Stop it, Brain!

Do you ever think about your brain? Not your seat of philosophy, aka the mind, but that actual mess of noodly jello mold upstairs that runs the whole kit, kat and kaboodle?
You're nodding, but not vigorously. This is because you haven't spent much time actually thinking about your brain, is it? You're just nodding so everyone else doesn't think you're, like, that one dumb kid that's always raising their head and shouting out the wrong damn answer, or loudly answering rhetorical questions to the exasperation of teachers everywhere. In other words, you, wise person, keep your ignorance safely tucked away... Inside. Your. BRAIN.

It's an extraordinary machine, yes yes, we know, we've heard it before, blah blah blah.
Know what else it is? Your worst enemy. Nobody but nobody can make you feel as stupid as your own brain. Nobody but nobody can concoct elaborately grand schemes and designs, take its owner on marvelous metaphorical flights of fancy, just to dash all these gorgeously overwrought dreams onto the rocky Gravel Field of Incompetence. And the Laughing! My God, the Laughing! Make it Stop!

Wanna know what my brain does late at night, very early in the morning, or basically whenever I'm disarmed by sleep and not prepared for an assault? It edges up next to my ear (yes, from inside my skull. It's wily, that brain is) and it whispers treacherous little lies. At least, when I'm fully awake I'm pretty sure that they're lies. You see, in that half-awake, half-asleep state, it's hard to tell.
My brain will inch up and whisper, "Everybody hates you. Like, a lot. They're all plotting against you. It's your face. They don't like your face. And your teeth. You need to get those fixed. Maybe you should move to Alaska. They don't care about teeth in Alaska. But you'd still have to wear a burka to hide your face."
And I respond, "Huhnnhhzzzzz...", because I'm not fully awake yet and the treachery hasn't dripped enough poison in my ear to jolt me rudely from slumber.
Seeing the first volley rebuffed, the brain ups the ante. "They'll run you clean out of Alaska. The men will, anyway. Cause it's really just guys that hate you, and women pity you and think you're weak. You're Unfuckable. And fat, too, McFatty Fatterton. It doesn't matter how many hours you spend on the treadmill- you're perma-fat and your vajayjay is made of porcupine quills and shark teeth. You should really get that looked at. Except that the doctor hates you."

So, by now I'm awake. And upset. And wondering, Really? But... everything was okay six hours ago!
Brain doesn't care. Brain is locking down Operation Sabotage. Brain is on a roll.

Brain: Remember having chickenpox? Yeah, you never got over chicken pox. Everyone is just really polite about your... condition.
Me: Nuh uh!... really?
Brain: You are doomed to spend your dating life on websites like match.com.
Me: Noooo! I tried that. I'm not doing it again. I would rather die alone. For serious!
Brain: And So You Shall.
Me: *sniffle* That's not fair. That's mean, brain.
Brain: Honesty is just another word for cruelty. Fatty. Go eat some cheese and cry about it, why don't ya?
Me: Know what, brain? FUCK you.
Brain: Weaksauce. Stay away from mirrors today. Your friends hate you.
Me: Nuh uh.
Brain: Yeah huh times two billion times two times infinity!
Me: Nuh uh times infinity times infinity times infinity plus 1!
Brain: Those are your dating chances. 1 out of infinity. Bwahahahahahaaa!

This is about the time I get up for coffee, already grouched up for a long, hard day of hating everything and updating my facebook status. Thing is, my brain is mostly wrong, and it definitely does not have my best interests at heart. What to do?

I'll tell you what to do, because, believe it or not, I'm not the only Brain Sabotage victim out there. If this reel didn't seem that far off from the running thread of anxiety that is a part of your daily routine, then you and I have a similar nemesis; our brains. We must stop them.

I've devised a defensive maneuver against brain attacks. It's very simple. When your brain starts monologuing, put one finger to the side of your head, close your eyes and shout, "Stop it, Brain!"

Your brain is not expecting this. No one on the bus is, either. Don't do this while you're driving. Please, please don't do this if you're driving the bus.
Although the defensive technique I've devised works for me (for now), I'd like to compile a worthy list, a compendium, of brain attack defensive maneuvers. If you've got one that works, post it here. Together we can work to keep the bastards at bay.
Down with the Brain!

Brace Yourself for Some Hardcore Stupid.

I am, of course, talking about New Years resolutions, perfectionism, wearing pants that give you muffin top, wearing skirts that share your vagina (or manly bits. whichever you choose to sport) with all your fellow bar patrons, bragging about how you took some oxycontin before you went out for cocktails, and phone companies.

1. New Years Resolutions- I've rarely bothered to make one because I know, deep in my heart of hearts, that doing so would be a giant waste of my fucking precious time, which grows ever more precious with each passing second. If it works for you, well... but wait just a cotton pickin' minute! Tt doesn't work for, does it? You keep telling yourself that This Year is the year you drop that final 10 pounds and are inducted into Sexyland where all the sexy people retire to so they can avoid the Unsexys. But that didn't happen last year, or the year before, or the year before, did it, Fatty? Noooooo.
Unless it did. But you've gained it all back already.
The real problem with resolutions is the tendency to make them when you are half a beer short of this;

This is why, when my roommates suggested doing Anti-Resolutions, a bell sounded and a little Christmas light sized light bulb flared to life over my head. That's the answer.
Roommate #1: This year, I'm gonna gain ten pounds and start smoking.
Roommate #2:This year, I'm gonna lose my job and blow all my money on video games.
Don't you see? If it doesn't happen, they'll both be happy, and if it does, well...*shrugs shoulders*... they did resolve to do it, after all. At least they kept their words.

2. Perfectionism- This one ties in closely with NY resolutions and ranks pretty high on the stupid charts. 'Perfectionism' is what compels you to inject poison directly into your face. 'Perfectionism' is what convinces you that rockin' abdominal muscles are slightly more important than feeding the hungry. I hate perfectionism with the hatred of a person who indulges, infrequently, in attempts at being perfect. As you have discerned, these attempts have not been successful. Why would I be here with you when I could be toning my abs instead? Because I am a failed perfectionist.

3. Wearing pants that give you muffin top- Duh. Need I say more?

4.Wearing skirts that display your vagina and/or manly bits in public- I've seen it all before, honey. In fact, if I want a free muff shot I can go to the locker at the same gym where I make pretend efforts at self-improvement. I won't tell you where I go to see the manly bits.

5. Bragging about *snoooooore*... bragging... what? I fell asleep there. Because you were BRAGGING. You know what? Even after you've finished a full round of bragging, your penis is still the same size.

6. Phone companies- El Primo Stupido! As Wu from Deadwood would no doubt have said about them had he ever had to deal with them, "Cocksuckas!" I've never had a  "good" phone company. In fact, I'm pretty certain they don't exist.
Exhibit A: In 2003 I call Qwest to complain about the fact that they charged our house bill $65.00 worth of extra 'services' that we never asked for. I asked that they be promptly removed and to please, please not charge us for services we did not request. They said in response, "But... you don't want those services? We think they're excellent services. We are going to continue to 'offer' them to you." I said, "No. Please. I hate those services and don't use them." They said, "But look at how many services we offer! We're so proud of them!" I said, "Let me speak to someone who will remove these services, please." They said, "Of course. We'll have someone call you." Four days later I called back and said, "Let me Speak to a Manager, Please." They said, "Oh... you again." I said, "I want to speak to your MANAGER. Someone with AUTHORITY. Perhaps even a BRAIN." They said, "Of course. We'll have someone get right back to you." I said, "I AM GOING TO DESTROY YOU. I AM GOING TO SET YOUR HOUSE ON FIRE. I WILL EAT YOUR GRANDCHILDREN." They said, "Did we mention our fabulous new three-way calling voicemail?"- etc, etc, and so on and so forth.
Exhibit B.- T-Mobile sneakily, gradually, raises my phone bill every couple of months. T-Mobile laid off my brother and 700 other people in Redmond, OR. T-Mobile has actually been found guilty of union busting, and instead of changing their policies, paid the absurdly meager fine and fired all the employees who brought up the charge. Then they paid a fine for doing that, because retaliatory firing, like union-busting, happens to be illegal. They are grade-A, world class fucktards.


The world is full of stupid.

Fortunately, you, as only an occasionally stupid person (it's okay; everyone is a little bit stupid every once in a while), don't need to wade through the quagmire of other people's idiocy without laughing at it. Laughter is good for you!

So is booze.

Crafting my Blogitude

Do you feel that? That tickle in the back of your throat? A slight fever? A sudden inkling to strip down to your birthday suit and go jogging? That's me!

...Actually, that last one is just you. Don't do it. Jogging is bad for you.
But the rest is an indicator that you have arrived here at my blog and are ready to assist me in crafting my blogitude.
All the best blogs have a 'tude. They say bad words a lot; they have pictures and sometimes videos; they promote violence against small furry animals and cartoon children; they're full of sexy sexiness, but not bumpengrinden or muff shots; they never, ever say the word 'penis'; sometimes they feature human-robot relationships; sometimes they give questionable advice to dumb Americans; sometimes they feature full-color pictures of dumb Americans in their natural habitat; sometimes they make fun of foreigners, who also happen to be dumb (small world!); and sometimes they just exude an ineffable awesomeness right down to their pixels and if they were a puppy instead of a blog, you would adopt them and name them after your favorite departed family member (who, lets face it, was probably also a puppy).
My new blog (this blog) doesn't yet have that special something. Maybe it needs a focus. Politics? Religion? Public nudity?
Chime in! Here are some pictures of shit while you're thinking up a witty response:

Does that help at all? The lighthouse scene is particularly conducive to meditative contemplation. Fuck that koala, though, right?!? What's his fucking problem?
Oooh! Here's an idea. Advice column! 'Cause nobody has ever done that before!
Want some advice? Try working on your critical thinking skills. And that shirt really brings out your stupid. Maybe you should wear some pants with it after all.

My lovely roommate, who is also a notorious bloggerette (bloggerina?), suggested a People of Public Transportation blog. Also an excellent idea, though it would require stealthy camera work, which would require a camera. Alas...
I look forward to your no doubt sparkling input, and to a grand viewing of 'Winnebago Man' which will commence shortly.
Tally-ho, Bloggeroos!