So its been like 40 years or something since Woodstock laid down some music and peace and love and whatnot on a dairy farm in New York, and in celebration of it, Bell and I are listening to the Woodstock soundtrack record I acquired from a relative (who figured out now that I have it and wants it back), and grilling meat.

I don’t know for sure that grilling meat is peace and love, but I operate under the assumption that the peace and love aspect of the hippie generation turned into the ‘me’ generation that still permeates society and whatnot, and which I kinda sorta attribute to some of the crappy things that happened with my generation, so we’re just liking the music.

Cuz damn, its some good music.

Discuss amongst yourselves.

So last night I couldn’t sleep.  Like at all.

We went to bed, and I was somewhat sleepy, but in the same way that sometimes when you really have to go to the bathroom, but once you get in there you try and try and try but nothing ever happens…

Um, I couldn’t sleep.  And actually that doesn’t have anything to do with going to the bathroom.

I digress.

So, I rolled around some, got up, got some water, got back in bed, rolled around some, kicked the dog (I’m on a silent campaign to make the doberman uncomfortable without Bell knowing about it, except now I think she knows about it), rolled around some more, flipped on the tv, and finally wandered into the den.

Where, evidently, I passed out watching something about the Big Bang Theory.

I woke up all ninja like with the dobie licking me in the face.  I’m pretty sure it was all ninja, it felt very ninja, and I seem to vaguely recall jumping up and flipping out all across the room until I realized that I was not truly in mortal danger.  Bell sez that I kinda flailed my arms and went “AAWAAWWAWAAWA” but I think she’s just trying to keep me from getting a big head, or maybe getting me back for kicking the dobie.

Or hell, maybe he’s getting me back for kicking him.  I’m looking at him now, asleep next to me on the futon, taking up roughly 8 cubic feet of space (I think that’s 30 bushels), and, well, I *do* have a vague urge to kick him, but I’m not quite flexible enough to get my foot up there.

Ninja’s aren’t flexible either, people. C’mon.

So anyway, the whole adrenaline rush thing upon waking up had to do with

a) I was in a goofy room
b) A hairy beast was putting tongue all over my face
c) The TV was no longer playing geeky science crap, but instead something about how you should give people with square breasts money to show you how to exercise
d) This weird ass dream I had about how those damn robots finally started killing off all of the humans, and my family and I were running through the woods trying to find the secret source of their robot power, which ended up being a pool that I had to jump into not unlike the climax of the Rocky Horror Picture Show (except that I was dressed, I think), and jumping into that thing managed to deactivate all the robots (whew).  But then my brain (because evidently I needed to know) decided to swing to a prequel dream explaining how the robots came to be, and turns out that it was all started because Iron Man and a bunch of other scientist people were hanging out at The Blueberry Farm (I think the family was somewhere else, since my dream didn’t seem to link culpability to them) and somehow ended up making a robot that looked just like Ali Larder, but she was evil (and I swear I’ve never seen Battlestar Galactica, ever), and then she turns everybody else there into robots and they end up going and subjugating and exterminating the human population.

Oh, and everybody were lego people.  I think thats the 7 yr old’s influence.

I don’t know where the hell the rest of it came from.

So, the moral of the story is I’m giving up sleep, because you end up having asinine dreams and waking up either with or without ninja skills.