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)
Back home from our jaunt to the cemetary. No meteors were spotted, on my part. The Engineer saw two. I saw a satellite, though!

So now I sit here, with a steaming mug of mouse tea for Charlie.

Another conversation from last night, which I forgot until just now:

me: that guy playing the head demon is completely hot.

the Engineer: who's he?

me: he was in American Beauty. The boy with the video camera? Hot damn. I had a big crush on him in that role and now it's even worse. He was all intense and slightly creepy in that role and now he's all pale and weird looking, playing a hot demon in a trenchcoat? Come to momma!

the Engineer: you're bizarre.

me: Combine those two roles and I would have chased the shit out of him in high school. Socially awkward and weird demon boy in a trench? Come to think of, I probably already dated him.
thejunipertree: (Default)
me: I would LOVE to have a backpack of molotov cocktails. That would be awesome. That would be the BEST.

Mister Kyle: Dear Jesus, thank you for not letting Tara have a backpack of molotov cocktails. Love, Kyle.

The Engineer: Amen.




Conversation with Joanna just now, on the phone:

me: Hey. I've got a question for you.

her: Ok, shoot.

me: Would it be a good or bad idea if-

her: No. NO.

me: What? I didn't even finish what I was saying.

her: If you have to ask me if it's a good or bad idea, then that means it's automatically a bad idea.

me: Goddamnit.

her: So, what's the question?

me: Is it a good or bad idea for me to have a backpack of molotov cocktails?


me: hee.

her: It is a stupendously bad idea. You'd see something shiny, forget you had a backpack of molotov cocktails, then light a cigarette. Bad idea. BAD IDEA.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Said to Joanna a few minutes ago, while in the check-out line at Target:

The only things in my life that come in a crock are French onion soup and bullshit.

I am a comedic genius! :D
thejunipertree: (Default)
I don't mess with people who look like the Skesis. They can do whatever the they want. If you make them mad, they're all "TRIAL BY STONE!" and then you're fucked.

These are words to truly live by, I would reckon.

I have managed to aquire a rather fetching scratch going across my right eyelid, delivered unto me by one pancake-headed cat I live with. Thanks. No, really. It's what I always wanted. Now, I look like a complete moron with this scratch across my eye and I can tell people want to ask about it, but are afraid to. Normally, I would say that I had it coming. But, in this case, I was asleep and therefore, should have had nothing coming but sleep.

This weekend was full of many things. Friday night was the Engineer and I going out in the rain to see The Hills Have Eyes, which I actually enjoyed (surprise of surprises). I haven't seen the original since I was about eleven or twelve, so I don't recall much of it. But, this movie was fairly hardcore in its violence and too many horror movies that have come out in recent times seem to shy away from such a thing. A lot of the violence is more suggested than anything else and that always bugs the bugs out of me. I had a few nitpicky things about the movie that I didn't care for, like the use of a walkie-talkie that belongs to the mutant hillbillies to communicate with one's friends. Why would someone do that? You know that the bad guys have the other goddamn walkie-talkie, so why would you message one of your friends on it? Ridiculous. After the movie, I embarked on an epic phone conversation with Miss Janette, which left us both very bleary-eyed and giggly. I loves me some Miss J.

Saturday found me waking up later than I'd care for, rushing to be at work for a handful of hours, then jetting off (in more rain) to the Engineer's art opening. A bunch of people came back to the apartment afterwards, where we had Thai food and shit-talking until the wee hours. A good time, despite my feelings of slight illness over the past few days.

It would have been a fantastic weekend, if it weren't for the fact that I was greeted with news of rattie death upon first waking up. The Engineer's last surviving rat, Humphrey, passed away sometime between us going to bed and TE waking up Sunday morning. My poor boy, he's with his brother now. That's the last of the litter sired by my Aardie, sadly. I don't know what disbursed rats from that litter are still alive, I have heard of a few deaths here and there, but I've no concrete idea of who's still alive. Speck, their aunt, is still kicking. Strangely enough, I would say. She's over three years old, with not much time left on her clock and her health is not the best. But, I have no one left from Aardie and that makes me extraordinarily sad.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Joanna's new hobby, apparently, is finding bracelets for me to attempt to try on. I was subjected to several different kinds this evening, in an effort to see which ones would go over my freakishly shaped paw-hands. See, I have wee little hands with itty short fingers, but they're wide. Good for climbing trees and picking pockets.

The first bracelet managed to slip past the widest part, but that's the bracelet that slides right off her hand. The second one I couldn't get past my thumb joint. Ha. Ha. Ha.

These are not hands made for wearing bracelets. These are hands made for cracking open oysters on my chest with a fucking rock.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Yeah, but you do things that I don't agree with. And I don't say anything.
Like what?
Like having rats as pets.
Having rats as pets is COMPLETELY different then dog-fighting. Did you smoke crack when I wasn't looking?


In other news, [ profile] tony_s and I are fed up with living in this corporate bullshit 9 to 5 world and have decided to become pirates. Pirates! Our ship will be named the SS Cocksucker. This, of course, will be accomplished shortly after Project: Handing Out Bags of Shut Up, Along With a Shot of Tang In the Mouth. I was never much for pirates before, unlike the rest of the world, so this is an all new thing to me.

I thought pirates were extinct!

I just took my pigtails out, after having my hair up all goddamn day and night. Rubbing my scalp with mixed pleasure and pain for the past ten minutes. That was the most glorious ten minutes ever.

My hair is beginning to get out of control again. Last year, it was almost down to my waist, but shortly after my mother died and I went beserk with the bleach, Angel made the executive decision that it needed to be cut. And cut it was, rather short for how I normally wear it. Since then, I haven't paid the length much mind, except for random forays into "I'M CUTTING ALL MY GODDAMN HAIR OFF...NO WAIT, NO I'M NOT". And it seemed like it wasn't growing much at all since then. Now, however, it appears to have grown several thousand inches and seemingly overnight. Incredible.

I also haven't dyed it for a handful of months, which has led to me rocking the I'm-only-31-and-I'm-predominatly-grey look. I can't decide if I'm going to rectify that any time soon.

In other, other news: I ate too many half-frozen creampuffs at the Engineer's mother's house tonight and am now feeling ever so slightly ill.
thejunipertree: (ass!)
I can get kind of slappy when I'm exhausted, many of you are aware of this. Especially Miss Robin, who given half the chance, would love to tell the world about my questioning if we were in a 'square state' when we visited Las Vegas.

Today was probably the highest point in my career of being a verbally sloppy person.

Standing outside, on a smoke break with Joanna and Dare. I remark that I have a piece of a Frito stuck in my tooth and Joanna replies that she wishes she could brush her teeth.

Me: You could always borrow Manon's (a co-worker) toothbrush.
Jo: I think not.
Me: Or! Or! Or! You could get a stick from one of those trees, strip the bark off one end, then chew on it until it's all fibery. Then you could brush your teeth with that.
Jo: *stares at me*
Me: That's how the cavemen brushed their teeth. Clan of the Cave Bear told me so.
Jo: Cavemen did not brush their teeth, Tara. Not even with sticks.
Me: Well. Not the real cavemen. But the predecessors to homeo sapiens.
Me: *covering my face with my hands* I meant homo. I meant HOMO!
thejunipertree: (RAWR!)
thejunipertree: (aardie <3)
If I lived next door to someone who used to do heroin with Billie Holiday, I'd visit every day and wipe their ass for them.
thejunipertree: (Default)
After unsuccessfully pumping me full of Mystery Tea, my boss decided that I was a contamination risk and sent me home early from work. Her exact words were, "You look like shit. Go home."

I came home and promptly Passed The Fuck Out. Personally, I'm surprised I even made it home alive. I'm about to go slip into another coma after having spent the night watching one of my cats taint The Engineer's glass of water.

Is this spring water?! Oh my God, I LOVE spring water!

A word to the not-so-wise:

When a park ranger walks up to one's camp site with his hand resting on his gun, the first thing out of one's mouth should probably not be, "Uh-oh. Dad's PISSED."

Ranger Retard gave me the effing plague.
I just know it.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Giraffes make very good ninjas, you know.
thejunipertree: (you weird fucker)
This is the conversation that followed watching Battle Royale this evening.

me: Wow. This movie reminds me of Hoosiers.

Miss Robin: bwahahaha!

me: Only it's in Japan, instead of Indiana.

The Engineer: I never saw Hoosiers.

me: Yeah. Me neither.
thejunipertree: (Default)

Two dramas in two days!

My fingers are exhausted.

thejunipertree: (Default)
My God.

Someone please tell me that I didn't actually use the word "undies" in my last post.

I should be taken out back behind the shed and shot.

Post haste.
thejunipertree: (Default)
I forgot to mention, the return trip home from Newark airport on Friday:

I'm in the ladies' room of a rest stop somewhere along the NJ Turnpike. It's crowded in here. The stalls smell funny. And there seems to be a small family of Hispanic women in the stall next to me, I can hear them talking to each other. It sounds like there's about twenty females in that stall.

This is a total loss of control Tara kind of moment. The little men what live in my head and keep me from acting up (usually) were apparently asleep at the fucking wheel today.

I lean over, close to the wall that separates my stall and their stall. Crouching down, so my voice will pitch better through the space under them.

¡El diablo está en mis pantalones!
¡El diablo está en mis pantalones!
¡El diablo está en mis pantalones!

Over and over again, with increasing urgency. Then, I start stomping my feet and kind of smacking my hands against the walls of the stall.

The small herd of women in the stall next to me suddenly fall silent. Then, I hear them begin whispering, rapid fire, back and forth. I stand up from my crouch and open my stall door with a big grin on my face. One that I absolutely can't remove, no matter how hard I try. It catches the attention of the Engineer, who is waiting for me outside the ladies' room.

"What did you do?!"


thejunipertree: (Default)

January 2011

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