Thursday, February 17
You know what I'm sick of? Having hormones.

My mother already arranged for the doctor's appointment, of when I'll get the birth control prescribed. Yes, giggle giggle you go. I am too. Christina ain't gonna to be having no babies, nuh uh, not anytime soon. It's on March 8th, by the way. She says she doesn't give a fuck if I grow anymore between now and July 13th, because it probably will not be an inch or two. If a millimeter at all.

Ever since I had that "dirt cup" on Monday I've been craving for chocolate pudding all week. It's that fucking good. Dirt cups consist of vanilla pudding on the bottom, one layer of crushed oreo cookies, one layer of chocolate pudding, and a dob of whipped cream on top. And they cost sixty-five cents apiece I think. Oh well, at least it's good, despite the money ripoff. I think tomorrow I'll try to come in early just to stock up on packages of pudding. They're not selling dirt cups anymore, sadly. Because with dirt cups you don't have to peel the fucking plastic top off and I'm just not that kind of person who's so enthusiastic enough about a cup of liquid cocoa diarrhea to take my thumb and forefinger, slip the little edge of the foil between the, lift the foil off the top of the cup, and releasing germs into my fucking pudding. When dirt cups, on the other hand, have plenty of germs in them already, are in a nice fancy cup, come with more than one flavor of pudding, and plus, there's fucking cookies and Cool Whip in it. Fuck you, pudding companies, be creative and stick all that shit that I just mentioned into your pudding cups. And while you're at it, make tops that come off easier.

Not to mention that mens' clothing manufacturers should make tops that come off easier too.

Even more saddening is, I'm still not allowed to eat chocolate, according to my middle-aged female conceiver. But I eat a whole shitload of it in school anyway. It's just too good.

I think I did fairly well on my french test. We watched more of this pretty cute movie with some cute little boys in it after everyone was done taking the test. I still fucking hate that class though.

Yadda yadda yadda, the Soup Nazi invaded my writing sector of the mind.

So I'm starting to really get into Villa Incognito. It's pretty crazy. There's a lot of sexual innuendos. That's always a plus. Unless you make sexual innuendos like chinese, chinese, anime, then I suggest you go on birth control instead of me.

I'm fucking pissed that I saw a girl in my english class wearing my jacket. My fucking jacket. My fucking signature motorcycle jacket. First I see more and more people buying ripped jeans, and now someone fucking starts wearing the same leather jacket as mine. I don't think she really likes me anyway, and I wonder if she's purposely wearing that to "look cool" or to "piss Christina the stupid poser bitch off." She's real goddamn lucky it's cold today and I didn't wear mine to school. Or else, I could've pulled an Axl. It's a real bad fucking time to piss me off right now, because my monthly French Revolution is coming soon. And before my monthly bleedfest comes, I'm fucking Axl as Axl With a Velvet Revolver CD Up His Ass.

There was also a girl in my gym class who had a rip in her jeans in the shape of a heart. That's the saddest fucking thing I've ever seen next to people headbanging to Good Charlotte. It's very full of shit that people who buy, or attempt to make, at ripped jeans that have the tiniest, most crappiest holes or just the plain crappiest job at making holes. I think outrageous huge holes all over your ass and crotch are awesome. Not little shaving razor scratches. Come on, you scratch your fucking face or pubic area ending up with bigger gashes than that.


Christina N. @ 8:36 PM