There are a couple of effective methods of making yourself fall asleep quickly without the aid of sleeping pills:
1. The Mike Webster Technique: Mike was a Hall of Fame Steeler and the best center ever. But after his career ended, the man became a physical and mental wreck. The only way he could get to sleep was by repeatedly stunning himself with a Taser gun.
2. Deprive yourself of sleep.
I had to wake up early on Friday and Saturday mornings, so I made sure I went to bed late on each of the nights before. This also coincided with the fact that these were T's last two nights before he headed back to Hong Kong, so obviously alcohol played an integral role.
I actually drank more on Thursday evening. I met up with T and the rest of the group at, yet again, Blink. Among them was that "Saving Face" and "Hitch" producer guy from my earlier entry, Teddy. Luckily for me, he seemed copacetic, although I can never tell with entertainment people - they often engage in emotional trickery and can shoot electricity from their fingertips. I say "luckily" because someday I may actually write a screenplay about a Thai transsexual samurai, and I can only picture Will Smith playing that role, in which case I should probably be on good terms with Teddy.
Friday night, I hopped in a car with T, Rog and Geney, and we wandered aimlessly all over LA like the Hebrews. From West LA to Venice to Downtown to K-Town. We stopped by Karnak after midnight to meet up with some friends. Chuck was already plowed by the time we arrived. I knew this not because he jumped on a couch and started bearhugging us. It's because when a bouncer tried to get him down, Chuck affectionately wrapped his arms around the startled guy and squeezed him too. And then they made love.
I think Saturday night was when I got the least amount of sleep. And I didn't drink a single drop of Goose. Nor did I hit a single lounge, club or party. I watched "House of Flying Daggers" with the girlfriend at her place.
The girlfriend's bed is fricking low. And she and her sister have two evil, evil dogs: Turdy the Golden Retriever and Bonji the Shih Tzu.
It had been a long-ass while since I'd crashed at her place, so the dogs were weirded out that I was sleeping in the same bed as their master. Almost the entire night, that bastard Shih Tzu kept jumping on me and licking my hands and face. Then Turdy and his 85 pounds would sleep right on top of my legs, followed by Bonji making strange whimpering sounds in his sleep. I couldn't string together more than 25 minutes of real rest. Oh man, I wanted to backhand those bitches so bad.
At one point I turned to them in exasperation:
"What the hell is wrong with you guys? Wake me again and I'll stab you!"
Dogs aren't man's best friends, they're assholes. The next day, they pretended like nothing happened and everything was fine. They might as well be in the entertainment industry.
Sunday night I came home. A couple of hours later, I hit the bed. And passed out almost instantly.
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