Last night I was in a chat with some writing buddies because we've been doing the 100 words a day challenge and EVERYONE has to participate, though I've been working on doing way more than 100 words a day, and then they get mad at me for being so competitive, but HEY, I'm on summer vacation and have no small children, just an addiction to blogs and movies. So anyway, the non-pregnant members started drinking. And we're not as young as we used to be, so after one glass, we start dropping like flies.

"Night, John Boy."

"Night, Mary Ellen."

Well, I had a nice glass of Paso Robles Merlot and by 11 PM, I was ready for bed. And this is why you shouldn't have red wine before bed:
First, you dream you're Jennifer Aniston, trying to get Brad Pitt back and making a fool of yourself (in quite the slapstick manner - it included alligators and xylophones - don't ask). Then you dream you're Jennifer Garner, or rather Sydney Bristow, and you've broken up with Vaughn so you're depressed and buying Chips Ahoy to eat for breakfast because nothing else sounds good, and you're hitting on Weiss, inviting him over for steak before a stakeout, wherein you find out Hugh Jackman has been betraying your operation, and both Weiss and Hugh are shirtless (now THERE'S a picture) and that Weiss visits The Fuselage website about Lost. Well, Weiss's reminder brings you back to real life, where you're supposed to be taping Lost, but you missed the first hour because the electricity had gone out and your OVEN VCR isn't working.

No more wine before bed. That was just weird.