Sunday, January 16
My momma and I went shopping today, first to the Michael's arts and crafts store, and then to this crazy asian supermarket that I haven't been to in about a year. That place was fucking full of four foot tall asian people with grey hair. I felt like a kindergarten teacher. The dudes at the seafood section are cool, because they're spanish and when I'm talking to them we can stand face to face, not face to boob. The insane happy jolly chinese music that was playing in the shit-stained speakers overhead was so disturbing, you can't help but laugh your ass off if you don't know a single fucking thing in chinese. So my mom starts imitating it, having no idea what she was saying, and ending up sounding like a chicken getting head from a duck, square up there, nice and hard. Yeah, her impression of chinese singing was right on the ball. I wonder if the actual chinese people there noticed her Celine Dion-worthiness or not.

For what I used to take for granted as child, I'm starting to enjoy a lot. Food shopping is darn skippy fun. Especially in shitty places where everything is fucked up and boxes are ripped open; then paying becomes an option. That's my kind of store. See, being a skank doesn't pay off because skanks don't wear much clothing. Which means there's no coat to stuff chocolate and tampons into. No wonder they're all dumb shits.

Last night kicked ass. Awjita kicked ass. Bad Haircut kicked ass. The fact that my mom decided not to go kicked ass. She just cringed at the thought of watching such music. What was weird was that every few minutes a mosh pit would start, only to disemble as quickly as it had started. God I love watching them. They're so fucked up. Not to mention the people in them also. A certain pain in the ass named Heather Hodder (Yes, a name drop for once. I have nothing to hide, bitch) was there. I have no idea why she goes to these things, and wearing a sky blue t-shirt with fishnets on her arms? Please, the only person to date who can pull those things off is Trent Reznor.

The cute guy that I mentioned in a few entries ago was there. He talked to me, three times. He's hot. The whole time we were talking, I kept looking at his eyes and thinking, "My god, he's cute!" and couldn't resist grabbing him, but that wouldn't be very, sane. We were commenting on Ferris' makeshift kissing booth, and some guy, I forgot who, told that he should do one and it would do a hell of a lot fucking better. Which it really would. He starts talking about it himself, and even kidded that he'd get some dudes to come too, which I bet really would come. I should've said that I would pay for it also. But I didn't. I so fucked it up.

Ferris made a crappy kissing booth (as in a piece of notebook paper that was written in pencil: "Kissing Booth, $1") by the merchandise table. Not surprisingly, it failed miserably. It gave me chills just looking at that sadness of a lump. It was funny nonetheless.

Then after Bad Haircut finished their set, most of the crowd started leaving. No one cares about the next bands. Some friends and some folks that I don't know dragged me to go with them to Dunkin' Donuts down the street. We started off running down the street at 10:00 at night looking like asses, why, I don't know, and freezing our asses off in twenty degree weather too. January fucking sucks. All these rich people and their limos were looking at us through the windows in their carpeted fancy restaurants. They make me sick. And being that the windows were fucking huge, gave me the uncontrollable urge to display a full moon, but I really had to piss and who the fuck brings toilet paper with them? Carlton Banks does, but he likes Tom Jones. Tom Jones fans are from some other dimension that has yet to be discovered.

Just when we get there, Jeannie says we have five minutes left until my mom came at 10:30. It was sad to leave and try to find our way back down the street. Yes, it was straight down the street far away but I have direction issues. I wanted to get a shirt but by the time we got back everything, and everyone was gone. So we wait outside for our ride. Our ride was late. Again.

Got home and ate a baked potato slathered with so much butter that it turned into a grease pit, much like LL Cool J's armpits at MTV Unplugged. It was good, though. Then snuck onto the computer because I'm a fucking dork, it got disconnected soon afterward, so then it was sexual fantasy time, 1:00 in the morning.

There's going to be a half day tomorrow. Fuck you and your no day, don't go boasting about it. I don't want to pull an Axl on you. No one wants to pull an Axl. Not even Axl himself. Or maybe he does. Who knows.


Christina N. @ 6:59 PM