What if I want to sleep on the bedroom floor?

I deserve a little change, a little variety in pace sometimes. She'll be in bed already when I get home late. My soul will be in a pseudo whimsical, pseudo daring, pseudo defiant mood. My entire being will decide that I want, no need to lay down on the cold linoleum floor.

But what will that look like to her? She'll say I'm being silly, stupid. She'll ask me why I am doing this. She will make it about her, see it as a personal rejection, as an insult. She will see it as, "I would rather sleep on the floor then next to her."

She will think I'm crazy. She will scream a hushed, hysterical whisper about how I'm ruining her inner peace. She will cast a curse on me (oh yeah by the way, she's Wiccan). She will cause me to get audited. (She also works for the IRS). She will eat me alive. (I'm actually married to a dinosaur).

No. If I want to follow the deepest yearnings of my soul tonight, I'm going to have to make my floor sleeping seem as "accidental" as possible. I roll off of the floor as naturally as possible, pretending not to wake up. There will be a short pause of glorious proud silence. I will believe myself successful, but it will not last.

"Sweetie?"

Oh crap, I'll think.

"Sweetie? Are you okay?"

Terrified, I'll jump back into bed, pretending to still be asleep the whole time. She'll laugh a confused laugh to herself shortly, and then cuddle up next to me. I'll shudder at the sensation of her skin, because dinosaurs are cold-blooded. She'll rub my back with her tiny, T-Rex arms, and I'll eventually fall asleep in spite of her terrifyingly close, dagger-sharp teeth.

In the morning, she'll have a funny story to tell me about what I did "in my sleep" last night. I alone will know the truth.

Now I know.

What it...Ice is the new cheese?

Let's buckle down and face the truth here: cheese is SO 2009. Everybody knows that ice is where it's at! That's why resident fasionisto, Fupar, is going to use ice for all his cheese-related meals for now on, you know, for the sake of art or something.

On Monday, he'll eat macaroni and ,cheese ice. After boiling the macaroni and draining the water, he'll add a little bit of milk and butter, and then dump in the ice. It will give his meal a very fashionable, cold, soggy, lumpy texture, but the presentation will be fantastic.

On Tuesday, he'll create a grilled cheese ice sandwich. He'll chip a tooth, but later that day, it will all pay off because when he goes to the bathroom, his pee will be a little clearer than it otherwise would have been, although the amount of ice he consumed is barely negligible enough to make a significant difference there.

On Wednesday, Fupar is going to try chips with melted nacho cheese ice, but all it will do is make his chips soggy. Fupar doesn't seem to be the kind of guy who likes soggy chips. Soggy chips aren't fashionable. At this stage in his replace-cheese-with-ice journey, Fupar will question himself. He will wonder if he's doing the right thing. Fupar cares about fashion, but to get his mind off of fashion for a change, he will turn on the television.

Moopie, the world famous style expert will inform Fupar that ice is no longer the new cheese. Suicide is now the new cheese. Feeling hungry, Fupar will kill himself.

Now he knows.