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Oct. 18th, 2004
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Oct. 18th, 2004 03:41 pmMy friends, God love them, made me cry this weekend.
More than once, I might add.
Apparently, for the past month or so, there have been some plans brewing which involved swindling me. They involved being birthday'ed at one of my favourite places to eat as a diversionary tactic, numerous phone calls and emails, someone's marriage being taken in vain, me almost screwing up all of these plans on more than ONE occasion, and a lot of patience.
The end result commenced in Miss Stephanie's basement, on Saturday night.
I was tricked into coming over; she used the story that she and her husband had gotten into a bad fight over her leaving her current job for a new one, but being told her two weeks' notice wasn't accepted and that she should leave that day. The job stuff was entirely true, the big husband fight was not. My presence was summoned with the story that she needed friend-time, watching zombie movies, and hanging out.
Saturday, I had spent the day taking apart my vacuum cleaner to replace its belt. I was covered in carpet dust, hair and god knows what else. Deciding that I needed to get cleaned up before I left for her house made everyone wait. So did, ha-fucking-ha, my decision to stop at a store and buy something to eat because I had eaten nothing whatsoever that day. The entire time I was in the store, wandering around annoyed because they didn't have what I wanted, the Engineer (who was in on all of this) kept saying, "Doesn't Steph have anything to eat at her house?"
We finally got there around ten o'clock and Miss Stephanie conjured some bullshit story about wanting to watch the movie downstairs, in her entertainment room. I tripped down the steps, running my mouth with an ending stream of nonsense (like I do), into a pitch black room, only to be surprised by her husband standing at his DJ decks. The room erupted into noise, lights, camera flashes, and drinks of some incredibly strong punch being pushed into my hands.
When my eyes had finally gotten over the shock of the flashes, I saw the people who were there. And started to cry.
Most of my Philadelphia friends, who I have not seen in ages, were there. Miss Robin was there, and her boyfriend, Saint Rick. Jenn and Wemble, The Bad Andy. Wee Ninja. Everybody. Then I saw Commander Jurin, who I haven't seen in over a year and miss very muchly came up to me and I really started to lose it. He hugged me tight and told me how much he misses me and I cried like a little bitch.
I'm sure the photos of this event are goddamn attractive as all hell (you bastards are lucky I decided to put my eyebrows on before I left).
Various friends of mine were dressed as different incarnations of me. Jenn was Riot-Grrl-Fuck-Off Tara, complete with striped stocking and rolled up black pants and Converse sneakers. Wee Ninja was Haunted-House-Tara, which she took from a photograph of me during high school, when I was working at the, you guessed it, annual Haunted House. And Miss Robin was Queen-of-the-Baby-Killers Tara. Long red wig, tiara, fake labret pasted beneath her bottom lip, long black skirt, platform Mary Jane shoes. The kicker of this ensemble was the staff/sceptre she had made: a big black staff with a baby doll head impaled at the top, with a wire hanger shoved through the head.
hee!
Later, they made me cry some more when Miss Robin told me that she and some other people (the names have all been lost to me since then) got together and bought me a $150 gift certificate to get tattooed. Then Miss Ella informed me that she and the Philly people had gotten together and did much the same. I kept repeating over and over again, "Are you fucking shitting me?!" and cried some more.
My friends rule.
No.
Seriously.
They fucking rule.
Thank you so much.
More than once, I might add.
Apparently, for the past month or so, there have been some plans brewing which involved swindling me. They involved being birthday'ed at one of my favourite places to eat as a diversionary tactic, numerous phone calls and emails, someone's marriage being taken in vain, me almost screwing up all of these plans on more than ONE occasion, and a lot of patience.
The end result commenced in Miss Stephanie's basement, on Saturday night.
I was tricked into coming over; she used the story that she and her husband had gotten into a bad fight over her leaving her current job for a new one, but being told her two weeks' notice wasn't accepted and that she should leave that day. The job stuff was entirely true, the big husband fight was not. My presence was summoned with the story that she needed friend-time, watching zombie movies, and hanging out.
Saturday, I had spent the day taking apart my vacuum cleaner to replace its belt. I was covered in carpet dust, hair and god knows what else. Deciding that I needed to get cleaned up before I left for her house made everyone wait. So did, ha-fucking-ha, my decision to stop at a store and buy something to eat because I had eaten nothing whatsoever that day. The entire time I was in the store, wandering around annoyed because they didn't have what I wanted, the Engineer (who was in on all of this) kept saying, "Doesn't Steph have anything to eat at her house?"
We finally got there around ten o'clock and Miss Stephanie conjured some bullshit story about wanting to watch the movie downstairs, in her entertainment room. I tripped down the steps, running my mouth with an ending stream of nonsense (like I do), into a pitch black room, only to be surprised by her husband standing at his DJ decks. The room erupted into noise, lights, camera flashes, and drinks of some incredibly strong punch being pushed into my hands.
When my eyes had finally gotten over the shock of the flashes, I saw the people who were there. And started to cry.
Most of my Philadelphia friends, who I have not seen in ages, were there. Miss Robin was there, and her boyfriend, Saint Rick. Jenn and Wemble, The Bad Andy. Wee Ninja. Everybody. Then I saw Commander Jurin, who I haven't seen in over a year and miss very muchly came up to me and I really started to lose it. He hugged me tight and told me how much he misses me and I cried like a little bitch.
I'm sure the photos of this event are goddamn attractive as all hell (you bastards are lucky I decided to put my eyebrows on before I left).
Various friends of mine were dressed as different incarnations of me. Jenn was Riot-Grrl-Fuck-Off Tara, complete with striped stocking and rolled up black pants and Converse sneakers. Wee Ninja was Haunted-House-Tara, which she took from a photograph of me during high school, when I was working at the, you guessed it, annual Haunted House. And Miss Robin was Queen-of-the-Baby-Killers Tara. Long red wig, tiara, fake labret pasted beneath her bottom lip, long black skirt, platform Mary Jane shoes. The kicker of this ensemble was the staff/sceptre she had made: a big black staff with a baby doll head impaled at the top, with a wire hanger shoved through the head.
hee!
Later, they made me cry some more when Miss Robin told me that she and some other people (the names have all been lost to me since then) got together and bought me a $150 gift certificate to get tattooed. Then Miss Ella informed me that she and the Philly people had gotten together and did much the same. I kept repeating over and over again, "Are you fucking shitting me?!" and cried some more.
My friends rule.
No.
Seriously.
They fucking rule.
Thank you so much.