thejunipertree: (Default)
...and not for the same reasons that many of you filthy-minded perverts are probably thinking of.

We went to the Pagan Pride festival on Saturday. Couldn't have asked for a better day for it, either. Beautiful, clear-skied, slightly breezy, and not so fucking hot that it made me want to kill myself. In fact, it was quite cool out, even in the sun.

I swanned around with my black umbrella, ate a soft pretzel and a very lovely cheese (sprayed from a can!) and sauerkraut kielbasa sandwich, took several naps on a sun-dappled blanket, poked the Engineer for touching me with his feet, and fell in a pile of rocks in a drywash.


Yeah. I kind of fell off my shoes again. Or rather, I lost my footing while walking across a riverbed drywash and then fell off my shoes. With both legs folded under me, nonetheless. Rowan and the Engineer both tried to catch me, but I was already down. In a pile of stones. Bare legs. Yeah. My left leg now sports a truly impressive set of scrapes, the likes of which I haven't seen since when I was in fourth grade and did a header over the handlebars of my bike.

I cleaned it off with springwater at the festival and sacrificed several napkins to the cause. Later, after we'd gone home, I cleaned the whole mess out with liberal splashings of peroxide and dabs of Neosporin. I, with the enormous pain tolerance that allows me to sleep through tattoo sessions, was thumping my fist against the bathroom counter and stringing together words of profanity that even I didn't know I knew. It sucked. A lot. Then I iced it, which helped the swelling go down, but didn't do much for the aching.

I've been limping around all weekend, as a result. And me being me, I didn't take it easy today and, instead, decided to clean the whole apartment. I insist that this is actually a show of determination, grit, and hardiness, rather than any kind of indication of lacking in intelligence.

Last night, the Engineer and I watched Who the fuck is Jackson Pollack?, which was a grand documentary about an old woman finding a supposed Pollack painting in a thrift store for five dollars. Tonight, we're making plans to go to Colestown cemetary to try to watch the Perseid shower. Hopefully, the weather will remain as it currently is and the skies will be clear so that we'll actually be able to see some of them. Years ago, when we first started dating, we bundled up and laid out back behind his parents' house to watch a Leonid shower, which was awesome and amazing. The sky was completely clear and there was no moon visible, but it was fucking February and we froze our asses off.

Currently, my plans are listening to more Mazzy Star and making dinner. At the same time! O, watch me death defy!

Last night, we also watched Ghost Rider, which was hilarious. At one point, I had made a comment about how someone's shadow was all demonic looking when they themselves were perfectly human-shaped. Wackiness ensues.

me: I'd like it if my shadow did that. Rawr, here comes Tara and her demon shadow! It would be awesome.
the Engineer: It would then show your true form as a demon.
me: Are you calling me a demon? You are!
the Engineer: Actually, if your shadow reveals your true form, yours would be Hello Kitty.
the Engineer: No, just Hello Kitty.
thejunipertree: (Default)
No matter what one may believe, it is probably not the wisest of ideas to rent Camping-Gone-Awry movies (like Cabin Fever and Wrong Turn) the night before one is set to spend the weekend in the woods.

The concept of this being a Very Bad Idea (tm) will become most obvious at four in the morning when one wakes up with an almost painful need to pee.

thejunipertree: (Default)
I volunteered to help Miss Stephanie paint her soon-to-be-finished basement this evening because I am a strange person who enjoys doing tasks such as that.

We finished it in record time, but not before I had a little accident involving a flying glob of paint.

As usual, I was running my mouth. And a splotch of paint the size of Rhode Island flew off of my roller paint brush thing and right into the corner of my mouth. Blergh. It shut me up, at least. For a little while, at any rate.

And now I've got a blue lower lip. Very attractive.
thejunipertree: (Default)
So last night, in the middle of the hurricane, Miss Robin and I decide that we need to go to the 24 hour drugstore to buy twenty Atkins candy bars. It is one in the morning, the wind is howling around us, and the rain has been alternating between coming down in sheets and not coming down at all.

So, we're driving down this twisty road when all of a sudden a tree branch is RIGHT in front of us. I'm hollaring, "Look out!" and she's hollaring, "It's okay!"

We drive right over it. And it becomes lodged in the underneath of her car. Pulling over, she tells me that she'll get out and do it, because I'm wearing my little canvas Mary Janes and there is a river flowing next to the car on the passenger side in the gutter.

This sounds like a good solution, however the tree branch just won't come out. I climb out of the car, leaping over the river and into wet grass where I miraculously didn't break my fucking leg.

Taking hold of this big ass branch, I give it a mighty pull and....

...nothing. It won't fucking budge.

By now, we're hysterically laughing. It's just too ridiculous not to. Miss Robin walks to the front of the car and crouches down, in an attempt to see if the branch can be pulled out from there. And I put my hand on the open car door, leaning on it.

For some damnable reason, my arm JERKED and I smacked myself in the face with her car door. Hard. Right on the chin, under my labret stud. To the point where little twittering birdies flew around my head, chirping merrily.

Now Miss R is half shouting, "OMG ARE YOU OKAY?!" and half laughing her fucking ass off. I'm bent double, hand clapped to my face, half groaning in pain and half laughing MY fucking ass off. I missed my labret by half an inch, hitting that with the force which I hit myself with would have been disasterous. And now I have a big welt on my chin, like someone socked me.

We decide the best course to take is for her to get in the car and pull up a bit, see if that dislodges the branch. Which doesn't work. So she backs up. Still doesn't work. Drives up even further. No go.

By now, I'm standing on some stranger's lawn at one thirty in the morning practically pissing my pants with screaming laughter. Soaked shoes and cotton skirt from the goddamn river in the gutter, standing there rubbing my fucking chin.

She drives up a little bit more and we hear a loud *CRACK!*

If that wasn't that fucking branch, it might be your car!

We pull the branch out and brandish it over our heads, yelling triumphantly. Then I throw it onto the stranger's lawn with a tremendous heave. I watch it soar through the air like a motherfucking Olympic javelin. Golden, caught in the streetlight. My head spun crazily.

Throughout this entire spectacle, the rain had stopped. And the whole time, I was praying to myself for it not to start again, but I was afraid to say something a loud or make a joke for fear of jinxing us even further.

Now, as I walk around to the passenger side of the car the sky opens up and it begins to fucking POUR.

If it had rained while we were going through all of that, I think I would have had to sit down on the side of the road and laugh my fucking ass off.
thejunipertree: (Default)

Excuse me while I scream in dismay when I realise I left my sig line up on the last email I sent to a person with my resume attached:

"When I grow up I wanna be a lion tamer and a princess with lots of cosmetics."



Sep. 5th, 2002 04:40 am
thejunipertree: (Default)
My left eye has been rubbed raw and red by one yours truly.


Someone, please tell me why I do these things?

It's late. I should be in bed. But, I've no desire to sleep currently. I could sit up all night like this, with endless cigarettes and ice water. Smoking and drinking.

I had so many words to say, just now. But, they disappeared.
thejunipertree: (Default)
I'm watching Full Metal Jacket, something which I haven't done in an especially long time. It's been a long weekend, and I'm relishing the quiet in my apartment right now. On Friday, I found the doll which I spoke of in an earlier entry. The Living Dead Doll which caused my boycott of Suncoast Video. Sent The Engineer into Suncoast to buy it for me, but she was sold out. heh. Thee Punk Rock Gods were sending me a message about standing up for my principles, I reckon. I found her at the new Hot Topic store, which I suppose is Thee Capitalism Gods sending me another message. Nonetheless, she is mine. And will be making the trip to my office tomorrow to meet her sisters. They're my little posse. Something which gives the dunderheads I work with pause. They're all a bit frightened of me. And I can't say that I really try to dissuade them from feeling this way. I enjoy it.

Saturday night, The Engineer and I went with The Priest They Called Him to the Easter Vigil at St. Mark's cathedral in Philadelphia. This was most keen, especially as how it's one of the most beautiful churches I've ever set foot in. Three hour service, half of which is done in darkness. The only light comes from the congregation's hand held candles. When I first set foot inside the church, it was pitch black and more than a little bit difficult to see. I later told The Priest They Called Him that my first instinct was to cry out loudly "HOLY FUCKING SHIT, IT'S DARK AS HELL IN HERE!". Thankfully, that impulse was quelled and the churchgoers were not treated to my potty mouth.

The service was interesting, to say the least. A lot of it was sung, which put me into a half meditative trance where I thought almost constantly about sex. During the baptising ritual of the congregation, I was struck in the face with holy water. This drew a large flinch from me, something that the priest doing the water flinging noticed. I quelled the urge to shout "MONEYSHOT", for which I'm sure my companions were immensely grateful.

Lots of kneeling, standing, sitting, and singing. I kneelled, stood, and sat. But, no singing came from my mouth. I also fell off the little pillow that's kept under the pews for the kneeling part of the show. This was most embaressing, luckily no one noticed.

All in all, I enjoyed the service. Especially the bit where they mentioned Mary Magdalene. That made me very happy. The darkness, the singing, and the incense put me into such a state that I really just drifted through the entire ceremony. It felt good. Especially when The Priest They Called Him leaned over during the "Greet The Other People Around You" part of the show and said in his cutesy voice (usually only used with his boyfriend) "You're my girlfriend, Tara." I grinned a lot and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

Easter itself was spent with a lot of sleeping and driving. I drove out to my father's house in East fucking Jabip for a short visit. We talked of cars and family woes and my upcoming trip to NYC. He prodded me over calling the funeral director he knows and I wembled, as daughters are prone to doing when they are prodded over things which they should have done by now.

Leaving there, and on the way to The Engineer's house for dinner, I saw what I believed at first to be a pheasant on the side of the road. Sitting next to a large brown mass. I swerved, while looking at it (must really learn how to sight see and drive at the same time). The Engineer pointed out that the large brown mass was in actuality a dead deer. And he says the pheasant was most likely a vulture or a buzzard or something. Are those kinds of birds in this part of the country? I never thought that they had been. I mused that it could have been a hawk, as we have thousands of those around here. But, he says that it had an elongated neck. A strange and unsettling sight, especially after finding out that it was a dead deer sitting there.

My face is breaking out in a most horrible manner. Worse than it has probably since high school. And this makes for a very uncomfortable and embaressed me. It's mainly on either side of my jawline and looks a bit like a rash, though I know it's not. Little bumps, little bumps. They make me sick and I have to physically stop myself from clawing at my face with my nails. I've been keeping it under semi-control, but it doesn't seem to be clearing up. If Carrie were accessible at the moment, I'd ask her about that skin care regimene that she concocted. I reckon I can just ask her about it when I see her this week. I feel so ugly like this. The Engineer tells me that it's not too horrifying to look at, and when I'm only looking in the bathroom or bedroom mirror it really isn't all that bad. Natural lighting, however? I look like a fucking leper. I don't even want to know what the harsh lighting in my office is going to make me appear.

Looking most longingly at my cheese grater.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Last night, in the wee hours, I decided to reshave my undercut. It needed it rather badly, as I was wolfing to a disgusting degree. It's one in the morning, everyone is asleep, and I can't take the new growth a second longer.

So, what do I do?

Take the clippers to the back of my head myself.

And what happened?

I'm now missing a medium size chunk of hair from the underside of my head. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!11!!

I'm such a tool. ^_^
thejunipertree: (Default)
newsflash from the Wee One:

Our mutual friend, let's call him Chester,
has decided to re-enlist in the military.
Because he really wants to go out and kill
some Arabs for truth, justice, and the
American Way (TM).

Chester, by the way, has been through the
Army before. But, never made it through boot
camp. His nick name was 'Buddyfucker'. And
according to HIM, he bitched so much and
at such length, his drill instructor finally
gave him walking papers.

I remember this. I remember it all.

Today, I had the Wee One's voice in my ear,
from a payphone, telling me that Chester is
talking about re-enlistment.

This is the sillest thing I've heard in
a long, long time.

He didn't make it through once. What makes him
think that he can do it this time? Temporary
fervor to get Middle Eastern blood on his hands
isn't exactly the thing that will keep you
bullet-free when you're infantry. Which he will
most definitely be. Because new en-listing
grunts don't especially get dropped into peachy
keen, sekrit gubmint missions.

It distresses me. Mostly because he is so
goddamn blind right now. Blind to everything
around him.

What the hell is he thinking?!

On another note: I am on crutches. I got
into a tangle with a wood chip and the wood
chip won. This has borne all sorts of new songs
in my beady little pinskull.

"I Shot the WoodChip."
"I Fought the WoodChip and the WoodChip won."
"Happiness is a Warm WoodChip."

Hey. It was a BIG one, damnit. And of course,
in my Scarecrow way, I stepped square on it.
And it rolled, causing me to twist and shout.


Papaver on the ground, filling the air blue with
profanity. One of the village idiots (this was
at the Renn Faire, o heap upon me more humilation,
please. I do so love it.) ran over to assist.
Completely dropping from character, he held my
booted foot in the air and spoke words of
comfort. He was a cute little village idiot and
did soothe me. My ankle still hurt like a
bitch on fire, however.

Hospital trip (one of the shortest of my
emergency room tours), x-rays, wheel chair
race challenges to the Engineer, and a fifty
dollar co-pay later...I am informed that I have
a sprained ankle.

A gel cast (what Dark Age torture chief
came up with THIS brilliant device?) and a
set of gun metal gray crutches later, I am
looking like a three legged Corky crane
strung out on goofballs and cheap beer.

Bah, I say!

I hate being an invalid.
And I'm sick to death of explaining to the
Dilberts in the office what happened to me.
I've begun telling them that my mother pushed
me down a flight of stairs during a sinister


I'm funny.


thejunipertree: (Default)

January 2011

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