thejunipertree: (Default)
Imagine, if you will, two young women standing in a department store. They are examining a shirt. One woman is wearing jeans and a puffy jacket, with a long scarf. The other is dressed completely in black, with combat boots. The one in jeans bares a strong resemblence to [ profile] wemble and the other is a dead ringer for me.

Woman #1: Do you like this shirt? Should I try it on?
Woman #2: Yeah! It's kind of old-fashiony.
Woman #1: I don't know. What could I wear it with?
Woman #2: A black skirt. Do you have one of those?


thejunipertree: (Default)
The Mall Ninjas story reminds so much of one of [ profile] wemble's former boyfriends, that it's a bit uncanny.

That guy was such a frigging douche. For serious.

I am now going to tell a story that Wemble absolutely hates because it is made of all things hilarious shows how trusting she used to be of people (before I beat it out of her).

Please keep in mind that the pair of us were only 18 years old during this story. And before anyone throws any rocks, remember yourself at 18. Like, REALLY remember. You all know you did and said and believed some MASSIVELY dumb shit.


I remember one night, we were having a party in my apartment and he was there. I was tripping face, which seemed to have been my normal state of existence during that part of my life. Wemble's ex came into the apartment all huffy-lunged and red in the face, demanding a pot of water be put on the stove so he could boil his knife.

Why, you ask?

Because he had been walking through the projects and saw four Neo-Nazi skinheads beating down a black guy and had jumped in to save the dude. He said he stabbed three of the skins and chased the other away. Afterwards, the black guy offered him a complimentary handjob shook his hand for being such a standup guy or whatever.

So, here I am in my bedroom with Wemble. Tripping quite heavily. And I say to her, "Wemble. Your man out there says he stabbed four skinheads in defense of some guy in the projects. And now he's boiling a knife in my kitchen."

"Yes." She says, bless her heart.

This wasn't sitting right with me. "Wemble," I said. "I'm not sure you quite understand. Your boyfriend says he stabbed four skins whilst in a fight in the projects."

"Yes, that's what he said."

hrrm. Still not sitting cool. But, I sat there in silence for a minute. Was she drunk? Had she been hitting my acid stash? This was in my pre-internet lingo days, but still: WTF, yo? Maybe I'm just not explaining it correctly.

"Wemble. Your boyfriend? John? He says he STABBED four skinheads. With a KNIFE. In the PROJECTS. The knife? It's now in my KITCHEN. On the stove in a pot. Because he said he had to BOIL it. FOR REASONS OF A FORENSIC NATURE." All of this was said with accompanying hand motions. I even performed a sieg heil when I said "skinheads".

Her response? "Well, yeah."

That's when I got up and left the room.

She's actually an incrediby smart girl, I swear. Just a little...wifty sometimes. That being said, I can out-wift her any day of the freaking week. So, it's not like I'm living in a glass house and throwing rocks at anybody. For every hurrr...Wemble story I have, there's probably ten about me.

So there.

She's my girl and I loves her.


thejunipertree: (Default)
I like to push my boundaries once in a while, just to see if my tastes have changed. Particularly regarding food. For instance, I used to labor under the delusion that Brie cheese was gross. Now? You'd have trouble prying it out of my cold, dead fingers.

So, I was invited to a coffee tasting last weekend (the one we just came out of) by the wife of Grand Poobah from the Engineer's lodge. Ok, says I. I'll go to this thing, despite it is at fucking stupid o'clock an early hour. How early? Shit, I don't even get up that early for work.

I tried six different coffees. And the verdict?

I still don't like the damn stuff. It is VILE.

Everyone kept laughing at the faces I was making after every sip. It looked a lot like the D: style of face, which I am quite good at making in person. How do people drink this shit? I mean, seriously. It's NASTY. And I prefer to drink diet soda!


Same day, only later on, I also tried lox for the first time. Sweet suffering mice, it tasted like oily, slippery, compressed chum. Ew. And the texture in my mouth was enough to make me gag. The Engineer said if one eats it with cream cheese, the flavors play against each other and it helps with the texture. So, I tried it that way.


That was, to say the least, even worse. I took one of my favorite food substances, cream cheese, and wrapped it in flexible chum. Ick.

Later on in the day, I got extremely inebriated and told an entire room full of Masons the story of how [ profile] wemble lost her virginity (and how I was forbidden, upon pain of death, of telling that same story at her wedding reception). I swear it was topical. hee.

Good times.

Much later after that, my body started screaming at me that it was no longer running on anything resembling a full tank and that rest needed to come soon, or I was going to throw a rod. I went to bed at around 11 o'clock (unheard of in my part of the world, I normally go to bed at 1 a.m.) and STILL got up late for work. And now the slight sickness I was feeling on Friday is rebounding.

Therefore, I'm cutting class tonight to go home and vegetate on the couch. hrmph.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Saturday dawned bright and clear, with me burrowed in my bed and snarling at my alarm clock. I needed to be up early, in the shower and then dressed, because a crew of us were heading to WizardCon in Philadelphia (comic book convention). I hadn't gotten good sleep the night before; I kept drifting in that strange area in between sleep and dream and then jolting awake for no reason whatsoever. At one point, I was convinced that someone was in the apartment (I'd dreamt I heard the front door slam shut) and had to do a bleary-eyed, stalker-movie walkthrough of the place before I could be satisfied that I was just getting my crazy all over everything.

I managed to forget my camera for the convention, only realizing once we were well and truly proper on our way. hrmph.

Wemble and I foraged through the dealer room, looking for interesting things (she was looking for manga and I mocked her a lot about it). The Engineer looked for comics to fill the spaces on his list. And Mister Kyle, well, I don't know what the hell he did most of the day, except be obnoxiously hilarious.

I had explained cosplay to the Engineer the night before, while trying to convince him that the convention was going to be made of awesome. I don't think he quite believed me until he spotted his first one: a girl dressed as the Baroness from GI Joe. hee. We also saw a Darth Vader, a Boba Fett, some fat guy in white sweatpants dressed as one of the people from Team Rocket (I almost lost my mind), and the Littlest Storm Trooper. The Littlest Storm Trooper was not, as you may imagine, a child. Instead, they were a head shorter than their other Storm Trooper companions. Kyle geeked out over this for about an hour and I almost collapsed laughing. At one point, Wemble and I ran into Kevin Person and had a brief conversation with him where I dropped an empty Vitamin Water bottle and he told me that since I'd lost my boyfriend in the crowd, I could take my pick of "all the other good-looking guys here". hah. None of them would have the same sweet dance moves as the Engineer. I reckon I'll keep him.

My only purchase was a squeaky, two-headed stuffed bat doll from Devout Dolls. Their names are Fang and Chewy. I almost had him taken away from me in the car because I was having squeaky conversations with him.

Kyle: You do realize that if I had bought that doll, I'd have been kicked out of the car by now?
me: *squeaky squeaky squeaky* You know what that translates as? "No one cares what you have to say."

It also has been decided that my life's mission is to open a ghetto-ass hair salon called, "Cut A Bitch". I called Joanna to tell her about this. In return, she told me that our Baltimore office manager has not one, but two gold teeth. And they're her canines. I am in love.

I serenaded everyone in the car, performing a duet of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" at one point with the Engineer for about twenty minutes before Wemble threatened to kill us and loot our bodies. We had lunch/dinner at Olive Garden where I drank no sangria (hrmph), ate a chocolate gelato that now owns my soul, and almost got caught shouting about vaginas and the Engineer's great love for them by our waitress.

Home found me swiftly passing out on my couch while Wemble watched an episode of Penn and Teller's Bullshit. I couch-slept for a bit, well and truly taken over by exhaustion, and thusly, missed out on a trip to visit Rowan and The Husband (and the Amazing Larry, who is apparently now known as Smooth-Talking Larry or somesuch). Couch sleep is a wonderous thing, but I woke up in a daze, thinking I was hungry. Wandered into the kitchen, prepared a beef stroganoff half-asleep, then decided I actually wasn't hungry. It's still on the stove. I should put that away.

Now I'm wide-awake. The Engineer has gone to bed. And I don't have anything I really want to do. I could do laundry, but I don't feel like it. I could read, but I don't feel like it. I could roll cigarettes, but I really don't feel like that.

Sleep again soon? Perhaps.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Apparently, there was something messed up with my student loan and I didn't even know. I hadn't yet received my stipend check, the leftover bits after tuition and books, and was only vaguely wondering where it was. You know the drill, random thought of maybe I should call them about that passes through my fog of a brain, only to be discarded a moment's later because something shiny caught my attention.

I'd gone onto the WebAdviser to register for my next bout of classes (Intro to Management! English Comp 2-this time it's personal! Accounting! Health and Wellness! Death and Dying!), but was informed that I was blocked because there was a balance due. Hrrm. Not good. Call the business office, they tell me there is a block and I need to speak to Financial Aid. Financial Aid is very full of apologies and tells me some story about my loan being split between three semesters when it should have been split between two (I'm not quite sure of the logic involved in this or why it would effect my loan being disbursed, but there you go). The block has been lifted and my stipend check should be on its way to my mailbox in a matter of weeks.

Weeks? Hoom.
I'd been hoping to use that check for the buying of many presents and for the tattooing of magpie tattoos. While this doesn't exactly turn everything into tumours, it does make me a bit downcast. I would much rather this holiday be OMG PRESENTS! and not Hey, wow. Tara bought all the cheap shit from my Amazon gift list. Hoo. Ray.

In much happier news, I saw Feast this weekend, which I really enjoyed quite a lot. I'd been hearing that it maybe wasn't such a good movie, but I thought it was fairly decent. It was a silly horror ride and I'm always down for that.

In even happier news than that, I'm going to see Happy Feet on Wednesday with Wemble. Penguins. Baby penguins. They sing and dance for two hours while I eat Sno-Caps. Hugo Weaving does a voice in the movie. If I could smoke in the theater while a ring-tailed lemur brushed my hair and the soundtrack was by Nick Cave, I'd probably lay down and die.
thejunipertree: (Default)
She's been gone for just over two years now, but it is always startling to me how my mother still creeps into family gatherings and watches quietly from the corner. Her name was evoked last night, frequently and with great love.

Last night was enjoyable, except for the ages-old arguement between my father and I over how the Mason-Dixon does not extend to New Jersey. It's been quite some time since he started prattling on about that how part of New Jersey is considered the South (tm), I'd almost forgotten how much I want to kick him when he does. He wasn't as melancholy as last year's gathering, which is always good, but there was still an odd air about him. I know he was at the bar before he got to my apartment (and he was late getting there!), but he wasn't visibly drunken or anything of the sort. He just

He got a sad cast to his features when talking to Middle Brother and I about how we're not associating any longer with Eldest Brother. I had to explain to him that this isn't just a case of family nonsense; we simply can not put our selves and our hearts on the line for that man anymore. He causes too much pain and takes no responsibility. Of course, my verbal version of this to my father included far more profanity because I had been hitting the wine all afternoon as I cooked dinner and I know the color was high in my cheeks by the time dinner rolled around.

Still, all in all, the evening went well. I didn't burn anything down, I only forgot one thing (and it was a pre-dinner baked brie en croute), and Wemble only fell asleep once. I still have a load of dishes in my sink that are currently weighing on my obsessiveness, but I'm going to take care of them when I get home from work.

thejunipertree: (Default)
[ profile] wemble, I'm looking in your direction.
thejunipertree: (Default)
My best friend is moving back home after being five hours away from me for the past year and a half. I am constantly doing little squiggling dances of joy, whenever I think of it.


Before her move out to Pennsyltucky, she lived an hour away. Now, she's going to be roughly fifteen minutes driving time away.

I've missed her very muchly.
thejunipertree: (Default)
word of the day: HOBKNOB

Feel how it just rolls off your tongue?

hobknob! hobknob! hobknob!

Conversation just now (in meatspace, not online)-

wemble: hobknob?
me: YEAH!
wemble: you mean like 'hobknobbing with the others'?
me: errr. I was thinking more along the lines of...*collapses laughing*
wemble: I don't think I really want to know. I don't!
me: *still laughing*
wemble: is this another of your 'sex with short dick' euphemisms?
me: how do you spell euphemisms?
wemble: that looks about right.

Assgoblin is a pretty good word too, I think.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Okay. How I spent my trip to Manhatten, by Tara Maguire age 29. 28. Shit! How old am I? 28.

I had stayed up practically the entire night on Tuesday, despite the fact that I was going to breakfast with Wemble. Wednesday came early and bright, with a phone call from Wemble to tell me she was running a bit late. 10:20 am. My alarm has been going off for half an hour? argh. Fuck this.

Wemble arrived at my apartment shortly before 11 am and I remained in bed. I stayed in bed as she sat at the foot and talked to me, as I talked much sleepy shit. I finally rolled out at around noon, after she left my bedside in pursuit of talking to my brother.

We got breakfast lunch on the fly, before she dropped me off at the train station. And miraculously, I boarded the correct train. This is something I do on a never basis. You'd think that after YEARS of taking this train to Philadelphia, I'd have gotten it down by now? Hah!

Thee Pumpkin Girl and I were set to meet at 2 o'clock at 8th and Market. I stood out in the hot sun, berating the season, and smoking a cigarette while listening to a cop and some random schmuck shoot the breeze.

She shows up, I lose my book (and discover this fact three blocks away. It was my copy of the Tooth Fairy by Graham Joyce. BLAR!), we buy myself a new book, and we're on our way.

I'd like to present to the jury Evidence A, a documentation of the idiocy that TPG and I get into when we're trapped on a train for an hour and a half with a digital camera.

the magpies being magpies! )
Conductor! )

She's yet to send me the rest of the photos, which involve me peeping over the seats at her. hrmph.

We switch trains in Trenton, involve ourselves in more camera wackiness, and arrive in Manhatten only slightly flustered and kind of hot.

Roseland Ballroom, twenty some blocks away. It's pushing degress of GOD IT'S FUCKING HOT, so we decide on taking a taxi to the venue. This, however, is easier said then done. I've never had so much trouble hailing a taxi in NYC. Not once. By the time we actually caught one, I was about ready to throw down to the next motherfucker who took the one that slowed down when I stuck my hand in the air. We also had the honour of seeing some yahoo in a convertible make a U-turn in the middle of the intersection around 33rd. Fucking wow!

Roseland has a line stretching from the door to mostly all the way down the block. We planted ourselves at the tail end and settle down to smoking cigarettes and reading our books. Rawr!

Slow moving line and some bit of time later, we're inside the venue after having shucked our water bottles and snuffed our cigarettes. This New NYC shit is irritating, I tell you. These jackoffs are going to tell me that I can't smoke at a NICK CAVE SHOW?! Umm. Hi. Nick Cave /is/ the epitome of smoking. Okthxbye.


Nice venue, by the way. I wasn't expecting it to be so big. And there's no seats! Which means TPG and I mark our territory towards the front and center, where we plan on doing no moving whatsoever.

Opening act is a two piece: girl with low pigtails on drums, looking mighty bored to be alive and girl in bad pants with a guitar, looking like she was channeling Joey Ramone. This does not bode well for your narrator and her faithful Pumpkin Girl. I had bad feelings of SUCKY BAND ALERT, kind of like a Spidey Sense. I'm frequently right on the mark with them, as well.

Lo and behold, I am not let down by my super powers. Half way through their second song, I think to myself: "Self. This sounds exactly like the first song. Also. She has a horse mouth and that leg lifty thing she's doing is really fucking stupid."

A quarter of the way through their fourth song and I think to myself: "Self. This too sounds exactly like the first song. It also sounds like she really wishes she was PJ Harvey. And what exactly is she trying to accomplish with the leg lifty thing? Get on a horse? God. She looks fucking stupid."

By the sixth song, I was ready to claw out my eardrums. As well as cut off this stupid bitch's leg. This band officially SUCKS. And I don't even know who they are. Also, my feet are really starting to hurt and I'd like a smoke please.

After what seems like AEONS, the first band leaves the stage. Time passes, TPG and I twitter at each other. We talk smack on the girls standing in front of us, about how they won't fucking move and the one has really annoying hair. The lights dim and we twitch and giggle and shake each other. It is time for...

...some fat guy with a guitar?

Umm. Who's that guy? And why is he on stage when this is CLEARLY a Nick Cave concert?

After a couple of agonizing songs (and a few moments of "okay, maybe this is just a joke and he's going to leave now."), I realise it's the guy who sings with Mister Cave on "Bring It On", from the newest album. This also does not excuse him for being on the stage when I have clearly only came here to see one person and one person alone.

Make the bad man go away please, mommy. And he does.

The lights dim again and I can feel the tension in the crowd rising ever higher. I lean over to TPG and whisper sotto vox, "If this is another fat guy with a guitar, I'm going to start killing people."

And it is not! There's Conway Savage! And Warren Ellis! And the guy who's name I never remember! And the guy who isn't Blixa, but is obviously his replacement! And some more people! And there's Nick Cave! And holy fucking shit, he is right the fuck in front of us and I am going to die of twitteryness!

i'm down here for your soul. )

If I wasn't so dumbstruck, I probably would have paid more attention to the set. But, I am very bad at remembering songs played at a show unless they pimp slap me. Many of these songs from that night pimp slapped me. What I can remember from the set list is (not in play order):

West Country Girl (quite unlike the album version, this one is hard and fast and kicks my ass)
The Mercy Seat (also unlike the album version and also kicking my ass)
From Her To Eternity
Christina the Astonishing
Do You Love Me?
God Is In the House
Into My Arms
Hallelujah (I broke down and sobbed like a bitch during this. Last year, when my mother was first diagnosed with cancer and was still in the hospital, I would go out in the middle of the night and drive around. Up and down the highway, listening to the album this is on. Actually, usually just listening to this song over and over and over. He made the crowd sing the "hallelujah" parts and I got goosebumps all over.)
Henry Lee (I don't like the live version of this, which he did fast and hard. The lyrics don't jive well with the music and it feels...wrong somehow.)
Bring It On (with that fat guy, Chris Bailey. He's kind of smarmy looking. I don't like him.)
Red Right Hand (eeeee! EEEEE! See, if you've ever seen the Bad Seeds in concert, you would know about the pointing thing that Nick Cave does during certain songs. He points, out at people in the crowd. It is menacing. It is powerful. It as all get out. TPG and I have a list of things that need to happen before the end of the world can come. Being pointed at by Nick Cave is one of them. And I am very happy to report that the first seal has been broken. He pointed RIGHT THE FUCK AT US during the " ain't got no self respect, you feel like an insect" part of the song. We fell over against each other with the sheer...power that he wields. I tremble at the very memory of this. Yes, I'm a big dork.)
hidden in his coat is a red, right hand. )
Wonderful Life

There's more, but like I said before, I just can't remember them all. There was two encores, though. Deanna and Into My Arms were during them.

(off topic, does anyone know what this is all about?)

(ahhh. Here is my answer.)

The show ended with the words "Thank you very much! See you in a couple of years!" TPG and I stagger out of the venue on painful feet, but with light hearts. We're hungry. We're thirsty. We're hot. We're on a mission to meet us with Miss Janette, who will be our saviour in all of these departments as our guide through the mean streets of Manhatten.


Apr. 28th, 2003 01:55 am
thejunipertree: (Default)
I leaned my chin on my arms, which were resting on the back of a church pew.

That dress looks good on you, the colour're really so very beautiful.

I blushed and turned my face away.


Later that day, I contemplated getting up in front of everyone after the best man's speech.

Getting up to tell them all how I met the bride. And how we've known each other for so many years, the friendship which grew between us out of a mutual hurt.

I wanted to tell them about the afternoons we'd spent on the concrete steps of the school we attended, wiling away the hours, neither of us willing to go home. I wanted to tell them how she made me smile, when I thought my life was crumbling down around my ankles. How she once found me with a knife raised towards myself and she pried that knife out of my shaking fingers. I wanted to tell them about the nights we spent fried on acid and giggling at oranges turned into little old men. And how I made her cry on the phone once because I was being overly cruel, but that she forgive me for it. I wanted them to know about the times she'd brush my hair until I fell asleep and how that sometimes that was the only way I could feel safe. They needed to know about the numerous times I threatened to deliver a beat down to some unworthy fool who had broken her heart and how I meant every single word of what I'd do to them if I ever found them (and still would).

I wanted to tell them about how I don't really much care for other females, as a rule. And that there is maybe only a handful of women on this planet, throughout my entire life, who I fully trust and she's one of them. You, who I love so much.

Knowing that I wouldn't be able to say any of these things without breaking down into a sobbing mess, I said nothing. I only smiled and dug my nails further into my palms, willing myself to not cry in front of all these people.

And I know that on the occasion of the wedding of any of the other dearest (except for the one of you who has already been married), I will fight hard to not make a similar speech. Because I'll cry. And that just will not do.

and on the occasion of any of your weddings, if any of you want me in your wedding party and decide to put me in a horrible orange gown, I will get massively drunk on bourbon and tell everyone within earshot outrageous and madeup stories about waybackwhen.
thejunipertree: (Default)
I am most tired. Running, running ragged all week long in an attempt to gather last minutes for Wemble's wedding this Saturday.

Allow me for a moment to rant about how she's having her wedding at ten in the morning, which means I have to be picked up at TEN OF FUCKING SEVEN Saturday morning to have my hair braided. *spit*

We went out last night, in search of a big and blue pimp ring for me to wear in the wedding, to match the dress. None was to be found. Goblin Market is sadly lacking in pimp rings, big or blue. Whoremasters!

I did, however, buy a small pair of silver earrings which are indescribable. Actually, I'm just too retarded to describe them correctly. They're kind of hoopy. But, not. And there's intricate work on them. So. Yeah.

I also bought a half a pound of dark chocolate covered pretzels, which are my Kryptonite. Yessss, my preciousssss.


I hate the word 'mellow'. I truly do. It conjures smarmy images in my head that can not be erased and it is not an enjoyable experience for me. I am not a mellow person. I am ultra-violence, damnit!

Even when my body is at rest, I am not feeling 'mellow'. If I'm lying around in the living room, covered in a blanket and smoking a goddamn joint, I am still not 'mellow'. I'm LAZY. Not 'mellow'. When I sit still, I still twitch. I think there's just too much residual speed from my college years and caffeine from my now years for me to ever truly relax.

'Mellow'. *hork*

Oh, how I hate that word.


Everyone in my office who has no idea who Nina Simone was deserves a boot to the throat. Preferably my boot doing the throating.

The people in my office who only know who she is because of that stupid Bridget Fonda movie "Point of No Return" get an extra special boot throating.



And don't me I'm looking 'mellow'.

(1.) Upon peril of my wrath will any of you comedians on my friends list or not on my friends list post some yakkity yak about me being, looking, sounding, or feeling 'mellow'. I'll never speak to you again. (2.)

(2.) I fucking mean this shit, too. (3.)

(3.) if there's even any mention in my comments section of this word, I'll press the shiny happy delete button. Don't push me.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Aardie has some sort of lump in his neck area. Like a cyst or a tumour or some such. This is a bit distressing. I know rats are susceptible to them and that it's very common, but goddamnit! He's just a wee baby. And my poor departed Nicodemus lived five years, bump free.

I found a vet, nearby, who deals with rats. So, she's going to get a phone call from me tomorrow. I get paid at the end of the week, so I'll be able to write them a post dated check.

Wemble's bridal shower was this weekend and it was fabulous, if I say so myself. heh. I had so many worries that it was all going to fall to shit, but it went well. Even despite the fact that we were locked out when I first arrived due to the rental manager thinking I had the hall scheduled for Sunday and despite one of the bridesmaids getting into a car accident about 100 yards away from the hall.

A few of us, at the end of the night, decided to go on an adventure after dinner and seeing 'Chicago'. One of our party wanted ice cream, but none of us wanted to go to yet another diner that we've been to. So, I set off on a main road with the decision that we'll stop at the first diner none of us have ever been to.

Needless to say, we wound up in Hammonton. Which is quite far from my apartment. It's close to the ocean, even. I enjoyed the drive, despite my polite non smoking in the car due to someone's allergy to smoke. The night air, the thrumming engine, the giggling and conversation. It was...good.

Although now I am still completely exhausted from all of the weekend's events. I slept a large portion of today and vegetated the rest of the day.

Oh, I also am now the proud owner of the "House of 1000 Corpses" soundtrack.

thejunipertree: (Default)
Oh, my heart...

I almost had a crisis of nigh epic proportions.

Nick Cave tickets went on sale tonight. Internet pre sale at 11pm.
Open to the general public sale at midnight.

I swindled/begged/pleaded/okay, just asked my father if I could use his credit card to buy tickets for Thee Pumpkin Girl and myself. He said yes and over the phone, gave me the information.

I went to buy the tickets (GROUND FLOOR! STANDING ROOM! GENERAL ADMISSION! THIS EQUALS 'I CAN GET UP TO THE STAGE!') and when I arrived at the actual paying for it part of the show, found that it was asking me for a three digit number located on the back of one's credit card.

A three digit number that I hadn't thought of asking for, since the last time I bought from Ticketbastard it wasn't required.

Commence freaking out, crying, profanity falling from my lips in copious amounts. General railing at the world about my stupidity for not asking for this three digit code.

The critical moment arrives, it almost midnight. I'm commiserating with TPG about our state of not having tickets, when I realise that Wemble is online. So, shot in the dark, I ask her for a REALLY big favour.

Wemble, if I hadn't mentioned before, is a kind and beautiful and gracious person.


In other words, she bought the tickets for TPG and I.

an excerpt from the ensuing wackiness, if you will:

me: Which means we can very well bulldozer our way up front.

Thee Pumpkin Girl: *faint*

me: standing room!

Thee Pumpkin Girl: that's what we got?

me: she just pasted to me.

me: yes!

Thee Pumpkin Girl: same thing?? ga??

me: LEVEL 1

Thee Pumpkin Girl: \M/

Thee Pumpkin Girl: dood. please espouse gutteral chitters to wemble for me!

me: oh hell yeah

Thee Pumpkin Girl: which night?

me: not sure yet.

Thee Pumpkin Girl: *slobber*

Thee Pumpkin Girl: and we will get close. you remember how i kicked that old man in the ass to get to the front of the balcony?

me: yep!

Thee Pumpkin Girl: heheheheh

me: RAWR!

Thee Pumpkin Girl: !!!!!
thejunipertree: (Default)
Argh. I am a tired one. I've been running ragged almost the entire weekend, from start to finish.

Friday night, I took the Engineer out to get his belated Valentine's day presents. Which was an entire set up for the California Kingsnake he's had his eye on. The pet shop we stopped into had one of the best fish selections I've seen in a long time. And I squeaked and oooohed over the spotted puffers. Chubby little faces and enormous eyes. I want about a billion of these little guys to act as my army of fishy minions.

After this, we were heading to his parents' house to pick up some things he had left behind in the move. On the way, I managed to drive through a pot hole so big that you could have buried a fucking dog in it. A BIG dog.

It was full of water, since all of the snow is beginning to melt, so therefore I didn't see it until it was too late (it was also at night). I jacked the car through the hole and heard a loud KA-BOOM! Heart in my throat, fearing that I bent the axle, I drove as carefully as I could to the Engineer's parents' house.

Only to find that I had a flat. Good, yes?
The flat was caused by a bent rim.
I kicked some snow around and paced and furiously smoked a cigarette. Called my mother, explained the situation, repeated three times that I hadn't been speeding (my lead foot is quite notorious in this family), and waited for the Engineer to do his boy thing and change my tire.

I know engines. Not tires. I can find my way around almost any car engine and do all sorts of things that you wouldn't expect me to know how to do, but when faced with the outside of the car? I kind of cave.


My mom took it in to the mechanic on Saturday, and they confirmed it was indeed a bent rim which couldn't be fixed. A new one has been ordered and we'll be able to pick it up next Saturday. In the meantime, they've lent us an entire new tire with a non-fux0red rim so we're able to get too and from work without having to drive on a doughnut.

I feel like such a jack idiot for doing this to the car. argh.

Saturday, I was meeting Wemble for shopping. She needs to find shoes for her upcoming wedding and I wanted to look for saint statues. No shoes to be found, all the white ones we saw sucked, but I managed to buy three statues which are now quite happily at home on my altar. Gerard for the Baron, Patrick for Damballah, and Dymphna because I'm obsessed with her. hee!

Later that night, we ran upstairs to apartment 13 and hung out with The Priest They Called Him and the Engineer for Dagon and hentai. TPTCH's first foray into anime smut. Quite amusing. The rest of the night, I spent writing a presentation on the debunking of the Burning Times (hah!) which was presented earlier this evening (Sunday).

The presentation itself went well, despite the fact that I am an assy public speaker. The rest of this evening I spent cleaning up my altar space, cleaning the rest of my room, doing a virtual metric fucktonne of laundry and trying to keep my brain from exploding from my wee little skull.

Manic phase, all systems set to GO.
thejunipertree: (Default)
For those of you playing along at home, Wemble is getting married in April. As she and I have been very close for 14 years, it was declared that I am to be QUEEN OF THE FUCKING BRIDEMAIDS GODDAMNIT!!! the maid of honour. The Wee Ninja is also in the bridal party, but as my second in commanda bridesmaid. The maid of honour's dubious honour is to plan the bridal shower. This is starting to drive me buggy. I invited the Wee Ninja over this evening to look at shower favours online.

Wackiness ensues.

to: Wemble
from: Wee Ninja and Tara
subject: the bridal party

Wee Ninja and I have conferred amongst ourselves and we have decided
that this:

is a very good idea for the gift you have to buy for each of the bridal
party. That's right. I said EACH of us. You can't get off with just
buying one present and making us share the fucking thing.

As you were.

~tara and the wee ninja


to: wemble
from: wee ninja and Tara
subject: another bridal shower email

Okay, cool. Check this out. You'll like this.

The Wee Ninja and I continued our conference from earlier. And we
decided that the new theme of your bridal shower is CHINESE
RESTAURANT. We've also found favours to put at everybody's place

See. You can put a piece of General Tso's chicken in each one.
One piece in each one. Let's not get carried away and put too much
chicken in the favour.

We could also maybe do sweet and sour chicken or pork or something.
But, that might wind up getting too expensive.

For decorations, she and I could go to that place in Bellmawr. You
know, the one with the "sweet and sour chinken" sign? We could go to them
and steal their shit and hang it up somewhere. For decoration.
If we also manage to steal some menus, I could staple them to the walls
and it could very well wind up looking CLASSY AS SHIT.

And of course, we could just order chinese food for the food part
of the show.

So. What do you think? :D

~tara and the Wee Ninja


to: tara
from: Wemble
subject: re: another bridal shower email

i think i'm gonna kick BOTH your asses, yo!

thejunipertree: (Default)
I am currently reliving my absolutely terrible crush on the guy from Information Society. Kurt something or other.

I am also wondering if it would be considered impolite if I just gave Wemble a six pack of beer and a spatula for as her bridal shower.

It would be a really nice spatula, mind you.
thejunipertree: (Default)
The Prodigal Son never showed up for dinner. And I am unsure if I should be pissed off or relieved that he didn't. I'm not terribly put out by him not being here, but I know my mother is irked about it.

Wemble and her fiance came over for a short while, for pie and conversation. She and I laid on the floor, sharing a cherry Coke and watching the Wizard of Oz until they had to leave for her parents' house.

The scene with the poppies and the snow always gets to me. I want to wake up in a field of poppies, with it snowing softly around me.


Oct. 21st, 2002 01:19 am
thejunipertree: (Default)
Evening holds many things. I went to Wemble's engagement party, as the Queen of Bridesmaids is wont to do. Not a bad time, though there could have been less talk of Star Trek/Star Wars whatever the fuck.

Afterwards was the bookstore and me running late for the weekly witchy group. I came in at the tailend and missed the entire night's presentation (look how I weep, O! I am weeping.), but managed to make it in time for the diner.

After going over my finances this evening at said diner, I have to this realisation: I'm fucked. One, because I do my finances whilst out at the diner with my friends. And two, because I am FUCKING BROKE. My gubmint check has only been with my since Friday afternoon, even!

I had to pay my loan installment (which they still have not taken out of my account), pay a bill or two, send eBay money to Carrie (mine and the Engineer's), pay my (very late) monthly installment to the vet for Edgar's surgery (yes, I'm still paying that off), and give my mom money for rent.

Not only this, but it would seem that the Emperor Nympho is ill and I need to take him to the vet. This cost is completely unknown to me. It could be just the fee for a office visit or it could be a whole heap of things.

Even if it's just the fee for the office visit, I'm screwed. As of right now, there's $64 dollars in my bank balance. That's with almost all of the above costs taken out of my available money. Excluding money to my mom and Nympho's vet visit.

As it looks now, I won't be able to give my mother any money AT ALL and possibly not even be able to pay for the kitty doctor.


I'd gone through my CDs this evening, for ones that I have little problem parting with. I've got a stack of about 19 or 20, but I'm unsure as to how much money I can get for them. There's a few more out in the car that I'm going to pawn, as well. Like that stupid Electric Hellfire Club CD and the Birthday Party Peel sessions.

This is so fucking depressing. I need $75 for my (very late) vet bill installment, around $100 for my mother, and who knows how much for Nympho's vet appointment. That wee stack of CDs is only going to net me about $40, at the MOST. I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't keep putting off the installment bill, as it's already a month late and they've begun calling me. I can't put off the couple of bills that I need to pay, as they're already late too. My loan payment DEFINITELY can't be put off, because my dad's the co-signer on it and I can't fuck with his credit. Not only that, but the bank I have it with does a direct withdrawal from my account for that. So anything that's in there when they do the transaction automatically goes out. I can't stop it, not even if I HAD to. That definitely can't be put off. The vet appointment can't be put off either, as I'm very worried about the cat's health. And I HAVE to give my mother money for rent, as she is also very strapped for cash.

*profanity deleted*

I just sat, for quite some time, staring blankly at the computer screen. Because I really don't know what else to do. The money that I do have in the bank has all been delegated already. There's nothing else. Can't squeeze blood from a stone, right?

It's not like I blew all my check on random shit and Halloween swag. The only thing I bought for myself out of this check other than food and cigarettes is a single book. It's just that these unemployment checks are not even close to the minimum amount of money I need for my bills and suchlike.


eBaying the things that I have in a bin next to my desk won't do a damn bit of good, because I need this money NOW. I've sent out a billion resumes, but nobody's calling back.

*more profanity deleted*

I think I'm going to take a bath.

my weekend

Oct. 16th, 2002 04:27 pm
thejunipertree: (Default)

A short chemotherapy appointment with my mother. At first, the doctor didn't want to give her a treatment at all. But, she is very stubborn (wonder where I get it from? Now you know.) and insisted upon having it.

Later on, I met up with the Engineer, the Wee Ninja, and an import from the west Coast (Crazy Robot Guy). We went to see Red Dragon, which I had been anticipating for quite some time. It was a toss up between that and One Hour Photo and the decision ultimately came down to CRG, as he had already seen Red Dragon and we were unsure as to whether or not he'd wish to see it again.

One Hour Photo was veto'ed (though strangely enough, it's not playing in hardly ANY theaters around here). Wemble was also supposed to be in attendence, but she FORGOT. A lot of shit talking surrounded this revelation, but off we went despite this.

I'm sitting on the wall outside the movie theatre, whilst everyone is inside getting their tickets. Sitting, smoking, and doing what little goths do when no one's looking. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a Wemble trying to be stealthy. Apparently, she's come to this theatre to see a completely different movie with a completely different set of friends.

Cell phone wackiness ensues. We go our separate ways, but make plans to meet up later.

Red Dragon. Hmm. How shall I put this?


That's how I shall put this. A metric fuckton of ASS. *seethes* The only good part of the movie was seeing Edward Norton take his shirt off.

After the movie, we head outside to meet up with Wemble and her posse. She meets me at the door to let me know that the Cheshire Cat and his best friend are outside. gah. I have issues. And these issues will not be conquered any time soon.

I go to say hello to Cheshire and his best friend, who had previously been cool with me, pulls the "I snub you, whore of Babylon" behaviour by walking past me without saying one fucking word. Asshat. Screw you. I don't want to deal with this.

Diner. Food. Giggling. My bad mood is lifted. We head off on a journey to see the house with a tree growing out of it, as apparently they don't have things like this in California. ;)


Comes too soon, as I've been up half the night. And now I'm expected to get out of bed at the crack of fucking dawn to travel two hours for a Renn Faire. Blar! It's supposed to rain, but we're all a bit unsure as to the when's and the how much's and the where's. So, we head off anyway.

But, not after I take this goofy photo of the Engineer in his ever-so-swank hat:

Why are you wearing your hat? Because I don't want to hold it. )

The Engineer and I meet up with a large amount of traffic, which causes me to begin flipping people off out the window whenever my wrath has been incurred. Which is often. The both of us are really running on fumes, so the intellligence quotient in the car is at an all time low. As we get into the more countryside-esqe areas, my side of the conversation is frequently interspersed with "COW!" or "GOAT!"

The Renn Faire was well...a Renn Faire. Though I did manage to get some more interesting photos.

the woodchip memorial )

The Engineer buys a sword )

Oops the blacksmith's demonstration on product redesign. )

and me, hating the world at general because I had to be up at the crack of dawn. )

All in all, a fairly good day.


The Engineer is doing a presentation on Anton LaVey, for our weekly witchy meeting. He wanted it to be very dramatic and even had music (O Fortuna) cued up to begin his presentation, but the Amazing Larry managed to fuck this up. hee! I came home to take photos of the cats, because I'm a big dork.

The Tink! )

The Emperor, Nympho )


thejunipertree: (Default)

January 2011

2 345678


Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags