Sleep Deprivation Breeds Stupidity

I still can't sleep. Except in the morning. Then I sleep like the dead. In the absence of any external prodding, I could sleep all day if I'm dreaming. My dreams are fascinating. Imagine Tom Clancy meets Sidney Sheldon with an all-star cast in a Hollywood Blockbuster. The plot is always engrossing minus one blatantly obvious absurdity that throws any desire to pen a screenplay out the window. This morning it was something about the paparazzi chasing a family in the mountains. They were so focused on the target ahead they didn't bother to see the spaceship hovering above. Morons! I think the mountains were a byproduct of just having seen Brokeback Mountain on HBO, and the paparazzi? Either my trip to LA or the back to back episodes of Dirt I watched the other night. In any case, I was riveted until I realized that the fleeing family had absolutely no claim to fame and the whole crescendo was me helping the dad buy back to school clothes at Goodwill. That last part may have been because I watched an old episode of The Simple Life when Paris and Nicole go to Goodwill to buy a mattress for some kid who slept on the floor. Paris should have just given him the one on her back. OH! SNAP!

Clearly, the sleep deprivation is taking its toll. Today was my mom's birthday. I gave her a Gucci bag. She always gives me grief on "wasting my money" on obscenely "overpriced" bags but it was interesting to see her change her tune. I heard her brag to my cousin that "It has a certificate and everything" in reference to the inventory control card. Then my older brother had to one up me by giving her a Rolex. My brother is rich. We lead very separate lives. One example may be the fact that his idea of traveling with friends is going abroad with Presidential hopeful John Edwards while mine is going to the outlet mall in Woodsbury. Or his idea of a bargain: "I bought a plane."
ME: WHAT?! Why? Was it on sale??
His answer, "Yes, it was a good deal."

He's a year older than me and has his own law firm. But here's where the scales tip in my favor: his wife is a bitch. She is the laziest, nastiest, most pretentious, cold-hearted, I could go on but it just makes me look bad. Anyway, I think I've made my point. Unfortunately I have to suffer through her company in order to see my adorable nephews. But her presence is taxing as proven by my inability to employ a filter when having a conversation with my 4-year-old nephew.

Nephew: Want to watch Bambi?
ME: Have you seen it?
Nephew: Yes, have you?
ME: Yeah. So you know what happens...
Nephew: To Bambi?
ME: No, his mom.
Nephew: She gets stuck in a trap.
ME: No, she DIES.
I know. I'm not always the sharpest tool in the shed. In my defense, I'll say he's so smart, I forget he's four. Here's the part that really makes me a bad aunt. At first I thought maybe someone had shielded him from that part of the movie but as it turns out, he hasn't seen the original. He was referring to the sequel. There's a fucking sequel?! Apparently, Bambi reunites with his dad and it's a forest version of The Pursuit of Happyness. His little brows furrowed while he pondered the plot twist I had just introduced but I think I salvaged the damage by adding, "Oh, I was talking about a different Bambi. Sorry, I don't know what I'm talking about." He seemed to accept that explanation with certainty which doesn't really say a lot about his opinion of me.