Con recovery

After a con the body craves sweet, sweet brains water like you wouldn't believe. After this con even moreso, because the hotel had somehow relocated itself into the Sahara. Last night I slathered moisturizer on every available part of my skin and I believe I actually heard drinking sounds. You could say it was just my cats lapping out of the water bowl, but I would disagree with you. Though I would agree that the phrase "my cats lapping out of the water bowl" does sound like a euphamism for something, possibly even PMS. "Stay away from TBQ," someone could say, "her cats are lapping out of the water bowl." And then everyone would nod sagely, and possibly even give a knowing wink.

In addition to water, the body craves real nutrients. I baby stepped my way into it with a sandwich for lunch. Tonight I'm going to buy a steak, a potato, and a pile of raw veggies. I will then devour them all and possibly lick the plate once I'm done. I'm not proud.

In conclusion: Hat FM.

Actual conversation

TBQ's boss: So, how was the writing convention?
TBQ: How was the what now?
TBQ's boss: Didn't you go to a writing convention this weekend?
TBQ: Oh, yeah, that! Sorry, didn't hear you. It was great. Lotta fun.
TBQ's boss: Learn anything?
TBQ's traitorous brain: Yes. How to make it look like one puppet is fellating another.
TBQ: Erm... hee-hee-cough.
TBQ's boss: So nothing new?
TBQ: Oh, uh, you know. The basic stuff.
TBQ's boss: Like the alphabet?
TBQ: Sure. We'll go with that.

Stupid brain.