Vital Statistics (provided at no cost to the NSA, just in case)

Age: 32

Height: 6'1" (last inch optional, depending on how well I slept)

Eyes: Bloodshot, and also blue

Hair: Usually poorly groomed

Organ donor: yes

Ancestry: unknown (which would give me gray eyes, if I were a D&D character)

Likes: baseball, hardwood floors, romantic gentlemen who aren't rude, cars that get good gas mileage

Dislikes: books with proofreading errors in them, jocks, most cats, Phoenix, Discovery Channel show narrators

Number of people who promised to be my best friend forever if I did them a favor who are currently serving out their promise: 1

Number of times my dog has annoyed me in the past five hours: 7

Number of times my dog has made a cute gesture, noise, or face in the past five hours: 7.5

Highest number I will count to before I get bored and/or frustrated: 1,763

Favorite person at age 11: Bo Jackson

Favorite person at age 21: Dennis Miller

Favorite person at age 31: My wife

What my wife is doing right now: sitting behind me and hopefully reading a magazine instead of watching me type

Number of toes: 10, though the two big ones have been trying to escape ever since I hit puberty

Number of books I have read in the past month: 2.25

Number of books I have enjoyed reading in the past month: 0.25

Amount of beer I consume in a typical week: as much as I want

Favorite color: brown (yes, really, recent development)

Amount of iPhone storage I have used up so far: 2 GB

Percentage of these facts that are true: 85

Best way to entertain a 1-year-old: peek-a-boo

Times I'll wear a dress shirt to work before laundering it: 4, sometimes 5

Do I know where my iron is?: no

Do I know where the toilet bowl cleaner is?: yes

Do I know where Uzbekistan is?: I think so, but I'm probably wrong

Middle name: John

Other middle name: Patrick

Other middle name if I could do it all over again: Phineas

Other middle name if I could do it all over again but my parents still had input: Francis

Question I refuse to answer:

Gender: male

Weight: 200 ... ish

Allergies: grass, cats, pot, and reggae

Chores: return library books, take coffee maker to Bed Bath & Beyond, organize socks, fix drawer, groom dog

Political affiliation: contrarian

Favorite year(s): 1985, 1995, 2005

Tattoos: none

Piercings: none

Cosmetic surgical implants: none

Living aunts and uncles: 9

What I did when I first noticed hair growing on my legs: sat in the living room and looked at it

Is this over yet?: no

Number of minutes spent writing each night: 45 to 90

Number of minutes spent thinking about what to write each night: 44 to 89

How does that extra minute work?: akk;jfs  opihai  awhfp  pkash fp haf s jkfsda f

Pride in substituting a list for a well-reasoned essay: zero

Is this post meta enough yet?: no

Is this over yet?: yes

Are you sure?: I spent most of today recovering from only three or four hours of sleep after accidentally ingesting a few too many beers and trying to stay up all night to beat Gravitee Wars. This made me nearly useless (okay, not useless, but pretty sloppy) at work, which is not a good idea this close to my annual review. I also got that feeling of being stuffed up in my ears, which sometimes happens when I get inadequate sleep. My balance was even worse than usual, and I had the vague feeling of shouting at everyone when I spoke, even though I was probably mumbling. My left shoulder was sore for no reason. I came home with every intention of jumping straight into bed, 6 o'clock be damned, but V announced that it was Listening Hour, so we sat on the couch next to the fire and listened to classical music and dissected its artistic merits relative to painting. We also drank wine. I guess we're those people. Then we ordered a pizza and watched a Regency drama (not bad) and now here I am, babbling into a blank post instead of diving headfirst into the river Lethe. (What? You thought I wrote these in the morning? Friends, I can barely breathe straight in the morning.) What I'm exploring here is the other side effect extreme sleepiness has on me, which is an overconfidence in my sense of humor and an easily distracted brain that's already thinking about that really cool record store next to the pizza place across the north border of campus in high school, what was it called, before the sentence has a chance to finish. "But Chris, most of your posts are incoherent." Secret sauce revealed. This paragraph is ugly. Good night.