T sent out an email asking if anyone wanted to split a hotel room with him during the weekend of our friend's wedding. So far, no takers. I asked Geney Boy if he'd consider rooming with him.
"Yeahhh ... the thing about T is he snores ... " he said.
"Really fucking loud," I continued.
Mother of God, that guy can snore. I'm pretty sure he's inhaled his sheets a few times. We've been on a lot of trips, so I've had the misfortune of sleeping in the same room with him many times. Luckily I'm a very deep sleeper, but even I've had the bad luck of waking up in the middle of the night to sounds of roaring nostrils.
The good thing about hotel beds is that they each have at least two pillows, so I can hurl one across the room, which shuts his snooze hole long enough for me to go back to sleep. Sometimes I've been very tempted to throw much heavier objects like shoes or the TV.
"I don't know how his girlfriend can sleep next to him. She probably wears a helmet so he doesn't accidently snort her head," I said. But I'm not one to talk. Yes, my friends, I've become a snorer too.
I wasn't always like this. In fact, until recently I was one of the cool non-snorers. Non-snorers rule the world, after all. Seated on their high thrones of apnea-free piety, they persecute their snoring boyfriends and question the femininity of their snoring girlfriends.
But I was lying to myself. My dad snores so loud it sounds like the Apocalypse is coming out of his throat. Even my mom snores. Genetics was going to catch up to my ass sooner or later.
It just started last year, and only after a night of heavy drunkening. At that point, my girlfriend found it amusing, even slightly adorable. But this year, I had allergies for a couple of weeks, and suddenly I was snoring every night.
Quite quickly my girlfriend - a very light sleeper - no longer found me amusing or adorable. I'd become Ed the Snorebitch. Most of the time she'd gently shake or even pinch me, and I'd stop snoring without waking up. But there were a couple of times where I'd be jolted awake by a simultaneous shoving and scolding.
"Cut it out!" she'd snap - as if I was doing it all on purpose. And that's when I realized I'd officially become one of the very monsters I'd ridiculed and thrown hotel pillows at.
Sadly I still snore almost every night. So far it's only for short periods of time, and my girlfriend's gotten used to it, sort of. But I'm guessing it's only a matter of time before I reach my dad's Richter magnitudes and start causing bridges to collapse.
Oh, and on a completely different note, if any of you constantly hit-upon ladies are in need of a fake number to give out, try this one: 818 - 633 - 9638.
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