PB. Porn for women.

I have wicked insomnia and have been on Ambien for about three months. I'm not supposed to mix Ambien with alcohol and it works out quite nicely: I use my drunkenness to get me to sleep in lieu of Ambien. I hear you're not supposed to read in bed but I do. Lately I've been looking at Pottery Barn books. Not catalogs. Books. One's called "Living Rooms." One's called "Bedrooms." They help me ease into the Ambien daze that will ultimately knock me out for about five or six hours. There's something innately soothing about home decor. I dare say I think home decor books and periodicals may be the female equivalent of pre-sleep porn. Which isn't to say I don't have porn. I do. But my porn cravings come at bizarre times. For example, last night I was happily enjoying Marlon Brando in "On the Waterfront" when I suddenly wanted to stir the soup to "Masseuse" starring Jenna Jameson. I am disappointed that she only has sex with her husband these days. He couldn't be queerer. Kickin body with a butter face and a femmy voice. Like so many . . . (Tim, fill in the blank here. I got nothing.)