6:30am - wake up unwillingly and grumble down the stairs
6:31am - try to remember dream about paint-by-number forest in the mountains of North Carolina where someone kidnaps me and hides me in a chalet/IHOP to save me from zombies in station wagons
6:32am - give up on ever understanding my dreams and make coffee
7:15am - decide that the halfway point between Good Jedi and Bad Sith is Befuddled Droid
8:23am - try to rock out to Brand New's The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me, but stop screaming I AM NOT YOUR FRIEND/ I AM JUST A MAN WHO KNOWS HOW TO FEEL when my princess-dress-clad daughter interrupts me with, "Mommy, you're actually not a man."
9:45am - Happy Sunday Heathen Pool Party with the family
10:00am - butterfly lands on my head in the pool, and I decide I am THE CHOSEN ONE, just not sure what I've been chosen for
10:10am - Dr. Krog tells me I am a very playful person, and I insist that I am, in fact, more similar to a bipolar sloth on Quaaludes
11:25am - read demon romance book and get annoyed when said demon has violet eyes, which always pulls me out of a book and makes me say NO, HE DOESN'T HAVE VIOLET EYES BECAUSE HE'S NOT ELIZABETH TAYLOR.
12pm - eat a dissatisfying lunch of frozen samosas, Braeburn apple, Laughing Cow cheese, and raw nuts
12:30pm - first round of Shred level 2 pumps me up with so much aggression that I consider putting the thuggy teen down the street in an arm bar for lookin' at me while I was taking out the recycling. Decide to chill.
3:30pm - remember that my Labyrinth review is up at www.nerdbastards.com and contemplate which nerdy retro movie to review next. Ideas? Bueller? Bueller?
4:16pm - kill enormous army ant and send it swirling down the sink drain while yelling, "MADNESS? THIS. IS. SPARTA!!"
4:17pm - realize that despite attempt at chilling, there is apparently still some post-Shred angst in my blood
4:22pm - hear Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go and hear overlay of Chris Griffin over George Michael, then ponder why 80's guys were so girly-lame
4:26pm - whiny baby throws himself at my feet, screaming, "MIIIIIILK." I pour milk and respond, "MILK? THIS. IS. SPARTA!!!" Wonder if maybe I have a problem.
4:41pm - realize that instead of pondering life after death, I'm growing anxious over what I'm going to do when my favorite jeans are no longer wearable. Wish clothes were cloneable.
5:04pm - feel the need to party, but no party can be found. Eat waffles instead.
Just think... I'll probably be awake until 11pm.
That's 7 more hours of this crap.