I can’t sleep if the closet door is open.

When I was a kid, I was afraid of the dark.

I was afraid of what was under my bed at night.

I was afraid to go into the attic, the cellar or basically any dark room that didn’t have the option of light. I’m not talking about a flashlight, either. I’m talking about a bonafide 100 Watt bulb that lit up every crevice of the room.

When I was a kid, I used to convince my mom to leave the hall light on because “sometimes I get up and go to the bathroom.” I think she knew the real reason. At least one of them.

The hall light served two purposes. The first is the obvious – it kept away the creatures that inhabited the dark. The second was I had positioned my bed so I could read by the hall light. And I usually read Stephen King, Dean Koontz or some other scary author. I’m sure this didn’t do anything to assuage my fear.

Nowadays, I can’t sleep if there’s light. I have dark blinds (that need to be darker) and I shut my bedroom door for maximum darkness. I don’t remember when I grew out of my fear (I guess these things just happen as you get older), but I can’t even sleep if the TV is on. The dark is no longer an enemy.

But, for whatever reason, I do not sleep well if the closet door is left open. It’s not that I’m scared, I just toss and turn. And nine times out of ten, if I wake in the middle of the night because I can’t sleep soundly, I always notice that the closet door is open. However, once I shut it, I’m sleeping like a baby.

Now, you would think I would know well enough to shut the closet door before I go to sleep, so I won’t be awakened.

That’s the problem.

I do.

For the love of God and all that is holy, dress appropriately…

One of my pet peeves (and I have many) is people – particularly women – who do not dress appropriately. What makes fat girls think it’s okay to wear half-shirts? Or skin tight clothing? Are they so out of reality that they think it’s sexy? Let me speak for men everywhere when I say it’s not.

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against big women, nothing at all. But goddammit, I don’t need to see every damn piece of you because you decided to paint on a shirt before going to work. Show a little respect for yourself and cover some of that shit up. Nothing disgusts me more than a big girl who thinks she needs to wear as little clothing as possible to show off her cleavage. Reality check sweetheart, if you weren’t 30 pounds overweight, you wouldn’t have those hooters. And you’d look better in that tight shirt. Everyone knows it, except you. And your friends are assholes for letting you leave the house dressed that way.

I’m a fatass myself, but I don’t go around wearing skintight wife-beaters. I know nobody wants to see my flabby ass running around half-naked. I wear Hawiian shirts. Big ones. And they serve two purposes. The first is they are comfy. The second is I’m protecting you, the people, from something you don’t want to see.

So, women of the world, it’s okay to be big. Be proud of your size. Walk tall with your girth.

But wear appropriate clothing.

And I’ll miss it all…

It’s 3:30 am and I’m tired.

I should be laying down because I have a boatload o’ shit to do tomorrow, but I might miss something.

It’s like that sometimes.

It’s like the old saying “It’s not what’s on [TV], it’s what else is on.” That’s what it feels like right now. There’s nothing going on. There’s nothing on TV. But dammit, the minute I lay down, the twins that want me (the ones I don’t know yet) are going to knock on my door because tonight is going to be my lucky night. If it’s not the night for the twins, then the best tv show ever (the one I haven’t seen) is going to broadcast – one time only – tonight.

And I’ll miss it all because I’ll be asleep.