What’s been happening.

Oh it’s been a while, a whilllee since I felt like updating tipsyalcophobic. For one, I don’t remember who that chick is. I don’t even like the attitude with which she started writing in 2008, and feel bigger, better, more mature.

Shit. That’s totally something she’d write.

Anyway, as this is the place for highlights on my personal life (fuck, check THIS out), these are the things that have happened:

I have found a boy, a fantastically funny and brilliant boy who looks like a smurf. Seriously.

🙂

He can drum and he can write, which is all I need really. If I were to get dumped on an island and then asked by those bastards what one thing I wanted delivered to ease my misery a bit, I’d ask them to deliver Balamaga (+ pen and drum). We’d fight like drunken cocks and properly populate the island in about, what, 4 years?

Daniella is OLD. Old enough to be trying her fat legs out. Curiosity is killing her knees. I swear no dudu can crawl as fast as this chick. I’m grateful and amazed. If there’s a God, he’s doing his job. I know mum’s proud.

Just clap for her

My Job is OK. Remember when I was crying about getting into  a 9-5er again? As a result of being fired for calling my boss a cunt? Well this new one is fabulous and allows me time to really concentrate on Stiletto Point and my other writing.

I also got over my INTENSE fear of writing short stories and put down a couple. Ernest, who is going to be the biggest publisher in Uganda, just watch him, began a website, a digest where he publishes some very fine writing from Uganda. My story is HERE .

Kampire and I started a dream blog where we write short stories inspired by our mostly terrifying, occasionally funny dreams. Clicketty.

Save for the general wahala that comes with being alive and my occasional fights with nugu (seriously, wth is with these feelings just attacking me from nowhere? As if involuntary jealousy) over embarrassingly banal and irrelevant things, I’m in a very good place.

On a sad note, my little sister and brother have been shipped off to boarding school, poor darlings. I’ve stopped being bitter about it. No one ever died from battling challenges. Like homesickness.

Brightside, I get Gabby to write me a story every couple of weeks.  Here’s one she wrote before she left. This girl is going to have like 10 awards by the time she’s 10.

OK. Back to doing whatever it was I was doing before the tipsyitch came upon me.

Wet Xs, long Os.

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Apenyo.wordpress is jealous of your stats, Tipsyalcophobic.

Hello Tipsy, Apenyo here. I know that she created you first and the two of you have some kind of history, but my gosh, I’M the one that keeps her in beer and shoes and red mouth grease.

Tipsyalcophobic

Apenyo

I’m jealous that you, quite effortlessly, rake up all these views, impressive stats that I have to gather painstakingly, one by one from facebook and twitter and wharrever.

It isn’t fair.

So I’m going to do a bit of advertising here, that you won’t mind, obviously, as we are the same person. Right?

Hey there, my peoples. Hang out on apenyo.wordpress.com where I write mostly funny, sometimes reflective, very occasionally wise pieces for a couple of publications.

I graduated

I got naked

I survived death by stupidity

I survived stretchmarks

And then exposed my legs

I have to get back to googling *How to manipulate consumers and take over their wallets through writing for advertising, so later, my lovelies.

 

BHH, WATER AND BLOOD.

The oatmeal dot com is the perfect place to spend your hours when you stop being productive at work. Its has all these comics that would be perfect for posting on the facebook walls of smart, witty and marry-able love interests.  Like…perfect measuring tape. If his/her reaction is violent/non existent  and not HAHAHA your links are hilarious my love, you don’t want to be yoked with that sucker for the rest of your life.

Anyway, it’s happening again. I’m making uterus juice in my panties. Again. And it hurts. And has been tainting my emotions for the last 7 days, man. Next time, I’ll know not to be alarmed when CRUSHING FEELINGS of sadness and loneliness attack me from no where like KWADOOSH! I’ll get high instead of considering death by general hatred.

(Fuck PMS!)

This bleedy business is getting me a half day off (yay) to go and writhe in my bed.

It’s also making me want to yell, “I REJECT YOUR PRESENCE ON THE FUCKING EARTH, WORKMATE. Drown in a pool of your own lumpy vomit which has propelled itself out of your body because it can’t stand you, you obnoxious, irrelevant, stuttering fool.” at my neighbour but I won’t because all that yelling will require more energy than I’ve got right now.

Workmates can be annoying sons of obese squirrel bitches. Maybe I need to move my desk to the store.

Oh. BHH happened yesterday. A wet, limping BHH partly because of the rain and partly because I was feeling wet and limpy myself. I was probably projecting.

Rhino, Safyre, Dilman and Myself( Slybard, thepassingwind and daredevil said they were coming, but they didn’t show). We talked about the music(good), the weather(wet), food(just chips? Ugh. Chips suck) and then I had to leave- which I did by boda because I couldn’t stand the idea of getting into a taxi and sitting in one long sticky uncomfortable jam from Mateos to Ntinda on my own.

I suspect that the PMS had something to do with my viohateful feelings towards the boys for not CHUG CHUG CHUGGING their beers and leaving with me.  Who wants to sit in taxis on their own on rainy days? Not yesterday’s me!

Then the post ended just like that. SMH. 

 

HOOO HEM GHEE!

OOOOOOMMMMGGGGG. Would you just LOOK at these? 

come to me

I love shoes. Love. Shoes. When I grow up and start making amounts of money huge enough to choke on, I shall catapult myself into a Mary Antoinettesque nirvana. Shoooeeeessss. Shoes just rock so much, don’t they?

SWOON

What doesn’t rock is having nightmares featuring demons. Very chatty ones. As a result of reading THE SCREWTAPE LETTERS .

It gets worse if the demons are somehow, blurrily, in the way of dreams; saying stuff about your mother. How dare they? One of them even came ‘looking’ like her. My ma. How dare you, demon? You bastard.
I was not amused (to say the least) when I woke up at 3.47am.

I also officially admit that I hate sleeping alone. Never again shall I complain about Gabby crawling into my bed at night. I need her sharp little body that feels like a bag of elbows and knees next to mine. I don’t mind the discomfort and sleep deprivation anymore. The bags under my eyes make me look sexy.

Because if I had woken up from that dream and had NOT found Gabby sleeping with her foot in the middle of my back, I would have DIED of fright. I would have yelled the house down. OR I would have lay there, shivering, too afraid to leave the room, too scared to even blink. And that would suck.

These are the things on my mind today:

SHOES.

THE ULK PARTY tomorrow that you! Must! Attend! Tell your relatives.

Sometimes Icing

Aaaand The liberation, the complete and total freedom that comes with acknowledging and shaming your mortality. Like yea. I’ll die. I know. So what? I win. You lose. Eat a colon.
Because now, there’s nothing as delightful as living 🙂

P.S. Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I wore a maxi dress.

Legs! No legs.

And my family is just the silliest when it comes to UNbirthday celebrations.

Mangada cake

Unbirthday definition: An excuse for us to eat bad cake from Nakasero market and celebrate the fact that we HAVE birthdays.

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