Brains, Brains, Brains

Anyways, I desperately want something happy and witty to write about, but nothing comes to mind...Unless you count weird dreams.

Panic attacks I don’t exactly feel comfortable talking about this particular subject unless it happens to be close friends...in fact I don’t even know why I am writing about it now. Figures....

The resurfacing of amorous type feelings I thought were long buried. It’s true I haven’t gotten over Pretty Blue Eyes, which sometimes have a speck of green in the pale pretty blueness of his pupils. I am not sure if anything will ever happen, but even if it doesn’t I think I have a special place in my heart for him.

I was considering going to the church tonight for a prayer meeting, but I was already a half an hour late, because of work so I thought it was kind of a faux pas to show up late to such a function, even though the idea of meeting up with Pretty Blue Eyes was enticing. I didn’t want to interrupt. As I was walking to my destination (I figured I’d decide by the time I get there.) my imagination wandered into a random garbled day dream.

Me: Sorry I’m late!

Matthew: That’s OK

Random Church member: It’s nice of you to come.

Another random church member: Yes Melissa come and join us.

Me: (apprehensively as it is my style) Ummm OK....

Matthew: You don’t seem to sure.

Five or six more parishioners show up

Group: Come join us.

They all start reaching for me randomly. I start to feel rather uncomfortable.

Group: BRAINS! Braaaaaaaaiiiiiiinnnnnns!

Me: Ahhhhaahahahhahaha!

Group: Brains! Brains! Brains! Brains! Brains!

The all eat me the end.

Yep that is the gist of my day dream, pretty weird huh? I guess if I did a dream analysis here and applied to it the day dream I’d say I’m worried they’d be pissed off for me showing up late and figuratively eat me alive, (logically I know this is not true). They probably would be happy to see me but I walked past the room and they were all reverent and bowed down in prayer. I don’t know about you but it is awkward when you walk in on people praying and ummm it’s distracting especially since they group is trying to talk to God. I imagine big guy upstairs ready to smite me because he is listening to something they have to say that is important, but I interrupt them. Therefore I am at Timmies now drinking apple cinnamon tea and randomly musing all by myself and I am clearly overtly irrational as well.

I finally got in contact with Erica. Thankfully Hev-Lady and she have worked things out. Unfortunately she won’t be allowed to move in anymore. That bridge was burned down way into the fiery pits of no return once her neighbours (not her caregivers) decided to bully her into staying where she is. And I will not be going anywhere near her house again not unless I have a harpoon gun ready just in case The Whale decides to surface again.

However her cat Ozzy is still living at my house. Meanwhile, being an entire snob, eating the kitten’s food (rather than his own) and generally picking on them. He pretty much hides out unless he has to go to the bathroom or eat. He is pretty talented on giving out passive aggressive go away I hate you vibes.

My new kitty Charley is finally warming up to me. He is this tiny little thing with a crooked tail. Sydney tolerates him. I am pretty sure Charley is the only cat Sydney hasn’t tried to hump, Ozzy being his recent conquest. But Charley hasn’t been exempt from humping his brother Chaz, Hev-Lady’s cat demeaned him. Poor Charley enough said.

Nigel Bottington has had a lot to say on this matter:

Dog loves cat: Sames sex, different species has friends confused

An editorial:

By Nigel Bottington Co- Editor in Chief

Bamboozle Times Chronicle Herald

Dear Readers,

As an advocate for homosexuals, being one myself I find no revulsion with same sex relations, in fact I encourage them because Freud himself said humans where innately bisexual. Yet there must be a line drawn when the same relationship crosses into another species altogether. One adorably cute male Shi Tzu- Terrier Alberticus Sidonious- McGlonagick barely a year old may seem the epitome of sweetness, but not once you realise he has a sordid relationship with one Chadwick McGlonagick a male orange tabby kitten. You read right an entire kitten of the feline variety. Not to mention technically related though adoption. Most of the time its accepted Cats and dogs are odds with one another, but never are they in love with one another or in fact pursuing a relationship. This is even worse than automosexualty, the sexual relation with cars or bestiality better known as zoosexuality, such as the relationship between a certain big brown dog and his dastardly ultra feminine wife. (I cannot name names now for fear of libellous implications, no thanks to Sarah Evans!) I am not even sure what to label Alberticus as! He is a somethingsexual? I will supply one at a later day.

That is all I have to say on this matter. It makes me so angry I might poo myself. It’s even more upsetting then finding out that I have to share this new paper with Adrianne Lawrence, who likes to be called Mrs. Amazing Marlon Brando Woman and refers to me as Skinny or Bean Pole and when she is in a rather exceptional mood Nasty Little Gay Man.

I have also been informed there is a whaling expedition in the Suburb of Walkerton where a rather large whale with legs (obviously a person) of the manipulative bitch array from the community of Wankervile is causing problems for the community’s residents. People of the trailer trash variety are a stain on this fine city of Bamboozle and I fully support there expedition as soon I can find my harpoon gun. Mostly because I heard she doesn’t like me for calling her a whale and telling to mind her own business and if she doesn’t like me hanging out with her boyfriend because I am gay. GAY! This whale doesn’t happen to be Philis Philmore either, who is also a whale, but I calls her Fatty Bumstockings instead. (I have sore knees to prove this.)

Nigel Bottington Co-Editor in Chief

Today’s outings are as follows.

Whale McDouche bag

Fatty Bumstockings

Philip Tate

Finbarpurpleton Fergarious

Alberticus McGlonagick

As you may have noticed by the randomosity of this this entry and probably many more is the product of many 3 hour waits for the bus after work. In fact its cumulative entry from the past three weeks. I once tried about year ago to remedy this but with no avail. I kind of like the 3 hours to myself after work before I get home. I get time to unwind after a busy day before I get home. I find I am not as crabby as if I catch the bus 20 minutes after. I am tired yes, but it’s become part of my routine. If it were summer and it weren’t so bloody dark out I’d attempt to walk home.

P.S. Following directions for cinnamon buns is kind of important. They were all doey and umm gross.