The Tortoise and The Bear!

Follow us on our mostly frustrating adventures

Our insane neighbors, Pt. 2 February 4, 2011

Look down two posts and read about our insane downstairs neighbors.

The DAY after she called us faggots, our pipes froze and flooded their house. If I believed in karma, I might blame this on that…

I confronted our neighbor about calling us faggots and she OF CORSE denied it. I mean, really, I don’t care if you call me a faggot. Well, that is kind of a lie, BUT AT LEAST BE ABLE TO CALL ME A FAGGOT TO MY FACE. Don’t do it when I am playing DDR, or walking down the street, or do it by yelling at my house. Stop me, look me in the face and call me a fag. What, are you worried that I am going to hit you? Please? Worst thing I will do is cut myself and spray you with my filthy faggot blood.

We talked to our landlords about the dogs, our new roomate and our neighbors and they are so fucking amazing. They thought it would be a good idea to print off Tom of Finland posters and hang them on our porch. Go ahead and google Tom of Finland, I will wait here for you to return.




Would that not be amazing? Anyway, long story short, don’t fuck with us ever and our landlords are absolultly amazing.

It’s snowing right now, I wish I was dead. This is all.


New Piercing! February 2, 2011

Apparently, getting pierced in Little Rock is impossible, unless you want to go somewhere where mouth=autoclave and the piercers wear human flesh over their hands as gloves. (exaggerating, but the Internet is not kind to other shops in town.)

I wanted to go to 7th Street!

Imagine, for a moment, with me, that you are a piercing shop. What time would you close on a Saturday? I was waiting for Tony to get off so he could come watch, at 9:30. By the time he got home to Conway, it was 10 PM, and my puppy-dog eyes at their locked door didn’t help. That’s right, a tattoo/piercing place closed at 10 on a Saturday.

Went back Monday, a few minutes after 9. The piercer had already left for the day, but the shop guy told me he’d give me $10 off for having to come back so much. Score, I guess. So Penny and I came back last night, Tuesday, and the piercer was there! Penny watched in horror as the nice man put a needle through my dick, and then a bright, shiny ring. I have a PA once again.

First piercing I’ve had since my self-inflicted scrotal piercing back in 2007, and after not having one for so long, going back in a piercing place is kind of weird. I mean, I wasn’t terribly nervous, because it should be old hat for me, I guess, but man, has it been a while. The besdt part was that he pierced it at 12g and stretched it to 10 – this one is bleeding SO much less than the last time I got one. I think I would have freaked out if he had told me ahead of time that it was his plan, but it really didn’t hurt any more than getting pierced twice in quick succession. If any of you out there are wondering, I totally recommend that method, I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said the last time I got it pierced, I lost ounces of blood.

Fast-forward to today – I’m in the clean room, preparing IV meds for children. And my foreskin is all wrong right now. But I can’t fix it in here, I just can’t. Normally if I try and walk around with it skinned back, it’ll just go back to usual. Let’s cross our fingers and hope. ::closes eyes and wishes really hard::


Things that make me cry January 21, 2011

Filed under: Body fluids/solids,Jeremy Post,My Mother — Jeremy! @ 5:29 pm
Tags: , , ,

At some point in my life, I’ve gone from a rough-and-tumble faux-macho child/teenager, to whimpering, crying and bawling at the drop of a hat. Not in the pain sense, or the depression sense, but watching TV (occasionally) will do it, and movies are very good at it, regardless of the subject. Even songs have that effect on me.

I’m fairly certain it’s for all the hell I gave my mother as a kid. She is a famous movie-crier; Space Jam is my favorite one to reference, although Air Bud seemed funny at the time. Why did I have to insistently make fun of her for it? And why did she not tell me what the word “karma” meant at an earlier age?

To bring things full circle, I assume that you’ll want a couple recent movies that made me cry, that probably wouldn’t affect your average citizen like that. Fine: WALL-E, The Black Swan (only a couple tears!), Step Up 3-D, Brokeback Mountain (of course. I was an absolute sobbing wreck the entire second half. I could barely see), every time I watch Rent (the movie)… Actually, speaking of theater, I was the same way during Wicked – both at the end of the first act and the second act. I stood in line at intermission all puffy-faced, waiting on the restroom in a huge line of unaffected men. Avenue Q, I was so proud of myself for making it to the end, then some asshole friend of one of the actors had one of the puppets present a ring to his girlfriend and he proposed to her in front of the whole audience. I cried, of course.

Actually, marriages really get to me, also. I realized when I absolutely crumpled during The Office,

 [SPOILER ALERT, if you are several seasons behind]when Jim proposed to Pam, and then later at their wedding. [/SPOILER]

It has made it clear to me that if I ever enter into any sort of marriage-like agreement with someone else, they will have to be the one to propose to me, because I’ll never be able to do it without crying. Hint: don’t do it anywhere there are newscameras or a YouTube video shot in progress or anything. I don’t need that on the internet.  The same goes for the ceremony. I might have to craft a body-double and just watch via a live camera feed, because I feel like it’d be terrible for decorum to have my mascara running everywhere. Alternatively, I guess that’s the one practical purpose of a veil; by the time it’s lifted, my husband would be screwed if he wanted to take it back at the sight of my zebra-striped mascara face. (I like to think that when I cry, I look just like women in movies. I’m sure it’s not actually as beautiful)

I should  also be glad I’ve finished graduating schools for the moment, because I definitely cried at my high school graduation (rehearsal, no less), and also at my college graduation (I managed to make it through the obligatory post-walk photo first, though.


Stomach hurts! January 17, 2011

Everyone who lives at our house, or who had visited our house, got some stomach bug, one after the other, last week. I got off pretty easy and was only vomiting for one night, but now I have this bucket of vomit in the attic and I don’t know what to do with it. The longer I leave it, the more disgusting it seems that I have a bucket of vomit in my room.

I really wish I had dealt with it, right after I was done vomiting, it seemed much less awful then. I recently smelled the bucket of vomit and it was surprisingly odor free, which is good, but makes no sense to me. I guess kind of in the same way that sharps containers should smell disgusting, but don’t actually. I am tempted to take a picture of the bucket of vomit, but part of me thinks that people would find that disgusting.