Tuesday, November 30

Remember to use handy household construction helpers correctly. Or else somebody loses their door hinges

prepare to laugh.




Man, my stomach's been listening to Gwar for the past few days. I've been getting nausea and all that good stuff.

I was in a really good mood today, up until five minutes into third block. It got so fucking boring I got into Dead Mode. Maybe because after I eat a lot of carbs I tend to get really tired and lazy as shit. Bagels and Chex Mix all the way, dude.

Surprisingly, a lot of work was done in desktop publishing on some dumb menu we have to design. Which is actually just copying one, we don't design shit. Laura's sitting next to me, we started at the same point, she always works through the whole class while I do some crap on the internet while working at the same time, and I end up a page ahead of her. Jimmy Page is on my side.

However, he is failing me in geometry. But actually I always fail in math so it's no big deal.

Mr. Wittner is fucking awesome. At lunch he's walking some students in the hallway to somewhere, while singing some Frank Sinatra-like Christmas song, and when he comes up to us he says, "Twenty five more shopping days!" He's a gym teacher who wears chino shorts all year round and could possibly be as negative as I am when talking about Gwar and the fuckwits who like them. But sings like ol' Frankie Blue Eyes himself. It was quite a sight. For quite an odd looking man.

In art class I sat doing nothing for an hour or so listening to Use Your Illusion II. And being fucking pissed at Dizzy Reed and his gay keyboards. Piano is for pussies and the only person who would hire a pussy to play a box that plays pussy music would only be a pussy. That's right, I bet it was Axl who hired Dizzy. I really like "Estranged," everything about it except for the piano part. Same thing with "Knockin' on Heaven's Door." Great song, up to the pathetic phone call part. The teacher didn't notice my bullshitting, I don't like the new project anyway. We're working with this funky fuzzy shit that that looks like something rabbits would poop out. Supposedly after water being added, you're supposed to mold it into something and once it dries, it looks and is hard just as stone. So I'm thinking of doing the thing on the cover of the album that I just mentioned before. Hopefully it's going to be hot, unlike Dizzy Reed.

The thing about the two Use Your Illusions is that I love all of the songs on the first one, except for "Live and Let Die." But the order of the songs just fucking pisses me off I can't ever play it without skipping around. And my CD player likes to start at random songs for no reason and I have no idea what song to expect that's going to come on. The second one, great order but too much piano in some of the songs it just irritates the hell out of me. Wow, this sounds dumb but hey it never really bothered me before, but for some reason now it does.

I've never liked piano at all in my life. It's just one of those sounds that don't flatter me at all. In my opinion they sound monotonous and drony. If drony is even a word.

I don't know why I don't like "Live and Let Die." All I can come up with as a good excuse is that it sounds really annoying. Except for a few riffs but the first time Pussy screams "LIVE AND LET DIIIIE!" oh god, how head-splitting that is.

This stupid fuck who was wearing a Guns n' Roses hoodie gave me this mean look today. Goddamn freshman what the fuck was that for?

Ate Bagel Bites and a sandwich that my mommy made when I got home. They tasted damn good.




Monday, November 29
I felt the worst feeling in the world today. No, I did not get raped up the ass by Cap'n Crunch. At the end of the day while walking to my locker, this dude, some latino bitch, he was running in the hallway yelling to his friend who was probably some cheap fake moled hoochie mamma, and while blurting out some obscene spanish remark, spit flies out of his mouth and lands on my knee. I was wearing ripped jeans. It was cold and foul.

Came to school late and didn't give a damn. I just went to first block to sleep in even more, the teacher doesn't care. The class was divided into four groups, each had to design a game for everyone to practice "Dr. Vandertramp" past-tense french verbs. My group went up. They didn't give me anything to do so I sat in the teacher's chair looking on at everyone's shitty attempts at at least understanding how the game went. Well I can't blame them, for I didn't understand it either.

In history we had to do an in-class essay. Easy shit.

We watched a Lifetime, a fucking Lifetime, Lifetime movie in drivers' ed. This woman (surprise surprise!) was talking on her cell phone while driving to work. She cuts this guy in a truck unintentionally. He gets real fucking pissed off and decides he's going to stalk her and then kill her. Along with her family and best friend. Lifetime is television for lesbians who are sad and are on menopause who enjoy taking Vagisil and douches that come in pink boxes whom they can't have children. Hm, I wonder why.

Lunch went swell. I need to work on my verbal skills and not speak with food in my mouth.

The literature class went to the library for a fucking research paper on a selected career we chose. How original of an assignment. It's due after Christmas break, so I did some internet shit, the same shit I do here at home, on the computer. And looked through this month's issue of Guitar Player. Not much interesting. Except for Johnny Ramone. Other than that, the featured article was the guitarist from The Donnas. I've got to admit, she's pretty good. Although the rest of her band sucks. Really sucks.

I am now discovering the world of Bob Dylan while eating Peanut Butter Crunch cereal. He has a whiny voice, but maybe it's just that in order to listen to his stuff you really have to listen to the words because he's actually telling long stories. It's not the kind of music you could just get high to and not listen to a damn thing.

My mom fell off a slipping ladder today. I felt really sorry. Yes, Christina feels sorry. She really didn't deserve it. She's been through so much bullshit and doesn't need two broken doors and a numerous amount of cuts on her body. The fucking contractors have been giving her so much shit and don't do a single fucking thing, no matter how much money we paid. She also has to make dinner and all of my shit that I need, along with the other two folks who live in this house. The bottom of the closet door in the hallway is kicked in, and the left edge of my door has pieces ripped off along with red marks from the ends of the ladder. The plank of wood on the wall that the hinges are screwed to is falling off. All because of the conctractors leaving the ladder up backwards leading up to the attic.





I hate The Beach Boys, except for "Wouldn't it Be Nice." Don't you ever compare them to The Beatles, and how you think they're the California version of a '60s boyband and The Beatles are the New York version of a '60s boyband. Fuck you, The Beach Boys suck. Striped shirts and khaki pants and weighing three hundred pounds to lie in bed for a year were never sexy.

Oh man I love the movie Bubble Boy. It's so fucked up that it's good. Fabio, whores next door, ice cream and curry trucks, and Mini Me all in one movie. Can't get any funnier than that.

I'm scared to go back to school tomorrow. B days are the days that I have all classes with all assholes from my grade. And the majority of my grade despises me. I despise them too. I could almost lick Michael Bolton's bald spot rather than be around them for two more years after this year of more bullshit.

My dad and I just watched a movie, Twisted. My mom's a big Ashley Judd fan so we rent a lot of her movies whenever Blockbuster mails home a "Rent One, Get One Free!" coupon or some shit like that. In addition to the peace of aristocratic ass-wiping paper, my mom has an aristocratic ass-wiping buffer: a membership card. So we end up paying about two dollars per rented movie. That's how crazily cheap we are.

This flick wasn't as great as her other films, even if she did get around and fucked every murder victim there was before he got killed. Which was around five. She has the same underwear as what Jennifer Beals wore in Flashdance to her audition. So it's either that Ashley Judd likes to dance in the bedroom or Jennifer Beals likes to give old crusty man judges some long-awaited erections. I didn't include Jennifer Lopez because she does that already.



Sunday, November 28
I fucking love the holiday season. Just seeing everyone with warm fuzzy feelings inside makes me feel peachy too. Not because of getting gifts. Because I never get any. I've officially given up on receiving any presents from anyone this year. I never did receive any and I never will. But I shouldn't let that ruin my holidays. If no one cares they could just suck my ass. Anyway, I just feel good this time of year.

I'm not going yule shopping for anyone either. You should know my excuse my now. Making stuff requires buying supplies too. Baking cookies makes me look like a fucking pussy. Actually they don't, because I'd just eat them all before they even get to you. Of course endorsing everyone's hearts with love would boost my morale and quest in learning to appreciate oneself, but I'm too lazy to.

Oh yeah, new layout. An Axl layout. This man is so photogenic compared to my preferred Izzy Stradlin, I can't help it. Plus, whenever I'm feeling low I could just open my LiveJournal up and laugh at the enormous portrait of pussy.





My goal in life is to go to Jack Rabbit Slim's and do the twist with a semi-fat man who's wearing a corny cowboy pendant.

That is, next to my goal of having hot steamy sex in a giant martini glass in Iowa overlooking a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert.

Just kidding, no Iowa and no Lynyrd Skynyrd.

The first time seeing Pulp Fiction didn't flatter me as much, but the more and more I watch it, the more and fucking more I love it. You see, it is much like heroin. This time while watching the dance scene, I fucking cracked up. A woman with ugly feet and a bloated country boy who once wore white leisure suits twisting their Axl fat and waving their Chewbacca feet really gets to me.




Saturday, November 27
The show got fucking cancelled. Fucking cancelled, asshole. Just when I get freedom to shake my ass out in the street as a new technique of hitchiking, the damn event gets fucking cancelled. Ruined my whole entire weekend. And probably until the next time I get to go somewhere.

So I became a douche and went to the mall. With my mom. She was in a good mood so the entire thing went smoothly, but still it was dull shit compared to what I could've been doing. I saw quite a few people there, and being the loser that I am, didn't say hi unless they said hi to me.

I didn't get anything due to financial bankruptcy. The sibling got a video game and the mother got a skillet. A skillet in a huge box that I had to lug around looking like an ass.

I noticed that after I eat a lot my ass gets tremendously bigger.




I spent from 7:00 to 10:30 fucking cleaning the goddamn house. No breaks. No nothing. Except to change CD's in the player and chug down some water. Van Halen is excellent cleaning music. Pink Floyd on the other hand, is not. Listening to "Jump" while standing on a step ladder and polishing cabinets is a safety hazard. I never knew we had so much silverware. All with my mom's initials on them. How egotistical. Making me clean her customized shit. And an entire box full of her shit too. Part of it was filled with knives. Big ones. Small ones. Toothed ones. Smooth ones. Rickity ones. Cheap ones. Jagged ones. Steel-handled ones. All different sizes suiting to each and every midget, giant, asshole, douchebag, Gwar hater, Axl fat licker, in the world. I bet I looked really weird cleaning about twenty or so brand new never-before-used knives all in one sink. Then carrying them by the bundles to the right cabinet drawer.

Ironically, Thin Lizzy's "Suicide" was playing while I was working with the knives. But the dude used a .45 instead of the old fashioned manual way.

I polished the cabinets twice before finding out that I was using the wrong cleaners and that they damaged the wood finishing. Haha. Well I didn't laugh at first, but now I am.

Last night I had a dream that I was arguing with some fucktard teacher and I lost an eye.




Friday, November 26
Oh man guys, I'm free tomorrow night. But I'm nervous, because I'm not used to leaving this house and interacting with other people. Especially rowdy people.

The price I have to pay is while the folks and sibling are out to some fuck ass party tonight, I have to do chores. Fucking chores. At night. A Friday night. Black Friday night. When I could be shopping for half priced CD. CD because I still can't afford anymore. My roster includes polishing cabinets, bringing boxes of utensils and plates and shit from the basement to put into the new kitchen, vaccuum, dust, polish every fucking mirror and glass in the house, and do it perfectly. Or else I don't go. And if the car wasn't going to be taken out, I'd have to clean and polish that piece of shit too. What fucking bullshit. I guess I should pop out that Van Halen CD for some inspiration.

Judas Priest was on the list of forty worst metal songs. I happen to like that song. And Danzig. A goddamn fucking shame. I should critique the whole damn list and post here. If I could find it. No not memorize because I'm no Jim Morrison.



Thursday, November 25
I'm a fucking nervous wreck. How could it be so hard to ask my mom to let me out just for one night?

So Jeannie came over today and we made cake and frosting. It was really good, then we got really tired of it. She made the frosting and I baked the cake. Her icing turned out liquidy and grainy, my cake turned out god Tesla sucks really too soft and it broke too easily. It was a new kind of cake or some shit that I haven't made before. And it was the first time she ever made frosting. Branda was being the biggest goddamn pain in the ass since butt sex with a powerdrill. I kid, I have no idea how a powerdrill would fuck. But anyway, Branda kept saying shit like, "DON'T PUT BUTTER I DON'T LIKE BUTTER!" or "CAN I OPEN THE BAG?" I'll open your bag. She's just another cunt, and reason, for me to hate children. She ended up not eating any because she hates butter.

After Jeannie and I ate only two slices and went back to the dining room where the cake was, all the adults had eaten it all except for one deformed broken up piece. It looked like Nikki Sixx just put his ass in it and rolled around in a gravel pit. I ate it anyway. Upon stepping into the basement to hang out, I dropped it.

This morning the folks made me watch the family vacation video at Hawaii. I know I talk about a lot of stuff that may be really embarassing and not give a damn about how embarassing it is, but this was just so goddamn embarassing I can't even talk about it. Please, how could he not edit out the part when I'm bending over at the beach poking crabs with sticks? And the part when I'm sitting in a tree eating a sandwich. Tanlines in full view. It looked like I was wearing a regular strapped white bra with a black halter. Not funny. I'm stopping here.

I watched 40 Most Awesomely Bad Metal Songs...Ever on VH1. Guns n' Roses' "Estranged" was number thirty something. That was one hell of a good song. At first I never really liked "Estranged," but now I do. Also, this next one's absolutely appalling to be listed, one of my most favorite fucking songs ever, the homage to strippers and baked goods, Warrant's "Cherry Pie." That was number two. I think most of the list was wrong. Either some songs didn't belong or they weren't high enough on the list. Warrant beat Winger. Fucking Winger. The Winger who took ballet and posed in Playgirl fully clothed. More clothed than when onstage. Talk about shithead. Number one, Europe's "The Final Countdown" was rightfully placed. God that song just fucking kills me. And I'm not going to complain about it anymore because I've got my mind on porn and water right now.

The worst thing about the list was, GWAR WASN'T ANYWHERE. I'M FUCKING SERIOUS, NO GWAR ON WORST METAL SONGS OF ALL TIME. I think I've just about lost faith in VH1 altogether, man.

But Gwar isn't metal. They're just shit.

I don't care if I spoiled the list for you since it hasn't officially premiered yet. Suck it up. I'll say whatever I want.

I ate all of the leftover pasta and my mom got pissed because she was really hungry. Ha ha.

Wow, Tesla really sucks. I have no idea why the fuck I bought their CD. What a waste. Hiring a nipple tweaker is more worth it than buying a Tesla CD.

Oh man, once I was watching Manhunt and one of the models during his photoshoot tweaked his nipple while he was posing before the picture was taken hahahahahaha what's the fucking point? I laughed my fucking ass off. Even if it was only a mere portion of a second. Do people deliberately touch them to check if their hard or soft? No wonder some folks pretend they're scratching their stomachs but in actuality they're trying to slowly move their hands up their chest just checking if their nipples are hard and pointy in case they get lucky. Which I highly doubt because retarded and desperate people like that are usually perverted and impotent.




Wednesday, November 24
Drinking milk gives me energy. And I wonder why cows don't have much energy at all. They walk around eating grass all day. Kind of like me, because I sit around smoking grass all day. Just kidding.

Damien is a very cool name, but every time I see it I think of the little fuck from South Park who has a mouth that looks like a mustache. Oh yeah, and he's the son of Satan too. And from reading Damien's journal entries, I'm guessing she's just like the devil when it comes to raising hell in the bedroom. I applaud you. It's nothing to be ashamed of, having such a skill. Wayne must be very, very lucky.

Haha, I wonder if he says "I'M NOT WORTHY! I'M NOT WORTHY!" pretty often.

Listening to "Don't Cry" is not helping me write this post that is not intended to be sad.

Let me have a sip of milk and take a breather for a second. Every girl needs to grow tall and save her pelvis from deteorating and turning into powdered baby formula. Oh man, how am I supposed to sit? But then again, I'd probably smash my bladder by then also. And my pancreas and whatnot. No Duff joke included.

I am very much thinking she resides in Canada, no? Oh man, Canada, Canada, Canada. I've visited that country about three times in my life. Each one very different than the other. First one I was the size of one of Axl Rose's flappy butt cheeks, yeah just one, and the second time, it was pouring like how his fat would pour if we were to ever melt it at 500 degrees over a spit. I was about nine or ten years old, pretty short back then, holding an umbrella and walking the crowded streets about around eleven o'clock at night. While hitting almost every adult that I walked by with the edge of the umbrella and pissing every single one off. I'm surprised none of them whacked me with the back of their hand onto the gutter and therefore wetting my ass. It would've been very easy anyway. Dumbasses.

There was one old man that I hit by accident, right above the chin, and if it had a blade on the end of it, he would've had three chins.

On our roadtrip from Quebec to Montreal, oh god. Five fucking hours of rain, rain, grass, fart smells, grass, and Marlboro.

Damien has a cat named Bowie. That would be cool if the little twat (just kidding) grows up to be just as hot as the real Bowie man himself. A good suggestion, puff the little dude's hair bright red. Now that is hot. I'd have ambitions for the little thing as it's growing up.





Valhallaskye. Every time I read her username, I think of that Tom Cruise movie, Vanilla Sky. Then I start to get hungry for a tub of french vanilla frosting, which I love to eat with a butter knife. Because spoons suck and some frosting still gets stuck on it. Unlike the nice smooth baby butt surface of a butter knife. No rough edges either, so I won't look like a fucking dumb cunt who doesn't know how to commit suicide correctly. Also known as emo kids.

I'm sad to say that I don't know her well enough, but she has commented on one of my earlier posts saying that she feels old and mature and that I am quite the contrary. I'm as mature as that little boy across your street that waits at his window every day waiting for you to walk into your bathrooom, strip down to your sleepwear and take a shower. Then eventually he brings all of his other little friends over and go like, "Hey, check out this chick across my street with these big honkers!" But, I don't have big honkers and hopefully I don't have little boys who don't know how to masturbate living across the street from me. And if they did know how to jack off, I bet their sperm would have "Christina" written all over them little buggers, if they ever jacked off to me in the shower. And hopefully Molly doesn't have little Ben Stillers living across the street from her either.

But even if those little boys didn't know how to jack off, I bet the sperm inside their nuts would be chanting my name over and over and over and waving those little tails more rapidly than dogs humping Paris Hilton's leg.

So she's a recent college graduate. I congratulate her. Very much, for making this far in life. Past all of her fellow peers' bullshit. But excuse me, I shouldn't be talking, for they may be totally different from mine. Which I highly doubt because this world is 95% Gwar fans and only a mere puny 5% Gwar haters. Or at least I hope those Gwar haters really hate Gwar, then I might have to change it to 96%, because they're fucking liars.





I made this for my dear Shaina, whom sadly her computer broke down from gonorrhea. She's an Orgy fanatic. Not only the one that involves more than two pairs of genitals, but the band.

OPTICON TIME





Fucking bored already. And the weekend just started three and a half fucking hours ago. I need a good laugh. And no, thinking about that "dingleberries" thing doesn't do enough. Every time I think about how fucked up Axl Rose is, I get more and more eager to see how Chinese Democracy is going to turn out. It's a greater mystery than the one if Geraldo Rivera really has a penis or not. I've been on a Guns n' Roses binge for the last few months and it's about time for a change. I think I'm starting to annoy people with my incessant bullshit about Pussyman.

Perhaps I should move on to Aerosmith. But the fact that they did a song for the fucking Rugrats, Rugrats, movie is keeping me away. It just totally ruined everything for me from then on.

I'm thinking about deleting my Myspace. It fucking sucks and there's no point in it. I sold myself out to "A place for friends," because I have no friends in the first place and it's pretty much the same cowshit that you already get from email, LiveJournal, and AIM. It's just a place to put all that shit together. No one comments on mine and I don't comment on theirs. Because I don't have anything to say and I've got as much willpower as a pothead with opium leaves shoved up their ass to go to their goddamn profile, and type some goddamn bullshit to satisfy their goddamn popularity sponge of a mind that they have. And added to that, people have been deleting me off of things other than Myspace, and I've just had enough of it. If I piss you off or something, at least let me know, so I can put you on my pussy list along with Vince Neil and Morris Knolls and a certain other flabby jack. Just kidding, I don't hold grudges like that.

I need to grow up. My head has been in the gutter for my entire life and I need to open up my eyes. And my mind, for that matter.

Nothing worth mentioning happened today, unless you give me something to talk about and I'll talk about it.




I want to go to the show in Dover on Saturday, but am deathly afraid to ask my mom. I haven't gone out since June. Yes, bring on the anger.

And you said you didn't have a life? Beat THAT. If I can't go on Saturday, the bar is just going to be raising even higher, bitches.

Half day today. But was still as bored as ever. People love to steal my Starburst. I'm sorry if I eat as much Starburst as Jim Morrison took LSD, but it's an addiction. Plus, I'm not allowed chocolate. If I were allowed chocolate, people would be stealing my chocolate instead.

I should start on these personalized entries. I feel like I've assigned myself homework.

Very exicted about dinner, the mother is making pasta and grilled chicken. If you complain about chicken and my carnivorous diet, beware of an entire post after dinner describing of my delectable feast.




Tuesday, November 23
This morning, before school started, I had to wait behind this dumb fuck who literally, really, smelled like urine who took fucking forever just to get a single goddamn item from the vending machine. He stunk that fucking horrible the smell drifted around and I smelled like piss for the rest of the day. Not as bad as him, but whenever I put my head down to look down or sleep, it really fucking annoyed me. I'm not being racist, but that boy was indian and you should get the idea of the odor. But seriously, he smelled like fucking urine. That salty yellow stuff full of pungent ammonia that comes out of your ass. Or a certain elongated piece of flesh if you are of the male sex. Goddammit, I had to wash every bit of my clothing and scrub the hell out of my two hundred year old lion mane of a head of hair I have. Come on you fucking shit, at least wear cologne to cover up your piss. Even gross shit like that smells a little better than urine, because they're both made from the same thing.

I watched Deliverance when I got home. That's right, Jon Voight, mustache-less Burt Reynolds, a skinny dude, and a fat dude being harassed by two part-toothed checker wearing hicks deep in the american wilderness and being told to squeal like a pig. But unfortunately, I found the movie right after that scene happened.

Last class, yesterday, in desktop publishing I was looking for a nice font for my current project that I was working on and stumbled upon one, out of the thousand or so, called "dingleberries." While the lights were off and the teacher was lecturing on some bullshit that I couldn't give a fuck about on the projector, I said "Dingleberries" out loud in the midst of all the quietness. And then Molly, who sits behind me is like, "Christina, did you just say dingleberries?" Oh man, I laughed my ass off. Every time I think about the word "dingleberries" from now on I start laughing. Because I'm such a perverted moron like that. Even when I was sudsing my hair with Dove Volumizing Shampoo in the shower and thought about that moment, I couldn't stop laughing. Call me crazy, but that indeed is what I am.

The history teacher bought us donuts, not munchkins, today. Thank Jimmy Page we had to come up in any random order, first come first serve, to get one. I got one with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles all fucking over it. Delicious, man.

I hate the fucking rule that you can't eat in the lobby. Only snacks are allowed. Perogies are a fucking snack. At least in mine and Mike's book.

There was an assembly only for freshmen and sophomores during last block in the auditorium. Four inmates came to speak to us about their stories. Shit the mother is calling for me to go to bed so I'll make this quick. No single fucking student really understood the motive for this program. They thought being stripsearched and getting pregnant at age fifteen was hilarious. And when one of the inmates said something that was very moving, very sincere, everyone clapped enormously. But I know that they don't know a single fucking thing what it really feels like. They take it as a joke, or just pure entertainment. Well I'll tell you this, fucker, it's not. Nobody gets it. No one has empathy anymore today. It's a real goddamn shame. They may be laughing now at other people's drug-induced downward spirals, but someday I'll be laughing at theirs, more than I already am just laughing at them for their stupidity.



Monday, November 22
Lots of people have been falling ill lately. And because of that I have decided to cheer you up. By naming the many terms that "puke" could possibly go by.

throw up
vomit
hurl
regurgitate
purge
backwards pooping
releasing your toxins
withdrawal of chemicals
licking axl fat
pulling a scott weiland
kermit the frogging
praying to the porcelain god

And in addition to that I bring you this.

Goodnight, and much love from the person who typed this.




Someone called me a whore in a passing car while walking home from school. This is starting to become a pattern. I think I should decide to pass my drivers' ed course then.

The report card came in the mail today. Not surprisingly I didn't do shit and passed every course of over-emphasized bullshit and in addition got on the merit roll. My mom said it was so-so but it's well fabulous enough for me. Alright, no one gives a fuck. Neither do I, so I'll shut the hell up. I mentioned it anyway because taking up space is one of my favorite hobbies besides dissing my beloved Axl the Bon Bon Rose.

Other than that, today was okay. They sold perogies at lunch and they tasted really damn fucking good. I hope they will keep selling them for a really long long goddamn time. This meal made my day.

I'm just not in the mood to say anything right now. And I know a lot of you are anxious for your own personal entries. Well send me some fucking food and I'll whip you up a book.




Sunday, November 21


One's hair gets this big after washing it for the first time in three days. Webcams are dumb, so not only do I look like a cross between a heroin addict and and the wicked witch of the west, I barely have any eyes. Like someone drilled them out with a Bob Vila advertised yellow powerdrill purchased in a holiday gift set along with twenty different sized drill bits for $40 from Sears. No, I don't like to bathe thoroughly on weekends, because I never go anywhere at all, nor do I go close enough to anyone to whiff up my dead skin cells who lives in this house along with me. Now that's what I call good reason to save on the water bill. But if I got a hot date or whatnot, beware, for I will take up to an hour in the porcelain tiled domain.



In reality I am really ugly, that is why pictures are not taken directly in front of the figure and always in an angle with a bunch of hair follicles covering more than half the damn thing. And why is it dark? That, my dears, I don't know.

And what was the point of all this? To fill up space, that's what it is. Someday I hope to set the record for longest journal entry in history, but my life is as exciting as your old grandmother comatose for thirty years from chain smoking lung cancer wearing a Dave Matthews t-shirt. I believe I have already set the record for most pointless journal entry, multiple times.

I have the interview of Axl Rose in 1990 where he talks about Izzy being punched by Vince Neil. He says that Vince hit Izzy "like a powderpuff." For some reason every time I think about that I laugh my ass off. Well not really laugh my ass off, but it amuses me very much.

Nobody likes Interpol. That's a real goddamn shame. When I ask someone if they like Interpol, they're like, "What?" Come on, the only time you ask "What?" about music is if someone had just said that Gwar was amazingly talented. Then you kick the person in the balls. If it's a girl then kick her in the crotch anyway. It still hurts.

So my mom says we're not doing anything for Thanksgiving weekend. Being that the house is not done in the remodelling process and well we don't have change to go out and do shit. Neither do I have friends. The depressing thing here is not the fact that we don't have money to go anywhere, it's the fact that no one wants to go out and do something with me. And if you do, well then I love you very much. The only good thing that's probably going to happen is that she's going to make her famous pasta. That shit is damn tasty. That's right you read it, a vietnamese woman who makes delicious italian food.

I really don't get italians. How the fuck do they make such good food? Wolfgang Puck, I'd bow down to you right now if I could. Well of course I could just get a picture of you, frame it, put it on a little table in my room surrounded by candles and worship you chanting pornographic hymns, but sadly enough I already do that to Jimmy Page. Or at least I think Wolfgang Puck is italian. If he isn't, then I would do that to the grandma in Everybody Loves Raymond.

It is extremely rare for me to like more than two songs from a female artist. And the only artist so far to fill that spot is Sheryl Crow, to be honest. At first I really fucking hated her, I don't know why, but listening to her self-titled, it's pretty damn good after all. Call me a pussy, but I don't care. At least I'll relate to Axl in a way. Who gives a fuck if it's negative.



Saturday, November 20
Can't sleep. Especially while listening to Every Time I Die. Fucking insane. Don't you dare fucking call them numetal. They are as much numetal as I am Gwar loving.

Oh man, I commented on Hal Sparks' blog at Myspace and he accepted it to be displayed for the entire perverted masturbational internet world to see.

Twelve o'clock midnight. And I feel like vaccuuming.





Complete, utter fucking waste of a day. Woke up, took a shit, went back to bed, watched TV, got out of bed, brushed teeth, ate soup, endured horrible intestinal agony, cleaned the goddamn house, sat in front of the computer for five hours, ate more soup, endured more intestinal agony, sat for three more hours, almost cried while watching Led Zeppelin at Live Aid on the computer, sat for two more hours in front of the computer, ate more soup, still enduring intestinal agony, and still fucking sitting here in front of the computer, again.

Listening to Van Halen's 1984 while dusting the house is damn fun.

Changed the Livejournal layout to an old one from a while ago.

Regarding the entries I said I would write about those who requested it, I will get to them when I feel like it. I can't write if I don't feel like it, because then it would sound like I'm trying too hard and when put in music form it looks like a Gwar song. One done so far, six more to go. I think, didn't count. I can't promise them to be done absolutely so fucking soon, so you better have some patience, and go take a walk and whistle.

Don't you hate it when you get snotty shit up your nose and whenever you breathe, your nose whistles? God, that is the most disgusting, annoying thing. And no matter how far you stick your finger up your nose and try to pick that shit out, you can't manage to find whatever's causing the whistling. Even worse, you ran out of tissues because all you do is dab the blood off of your popping acne-ridden face.

I got to utilize the use of the new kitchen today. Sexy countertops and Kohler brand sink!




Vince Neil / Motley Crue
What a fat lazy piece of shit. He has no charisma in the sack or on stage! After screwing thousands of chicks, he just doesn't put any effort into it anymore. If you hook up with Vince, you deserve a painful yeast infection. Not to mention he has the build of Cartman from South Park.

I couldn't have said it any better myself. That is, if I test drove this car.

Mick Mars / Motley Crue
The faces on money look younger than Mick! I've hardly ever gotten any reports on Mick and I think that is a good thing. The one story I heard is that he's average.

Talk about crusty!

C.C. DeVille / Poison
I knew a girl that use to go to his house up in the Hollywood Hills & said he liked to Jack Off with lotion 3-5 times a day when he was a Speed user! Nothing fancy on the size either. Must be all the bleach. Doesn't shut up either.

A guy who doesn't shut the fuck up and keeps his pants zipper zipped rather than the other way around. What a sucker. And that's not literally either.

Darrell Roberts / W.A.S.P.
Like most tall, skinny guys, he's above average and likes plenty of foreplay. However, be careful kissing him because if you catch a glimpse of his teeth you'll probably dry up like the Nevada desert.

Then what's the point of fucking this dude? Can't do it without a mouth. But then again, genitalia is more important overall in the end.

Kip Winger / Winger
The former ballet dancer & Alice Cooper bassist formed his solo band which was a favorite for millions of us girls until Beavis & Butthead came along. Known to have a very big dick.

Dammit, nothing to say about Mr. Flashdance the Hairy.



Friday, November 19
It's Friday night and I've got nothing to do. No one to spend it with. Well no one would like to spend any time with me at all so I'll just have to deal with that. If my folks and kin aren't doing anything next weekend, I think I'll go out. But like I said, probably no one wants to with me. So maybe I'll just end up hanging somewhere alone. And no, not by a noose.

Overall, this entire week sucked.

The teacher bought us munchkins again in history class. Again, I was one of the last people for the goddamn box to come to. Fucking assholes, they've already got enough whale blubber on themselves.

That reminds me, in first grade every child was assigned a seat in the cafeteria at lunch, and I sat across from this rather, let's say, fat, girl and her normal sized friend. Well somehow the three of us got into this talk about the cold weather and the fat girl started to complain about how she was always getting cold. Then I said something about her having a lot of fat, wouldn't that keep her warm? You should have seen the confused look on their faces. I was so glad to come home that day in one piece.

First block, french class. Oh god I seriously just could not take it today. I guess I was either really irritable this morning out of some weird surge of sudden loneliness and sadness of some sort. Probably induced by raging hormones that need to be cooled down or I really am a lonely dumb shit. So I pretended to go to the bathroom, and forgetting my money I couldn't go to buy food in the cafeteria. And so I just took a nice leisurely stroll around my beautiful home of higher New Jersey suburban education. And again I still laugh at the confused looks on people's faces in every single fucking classroom that I walk past.

I had to work on a dialogue with Diana and Karla. Maybe it's just Karla's natural habit and really didn't mean any harm, but she was totally ignoring me and having just the grand ol' time with Diana. All I ask for is at least some sort of compassion or acknowledgement of my being there, and having to work with them. I know I have similar habits, but at least I do acknowledge every other being in my presence, it's called respect, asshole. I haven't displayed this sort of similar behavior in a long time, for this horrible wave of a change of personality and sociability has overtaken me over the past year or so. That took away my once big mouth full of overwhelming obnoxious bullshit. Yes, I used to speak a lot. A lot of obnoxious bullshit. A lot of bossy bullshit. Just plain shit. This new quietness, sometimes I seriously just cannot help it at all. Maybe it's the person I'm talking to, I just can't open up to them, sometimes it takes me a year to. But now, for some reason I can't open up to anybody at all anymore. Even with the people that I used to blab on forever like a female unwrinkly genitaled Howard Stern. It's a good possibility that there will be more changes in my nature as I grow older, but right now it is hurting my relationships with my peers, or so I feel. It's just so fucking hard to say one single thing that's worth continuing a conversation, and it's that fucking hard. I don't get why.

My mom told me that when she was around my age and well into her twenties she had the same problem. She just couldn't talk. Of course I didn't tell her about my problem, for she still assumes that I have a big ass mouth and is as popular Michael Jackson in a leather black dress on an island inhabited by nothing but thousands of Gary Colemans. Then after she got married, she just all of a sudden out of nowhere started talking like a maniac. I swear, she could have a talk show that just talks about poo and lactose intolerant people and it would be a hit.

The rest of my day was just head on boredom. Eight hours in such an institution is an utter waste of my mind. In one single class alone I feel that I only learn useful tidbits and mouthfuls of information for only about twenty, fifteen, even ten minutes out of the entire hour and a half of classtime. The rest is stupid fucking bullshit that other students pour all over the teacher and expecting the teacher to spoon feed Lucky Charms into their worthless empty cereal bowls that they call their brains. Everyone, all the time, asks such dumb shit that it really makes me wonder if anyone left in this world has any common sense at all. A great example is drivers' ed. Please don't get me started. Because already I seem to be perturbing you enough with this entire satirical encyclopedia of crap of an entry. We only go to school and learn useful shit for a portion of the total alloted time. That really fucking sucks.

But then again, like someone told me last year, school is in a way a form of babysitting. Keeping you and your bullshit away from your parents so they could get that Doc Marten out of their ass for a couple of hours a weekday. And perhaps all the extra time that we're bored out of our stupid minds in school is to build patience in ourselves, and give our homes and kin more worth to come home to every day.

God, I write way too fucking much. Much more than what I speak in a day. That's what I call depressing. I pulled a John Paul Jones, man.





I only offered this to my LiveJournal friends, but now I will gladly write one for you if you'd like.

Leave a comment if you would like me to write an entire entry on you. It won't be just my opinions or what I truly think of you, but just general thoughts and pessimistic shithead sarcastic humor that I usually include in my daily posts. No worries, I don't hate anybody on my friends list so no need to fret about receiving a hard-on Christina's Mom-Like Bitch Broadcast.


*pulse pulse*

Greatest fucking thing, ever. It's an inside joke, dumbass. About a certain man with a certain volcano in his pants. That single mound of pulsating man lava is constantly sending every damn Richter scale on the eastern seaboard all the way back to Japan, even where male volcanos are miniscule, going crack-like. I bet if he and Mt. Saint Helens were to dual it out, he would win, jacking up an entire new continent while at it. Hell, maybe we'll have a new planet in our solar system. And if he were, the slightest ever chance, to read this right now, I'd have as much a chance of having him give me oral pleasure as Ponch from C.H.I.P.S. does. Unless the dude has some weird short chubby Crest toothpaste model fetish that the entire world doesn't know about. Alright, I'll stop there.

She used to scratch her ex-boyfriend's legs with her long toenails. I have no idea how that would be useful, being that I think one's groin gets itchy way more often than one's legs. But, everyone has their own unique scratching posts. However, this odd habit would be useful if that boyfriend ran track. Has anyone else noticed that after running outside in the cold weather makes your legs itch like hell afterwards? No, please do not assume that I purposefully run outside every morning at 6:00 to keep my buns in shape and unclog my heart's tunnels of love. It's from gym class, where they force you to pull a Forrest Gump and speedwalk your ass off until your heart explodes like a baked potato charged up Eric Cartman's elephant of an ass. Well anyway, if the ex-boyfriend ever was on the track team or some shit like that, and suddenly finds himself trying so fucking hard to scratch them hairy legs with those short, blunt, wiggly piggly fingers of his, could just call on Brittany from the sidelines, make her sit down on the ground in front of him, take her shoes off, and scratch away.

I haven't seen this person since about three days after the last day of school, of last year. Since I found out this year that she wasn't coming back, school just wasn't the same. No more of the amusing bullshit that we'd talk about. Even if we'd only been friends for a portion of my freshman year. But I live on.




Thursday, November 18
Aerosmith had some mighty sexy stuff back in the day.

Why the fuck is everybody sick? Has everyone decided to knock each other up and die of syphilis? Thanks a lot, for excluding Christina. Well actually I am kind of grateful. I mean, it's syphilis. A lot of fuckers have been absent, and school has been boring me even more. I shouldn't be talking, for I bet I bore everyone even more than when they're all alone in a panty knitting convention. Being that I talk as much as that lump of gofer turd in your backyard whom your dad is too disgusted to even clean off of the deck.

A friend made me smell two viles of lip gloss, each of the vanilla scent. She says one smells like grapes and is not vanilla. I wonder where she got that from. She's a very quirky person. Hence her last name Quirke.

I ate four bags of Doritos Cooler Ranch chips and a bag of peanut butter M&M's for lunch. It was good. I don't plan to live very long, so I couldn't really give a fuck about my diet. Call me crazy, for that indeed is what I am.

I hate my new seat in geometry class. It's right in the middle of the goddamn room, and the projector is right behind me, constantly shining its glaring tanning booth light onto the back of my black haired head. Whenever I arch my head up over my computer monitor to see the board, it covers part of the projector's image being that is displayed on the board, bringing tension from the rest of the class to me. Even worse, the teacher keeps a better vigil on me. That means more of calling on me to answer the fucking questions. Well today he didn't ask me anything difficult, he asked me to pick a two digit number, thank Jimmy Page. I don't think I have answered more than seven questions correctly in all of my classes total this year so far.

Finished the Swan Song mosaic in art class. It is so sexy you wouldn't care if you got black grout infection cuts on your genitals.



Wednesday, November 17
Oh man, I had so much crap to say while scrubbing my ass with a bar of Oil of Olay in the shower and now I forgot everything. For some reason, one comes up with a lot of ideas while bathing. It's like some meditative moment of the day where your thoughts roll out like shit out of Don Vito's diarrhea-ed ass. And to be honest, when I started making up stuff for my Izzy Stradlin community, it was all from thoughts in the shower. Christina needs a life.

Today sucked balls, man. Mainly because every fucking asshole at lunch pissed me off. For some shitful reason today, all the food was gone. By the time I got on the lunch line, there were no cheeseburgers. I cut through the french fry line and got kicked out. By the time I got to the vending machine it wouldn't accept any dollar bills. By the time I went to the then empty french fry line there were fucking none left. By the time I went back to the vending machine it did accept bills by then, but there was no fucking Starburst left. So I got a Butterfinger. I hate those. They're hard to bite and get stuck on the edges of your front teeth and you end up looking like a twenty six year old pedophile/incestual redneck shit who wears brown ass stained overalls and has pubes that are longer than Cher's hair. I have no idea why the fuck Bart and Homer Simpson did their commercials.

Then I get persecuted by some teacher for sitting on the floor around garbage that wasn't even mine while eating that shitty Butterfinger. I also had Fritos and Ritz Bitz S'mores Crackers. They both tasted stale. Stale like your uncle's balls. That's what happens when Fat Bon Bon Axl sneaks into your school at night and eats everything. Okay that was a bad joke, but whatever.

When there is lack of food, total food drought, none to be anywhere, and I'm starving like a little boy in Romania, I could just about pull a 100% geniune Axl.

I'm not gonna go through my entire day, because you just have to look up the history of Joseph Stalin to get a general idea of how it went. Plus, it would just irritate the hell out of you and your crystal clear corneas from being so educated about my useless crap.

But, one thing was worth mentioning.

While walking home in the parking lot and passing by these two boys, seniors they were, I think, who were sitting on the trunk of their car and upon me coming up, one compliments, "Nice shades." I didn't know them, but I haven't received a compliment in a long time so it made my day. One smiled at me and I smirked and kept on walking. Little things like that tend to make me feel good, because I'm a loser who has barely any friends and my closest to a best friend is a toaster named Mr. Toaster. It's such a typical and non-original name. That's even more dumb. I even have a clay head of some monster that I made in eigth grade named Boy George. He's hot.

When I got home I couldn't have a snack because the contractor was working in the kitchen. That made me sad. By the time dinner came around and the large plate full of roast pork was laid onto the coffee table that now serves as our dining table for the time being, I took my fork and ate right off of it, pretty much hogging the entire goddamn thing and indirectly keeping everyone's hands away from it. Then my mom yells with her lightning-like snap of a voice, "YOUR BOWL OF RICE IS FULL, STOP EATING!" That scared the shit out of me. I almost had a heart attack and felt like I was fifty years old and took Bayer every two hours before taking my Midol, my mother is that scary of a woman.

I guess all the shit I had to say that I thought up of in the shower came back to me.





I got a fucking toothache it hurts like fucking hell. I'd rather be in an S&M dungeon wearing nothing but breeches than this. Something's wrong, well besides my last statement, and I don't want to tell the mother for she will flip out and start making me brush my teeth with a floor buffer.




Tuesday, November 16


I found my hand like this when I got home. I walked out of the school through hordes of buttknockers and butthonkers. I got into a car with that. I tried out my mom's brand new bar stool that she just bought four hours ago with only her ever sitting on it with that. And whenever I waved my hand around, blood splattered onto the floor. I am sorry if I stained whatever the fuck it was, if anything, that I stained and I don't know about, but I would like to see your disgusted, angry face. So I could laugh. It caused more pain to you, because it didn't hurt me at all. SUCKER.

That would've been funny if I touched a hot guy's ass and he was wearing light pants. I don't think that would be possible, because hot guys in a dump place like HaRdCoRe Nj OmG! don't wear light pants. Only Scott Weiland. But he's not in New Jersey. Jon Bon Jovi, I don't know if he wore light pants. Probably did though.

I'm getting so many 60%'s in my classes it's almost not even funny anymore.

Yours Truly: "Lauren, if you kick so much ass, why are you doing homework?"
Lauren: "Shut up."

Lauren tried to make me sign a petition (that she started this morning in class) at lunch to get rid of our substitute chemisty teacher, claiming he fucking sucks and the whole class is going to fail. Like hell will I give a damn. The class would fail anyway if the "godly" real teacher who's on a goddamn maternity leave was teaching it anyway. Petitions never even work. But besides that, I think it's dumb. Yes, the guy does not teach very well and everyone says they can't understand a damn thing he teaches. Well it's not that fucking hard. All you have to do is study the book and notes, dumbass and you'll be just fucking fine. You can't depend entirely on the fuck who's teaching you. Have some responsibility, shithead. Not everything in life is going to be spoonfed in your shit smelling mouth with you wearing your Jay Jay the Jetplane pussy bib and the spoonfeeder smiling like a Pee Wee Herman crackfuck saying, "Heeeere comes the aeeeroooplaaaane!" There were only two signatures so far.

That was not a direct diss at Lauren, but to the rest of the moaning bitchers about the substitute chemistry teacher. I have respect for the man, and I can tell that he knows what he's doing most of the time, and does pretty well for only his second year of teaching. He just needs to simplify what he says, for chemistry is some pretty difficult bullshit. Everyone also complains that he never hears anything. Well he even admitted himself that he has bad hearing because he played guitar in a rock band in his younger days.



Monday, November 15
Today was crappy. Crappy was today. Nothing terrible happened, the overall mood in my mind was just outta whack. It was just dope, 'yo. The donut I had in the morning wasn't up to par. A non-Entemennan's donut not up to par, man.

I yawned a total of nine times in a time span of twenty minutes during first block.

In second block our presentation went horribly, but I couldn't give a fuck. One group made the whole class play a game. Splitting the class in half and each team standing on either side of the room, were the patriots and the british, facing face to face. Even worse, we were made to wear these shitty paper costumes. Like kindergarteners who poured steroids in their cereal for the next ten years. The patriots wore paper Acme bag vests with blue and red stars on them, while we brits wore white tissue (toilet) paper sashes across our torsos. To make it even more worse, we brits had to wear those phony wombat hats that are missing five sides, with a circle shaped piece of foil in the middle. They stood a foot and a half in the air. To make it totally humiliating, the teacher took pictures. For an instant I thought about storming my conceited ass out of the room. Therefore pulling an Axl. I've pulled many Axl's before, but that would've been my greatest.

Humiliating. Embarassing to all fucking Gwar-like hell. I took my hat off anyway even if the rest of the dork shit class was looking as pathetic as ever, having so much goddamn fun answering history questions and taking steps backwards and colliding their fart smelling asses into my direction. Never am I going to take an advanced class again. No matter how eligible I am to be the next Colin Powell.

He resigned today, I don't know why. He's my Bill Cosby of politics.

Drivers' ed was boring.

I ate a not so good bagel at lunch.

English class was boring.

And that was my day.




Sunday, November 14
Talk about boredom, I edited pictures and shit all afternoon in the basement on the father's computer. And in addition made a new layout with a crappily resized pixelated picture. I always end up making new layouts on Sundays, because they are that full of shit and bore me that fucking much. Everyone's at church on line to get into the confession booths after a seven day week of three spousal affairs and two child homicides. While I'm here flattening my nonexistant ass on this chair for a total of ten hours and not going to church after doing all of those things because Jimmy Page is my god and Mr. Toaster is my spouse.

Is my name Mrs. Christina Toaster? No, I kept my maiden name.

That was a fucking joke now go cry to your mom because you just found out that I'm not really married to a rusty human hand baking machine. Seriously, to you loons who married toasters, doesn't it hurt your genitals like hell?

Quiet Riot sucks. I'm glad Randy Rhoads left them to go with Ozzy.

Don't grow your toenails. No matter how pretty your feet are or how many times you make a four foot asian woman give you a manicure at a third class nail salon with a neon sign in the window, long toenails are disgusting. And when you try to get socks on they get stuck on a thread. Then you start to tear your sock apart if you have a bad temper, AXL, instead of pulling your nasty foot out and trying again.

Look, be proud of me. Otherwise, ridicule my amateurity. If that's even a word.



Shit man it smells like sandwiches who the fuck is holding out on me?




I thought I lost my best friend today. Since the kitchen started its remodelling process I haven't seen him since. Then I found him in the basement under the table.

Oh Mr. Toaster, oh how I love you! We make waffles and toast together, those moments are cherished forever and locked into my heart.

Nothing's been going on, except that I think the mother is angry because the daughter has not been cleaning. The daughter did not clean her mayonnaise stained shirt since last night either.

Last night I watched videos of Guns n' Roses, Led Zeppelin, and The Stones. This one clip of Elton John performing "Bohemian Rhapsody" at the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert and when Axl looking as pussy-like as ever, jumps out of nowhere, oh god he looks hilarious. Leather kilt, scraggly beard, football jersey with the bottom cut off exposing his growing pork fat love handles, and unproperly placed red bandana, Coco Chanel would have a seisure in her grave just feeling his feet thumping the ground up above.

I watched a John Cusack movie this morning, Pushing Tin or something. It fucking sucked. I'm ashamed of you, Lloyd Dobbler. But then again, Billy Bob Thornton was in it. When I heard that you see Billy Bob's nasty ass in Monster's Ball, it forever tainted my youthful mind. So whenever I think of Billy Bob Thornton from now on, I think of nasty old man hairy ass knocking up Halle Berry. The fact that Halle Berry is there doesn't help either, because I'm straight.

Thursday when Ilona called me, told me to call her back on Friday. I never did. Doesn't anybody hear me when I firmly say, "I never like the phone. It could run up to you and sit itself up in your musty ass for the next fifty years for all I care." When you want to talk to me, you call me. I never call you. The only time I ever call you is when you are the one who is responsible for my dinner.

I have about $6 now. I want to purchase Motley Crue's book, The Dirt. It costs about $11 dollars for the paperback version. I would much rather prefer the hardcover, which is around $28 or so. This is going to take two more months to earn. And if I continue at this rate, it'll take about a year to raise enough for the hardcover edition.

I'll complain about my financial deficit all I want, because none of you fucking care. You throw your money around on twenty dollar cheeseburgers only to end up eating half and throwing the rest away. And buying twelve CDs in one day of shopping and not even listening to all of them until two years later. Buying your Guns n' Roses t-shirts by the bulk along with your thirty Jim Morrison posters of the same goddamn picture. Well bitch, send some of that money over here for my walls, closet, shelves, and bookcase are empty.

So is my stomach. But I think Mr. Toaster is angry at me for not rescuing him from five nights alone in the darkness.



Saturday, November 13
I want a fucking sandwich right now. But there is no fucking toaster oven. Or chef.



#1 Least Metal Moment: Vince Neil Leading the Chicken Dance


Oh man, did I laugh when I first saw the list. And I do not apologize about ruining it for you if you haven't seen the program yet.

Went out with the mother and sibling for dinner today down at Plainfield. That was after going furniture shopping [at one store].




Friday, November 12
I think I might plan to go to the mall soon. No I am not a fucking mallcore dipshit, I need an Auntie Anne pretzel.

The flesh wound on my finger got infected or something. Seeming that the scab is green, added to the fact that my hands are really dry. Dry could either be flaky and white or flaky, white, and bloody.

Ilona called me last night. It had been a year since I last saw her. The reason she stopped calling about six months ago is beyond me. Some friend, not communicating with you at all for almost a year for no apparent reason, even if they have not moved to another part of hell in the States or to whore themself off legally somewhere in Amsterdam. She said she missed me, but obviously I could tell through her voice that it was not true. She also kept asking what was going on in my life. I kept saying nothing, not because that my parents were in hearing distance somewhere in the kitchen and living room, but I don't consider her to be worthy of getting into my personal affairs. Ilona is horrible at being a decent person, let alone friend, even worse than I, believe or not. When something bad happens she doesn't show a single wrinkle or frown of sympathy for the person it happened to, and is the most fucking lazy bastard I know. More than I, it's that fucking hard to believe. Lazy not in the sense of a pothead but lazy in the sense of a stupid snob.

But anyway, over the past year she's had at least two(?) boyfriends or flings or one-night stands, I don't know what. Possibly more anyway. All claiming to be cute. And I forgot why she even hooked up with such losers and then breaking up with them soon afterwards. Well I can guess the breaking up part - she never takes a single goddamn thing seriously and dates guys for the dumbest (maybe dumber than Gwar, but that's just way too dumb) reasons. I think she dated one guy just because she felt sorry that he had no friends.

Yup, you guessed it, she asked if I had any boyfriends yet. No I haven't. And to be honest I never did in my entire history of, nothing. I guess people seldom comment on my positive vanity, but I have shitty, horrible communication issues, and I think that's why I've never gotten anything. Yes, I do marvel over some impossible catches which are probably around forty or over years old by now (it's not cool to get old, Izzy) but I don't take those kind of things seriously. Being boycrazy just makes you feel worse and worse about yourself. Once you start to really look at it, no not a naked poster of Fabio's ass, you start to realize you can never ever bag let's say, Ashton Kutcher. (Yeah, shitty example but I don't know how else to dig into your miniscule dumbshit heads.) I congratulate you when you even reach to this point. And then well I don't want to get into this, you really make a zit-covered ass out of yourself and it's overall not appealing. To anyone.

But lately I realized I don't need a boyfriend right now, something totally the opposite of my latter years. The saying "In order to love another, you must first love yourself," is very true, I've learned. Girls just like to throw themselves around in pimpin' pussies' arms because they don't think they're good enough whores to impress everyone else (which is lack of confidence in oneself). They don't even devote themselves to their mates or even love them at that much and it's just an utter waste. Not a waste if you just want to get some ass and crabs, but that's something else that I'll discuss someday. Growing dependent on someone means you don't have the will in yourself to even take care of your own shitful self. And when you love yourself at last, I highly think that you will love someone else even way more than you ever possibly imagined that you could.





I made some icons in school because I didn't feel like working. Well I did feel like working. On icons. I know no one's going to use them but just in case you are a retard, just comment and tell me what you're taking so I get a general idea of what the fuck is going on in that icon loving section of your brain.

dur?

That last one sucked, my eyes were fucked up and got the resizing wrong. If you hadn't noticed by now, they're all of rockstars. Well I don't have a life, neither a good knowledge of doing much on Photoshop yet besides filtering and resizing, and this is as good as my icons will get for now.


I don't think I will ever read a tragedy again. I just finished The Great Gatsby at around 7:00, and maybe it's because I'm too emotional of a pussy and it saddened me about what happens to Gatsby, or that the book really does suck and I'm an even bigger loser of actually enjoying it. But I don't give a fuck about what you say, I'll read and enjoy whatever the hell I fucking want.

My hair looked absolutely horrible today.

I think I should stop using Victoria's Secret Skin Silkening Body Lotion and cutting my fingernails because then hopefully no one would want to high five me.

My computer is being a dumbfuck Gwar fan and the music files I downloaded cannot be played. This Beatles CD is highly annoying.

Dodo the Atheist Puppet? Now that's my messiah.



Thursday, November 11
Today was my first day of Drivers' Ed. It sucked. So many latino ball sacking bastards who wear so much cologne pungent enough to equal to nine pounds of cocaine. I'm surprised none of them hit on me yet, for they hit on every single thing with the slight bit of breast tissue. And I'm thankful for that, they're as ugly as a person from Gwar who just rubbed their face against Lionel Ritchie's ass. Our teacher, Mr. Bell, holy fucking god he is the spitting mirror image of the coach in Beavis and Butt-Head. Same hair, same body type, same clothes, same teeth, same voice, same dumbshittedness. I really wish I had a camera, so I could take his picture and compare the two fucks. Boy would that be funny. I bet if the dude looked at a life-size picture of the Beavis and Butt-Head coach, he'd be caressing his army pancake crew cut of a hair doo, saying, "Oh you sexy Mr. Bell, how I do astonish myself with my undeniable sex. I'd like to jingle your bell!"

Dinner was eaten on plastic plates and forks this evening. Because the kitchen remodelling just started. And being that all contractors like to fuck their tool benches up the ass and rub it in nice and hard, it's going to take a while and not the two days that we were told it would allot.

Man did I piss off a lot of educators this day.

French was boring.

History was boring. But we did go to the computer lab to work on well you know what the useless shit is, but I decided to get my Photoshop-made masterful works of art onto a floppy disc so I could get them onto my computer. And make then make a couple more pieces of crap. The teacher was looking over my shoulder as I was making a Lizard King icon. But she's cool so I didn't get penalized.

Never eat Necco Candy Wafers. I was given a pack and believe it or not, they taste worse than my boiling shit brown chinese herbal medicine I have to drink twice a day. Candy tasting worse than dog manueur.

I'd like to see Molly have a hissyfit someday. Or pull a Christina's mom. Pull a Christina's mom as in freak out like a menopausal fifty two year old who has twenty pairs of biege tinted stretchy mesh granny panties in her drawer. But then again, I'd like to see a lot of people blow their heads off. Literally too. Especially the french teacher. I don't know how she puts up with all my bullshit. Then again, I don't know how I put up with all my bullshit either.

My presentation on movies of the 1920s went overwhelmingly, surprisingly well. I was the only lazy fucker who copied a bullet list of facts off the internet and read them off the paper and made a crappy collage out of shitty computer printouts and two pieces of fading blue construction paper - In conclusion, I got extra credit.

Lauren called me afterschool. She told me why she'd been absent for the past two days but I forgot what it was. But I did remember her telling me about my ex-friend Ilona's party that I was not invited to. The party sucked anyway and I highly doubt, no guarantee, 100%, that there was no booze. She said that Ilona felt there was someone missing and it took her a long time to figure out it was me. Some friends I have. While Lauren was blabbing about some other stuff, I had to keep asking her over again what she said because the during the entire time I was trying to install this downloaded off of LimeWire Photoshop 6.0 or something onto my dad's computer. I' a shitty friend, I don't really listen to what you say unless it actually means something to me. I am aware that I am not better than anyone at all and it makes me even less better when I treat people like that. But it's a habit and I'm fucking horrible at dropping habits.

My computer is a fucking piece of shit. I can't install Photoshop onto it because some registry keys I think are missing from it so it can't open up zip files.

So I got to wear my new sexalicious shirt which I posted a picture of a while ago, today. Thank Vicki Sexy for selling shirts with shelf bras. Didn't have to wear a brassiere so my miniscule boobs got cold and breezy, but it's a refreshing feeling. The shirt is a sleazy piece of spandex, you have to feel sleazy in order to wear it.

Two nights ago I had a dream about Axl and he was getting so fucking pissed and menstrual it was goddamn spank your ass kill your lungs hilarious.




Wednesday, November 10
A quarter of my face is numb and puffy. Thanks a lot, dental healthcare. Thank Jimmy Page I only had to get two fillings actually. But when the dentist injected my gums with that numbing shit, god did it hurt like all fucking hell. Pain induced to make you feel no pain. Ah the irony. Not ironicism. At least my entire jaw wasn't as big and puffy as a whoopee cushion like a couple years ago when I had to get four teeth pulled - two on top and two on the bottom. I couldn't drink water, it would just leak through my lips. Man did I look retarded when I was trying to eat chips. Anyway, the numbness gradually spread to the rest of the left side of my face. When I felt my eyelid not blinking correctly I knew something was fucked up.

My other dentist didn't use the numbing needle shit. And that time the appointment took fucking forever.

I happen to not mind needles at all. As a matter of fact, whenever I bleed I never really give a fuck. The only bad thing is the excessive bleeding, and when there's no bandaids around I get really annoyed at constanty covering it with a tissue. Then I eventually end up getting my blood all over the place for mosquitoes to have their orgies in. I would make a wonderful heroin addict.

Holy fucking shit, Aerosmith has some really god awful shitty songs.

Today went peacefully. Nothing extravagant. Like always.

I listened to Thin Lizzy's Fighting five times in a row.

And fucking adore John Lennon's version of "Stand By Me."

Last night didn't give a flying fuck about how beat I was and ditched the sleeping. Because I had to watch Behind the Music: Guns n' Roses for probably the eighth time. Maybe I'm going through some really pathetic emotional phase, my hormones are way off balance reaching to Beijing, or either I'm pregnant by some asshole I don't remember. When they got to the part when Izzy left I got really sad. And so did when they talked about Stevie. Talk about emotional distress and shitfulness.

Oh I made some icons in desktop publishing with Photoshop instead of working on my reflection paper crap. Stupid fuck pieces of computers wouldn't let me put them into the floppy disc. Or maybe it's my floppy disc. But if it's the computers, then I'm really fucking pissed. I swear I'll get them to my computer somehow. Along with the entire Photoshop program.

What's the fucking point of a preface in the beginning of a book and the fucking dipshit tells you the fucking ending of the book?! The preface in The Great Gatsby states Gatsby's death. Fucking shit, I happen to really like Jay Gatsby. Probably because he relates to me a lot and I have a tender spot for him. Oh well I'm a fucking dork but whatever.

Yeah I'm boring myself. I've got to admit, these past few entries really sucked, I don't know what's wrong with me. Besides the fact that I never really liked the song "Estranged." Maybe this is the end of my period of great writing. Haha well that sucks for you! I can just see it now, me going, "I hate my life I want to die. Nothing happened today. Someone threw candy at me. I walked home really fucking pissed."

No proofreading again. I bored myself that badly.



Tuesday, November 9
My new sweater from La Redoute came in the mail today. It's sexy.

I am going to have to get three fillings tomorrow after school. That sucks balls.

Izzy Stradlin makes great music.

So does John Lennon.

I woke up today with nausea. I have no fucking idea why.

French class sucked. My seat was moved to the front corner next to the door. Maybe the teacher moved me there in case I flip out at her and after she yells at me to go to the office I can get out of the class faster.

History sucked too. We went to the library to look at books for the shitty project. My partners don't even like me, but oh well no one gives a fuck about them either. I just sat at one of the computers right after the network started working again to work on the layout here. I have to work on the text boxes and font and shit. That's pretty much everything besides the background, which Picturetrail fucked up. They resized it. No surprise.

Gym class was one of those beginning of the quarter things that you sit on the bleachers for ninety minutes to do nothing and get so bored you start to cry. I seriously would if I waited longer, but you don't have to wait for three hours. Three hours is my breaking point. If I have to wait three hours for anything, anywhere, I get so frustrated I start crying. Talk about pussy.

Lunch, there was nothing to eat so I ate peanut butter M&M's. Two bags, bitch.

At the beginning of eighth block, there was a dumb presentation especially for sophomores of the female sex to attend in the auditorium pertaining to our futures and career sources. I did not enjoy it at all. I wish I would've just hid in the bathroom the whole time, throwing wet balls of toilet paper at passersby outside the window. But today wasn't a good day, it was too breezy and ass cold to even look outside the goddamn shittily insulated windows. I've got so many opinions and crap to say about the all-females only presentation about our, or at least mine, nonexistant futures, but my intestines beg to differ.

With my lack of a decent meal in school, I came home to find an absolutely sensuous bag of beef jerky in the dining room. I almost orgasmed upon opening the bag and smelling the aroma of teriyaki sauce. One of the hardest things to do next to showing Dashboard Confessional how to smoke crack is to separate me from a beef jerky. Impossible, I say. My mom had to snap the words, "STOP EATING THEM ALL!" to my face for me to stop stuffing my face. There was also a case of pricey croissants for once. They tasted damn good.

I'm not even going to bother proofreading this entry. I'd rather experiment in necropheliacism.




It's not right to have such a song as "Mr. Brownstone" stuck in your head at this hour and be this fucking exhausted.


Watch out, he's coming to get you.




Monday, November 8
So I learned today that the magnetic lasso tool on Photoshop does not like me. As a matter of fact, it would like to asphyxiate my neck and tendons to an adorable shade of deep cerulean blue until my head falls off, leaving a rather beautiful stain on your floor. I tried stealing it from the school's computer onto a blank disc, but those fucktards didn't purchase computers that had recordable and rewritable drives. Then why the hell do they have Adaptec Easy CD Creator and Roxio? Next time I'll try a fucking floppy disc, which I highly doubt will fit the entire goddamn program onto the shitty piece of plastic anyway. No one would send Photoshop to me, because they know I would kick their ass at making awesome stuff.

Yeah right. They just like to piss me off until I scream, for no one has ever seen me erupt in a jurassic rage. Neither have I.

We did a boring lab in chemistry class. I just sat in front of the computer fixing and floofing my hair the whole time.

Desktop publishing, well I just told you about my best friend, Mr. Magnetic Lasso. But I did make a sign that said "DON'T DO QUACK!" with a swan, yes a swan, with a red ass, green backside, and yellow contact lens on it. I think it sucked, but the teacher laughed pretty damn loud when she saw it.

Lauren and Karla made me sit outside in the fucking cold, windy weather at lunch. I can tolerate any weather, except if it's wet, or windy. Those are the two factors that turn me off for outdoors.

Geometry sucked, the teacher actually kept calling on me for the answers to unrelevant questions to my demonic future as a homeless asshole, with me getting each one wrong. Well I can't do math, that's that. It's as hard as being as big as Roseanne trying to pick a thong out of her ass, and distorting that already natural peppery grimace on her face into even more of a bound to explode prune than one could possibly imagine.

I'm starting to fuck up my Swan Song mosaic again. Oh well, I'll just give it away to some dipshit who actually thinks it's a Monet.




Sunday, November 7
I never knew crackers were so fucking good. I was eating them by the whole, up to the point that my mouth got dry and couldn't chew or swallow and if I talked my face would be a fountain of bird food. I also made some peanut butter cracker sandwiches. Fucking delicious. Stupidly enough, I got carried away while spreading the peanut butter onto the crackers and started eating it plain. Stuffed too much into my mouth, until I couldn't open it even to talk or move my tongue. Talk about jackass.

Shit man, I got four major assignments due on Tuesday. One being forced to be pushed to tomorrow instead. Make a worksheet and a five fucking minute presentation all about the fucking Battle of Princeton. Battle my ass. I'm sitting here crying about my empty cup of water and stuffing crackers in my mouth typing this crap. Life couldn't get any better. Oh, do I hear someone asking why I can type so much here and nothing on my project? Well, I couldn't give a fuck. There's your answer.





So I just got out of the shower. I smell like Snuggle laundry detergent (that's right, Snuggle. the sky blue bottle with the bear hugging the blanket) and am wearing $22 drawstring sweat pants. That's pretty crazy, $22 for a pair of fucking sweat pants that I only wear at home. Beats me why my mom bought them. She claims that I never wear an entire set of house clothes and instead just mixing and matching random sweatshirts and carpet pants together to make some funky totally out of fashion hobo ensemble, and there are no separate sweat pants out there that are cheap in cost.

I've always disliked wearing drawstring pants. Especially when you forget to tie them and it feels like you got a penis dangling between your legs and you're walking around thinking, "Boy, do I feel manly all of a sudden." Just kidding. Actually I think, "What the hell keeps whacking my legs?" Of course I could just pull the string out, but then it would be like amputating my manhood. If you know what I mean.

Today we had macaroni for lunch. Then spent about two painful hours of raking leaves outside with my mum. I don't get how by the time I'm panting for breath and tired beyond tired, she's still raking and collecting leaves like a crackhead. And no, I don't weigh two hundred pounds and could barely move an inch without calling for a mechanic crane, I'm just useless cow shit is what it is. I used to love doing yardwork as a kid. Now I despise it. Possibly because of my obsessive compulsive disorder and the fact that I freak like a biatcha whenever I step on wet or moist grass. Even worse, our house being somewhat by the bottom of the street, all the leaves from the fucking neighbors' houses blow onto our yard. While theirs being green and leafless, ours is brown and leaf-ful. Me, also being afraid of every single bug and creepy crawly motherfucker that has ever to have walked the earth, am even nervous about walking in thick layers of fallen tree shit (leaves). Under those many layers of decaying foliage, who knows what the fuck could be crawling under there. Whether it be a slug, a spider, dog shit, or Lara Flynn Boyle, they all scare the shit out of me equally.

Limewire is starting to piss me off. Today, when opening it, it said my directory or some shit was invalid and they either deleted it or some other perturbing horse shit. So my files were lost. Lost in the program, but not lost in the computer. Thank Jimmy Page. I just started to download The Rolling Stones' Rock & Roll Circus the night before, and lost every fucking percentage that I had gained. Which was only around 16%, but the show is pretty damn long. I just started downloading it again, for the past five hours, and so far only have 6%. Talk about hypocrisy, Limewire claims it to be "The most advanced file sharing tool."




Saturday, November 6
God, I love Izzy's solo work. No, I did not get the CD yet, but Limewire instead. It still doesn't satisfy me 100%, because people are dumb enough not to own and therefore not share the files I want.

Thursday morning I had a dentist appointment. And yes, I did bathe the night before. But I did not dress so fashionably. It's the fucking dentist, who the fuck needs to? Everyone. A cute guy walked into the waiting room while I was waiting for my appointment. I should start dressing up for these occasions.

I told my dentist about my toothaches, and turns out I have to get three fillings. Fucking shit. He kept poking the painful spots with his pointy hook tool and saying, "Does it hurt here? Does it hurt here?" Talk about medieval torture. Not even being fucked up the ass by Billy Crystal could beat the kind of pain I endured on that early Thursday morning. It's the most fabulous way to start a nice long four day weekend. Then the dentist started cleaning my teeth with this thing, this piece of torturing shit, that kept screeching upon the enamel of my pearly whites. Screeching like like your fifty year old cat drunk dancing on a chalkboard plopped on the ground. My left eye was slammed shut, me wincing in pain. I bet this is what months and months of living on Starburst does to you.

Today didn't turn out as terrifying as I had expected. My mom went from a three thousand degrees on the Richter scale to a pussy two degrees on the Richter scale.

Woke up at 12:30, ate for an hour and a half while watching Beavis and Butt-head Do America. The meal included noodle soup, waffles, mayonnaise, crackers, and some more stuff. No bread because I ate it all a couple days before.

I was told that there will be no more groceries purchased for the rest of the week, until the remodelling of the kitchen is complete. That starts on Thursday. That's five or six days from now, I can't count. If your school or church or David Hasselhoff cult is having a Thanksgiving food drive, tell them to drive it on over here. The impoverished folks' stomachs are probably way too shrunken to eat all that food anyway.

Just cleaned the entire house. I'm starting to really love the new vaccuum cleaner. It's my new best friend in curing my obsessive compulsive disorder. It also solves everyone's problems. Break a two hundred dollar glass Mikasa vase? Vaccuum it up. Spill chip crumbs all over the place? Vaccuum it up. Ant farm fall over and break? Vaccuum it up. Got dandruff? Vaccuum it up. And if you like to watch animals suffer like I do, and have one of those vaccuum cleaners that don't have a bag and you can see all the shit in the clear plastic container, watch all the little bitches crawl through the porcelain bits and human skin flakes to eventually die so you can later feed it to your dog. No need to buy anymore dog food. Vaccuum cleaners save thousands of dollars every year, better than Geico saving 15% or more on your car insurance.

It is 5:13 PM, and my room is pitch black. Fuck you daylight savings time.




I am so unbelievably bored right now. I just read the clock as 12:52 AM which felt like two fucking hours ago. It is now 1:00 AM.

Found this old conversation somewhere in my files about this here picture.

over here because it's demoralizing my sanctity.

WhipItGOOD05: they look like mike tyson and and a chicken next to each other
WhipItGOOD05: the chicken isobviously better looking
appetiteforlies: ??
appetiteforlies: hahahaha
WhipItGOOD05: much better looking
WhipItGOOD05: much much better looking
appetiteforlies: you take your anaologies too farr




Friday, November 5
I am currently listening to "Every Morning." Yes, I happen to like that Sugar Ray song.

So I made a quick new layout here. I got tired of the old Nine Inch Nails Bleedthrough one. The new album's not going to even be called that anymore. And Mick Jagger is starting to turn me on in some ways.

I am seriously terrified for tomorrow. That bitch needs to take her Midol and cocaine.






Just because of her fucking menstruation and moodswings and bitching about shit out of nowhere that has absolutely nothing with shopping for apparel ruins everybody's fucking day. You know, it fucking demoralizes a kid when you beat their spirit down to a putrid orangey green pulp and then getting even more angry because your child sounds angry to you. She complains that I dress like a whore, lie like a Sammy Hagar, and is stupid as a Gwar fanatic. Well I'll tell you what, I'll be a Paris Hilton, say as much bullshit as a Vince Neil, and be as dumbshitted as the guy who urinates on donuts in the backroom with a security camera on the ceiling.

I told you she'd be on her period this weekend. Or maybe it's just her natural volatile pussy nature blessed from God.

She complains like a scratchy assed bitch that I talk in a monotonous dead tone like the supermodel Frederique Van Der Wal. And when I grow up I'll sound like a two hundred pound man who wears a handlebar mustache and pecs as flappy as your pancakes. Talking like Frederique Van Der Wal, that sounds pretty hot to me. I don't know what the fuck she is talking about then.

So I got nothing. I walked around hearing and watching everyone's bullshit for nothing.

Behold, feast on this horrifying Kodak masterpiece.





Thursday, November 4
The awesome UPS man in his big poopy brown truck delivered this shirt to our door today:



My mom originally bought it for herself from the Victoria's Secret Fantasy Holiday Edition catalog, but turns out that it was too big in certain areas and if it were tighter, would've showcased her veluptuous childbirth induced tummy and lovehandles. It ended up looking pretty good on me, so she handed it down to me. Inside I felt pretty bad, for it was feeding my spoiled personality. I'm surprised I told her that I felt bad about receiving it, but she said it was either return it and waste ten dollars in shipping fees or I keep it. So what the fuck do you think? Like I'd let go such a slutty piece of spandex. I was so unbelievably ecstatic inside. The shirt became my all-time favorite even before it was checked on the pink and white Marcal Brand toilet paper thin ordering sheet and mailed to the company.

Short entry. I'll now be counting your numerous comments.



Wednesday, November 3
It seems as though the longer I write my entries, the less comments I get. I love you too, guys.

Ah yes, I knew the elephants would win. Now I can laugh at all your sorry faces of misery and disgust and scorn and look down upon your shitty failed attempts at anarchy and rebellion. I am not saying this because I am a republican or a pessimistic democrat, but because I am a pessimistic bitch. Maybe The Sex Pistols will make a comeback.

While scrolling down my Livejournal friends page, I saw complaint after complaint after redundant complaint. Suck it up. You are not forty years old, running a family with a cheating spouse and four children with a station wagon in your suburban garage whose life is actually affected by what's going on in the White House. Move to Canada. Throw a temper tantrum. Bust your TV and later on regretting that you did it because you can't watch anymore porn. Be dumb, because I would much rather move to Mexico. Everyone needs lush vegetation. And I am not talking about celery.

I have a new found love of hating people. Or maybe it's just because people have been bitchy today, being that the majority of New Jersey is liberal and take everything so fucking seriously to the point of gaseous intestinal explosion. It is either that, or I really am that big of a loser. Everyone in my french class dislikes me. Everyone in my history class dislikes me. Everyone in my literature class dislikes me. Oh well, I couldn't even give a fuck, I'm not the one who panics about not doing my homework last night when it's due in three days. The only thing I like about B days is gym and lunch. Gym because it's not all sophomores, being that I fucking despise my own grade, and lunch because there aren't as many two cent whores as there are in A lunch. There still are anyway, just not as many to make my eyes burn from seeing too many buns out of their ovens.

Appetite for Destruction is great for days like this.

Holy fucking shit, I get another project. With randomnly chosen partners. One guy, whom we used to be pretty damn cool friends and this other loner guy who stays away from us on the other side of the room doing who knows what the fuck what, and it sure isn't masturbation. Not like in my case in which I like to eat breakfast sandwiches and donuts and spreading cream cheese on my bagels in the corner of the classroom and watch Guns n' Roses videos on the computer, but he's a nerd who I'm assuming doesn't do any of that whatsoever. The one guy who I was friends with, seemed really fucking pissed today. I'm not sure whether if it was at me, the other guy in our group, or the both of us. He gave me attitude and kept ignorantly and conceitedly ignoring me. What the fuck happened? I have no fucking idea, for if he doesn't like me anymore he could just shove a rusty Goya bean can up his ass and go cry to a real estate agent for all I care. And if he has nothing against me, well then that's just fabulous. I highly doubt that anyway.

I hate playing volleyball when the people on the other team are nothing but sophomores who, when the ball comes toward them, they flap at it like water and break their fingers or move to the side like a fucking Axl pussy and scream with their OMG's and shit. One certain whore got a ball spiked at her boob. That was funny. Whenever I spike the ball, for some reason it always hits a blonde on the head. How weird is that.

I had crispy M&M's for lunch. They were good. I also made a new friend today. I forgot her name though.

In english I had to sit alone dazed and confused listening to everyone's bullshit about car insurance and blonde-and-jock whoring going on around me. It's sad how many people don't know who sang "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)."

Remembering about The Sex Pistols reminds me of how big of a fan I was a while back. I did a presentation on them for music class in eigth grade and did pretty good. The teacher is one hell of an awesome mother fucker and had some pretty cool feedback on the presentation too. I miss that guy.

These days I don't know how I'm feeling about Lauren. She values me a lot as a friend, but I find her not to be the most honest or genuine person in the world. Sometimes I'm not even sure if she really does value me, or thinks that I look cool and if she's seen around with someone who looks cool then that will increase her popularity and "look." And sometimes I really do suck up to her to get something I want. Like box seats to a Velvet Revolver show. Then I start to act all good and friendly and shit. Then there are other times like now when I don't want to be around her for I can tell that she talks about certain things just to sound cool when they actually turn out sounding like wannabe bullshit. That's why she is not genuine. She's not honest because she denies a lot of things even if the truth is right there out in the open in front of you and she still won't admit it. Qualities like this irritate the fucking shit out of me.

I enjoy not walking home, for I don't have to put up with cutting slow walking people's shitfulness while hiking up the fucking hill and then just walking down again to get to my humble little wine colored house.

There's a box of chocolate chip cookies in my backpack and I must keep them away from my mother's sight. For my meds don't allow me to eat chocolate.

Sitting my ass down on the couch like every day after eight hours of lower education and inhumane torture towards my sanity, I ate three quarters of a muffin and gave the rest to my younger sibling to eat. Crumby plate and torn-up-by-a-fork muffin and all.

Plans for this weekend? I'll list some just for the sake of taking up space and wasting my shitufl time.


Thursday
1. wake up
2. watch four hours of tv while eating homemade sexalicious yummy sandwiches
3. clean a bit so the mother won't complain and bitch about my la-z boy sofa personality
4. sit in front of the compaq presario god i love "mr. brownstone" for about five hours typing up probably three entries equal of this length
5. bathe like a bitch, for i probably won't bathe tonight, because tomorrow i'm just going to stay home all day. no one's gonna smell my ass. no need to shower.
6. sit for another hour in front of this glowing screen that if you wave your fingers in front of, you suddenly have twenty of them
7. watch three hours of television in bed
8. sleep and pray for no more nightmares

Friday
1. all day shopping at jersey city with jeannie and company

Saturday
1. same thing as thursday
2. except that i must clean for thy mother will most likely be on her period again

Sunday
i have no fucking idea.


No comments? If anyone has even reached to this part, that is. I shouldn't be talking, for I've been an asshole and have not been reading anyone's entries at all, just skimming through the first sentence and if it needs some insight from me, I type some shit in so as no one will be angry at me for never commenting.

You just lucked out, for it's dinnertime and I have to go.



Tuesday, November 2
I have been so hungry, that even after a full dinner, I was drooling all over a croissant as I was chomping on it. I feel like I'm pregnant or something. Thank you menstruation, and your stages of bloating, moodiness, and unpredictable appetites.

Jeannie came over after school for a little bit to copy some stuff for school. She's devoted, unlike a certain loser who writes pathetic journal entries that are longer than her entire research papers.

Today went smoothly. I got to have a nice talk with Karla for once about stuff. Usually she's with Lauren at the metalshop, while I wander off somewhere being bored out of my ass. But Lauren isn't here today and Mr. Stead was somewhere I don't really care where. We never get to talk much being that we like to ditch people a lot therefore ditching each other. As a matter of fact, I ditched her during lunch but she found me again.

My mom is watching Good Eats in the living room. I can hear the annoying opening sequence song. But it's a kick ass show nonetheless.

I finished the entire Icarus character in my Swan Song mosaic. I'm actually thinking it's quite gorgeous right now. Maybe I won't give this piece away. But usually, more like always, I always give my art away, for I have no use of it and my mom is always complaining about how my works never make sense and I'd like to keep them away from her and her mindless bullshit. For example, I showed her the sketch of the moon lily. She said it looked like armpit hair. Yes, my hardworked sketch for the was-soon-to-be painting that I swear once it gets off of the fucking library's fucking window, will get to Shaina. Two years ago in eighth grade I made a statue of Homer Simpson running over a police car with a steamroller. It ended up in the school library too but I gave it to my other friend who happens to be named Christina also. I wonder where it is right now.

That's fucking retarded, the class is having a chinese food party sometime and we the students are going to have to pay for our food. Oh well, it's chinese food coming from a quality place and I'm the type of person who will do anything for food, so I will pay the ten or so dollars for a nice meal. Not me actually, my parents. I'm a loser like that who likes to talk people into paying for everything for me.

I'm a horrible sweet talker, but I whine and deny shit to get my way for the person to buy the shit for me.

Eric drove me home from school after stopping by Burger King for a bit. Thank God no fear of passing cars that honk and throw money at me. And the sake of the bottom of my pants getting anymore torn up from rubbing them with my sneakers against asphalt, dog shit, and ten week old foliage.

Yadda yadda yadda, oh yeah, the election. Haha Seinfeld moment there. I'm totally neutral on everything, whatever happens, happens for a reason. We don't know what's going to happen, so we don't know what our future leaders are going to do or have to do. Some acts they will have to pass even if it is against our beliefs. For example, the draft. Politics is just not my thing, if you know me well enough or have read enough of my shit, you know that I obviously hate authority and leadership and things of that sort. You guys can bitch all you want at me, whether it's about democrats or republicans or just dissing the hell out of the bullshit I say, I don't care. I'm willing to listen to all that you say but I won't give an opinion of whose side I'm on. The last time I was active in such events, sixth grade, I got such a horrible bashing. And I despise lectures. Despise them. Loathe them. Hate-them-almost-as-much-as-Gwar hate them. I don't know, I'm just the kind of ass who just likes to sit back and watch people squeal in pain and agony and laugh at them. Laugh at their phony lives and arguments over nothing. Observing what goes on and enjoying the psyche behind human nature.

I can't wait until all this hubbub and fights between old crusty balled men is over, so people can stop bothering me to vote, on television or not on television. Stop taking up my MacGyver time with your dumb promotion commercials on your favorite candidate. That's right, shut the fuck up Leonardo DiCaprio. Shut the fuck up Jennifer Aniston. I'd say shut the fuck up to Sinead O'Connor but apparently she got skin cancer on her head so she hasn't been in the public eye (or sun or bright lights for that matter). When the school had a mock election, I voted for Keith Richards. There, he is my favorite candidate.

My mom bought a duck, saying that if her favorite candidate, I'm not saying who for I don't want a fucking lecture from you, wins, she is going to cook us an absolutely decadent dinner for tomorrow. Like I said before, I'm the kind of loser who will do anything for food. So I want her candidate to win just so I can get a decent dinner. Yes, I am that big of an asshole.

Wow, that was probably the most bullshit I have ever written, besides this poem that I made up in ten seconds last night upon Elena's request:

Roll baby roll
Jim Morrison likes it hard
Roll baby roll
Gwar is a piece of tard

But hey, that's an asshole for ya!

Last night I showered in pain, for the water kept beating on my finger, whose a chunk of flesh got sliced off upon my dimwitted self hitting its hand on a drawer, trying to fix the position of a potpourri bowl that was placed in the wrong position.

"It often happens that I wake up at night and begin to think about a serious problem and decide I must tell the Pope about it. Then I wake up completely and remember that I am the Pope."

- Pope John XXIII



My favorite thing to do during my spare time is skinning my neighbors' pet pomeranians and trading their fur to crack dealers in Newark.




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Dirty Harry
Re-Animator
Denis Leary
Slaughterhouse-Five
Lucky Strikes
Voltaire
bacon
coffee that isn't Starbucks
all of Mike Patton's 9547658 musical projects

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If Sean Connery Didn't Have a Scottish Accent
buy me shit, asshole

10 Movies That Needed Kevin Bacon
50 Lemons
Arnold Schwarzenegger moments
Cockeyed
Contact me ASAP when you figure this out
Crack is Whack
David Lee Roth is a revolutionary vocalist
Dlisted
Don't Fear the Reaper
The Food, the Bad and the Ugly
Funfurde
Happyfood Gallery
I Think Satan Likes Your Mom
Iggy Pop and Joseph Goebbels
ilovebacon.com
IMDB Bottom 100
Insaniquarium
Institute of Official Cheer
Ipecac Recordings - Making People Sick Since 1999
Legal Weed
Lileks.com
List of torture methods and devices
Mike Patton Hates Wolfmother
Minazo the Seal
The Modern Day Book of Health and Hygiene
Mom jeans flatter no body
MONSTURD
Muffin Films
Mxyplyzyk
Planet Brenda
Pocky Gallery
Pookas do exist!
Shaina on the Braina
Buy a crate for $220e
The Imaginary World
The Sword











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