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.


Christina N. @ 9:14 PM