Tootie the Zombie Brain
The other day was another one of those days. Of the zombie brain variety, not the Irish accent kind. These are the days when the sane, logical part of my brain (Bergerac) goes off somewhere, leaving the not so sane, completely illogical part of my brain (Tootie) behind the wheel, which in turn brings on the condition I call Zombie Brain.
For the most part, my chromosomes have combined beautifully (hey, if I don’t toot my own horn, who’s gonna do it for me, eh?), but Zombie Brain will be the end of me one day.
There I was, in the kitchen, fixing myself a cup of coffee. At least that’s what I would have done, had I had enough brain activity in my head to put coffee in the machine. I was watching the clear liquid fill in the pot, all the while feeling like something was a bit off. I poured it into my cup. I added sweetener, cream and stirred it with a little teaspoon. I didn’t notice my mistake until after I’d taken the first sip…
I then decided to get some work done on my nemesis: The Thesis. I turned my computer on and then Tootie decided to just switch all the systems off. It was the mother of all space-outs. Suddenly an hour had passed and I swear I had done nothing but stare into space.
Maybe I should try wearing an ice bag on my head while I work, or something.
Why I may set myself on fire just for the hell of it

The flailing of the cellphone

I have a new cellphone. It’s white and red and oh so purdy. It’s my firstest ever walkman phone. I remember my first walkman. It was pink and not a phone at all. I listened to Alice Cooper on it. The other kids liked Bonnie Tyler and A-ha. They thought I was weird, even though I listened to A-ah too. I even had a George Michael poster from his funky-sunglasses-and-leather-jacket period on my wall and every now and then I would give it a little kiss. That was before my gaydar kicked in. Then again, who had proper gaydar in the 80s, anyways?
Have a little something from my pink walkman days:
30 going on 13

Those of you who have been paying attention, may have discovered that I recently moved in with my mums (lesbians) since I’m wrapping up the last parts of my thesis (gaaah!) and have yet to find a job (moneymoneymoney).
Now listen to the pretty song:
The day digression got the better of me

As I have mentioned countless times, Pooch has a squeaky toy named Pigface and it is the love of her life. That and tinfoil. And me, of course, but Pooch’s feelings towards me go more towards total awe, really. “Oooh, you make food appear out of the kitchen wall! You are a GOD!”
Hell, yeah!
The great divide

All my life I have believed strongly in that line between exercise and masochism that should not be crossed by yours truly, under any circumstances. Despite this belief, I have a dark past as an exercise nut. At my worst, I would work out two hours a day, every day, seven days a week and I spent more time contemplating protein sources than I care to think about.


