Tinhuviel Artanis

I spent my early morning through mid-afternoon at the flea market. Need I say anything more?

My day started out at 5 AM. The clock went off and my sorry arse oozed out of bed, unwilling to deal with the fact that I had to be at work at the bakery at 6. But I pulled myself together and plastered a smile on my face, and off I went to Ingles.



( Oh, but there's more! If my ugly mug didn't scare you off, click here and continue, won't you? )

I think I've pulled a muscle in my left shoulder. I hope that's all it is. If it's arthritis, I'm just gonna lie down and put a lily on my chest.

Time flies when you're having fun. Fruit flies eat your bananas.

Chester has had diarrhea for the past 48 hours. I'm giving it one more day, then off to Dr. Patch he goes. They'll just have to hold a check.

I don't work this week. Röchling is closed the entire week for Independence Day. Aunt Tudi and I are teaming up with Uncle Michael and Janice for a huge flea market expedition in hopes of recouping some of our losses on the job front. Janice is off this week as well. How can anyone maintain any measure of independence when we miss a whole week's paycheck, eh?

Aunt Tudi and I have a date for Friday. We're popping some corn and popping Independence Day into Ye Olde DVD Player.

Onions are of the Devil.

beechelfromhell sent to me a lovely box full of lovely things. Pictures and official thanks are forthcoming, probably tomorrow.

Also tomorrow, I'll be grooming Fat Boy Boo Boo. Something tells me that my shoulder is gonna love that little job.

Speaking of dogs, I saw a man who looked uncomfortably like Leonard Nimoy strolling through the flea market holding one of the ugliest chihuahuas known to planet Earth. It was like a shaved tribble with Spock ears. The chihuahua, not the Leonard Nimoy lookalike.

My contorted filbert has its yearly infestation of June bugs. When I was a kid, it used to piss me off to witness other kids tie a string around a June bug's leg and make it fly around in circles. I wanted to tie a string around those kids legs and make them run about in a circle until their legs came off. And I would collect those legs until they were bones, then make myself a small kid leg bone chair to rival HR Giger's ghastly throne.

The end.

LOST...............................



On that line of thought, I am feeling the tremours of a crush on Mr. Eko. It could just be raw, humid lust.... but it may also be that inspirational feeling and may very well breed some nice fanfics if allowed to develop!

I need a Mr. Eko icon now, preferably using a screen cap of when he licks the tip of that knife. That was hot as hell.

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Got back from Llew's at 8:45. We had an interesting chat while I was over there. It's now officially been a year since he jumped headlong onto my People Who Need to Be Maimed because They Fucked around with Tin's Feelings and Made Her Cry against Her Will list. He realises that I haven't quite gotten past that. Maybe I will someday. Maybe I won't. Either way, Llew and I have created a history with one another. There's no denying that I love him and will always do so. He feels the same about me. You can't help but love someone who's been in your life in an affectionate capacity for almost five years. But love can be transformed from one incarnation to another, as everyone knows. Llew acknowledged that, for months, we've been more like friends with benefits than persons engaged in a love affair. I did not argue with his summation, but I would have been lying if I had. It doesn't change the fact that I still love him and I know he loves me. I'm cool with that for now.

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I have shaved....my.....legs! This is a monumental day in my life. I'll have another similar day sometime before Summer. I am Earth Woman and protest depilatory tactics! Let me run free and hairy, So Say We All!

At least, now, Dr. Yost won't have to make a part down my thigh and shin bone just to see a little bit of flesh on my kneecap. When you can corn row the hair on your legs, as a Western Woman, you are obligated to take certain measures. I guess that means I'm from the East 'cos I could don a pair of hooves and run around nekkid, and people would think I'm Pan. (IO IO PAN!)

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In answer to green_goblin70, I really don't know. I think you kinda blew it the first go 'round. You both wanted different things and, at that time, neither of you were willing to compromise. So.... I'd just forget about it.

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Aunt Tudi is pitching a special kind of hissy for us to go to the flea market on Sunday to sell. If we do go, we'll be at the White Horse Road market because I hate TABS and we don't do very well there. We've accrued so much stuff, a lot of it courtesy of the Father Unit, that our house looks like we're in the process of either packing or unpacking. It's driving me crazy now too, and that's saying a lot 'cos I can tolerate clutter like nobody's business. My room in the castle would be the mad old wizard's chamber piled high with books and dust, with mucho paperwork strewn about the cobble floor. So, anyway, Aunt Tudi wants to get rid of a bunch of this stuff and I think I've put her off for as long as I can. She's been wanting to do this since June and I've always had a brilliant reason why we couldn't go. I've run out of reasons and she's run out of patience.

I can't stand the flea market, any flea market (or car boot for you lovely folks of the British persuasion....I was educated in Brit slang by the wonderful Miss _willowmyst. Our flea markets are always drowned in the cacophonous miasma of Ranchero music, Country and Country Gospel, and the occasional dash of Southern Rock (perhaps a pinch of Lynyrd Skynrd or maybe even some Allman Brothers). Everyone is walking around sucking on nasty, slimy boiled peanuts or chewing on tuhbackee. They approach our table and paw everything on it without really buying anything, or they'll try to "Jew me down" (actual words said to me in jest by some overall-wearing, snuff-sucking, toothless, googly-eyed hick) so they can take it over to their table and sell it for twice as much. I HATE the flea market. If I can't find a way out of it, Aunt Tudi and I will be at the flea market Sunday morning. I'll take the laptop along with me in order to document the horrors of my environment, right down to the beer can windchimes.

The only occult shop that I know of in the area is just a hop and skip from the flea market, so I may spend a bit of my time at The Dragon's Treasure poking around to see what's new. I haven't been over there in almost two years! I could use some more candles and maybe even some nice incense. I'd also like to catch up on what decent books are out there now. I may even pick up a copy of the Witches' Almanac as I haven't gotten one in ages and I'd like to see where the larger community's collective mind is at now. Oh, and I'd like to check the message board and try to deduce what groups are still active in the area, just for curiosity's sake.

Sometimes though.....I have that flicker of desire to partake in a group ritual. Then I think of all the New Age Fluffy Bunnies, rebellious teenage Christians playing at Witchery, and general all-round psychos who comprise the majority of the Pagan community out there (that I know of, that is. I could be wrong here and I'd love to be!) and I decide to remain solitary so as to better nurture my Inner Sith and my Alpaca Liptic vision. On certain levels, I know I'm being selfish here because I'd rather be on my own and do as I please in my own way than work in a group who's motivations, skills, or inspirations seem inferior to me. I freely admit that, often, I can be a terrible religion snob. I once observed to some fellow Wiccans that I sometimes worried that I was a Fundamentalist Pagan. Things have to be done my way or I'm unsatisfied. That's not behaviour that benefits others. It's best I keep it to myself. My Way is just as flawed as anyone else's, I've come to understand. But it works for me.

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They're having a news story about the billboard I took a pic of the other day. The reporter stated that local gays and lesbians are not happy with the message the ministry is trying to communicate. Well, big fucking woo! As long as any of us do nothing but whine and bitch about our country being sucked into that gigantic black hole of stupidity, nothing will change. And I'm including myself in all this. I could do more to try to stop our souped-up handbasket in which we are all travelling. The "executive director" of Truth Ministry just said that homosexuality is much like drug addiction or alcoholism and that, with the correct therapy and with accepting Christ in your heart, you can overcome your homosexuality and be healed of its dastardly effects. What the fuck ever. Offended people should take up sticks and other weapons and take to the streets. The more I see the passive-aggressive behaviour of the people in power and the tactics they use to nurture hate and intolerance, the more I want to bust heads open like ripe melons. I'm tired of being a ninny and I'm tired of others being ninnies. Time to rumble.

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I've run out of things to bitch about. This post is now over.