Zoogleal Mat

What a fucking day.

It's been a non-stop cluster fuck. I've been running around like crazy, just trying to keep up with myself, let alone my special needs family, (just kidding guys) and I'm still not there yet. It doesn't help that I'm PMS bitchy either. I usually look forward to the day before I bleed, because I'm a total hardcore bitch and I get shit done. But not today. I'm just cunty without a cause. Or effect.

Have I accomplished anything other than hating, carpooling and barking commands all day?
Yeah. I finished my article for the paper. I'm happy about that, even though it was about my ex-husband and his wife. It's nice too, if you can believe that. Yeah. But the "great pictures" they said they have are crappy and the wrong dpi so I can't use them. Of course.

I did have a nice little respite this afternoon though. Since it's near impossible for me to get any writing done at home during the day (and I'm now 2 days late on my promised deadline) I took my laptop up to the coffee shop with hopes of getting something accomplished. I felt completely pretentious walking in with my bag slung over my shoulder. I hate those people who sit in public and write. Go home and take up your own space with all that shit. Nobody cares that you're a writer. Except I totally get it now. These poor hacks have children.
Anyway, would you believe that when I finally got over my apprehension about walking into my sanctuary all uppity writer like, I am met with a loud ass band playing? Where was my quiet little sunny table, with the hot, other-writer guy sitting across the room? Where's my jasmine green tea? And who the hell are these well dressed people clapping at mediocre music? FUCK.

Luckily, amazingly, thankfully, the owner of the tattoo shop next door was standing in line. As you may know if you've been a faithful reader, or even a semi-faithful one, Jim has become a friend of mine since I've been spending some time in his shop with my tarot card reading friend. He invited me to come use the old piercing room in the back, to which I nearly got on my knees and started kissing his cool shoes.

So I stayed until they closed. It was heaven. My own little room with power, internet and cool music. And cute chairs in my favorite shade of green, and a picture of Johnny Cash staring at me. The only time I was interrupted was when he gave me a beer, and told me about something I'd never heard of. I nearly cried out in orgasm.

Wait a minute. What am I writing here, a diary?

Well, now that I've wasted all of my time just getting to the point and I still have my column to write, I'll have to be brief with what I learned today.

Jim let me try some new tea thing he had, called Kombucha. It's a fermented, sugar sweetened black tea. It's made by throwing in some wad of yeast culture science project thing and sitting for a week. It's supposed to be really healthy for your body, for reasons I'm too tired to explore. Here are a few links if you want to read it yourself. You'll see stuff like "a bacterial product from the gut microbiota that can cleave the glucuronic acid conjugates."

Kombucha.org

Kombucha on Wikipedia

The Sorcerers Apprentice. That should tell you something.

I'm afraid to post any pictures, as the ones I found look like abortion, or liposuction byproduct. But what did it taste like you ask? Well, it was weird. But, as someone just recently pointed out to me, "weird" describes nothing so I'll see what adjectives I can come up with.

Bitter.
Acid.
Alcohol.
Vinegar.
Wrong.
Addicting.

I'm going to go buy some tomorrow.