea also made a cameo appearance which at least distracted me from the impending doom occurring in my own mouth. After flushing and sanitizing of the hands I resumed to my position in my attempt to pry my mouth open to properly remove the floss. Then it hit me like Chris Brown; the perfect idea! If I simply took additional floss and forced it in, I could possibly use the new floss to push out the old floss. If it worked, I could buy a patent and call it the "Angelina Jolie technique"! I was so excited I could barely hold my excitement! So I pulled out a new shiny beacon of floss and began to double penetrate my own mouth (insert the second of two Pamela Anderson references here). Just like Pamela Anderson, I took it like a man and just shoved it in. The old floss popped right out! Success! My mouth was free of pain and over-occupancy. Thank Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! (in reverse order)

        I have learned my lesson. Never buy generic brands of dental floss! They will rape your mouth faster than Kobe Bryant (who would have been preferred over dental floss FYI). I have now upgraded to Oral B 3D White! This shit is off the chain bitches! I am telling you that this is the most amazing product since the Shake Weight (blog coming soon). I can barely hold back my erection when thinking about this amazing product. Oral B's 3D White dental floss glides into your teeth with the ease that Pamela Anderson's vagina would experience with only one penis. It's flexible, it's comfortable, and it leaves your teeth feeling only gently violated; just the perfect amount. I am so proud to endorse this new product. I hope you all take advantage. I am publicly taking responsibility for their new slogan. "Oral B's 3D White: Dental Floss, the floss that only rapes you a little bit....."