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01 - Introduction
02 – Your first love
03 – Your parents (this is long as HELL
04 - What you ate today
05 - Your definition of love
06 - Your day
07 - Your best friend
08 - A moment
09 - Your beliefs (photo insensive)
10 – What you wore today )

11 – Your siblings
12 – What’s in your bag
13 – This week
14 – What you wore today
15 – Your dreams
16 – Your first kiss
17 – Your favorite memory
18 – Your favorite birthday
19 – Something you regret
20 – This month
21 – Another moment
22 – Something that upsets you
23 – Something that makes you feel better
24 – Something that makes you cry
25 – A first
26 – Your fears
27 – Your favorite place
28 – Something that you miss
29 – Your aspirations
30 – One last moment
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Also, because I keep forgetting:

The Engineer is looking to give away some of his art, to make space and save money. If anyone is interested, the pieces are free to a good home. I generally would recommend being within driving distance, but if someone were particularly in love with a piece and willing to foot the shipping, he'd probably be ok with packaging it for shipping.

The following pieces are up for grabs to those who want them. Size information can be provided to those who are interested. Image sizes vary and can be 30"x40," 36"x48," or even 52"x52". If anyone is interested, email me.
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I came across an entry in [ profile] deadphotos this evening of two luna moths. Ghostly green and lying face to face on a weathered wooden plank, beautiful and strange in their alien gauze.

For those of you who have never seen one in person, luna moths, Actias luna, are goddamn gigantic. The largest generally having a four and a half centimeters wide wingspan, they dwarf the moths people are more commonly familiar with. The gypsy moth, what most people in my area think of when think "moth", is a mewling cousin in comparison.

I've been a bit obsessed with lunas ever since the first time I saw one, on a camping trip I went on about eight years ago with the Engineer and the MWC. It was the second time I'd ever gone camping since I was an honest-to-God Brownie and I was pretty psyched at the prospect of building a great big fuckoff bonfire in the fire ring spending some time outdoors with my friends.

On our way there, a two hour drive, the Engineer and I stole constant unhappy glances at an ever-darkening sky. Storm clouds loomed over the trees and the temperature dropped several degrees, but mile after mile deeper into the Pine Barrens, rain still did not begin to fall. It was a slow and torturous drive full of quiet So, what do you think we should do? exchanged between the two of us. Neither of us had a cell phone at that point, so we couldn't call ahead to the site and see what was going on there, as our friends had arrived several hours earlier. I couldn't leave work early enough that day and so the added threat of the oncoming night also weighed heavy on our minds. The weather was turning to shit and it was getting dark, these are not optimum set-up conditions. Who wants to put up a tent in the fucking rain and the dark? Not this silly bitch.

When we finally got to the campsite, it was full-on dark and fat drops of rain had been splashing down for the past twenty minutes. The Engineer and I grabbed our tent and bed gear, leaving everything else in his PT Cruiser until the rain stopped. From the our parking spot, we had a hike about the length of a football field to the camp site, which was situated off the tip-most point of a wee penisula jutting into Parvin lake. Oh, sure you're thinking. A football field length of a hike, you fucking crybaby. And normally, I would agree with you. It's not that far to hike at all. However, there are certain times when that bit of a jaunt through the woods seem more like a trek through the Appalachians.

1. in the dark
2. in the rain
3. in the middle of the night

All things considered, my vote for The Worst Ever is number three. Normally, I am lazy to the point of staying in bed until I am in physical pain before I get up too pee. The mad dash to the bathroom after a morning of blanket-wrapped don't wanna is mercifully brief. In my apartment. That "mad dash" because some serious fucking business when one is on a camping trip and is a special realm of hell I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

First of all, we always camp in the spring and fall, so the middle of the night pee runs are usually done in damp, chilly weather. Damp and chilly weather is so not enjoyable when one has been curled under a down sleeping bag next to a snoring Engineer (seriously, he's like a fucking furnace). One particular camping trip in early April, a deceptively warm weekend had gone brutally cold overnight unexpectedly and we were so not equipped for that change of temperature. That time, I remember there being tears. Mine or the Engineer's, I will not divulge, but there were definitely tears.

But that night, that second-time-ever-trip of the rain and the dark and the hey hey hey? I remember walking down the trail for the first leg of unloading, it's pissing down rain and I can hear the Engineer mumbling unhappily under his breath ahead of me in the darklightdark bounce of my flashlight. We finally reached the site after a soggy dog's age and a half and I dumped the tent gear next to a line of brushes that started the natural, guarded perimeter of the peninsula. It was a great site and would prove to be extremely beautiful, come morning when the sun was out and it had stopped raining. As the bag hit the ground, I caught a flutter at their edge out of the corner of my eye.

Looking around the far edge, I found that I had just missed squishing flat a sodden moth the size of my goddamn hand, weakly waving its pale green and eyespotted wings in the rain. I'd never seen such a thing before in my life and forgot everything going on around me as I watched it twitching its antennae at my flashlight cutting beams through the dark. In my bookjunkie travels prior to this trip, I'd already read about luna moths and had found that they only lived in their adult form for a week and didn't have a mouth; so they didn't eat during that time, either. The handstapleforehead pretentious goth girl side of me that I've never been able to quite shake marveled at the impermanence of its life. To be so beautiful, for such a short period of time! It was tragic, a Grimm's come to life and before my very eyes.

With everyone situating themselves around the campsite, it needed to be put in a spot where it wouldn't be trod upon or squished unceremoniously flat by tossed gear (I still cringe at the thought of how close I came to unknowingly killing it, even now, so many years later). So, I took the time to select a nearby cove of shrubbery (hee, shrubbery) where it would be safe and as much out of the rain as possible.

That finally accomplished, I started the slog back to the Engineer's car to pick up more of our camp equipment. The rain had soaked through my braids and they were beginning to trickle down the back of my Dawn of the Dead hoodie, so I pushed back the hood and slicked my hands through my bangs, pushing them off my skin and turning my face to the tapering rain. I've always been a tactile creature, reveling in the feel of my fingers brushing down a perfectly smooth and cool surface or plunging my hands through the fabric of a dress on a store rack simply because it looks good to touch. Water in all its forms and methods of delivery has always been a favorite, so even though the conditions at the time were less than optimal, I still took the time to carve out a small moment of sensory enjoyment. I was already soaked through and it was fairly warm out, so what was the harm?

The Engineer caught me like that, face in the rain and grinning like a fool. A purely happy moment that I sometimes revisit when things get shittastic, as they have been lately. We've pulled mostly through and can see at least a bit of light at the end of the tunnel, but it's shaky. Money is tighttighttight, as always, and I'm starting school again next week after being out since I graduated from CCC in December. I have tense moments of quiet desperation and there is a constant sense of teetering, which have driven me into either a series of short and intense bouts of depression, or just one really long one with peaks and lows.

I come home from work snarly and make sure to rub Timothy's belly as soon as I get in the door. It is a tiny joy I wait for all day. I try to laugh as much as I can, when I can. I make elaborate-on-a-budget meals and have experimented with ingredients I've typically shied away from, purely for eking out the thrill I still get whenever I make something from nothing. Taking my little pleasures out wherever I can has largely kept me from going completely into the deep end lately.

I think of my moth; nothing is permanent.
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These are special moments. They may be creepy and awkward and weird, but they're special moments. I do this because I love you.

Apparently, I don't appreciate creepy ball-drying behind my chair enough. According to the Engineer, at any rate.

Before that, he was booty dancing in a wet towel to the Dead Weather.

O, my life.
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I have been studying since seven o'clock for my TWO anatomy exams tomorrow. This has been a common thing in ye olde abode for the past week.

And somehow, I don't think it's going to be all roses and daisies.

I had to stop a little while ago and do something mindless (pluck my eyebrows) because my brain felt like it was swelling.

This professor does not like multiple choice questions for her written tests, or providing her students with things like word banks or the like. And the amount of information we must have processed and memorized in a short amount of time is staggering. She's also not fond of telling us what to exactly focus on; instead, we're told: "you're responsible for knowing everything in the chapters we've covered".

Really? Everything? Are you aware of precisely how much information that covers exactly? These two tests tomorrow alone are on three chapters (lab and lecture, so technically- 6 chapters). Osseous tissue and bone structure, axial skeleton, appendicular skeleton, articulations, and the bone markings for both axial and appendicular. That may not sound like a lot, however- let me reassure you. IT IS. I have a stack of handouts from class, from her PowerPoint lectures, and it's a good inch tall.

The non-written test, meaning the lab practical, will basically be a box of bones with stickers plastered on. And the students' job is to identify what the sticker is stuck on. I'm good with just about everything except for the physical differences between the different types of vertebrae (I've never been good with that muck) and a couple of the inside skull markings). But, the lecture exam is going to kick my ass six ways to Sunday.

All of this is extremely disheartening because I've been doing so well up until this semester. And I absolutely NEED this class (and the stupid accounting one that is also giving me headaches) to get into actual funeral school. If I can pass each with a C, I'll be glad to have just passed (despite the fact that I will also have a stroke over what it'll do to my GPA), but with the results in from my last tests in both those class, I fear even for reaching as high as a C.

I have a feeling I'm going to walk into class tomorrow and be able to do nothing but mumble about the xiphoid process and the perpendicular plate of ethmoid.


The following is the Engineer's version of what I was just typing, according to what he just told the cat:

Dear Government,
My cat is so fat.
Please take him away. He is a science experiment.

Then he left the room.
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One bright light in my tales of woe!

The Engineer took me out for sushi on Thursday night, in celebration of his tattoo kit arriving in the mail. And while we were eating, I was yammering on about sharks (because it's SHARK WEEK SHARK WEEK SHARK WEEK) and shark research. In particular, I told him about Dr. Douglas Long, a researcher who goes to the Farallones Islands and researches the Great Whites that congregate there every fall.

me: So yeah. He gets to go to the Farallones, he's into the Church of the Subgenius, and goes to Burning Man! How cool is that?

the Engineer:'re leaving me, aren't you?


Does anyone else gets prompted for a password when they go straight to my main journal page? It's been doing that for ages and I can't figure out why.
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Tonight, at three a.m., I am going to be heading over to Frankenstein comics in Woodbury for a 75% off sale. I have unsuccessfully attempted convinced myself that this is purely a social experiment to see what kind of unwashed you can't marry her, Aquaman! you're from two different WORRRRRLDS! kind of nerds show up, but the sweet siren song of graphic novels at a fraction of their cover price is all too alluring.

After replenishing most of the comics I lost when I split up with my ex-husband, I was kind of at a loss for what to do. Five years saw me going backwards in time and buying books I no longer owned, not paying attention to anything new coming out.

So now, my collection has been fairly rebuilt (I'm really only missing some Hellboys, at this point, mand I bought the Engineer all the Preacher graphic novels, so they're at least within easy reach) and I'm not really sure what to start reading. All of the other titles I read ended in the past few years. Or, like Hellblazer, are slow to publish graphic novels.

I've started reading Fables and Reflections, purely on a whim. And it's half-decent. There's a serious twee-ness to it that I'm at odds with, but the stories have been attention-holding so far. I'm four graphic novels into the line so far.

Last time I went to my regular pusher comic book dealer, I picked up something called Wet Moon, which was sweetly teen-goth, pretty pretty pretty, and angsty. This always makes my inner fifteen year old baby bat squee excitedly and flap her hands.

But other than that, there's been noting new that's caught my eye. The Engineer keeps trying to convince me I'm going to enjoy The Punisher- Max or is it Maxxx? I haven't the faintest notion. All I know is that the silly man refuses to listen to me when I tell him that in fact, no I will NOT enjoy reading that comic and because Punisher is a giant pile of shit to please stop bugging me about it. Not even if there was a shark on one of the covers.

(There really was. It was a last ditch effort to get me to listen.)

So, what the hell should I start reading?
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I was a teenager this evening. Hanging out with an old high school friend, talking trash on one another while playing video games. I got deadleg from sitting on the floor and he started to beat the tar out of me in our game. Now, the apartment is silent except for planes overhead and the one a.m. freight going past.

Work is full of drama. Full to the point where my boss asks me about moon phases because she knows I'm weird and hold that sort of knowledge. Three quarters of our insurance department got into a fight on Wednesday. It started on Facebook, despite the fact that they all sit within five feet of one another, then escalated into a screaming match while everyone else was in a meeting. Lovely.

Last weekend, I tried to convince the Engineer it would be a fantastic idea if he went up to the counter at our local video rental store to ask them if a particular film was the one where Dakota Fanning gets raped. He didn't think it was such a great plan. (I honestly wanted to know if it was the film, because I'd heard something about it and heard it was good. But, the devil on my left shoulder who likes to scatter golden apples got in the way.)

This weekend, I will blow off steam. I will dance, drink rum, and maybe wear feathers in my hair. I will hang out with my girl, Miss Janette, and be unladylike. I will not throw myself at any rockstars, should I happen to meet them, and nor will I get into any trouble I am unable to get myself back out of.

Then, I will sleep. Sleep has turned into an old friend I rarely see anymore. We run into each once in a while and there is stilted and awkward exchange, the type where we shuffle our feet against the ground and refuse to make eye contact.

I should be sleeping right now, but instead- I am writing.
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The Engineer recently received a rather expensive piece of paper proclaiming him to be a MASTER OF THE FINE ARTS.

Behold- photographic documentation of the day:

The school, itself.

a neat relief, outside.

Ignore my jacked-hair. It has since been did, as the kids say these days.

The Engineer looking pensive, in front of some of his artwork.
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Cohabitation with the Engineer hasn't been too bad, so far. I don't really have a living room at the moment, due to our needing to work out where a lot of things are going to go, but we have made amazing progress in the past two weeks getting our shit into gear and making this place liveable once again.

I've not been around online all that much lately due to a handful of reasons, none of which have anything to do with anyone other than myself. For starters, my computer has decided to shit itself (BLACK screen of death, with no install disk in sight to save me) and I've been using the Engineer's. Prying him from his electronic teat to get me some deck time is easier said than done (actually, I don't say anything and just wait until he goes to bed- he has stuff to get done online too, after all). Secondly, I also do not check any internet (other than email) from anywhere other than home anymore. Long story. And thirdly, I just haven't had the goddamn time lately. I'm in finals hell (only one left) on top of everything going on with the apartment, so when I get home from work, I either collapse from exhaustion or stick my nose into a textbook. No fun.

More to come tomorrow because I still have to proof-read the script for the Engineer's podcast and take a shower before I can begin bed preparations.
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I have learned that if one loads guacamole up with enough things, it stops tasting of avocado and therefore- begins to taste not that bad. Interesting.

I have also learned that if the Decemberists show is even remotely anything like their performance on the Colbert Report this evening, I am going to be peeing myself within five seconds of the first few chords. Glee!

The Engineer has threatened to not go with me to the show if I don't stop playing all of their albumns in the car. In retailiation, I put on Belle and Sebastian instead. He didn't notice the difference.
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1. I has a new computer desk. There wasn't anything wrong with my old desk per se, but I need to condense space. The Engineer recently bought this fly desk that had a bit that swung out on wheels and all, which I immediately fell in love with and thought it would make a spectacular make-up vanity/computer station. See, to make room for the Engineer's gigantor bed, it would be best if I got rid of my old make-up vanity. Which is as old as dirt, takes up far too much room, and I hate like a hating thing hates things.

2. All four snakes now live in one apartment. When we were transporting the Engineer's kingsnake, he skunked me- the little fucker. Kingsnake skunk is a special, special realm of Hell. Like the worst rotting fish/clogged dog anal glands stench ever. I gagged the entire time I was carrying the snake from the Engineer's apartment to mine. Then I washed my hands for twenty minutes.

3. My professor for Math for Liberal Arts is apparently known as the GPA Killer. Would have been nice to know before I started taking his class and uhh...getting my GPA fucking killed. Am unhappy about this, but am also swiftly approaching college burn-out. So, I pendulum swing between being extremely distressed about my GPA dropping and not being able to give a good goddamn.

4. I have a great pile of books to plow through. I also need to update my book list, which I have not done since January. Shouldn't be too hard to remember what I've read since then, as most of them are still piled up in my room on every available surface. Good thing the Engineer has an empty bookshelf. I could probably fill it in twenty minutes. Or less.

5. I am not inebriated whatsoever at this very moment. Nope.

6. I find it curious that every time I wash my car, it rains within the next one to two days. Since I bought the Mini, I have washed it maybe seven or eight times. I blame the OCD and needing to keep the shiny surfaces shiny. Everyone else just thinks I'm fucking nuts.

7. I conquered my downloading of videos from Youtube and actually getting them to have sound problem from a few days ago. It involved the downloading of an entirely different program that finally did it. Now I can dork out over rockstars wherever I may happen to be roaming at the moment.

8. I forget what eight is for.
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After almost ten years, I reckon you still can't take the bookstore out of the girl.

Yesterday, the Engineer and I merged DVD collections (which was weird enough for me on its own) and I entasked myself into getting them all onto one shelf. I took all of his DVDs and separated them into letter piles by title, then alphabetized each pile, then merged them (alphabetically) in with my shelves. Despite the extreme number of movies the two of us own, it only took me about half an hour.

So, either this was just another manifestation of my goofy OCD, or I have been more affected my past employment with Tower Books than I thought.

I also found out just how many shitty shitty SHITTY movies the Engineer owns. I told him I was uncomfortable putting them in with my DVDs because I didn't want people to think I owned stuff like The DaVinci Code and Eraser.


Also, my brother is completely moved out of the apartment for almost three weeks now. It is the most awesome thing that has ever awesomely graced the awesome face of this awesome planet. Seriously.

Nothing against my brother by any means, or my soon-to-be-moving-in-Engineer, I love them both dearly. HOWEVER! The feeling of living completely by myself is so...I just don't even know. It's the first time I've ever experienced just having an entire place to myself. And after growing up the youngest of three, being forced to have bedrooms in places like closets due to being poor/limited space, going through a succession of roommates for years as an adult, and constantly having to deal with all manner of people intruding on my space constantly: it is the best feeling ever.

I'm an extremely solitary person by nature, I always have been. I love being around people, but only on my terms. I always need just some time completely alone so I can depressurize from all of the sensory input and stimulation.

I leave socks on the floor! Cups on the computer desk! Read comic books in the middle of the living room floor in my underwear!

We've been moving the Engineer's stuff in slowly, as we have until the end of April for him to be completely out of his apartment. He says it's weird, his belongings disappearing bit by bit. I told him to just think of it him being robbed very, very slowly. He didn't find any solace in that statement.

My brother's bedroom is now the computer room, and we'll be putting all of our snakes in here as well. Right now, it's just my computer and the Engineer's new desk. Tinker is very concerned at this state of affairs. The cats were never allowed in this room before; my brother always kept the door shut and shouted at them when they tried to come in. So, now my computer is in here- I'm in here a lot. And Tinker keeps rushing in, all wide-eyed and frantic, meowing his fool head off. ahmigad, you need to get OUT! Middle Brother's going to see you in here and he's going to be PISSED! He doesn't understand.

Conversation lately has centered mostly around the playing of apartment Tetris, the impending graduation date for the Engineer's master's degree, and how burned out I'm getting from school.
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A trip to Whole Foods happened today and many good things were bought. In the end, I decided to splurge a bit and pick up some things I've been needing. Not a full-on grocery trip, but one that involved judicious use of my debit card all the same.

For the gift card purchase, I wound up buying an absolutely glorious goat gouda which I normally would have passed right over because I'm not a terribly huge fan of gouda, but the Engineer tasted a sample from a laid out tray and made me try it, too. It's creamy like a mild brie, but with a goat cheese tang. Nice. And I got some the Black Diamond cheddar I'm a fan of.

I also picked up a good looking pair of pomengranates, which is a nice change from the usual pomengranates I've seen loitering about the stores lately. And at the butcher's counter, I asked for two boneless NY strip steaks, which wound up taking a giant bite out of the gift card.

I couldn't decide between any of the fancy salts, not even with the Engineer's helpful comment of Just pick the butt-flavored one, so I didn't get any of that. And the high-end chocolate selection left me a bit dry; none of it seemed rather interesting. I did, however, finally find a pint of Haagen Daaz's salted caramel ice cream. This is rather exciting, even though I've heard bad reviews of it, purely because I've been trying to get some of that stuff for so damn long.

There was also a buddha hand in the produce section, all twisted and tentacled like a Tim Burton creation. One of them was spread out and sprawly like an undersea creature and it smelled strongly of lemons when I picked it up for examination. I was tempted by it, especially after the Engineer's reaction of what the fuck is that thing?! but I'm lost when it comes to actually doing something with it, other then making friends. So, it stayed on the rack and I went on to the check-out.

Beyond all of that, I've hooked up my ancient computer monitor to take the place of my sadly departed flat-screen. It's a bit disconcerting to look at such a small and strangely bulbous screen; it's giving me a bit of a headache after only thirty minutes, but I'll perservere until I'm able to order a new one.
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I've not made all that much progress, really.

The Mini dealer in PA contacted me back and told me the specifications I want are not in stock and to order one would take 6 to 8 weeks. In theory, I could be patient and do this. However, they haven't responded to my email about "Hey, can I get this for $300 a month?" I'm taking their silence as a resounding no. That's disheartening.

I've also started looking at another car, the Honda Fit Sport (in purple!). The one dealer I've contacted about that has been UP MY FRIGGING ASS. His name is Sam and he sucks. Calling me when I tell him not to call me, emailing me every ten seconds with some bullshit, being a general annoyance. I emailed him yesterday asking if they had my specific build in stock (2009 Fit Sport Automatic in Blackberry Pearl, iPod adapter, NOTHING ELSE) and if I could get it for $300 a month (with my additional financial information in the email). He sent me back an email which basically proved he didn't read a goddamn thing I'd written, talking about what colors they had in stock (no mention of the build I want or the no goddamn add-ons and accessories clause I have) and for me to get UNDER $300 a month, I'd have to put down $4k as a deposit. Piss off, Sam.

I haven't tried going to the bank yet because everything at work has been so insane; I haven't had the time, but that's next on my attack list. I'm going to try to do it on Friday and see what they have to say to me about getting a loan.

In a conversation with the Engineer last night, I told him I would be quite put out if I can't get a Mini. They're my second favorite car ever and I really had my heart set on one. I could get over it, because I'm just not that petty, and get another car. But, I'd be sad and probably pine away or some dumb nonsense. The Honda Fit isn't so bad, it's kind of like a rounded version of a Mini without the awesome retro styling that makes you feel like you're piloting the Nautilus. Same basic cargo space, basically the same mpg. Not bad (and did I mention it comes in purple?) If I absolutely had to go with another car, I don't think I would mind one. And even though Sam the dealer is being a dickbag, they're a ton of Honda dealers around here. Unlike Mini.

I could just go out and get a random wee car. There's a million different types. But, modern cars leave me cold. They have no personality to them. They have no character. Most of them look like eggs on wheels, or slightly square eggs on wheels. If I had to drive one every day, I would detest it. Some people may think I'm being shallow about this because after all, it's just a fucking car, right? But, if I'm going to be spending that much money on something, I want to be practically in love with the goddamn thing. I'm not utilitarian; I like shiny things. They make me happy. And I want to be happy with whatever car I wind up getting, providing it doesn't put me into the poorhouse to buy.

The Engineer told me I need to hit more than one dealer. When he bought his Cruiser, he put down $1k and his monthly payments were only slightly over $300 a month, but he had to go to three or four dealers to get to that. I thought about getting a Cruiser, but I thought it would be kind of goofy for us to have OMG MATCHING CARS. I like Cruisers, though (even though they made some big mistakes in changing the interiors after the 02, they're kind of assy looking now). I'm not totally opposed to it, but I would prefer not to.

Enough car rambling. I have Pocky to eat and chai to drink. At some point soon, I also have entries to write about class scheduling shenanigans, how Aristotle now eats behind a private curtain, and all about how my barely a year old computer monitor shit the bed this week.
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I don't always think things through in quite the manner I should.

Case in point, Saturday night. I was sitting in my living room with the Engineer and Mister Kyle, talking trash and half-watching the disc of animated shorts I referenced in an earlier post. The Engineer was doodling away on the computer and I had stood up to get something to drink when I saw out of the corner of my eye something small and brown and insect-y on the carpet.

Living in an apartment, whenever one spots something small and brown and insect-y, the first thing they usually think is ohfuckit'saroachgoddamnit. Upon closer inspection, I discovered it was not actually a roach, but a cricket. A wee, excitable cricket further testing would prove as it jumped straight into my face when I tried to pick it up.

My normal bug-catching procedure in the apartment, with the exception of flies and roaches, which are executed on sight, is to get a cup and a piece of stiffish paper. Place the cup over the offending bug, slide the paper underneath, and then carry the whole rigaramole outside. This was no different. I got the cup and paper, then went to put the cup over the cricket. But, at the last moment, it jumped.

So, I turned to where it landed and tried again. And the little fucker leapt out of the way again. Now, at this point, I'm already more than slightly inebriated and this wee bastard is flinging himself all over my living room and I'm chasing around unsteadily with a red plastic cup in my hand. Mister Kyle is almost pissing his pants laughing and the Engineer is still on the computer, hunting ghosts or playing chess or whatever he does on there when I'm not looking.

After a riotous five minutes of this, I finally pin the tail on the goddamn donkey and get the cup over the cricket. Slide the paper underneath the cup, listening to the frantic pinging as it threw itself against the walls of its prison and kind of half in awe at its cricket-y determination to move through matter.

Straightening up, I realized that with my next step in this process, I had an issue. Normally, I bring the bug-in-cup outside and set it free. But, this is December and cold. Unseasonably so. And I just can not, in good conscience, take this little guy outside to reenact the Jack Torrence in the hedge maze scene from The Shining. It just wouldn't be right. I also can't very well keep the damn thing as a pet, either. For starters, I don't have cricket-keeping capability and seconding, I'm fairly certain everyone in my life would have me committed for wanting to keep a pet cricket out of soft-heartedness. Tara finally went over the edge! they'd say. She couldn't kill that cricket she found, so she made a pet of it. Pretty soon, she'll be dressing hams in bonnets and knitting socks for the roast chicken. Time for the padded room, I'd reckon.

Of course, they wouldn't actually use the word reckon because the majority of the people I associate with make fun of me for using it and say I'm a hayseed hick. But, I digress.

So, what does one do when they've caught a cricket, are too soft to kill it or let it go outside into the cold, dark night?

Well, after much thought and wembling, I took my new cricket friend out to the hallway of the apartment building and set him free there. It's fairly warm, warmer than outside at any rate. And there's numerous places to hide (like the empty apartment down the hall). I'm trying not to think of it wriggling its way into the crazy lady's apartment in unit 2; she'd freak out and scream at her young son for three hours about how it was his fault, then bug bomb the entire place.
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The Engineer recently completed a 9/11 memorial he had been commissioned to do for the NJ Freemasons and it got installed this past Friday.

Therefore, I have stolen photos from his own entry on the subject and am hotlinking them in a bandwidth stealing fever.

he has all the talent in this relationship )
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[Poll #1246229]



May. 20th, 2008 03:10 pm
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I made a creme caramel this weekend, for eating after dinner on Sunday.

And the Engineer, otherwise known as He Who Loves All Things Sweet, did not like it. He put a big spoon of it into his mouth and then froze in horror, making the most hilarious awful face.

He said it tasted of bacon.


That, and the texture reminded him of fat.


While I love me some bacon and fat, those two things do not belong in the same sentence as a cream and vanilla-based dessert.

His description of it made me a bit green around the gills, so I couldn't even eat it at that point (I'm very impressionable), so I wound up throwing it out.

Goodbye, creme caramel. I hardly knew you.

thejunipertree: (Default)

Tonight, I kicked the shit out of my World Lit final.

Dang, seriously. I made it my little bitch.

Especially with the essay I wrote comparing and contrasting the relationships of Shakespeare's Hamlet/Ophelia, Marie de France's Bisclavret/his wife, Anne Bradstreet/her husband, and Beowulf's Grendel/Grendel's mother. Then I discussed what these four relationships said about the nature of love.

It was entitled: Douchebaggery, Thy Name is Hamlet.

I love this class and am very sad that my last night of it is next week. Except for how I had to sit through five different students tonight attempting to read Sonnet 130 (My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun...) for twenty-five points of extra credit.

That was pretty painful, yo.

This class seriously kind of maybe makes me contemplate going into literature as a some kind of major and eventual profession. But, I am not quite that much of a maschochist.

Oh, what manner of nonsense is that?

Yo ho, yo ho, it's a mortician's life for me!


The Engineer totally talked about masturbation and ball-shaving tonight to the Masons. It slayed me.


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January 2011

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