On Awkward Arm Positioning When Sharing a Bed with a New Person

So you know that feeling when you wake up next to a brand new guy and it’s 5:00 a.m. because your body likes to be a total dick sometimes for no reason, and then your mind starts wandering and you’re like, “Perhaps I should get up and pour myself a glass of water,” but you realize you can’t because your arms are so weirdly positioned under/around New Guy that you’re basically trapped and so before you know it you’re having a mental hissy fit about how your arms are assholes and THEY are holding you back from living your best life? And then you get briefly sidetracked as you randomly remember that you need to do your taxes that day, and so you make a mental note for later and feel irrationally accomplished for a good twenty seconds but then you suddenly have to fart and then you have to pee, but again, arms, and so basically the whole thing gets real Armageddon, real fast? And then you look over and New Guy is still asleep and therefore totally unaware of how hard your life is because even after everything that’s just happened, it’s still only 5:03?

That may or may not have been my life a few Saturdays ago.

I eventually sat down in front of my computer to do my taxes this past Saturday, but then I opened Paintbrush and an illustrated graphic of the other Saturday’s debacle just randomly oozed out of me like some kind of weird discharge that one would probably have to send away to a lab for testing if it happened in real life (but that I most likely wouldn’t because now I still haven’t done my taxes and so if there’s anything to be learned from this blog post it’s that I clearly don’t have my self-care priorities in order).

Note: I made the font for my thoughts extra fancy because that’s how they look and sound in my head. They’re British, basically. (In fact, I recommend you read them aloud in an accent as you explore the graphic.)

Sleeeeeep

I think the moral of the story here is that we all need to stop blaming our arms for everything and just accept that life is uncomfortable sometimes. Also, taxes need to not exist, because arms. Wait. Did I just blame my arms for taxes?

 

Comments

  1. I relate to everything you’ve said here with my entire life. I’ve never wanted to remove my arms more than I do when I’m sharing my bed.

    • Haha, I KNEW I couldn’t be the only one!!

      • The dude I’m dating right now likes the sleep cuddles, and I just want to remove my arms and give them to him. Then I can get some sleep on the other side. Also the 5:03 thing? God like EVERY TIME. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

        • I HATE the sleep cuddles. They are literally the worst. Ok, maybe they’re fine for like … 20, 30 minutes TOPS, but after that? I NEEDZ MAH SPACE.

          But really, arms are the WORST invention ever. I would absolutely sleep without them. Although, come to thin of it, in my relationship, despite being larger than my boyfriend, I’m always the “little spoon” and HIS arms are the ones that are annoying. Not mine. Mine are perfect.

          • OMG SO BASICALLY, you are “New Guy” in the above graphic, which means I hate you a little but it’s only because I’m jealous and want to be you with your arms that BOTH APPEAR TO BE DOING FINE. ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. (Did I just spiral in a comment-reply?)

          • Think about it this way: PERHAPS he hated your arms just as much you as did. BOOM.

          • I always end up turning the other way and then just sleeping with our asses together. Is that even sexy or adorable or anything? Just ass to ass contact? Probably not.

    • OMG she stole my thing!!! Although, this came out first so ostensibly it would appear that I stole HER thing. Which was not the case at all. DAMN YOU, GLEE, I thought I was brilliant.

  2. Sometimes being the “new person” is also uncomfortable because you’re basically positioning yourself in a way that you might not normally sleep in either. At least that’s how it usually is for me on those rare occasions when I get to sleep with someone new.

    Also, I do the British accent thing, too, except with my cat because I truly believe that if my cat could talk she would speak with a British accent.

    • You make a really good point… really bed-sharing is a lose-lose situation. Except for when it’s win-win.

      AND OMG you’re my hero for having a cat that would probably speak British if it could speak! haha. I need one of these.

  3. This is too perfect.

  4. Allie Campbell says:

    I hate cuddling in bed after more than a few minutes. I wanna be all cute and “lurve youuuuu” for like 2 seconds and then I’m all “Go. Away.”

    Have you seen the cuddle bed?

    http://www.npr.org/blogs/alltechconsidered/2013/08/27/216091675/weekly-innovation-a-mattress-that-makes-it-easier-to-cuddle

  5. Dude! What is with all the sudden bouts of writing? I am only here once a week! How am I going to keep up if you start writing multiple times? Just because you’re hilarious and entertaining and full of delightfulness doesn’t mean the internet needs your gifts more than weekly! I’m going to fall behind! GAH! STRESS!

    Also, while I’m bitching, I have been wanting to tell you that I hate your fancily-colored picture a little bit, the one that swims over on the side of your blog because it make me want a White Russian every single time I see it. Like right now! It’s 11 pm and I want a White Russian. I don’t even have the makings for one but I want it. Maybe I need to stop looking at your picture. Maybe also I need to stop sounding like such a stalker.

    But on a serious note, one that is relevant: This has happened to me, too, only I am the one who thinks in blue. And I am not asleep. And I have to fart so badly that it is causing pregnancy-like cramps in my abdomen. However your arms are on top of me and they weigh about sixty-five pounds, each, and I don’t know how that happened when they were normal arms just a few hours ago. I can’t squirm around because you have me pinned and I’m not butt-down on the mattress so there’s no way to let it out softly, hoping that the bed below will absorb the impact. No, my cutely be-pantied butt (because I spent $40 on these new underwear, I WILL put them back on and sleep in them so that you have to see them in the morning because HELLO! FORTY DOLLARS! FOR UNDERWEAR THAT IS NOT EVEN MEANT TO DO ANYTHING BUT MAKE MY HIPS LOOK NICE!!) is pointed riiiiight at you and so I have to suffer in silence, unsquirming, crying silently, wondering why I agreed to sleep over in the first place because, really, I would be so much happier as a spinster! A spinster can wear a ratty t-shirt to bed and fart all night long and toss and turn to her heart’s content because NOBODY’S ARMS ARE PINNING HER DOWN!
    So…I remember that pain and I feel for you. Also, according to my scenario, we are sleeping together which explains your big bed because there are many, many miles between us. Also, there is one husband and now some new guy to account for, as well. And the cats on weekends because they have to sleep with us, too, which adds a whole new dimension to the arm dilemma.

    But yay! Someone in your (ridiculously enormous) bed! That is v. exciting!!

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