Ten hottest celebrities. I was given oral by Tara.
01. DENIS LEARY
02. JAMES DEAN
03. DUFF MCKAGAN
04. SEBASTIAN BACH
05. DAVID BOWIE
06. SCOTT WEILAND
07. HEATHER LOCKLEAR
08. IZZY STRADLIN
09. JOHNNY KNOXVILLE
10. TRENT REZNOR
I tag these fumbling funky folks because they're the only ones who read this, and you anonymous readers don't count because I don't know who the fuck you are:
1. Brenda
2. Shaina
Christina N. @ 2:37 PM
I might be going through one of those dry phases again. And not the kind when your vagina dries out for no reason for a few weeks. Although quite a number of classic anecdotes from me have been in the making, I just can't get in the mood, free my fucking head and get it down. Like right now, I'm pretty much done.
Christina N. @ 1:25 PM
Look at my Audiocrapper right now.
If there is nothing there then you are too late. If there is nothing in the recent tracks you are too late. No David Cassidy for you.
Christina N. @ 2:23 AM
Tuesday, June 28
The doctor's appointment turned out much better than I thought it would. I was feeling a bit nauseous for the first time in my entire life from stress/fear. Usually after the whole thing is over my mom would yell the shit out of me for not speaking up about any problems that I had, and she screams like Al Pacino. Like the way he scolded Keanu in The Devil's Advocate. Scary shit, man.
There was no changing of clothes into paper towel robes or peeing cups or vagina inspections or anything. Just poking around with that funky hammer and a bunch of questions. And the doctor was hot hot hot.
On the way to the supermarket afterwards we passed by some large beautiful houses and my mom was teasing the sibling, "Do good in school and become a doctor, so you could someday buy one of those houses to live in and hire puerto rican girls to clean it for you." This woman needs to be taken under control and whipped until she's got anaconda-like scars on her back. Hey I've got to admit that I have a foul mouth like her too but I'm no racist. She was just kidding anyway.
Christina N. @ 4:34 PM
I guess it's time for one of those late late night entries. Nighttime is such a hatching place for ideas and thinking. Which sometimes I don't like because I start to feel guilty and regret shit that I have done.
You know what? Fuck this, I'm tired. And I'm scared to go to the doctor's tomorrow because my mom would start getting up my ass about reminding me to tell the doctor about all these weird loogies I've been coughing up and this odd tumor-like thing on my arm. The bullshit thing about doctors is that they're always on a rush and never really listen to what you have to say, no matter how serious you are about it. I don't care if my doctor is hot, he better get my shit fixed. As opposed to my last doctor who looked like Dick Cheney but was not a very understanding guy.
Even my mom thinks the new doctor is cute. How funny is that.
Man, the worst thing about check-ups is the vagina inspection part. But that's a childhood thing, I think I'm too old for that now.
The opening riff in "Thunderstruck" is fucking awesome. It just drives you into the goddamn song so powerfully (which fits perfectly with the song title) despite the horrible image of a shirtless Bon Scott. That man's nipples are too low on his chest and his teeth were too sparse at one point. The chest hair is like a bunch of pubes stuck to the chest by chicken grease. And his hair, it's like he stuck his head into a sink gargler thing in the drain. I forgot what it's called.
Christina N. @ 2:12 AM
Monday, June 27
My Audioscrobbler finally works. But it just stopped for some reason when I started listening to Denis Leary. Stupid fuckers, I swear they are drinking maple nut crunch flavored coffee over there.
This afternoon my mom and I were trying to chop this flower tree into smaller branches so that she could put them in a smaller vase. They were only about and inch or two in diameter and it took us twenty minutes to saw each of them off with our woman-strength. Then when one got to a point where it could be snapped off, once it came off my mom went off too - backwards. Once the branch flew away, she flew away too. Hey that's what happens when a five foot three inch forty-seven year old asian woman tries to pull a tree's arm off. It's not very nice but she did it anyway. Twice. Poor tree is probably plotting revenge for her, hoping to someday give her a million splinters in her ass so that she'd pluck off hundreds of threads whenever she sits up off of a chair.
And what about me? I was holding the giant planter down for my mom to saw. I only get a papercut. Kind of weird because I'm bigger than her and I get the sissy job. Maybe because I am a sissy.
I hate doctor's appointments. I have one tomorrow at one fucking thirty in the afternoon. I don't even wake up until twelve or 12:30 Even worse is, this means I have to go see this hot doctor right after I eat lunch. Right after I bloat my big fat ass up with lunch. What makes it even more bad is that I don't think my hot doctor even likes me, because the last time (also the first time) that I saw him I lied about my medical history and then he looked in my medical folder and found out that I went to a gastroentomologist for acid reflux disease the year before. I saw his face change into a bit of discontent and so it was really uncomfortable from then on.
Why did I lie? I don't know. But of course you already know, that I'm an asshole.
Christina N. @ 8:38 PM
It has been so unbelievably humid that as opposed to my ass sticking to the chair, there is just so much fucking sweat that I slide off easily now. I guess it's better, but my genitals feel as though they've turned into dripping chicken grease. What makes it worse is that everyone else in the house is either too far or too below my age range, and they don't sweat like a pig with intense sexual and physical hormones going on at the same time; So nobody feels quite as warm as I do to keep the air conditioners on. How horrible is that?
No one would fucking let me move either air conditioner to my room either, just because it's the smallest fucking bedroom (for the biggest fucking person in the house also, meaning my fucking self). My dad occupies the basement nowadays so he's got no problem. I hate fans because they blow either or all of these things into my face:
1. hair
2. papers
3. used tissues
4. my stink
5. dust
Last night I got offline early due to a strange headache that I had, the first one in ages. I have to say that I'm lucky to never get headaches, possibly because of my lack of stress and the fact that I push all sources of stress as far away as I can and find some other way to fix my problems. I just hate sitting around and worrying. My habit is to just say "Fuck that, man." But I think this headache was from something else, who the hell knows.
So I lay on my bed and watch Black Hawk Down to the wee(er) hours in the morning. I could just never get enough sick ass movies. It was still sick even if it was edited. When people constantly complain about how ugly they think Josh Hartnett is, it really gets on my nerves. I don't find him ugly at all, nor is he exactly the hottest guy on Earth, but at least give him the credit that he's not hideous. In my opinion, he's a good-looking man but not my type.
Watched Rescue Me. Again. This time it went by really fast. The first time I watched that episode, I was so absorbed into the moment that it felt like it lasted for an entire twenty-four hours. But then it just felt like fifteen minutes. It was still excellent anyway. I can't fucking keep my girl boner in for Tuesday's new episode.
Christina N. @ 2:01 PM
Saturday, June 25
You know what? I just lost everything that I was writing so I'll put everything in that horrible bullet form that everybody gets bored of while reading it.
No no fuck that I'll just skip to the main part.
Today before leaving for Monica's sweet sixteen I got to put on my new shirt from Victoria's Secret. It looks so goddamn fine that I just had to whore myself again. It's human nature to love your own ass, or the other way around where you want to kill your own ass. I should've never borrowed Jeannie's digital camera, because all I do is look at myself. I feel like Narcissus or Ricardo from Kept.
Tara Please-Take-Me-to-Your-Lair-a purchases my porn upon first day of release. Axl is a pussy.
I'll whip yo' ass, bitch.
(meaning my own)
I hate having to hold the camera because then I can't really pose like Cindy, raising her arms in the air and touching herself. If I asked somebody they'd think I'm an idiot, which I am because I do this kind of shit.
I couldn't decide on which one was better so I put both.
Christina N. @ 11:42 PM
Friday, June 24
It's funny just sitting in my room at night doing nothing and listening to the plucking/echo sound of bugs flying directly into the screened window thinking that it was open.
My grandma just walked into my room while I was reading and just picked up my guitar, telling me of back in the old country when she and her family would make guitar strings and sell them to people. She even knew how to play but nowadays she could only hold a guitar correctly but not know any chords.
Doesn't it suck to oversleep, especially when the next night you're supposed to stay up even later than before to watch Denis Leary on late night television? That fucking sucks balls, man. I'm fucking tired at ten o'clock in the evening. Most all-nighter party goers at this time haven't even had an erection yet.
Now I don't think anybody really cares about this but I took pictures of the house because it looks cool. It could also be a good reference for when I'm older and living in the only hut in Italy that has internet access.
The front door, my mom put together all flower arrangements that are forthcoming. Whenever I look at this picture, I think of that movie Backyard Sluts IXX.
What the fuck do you think this is? Sorry that the boss-man hasn't cut the grass yet. It makes the house drop down from full potential of looking cool.
The other half of the front of the house. We have a rather large driveway, which made for a much larger chance of me falling and scraping my ass as a child while roller skating or practicing to ride a bike, which I never did.
Our house looks very clean.
The fire hydrant doesn't. The single nozzle that it has is red, on the overall yellow of the hydrant and therefore looks like a boob. Too bad I didn't get a better shot. Walking out of the house with a camera sends my nosy neighbors straight to their windows to fill their nosy curiosity.
The back of the house, could also be called the ass of the house.
The left ass cheek.
Moe of the Three Stooges' shrunken head.
Inside of the garage is my mother's car. I could imagine myself washing it while wearing a string bikini for an amateur porno in the near future.
After waxing it (the car, not me), I decided to take a break with vanilla oreos and water on the quintessential lawn chair.
The creature Mommius uv christinius slumbers peacefully in its lair.
The shit chamber.
You could see me tripping backwards on the bathtub while trying to take this picture. That explains for the blurriness.
Dining room at night. The door goes to the garage.
I punched those holes in the wall myself.
Where many have severed off their fingers while chopping carrots.
The red sofa doesn't belong there but we had to bring it upstairs because it was decaying from mold as it was situated in the basement. The old white sofa was left in the yard to be thieved.
Fireplace where we throw babies into the embers for dodgeball practice.
Entry way with the mirrored wall on the left, along with another entrance to the kitchen.
Turning right is the hallway.There was probably somebody's ass mooning me in the room in the back.
'Twas the sibling's room where the granny currently occupies.
Make a right past the then-closed parents' room which the sibling was sleeping in instead and it's my realm of doom.
Christina N. @ 11:41 PM
We just hopped into the car and drove 300 meters down the street to Blockbuster. It takes less time to get to Blockbuster from our house than it does to put mayonnaise on your four-year-old sibling's sandwich. The even more depressing thing is, we like to yell out at our TV sets for not showing the things we want to watch. But anyway, I planned on renting This is Spinal Tap and Natural Born Killers. Spinal Tap they had, but all the good sensed fuckers rented every single copy of Natural Born Killers. And American History X was all gone too. I was heartbroken. No fix of Woody Harrelson fucking Juliette Lewis or any Edward Norton in the next week for me, nosiree. I think I could've gotten Full Metal Jacket, but my mother would've been furious with my taste for oozing guts and the slaughtering of our relatives.
I'm waiting for night to fall before watching Spinal Tap. Super loud. Super clean after showering. Super squeaky teeth from having been brushed, so that I could watch it all fucking night, over and over and fucking over continuously.
Denis Leary is going to be on Last Call with Carson Daly tonight, I am looking forward to that fix of sex on TV also. But not Carson, stupid toad stool whose head is too big for his body. He made a great mate for Tara Reid, being that her milk jugs are too big for her body. She should get into the dairy business where she'd be guaranteed to make billions as opposed to struggling with such failuristic movie roles; Whilst he should get into the Huntington Furniture Company: foot stool division. He could make molds of himself to be casted into stools and then sold to millions of stool-hungry homes in America. And maybe even the world.
Gloria, Monica's older sister, instant messaged me last night asking for about two song requests for Monica's sweet sixteen party tomorrow. I chose "Safety Dance" by Men Without Hats and "Let's Dance" by David Bowie. I didn't want to choose Motley Crue or any cherry pie, being that just about everybody there has the complete opposite taste in tunes as I do, so I chose some more, let's say, "christian-friendly" songs. Her parents are quite the strict traditional and there is this one girl who was invited that is an overt christian. Gloria knew about my opposition to such religious intent of this girl, this girl who includes god in just about everything she says - he makes this, he makes that, he makes people do this, he makes this go that way, without any common sense at all; She lacks practically any reasonable sense in my mind. Except that she is quite a nice, polite person but I could never talk to her for too long. I used to clash with her in freshman year all the time, when I would be talking to my friend at lunch and then she would come with her friends and therefore ruin the rest of my lunch period. But I'll try to not cause a raucous in arguing about these things, it's Monica's day after all, not Christina's Day to Put Some Sense Into Extreme Christians.
Gloria even told me to be on good behavior. How funny. As opposed to the other person mentioned, I admire Gloria because she has good common sense and is actually fair to everyone, which was why she asked me for some songs that I liked. Unlike me though, I'm a total assfuck.
Christina N. @ 3:45 PM
Thursday, June 23
I've been laughing so much lately. And at the dumbest things too. So many good times with Shaina. We like our coffee and english muffins that we can't even have.
A few days ago I received a large envelope in the mail. You know what the fucking return address was? Me. The envelope was mailed from me, to me. Uh no it fucking wasn't, I don't own large envelopes like that, I own little white envelopes that don't look like Keith Richards' butt skin. And if I did own large yellow envelopes, the fucking metal clasps would actually exist on them. The cheap fuck who sent me this envelope used tape, therefore when opening the envelope some of the paper peels off of itself. To prove that they were even more lame, the fucking thing was even used. There were all these foreign signatures of people I don't know written all over the back and some were crossed out. It was a unibomber-looking envelope that I received in the mail yesterday.
The look on my mom's face was the look when somebody showed her an ass that yields a mole the size of a pig foot. It was intense.
This cheap fuck was the school. Being the history buff that I am, despite all of the "stupid" classes I signed up for, I decided to test myself and take the highest history placement class. And to my dismay, my terrible, terrible dismay, it was a summer reading program that was mandatory if I wanted to be in the class. Fuck man, that takes off some of my masturbation time. Three books, five-page papers on each. Fifteen pages of plagiarism, here I come.
At first I was furious beyond any Axl Rose in front of a balding cameraman. I was planning on leisurely, in my own pace, read some other shit of my own interest throughout the summer. But I guess they want me to put a shard of ice up my ass and dump another huge burden back onto my shoulders. I felt that if I were to actually do this, I would have been giving into their system of preferred education. Busting my ass off as a free ticket to a class that I have no idea is quality to what degree. There's so much more to dispute, but I'd rather pee on myself in this leather chair and white pants right now.
Greatest fucking picture in existence. Next to a cock-shot belonging to Tommy Lee, Mr. Cockmaster Flex.
Christina N. @ 5:54 PM
I remember when way early during the wee hours of the morning of last year when I would listen to Stone Temple Pilots and it would be the most soothing feeling in the world. I guess I should start that habit again. They're not too rowdy to make me want to go shit on people's chests in the middle of the night like a crackin' g wanksta, or too sad, slow, or mellow for me to start regretting things and feeling guilty like when I think too deep or too much. It's this superbly satisfying calming sensation when I listen to Weiland's smooth voice. Now I really wish I would have more of their albums besides just some crummy MP3 files.
It's just all dark, silent and peaceful in the house right now. Nobody's awake. Not a single thing is moving. The window is open with the sounds of crickets and stupid bird food like that. This music is just too fucking beautiful.
I also haven't listened to them in such a long time either, which makes this experience all the more fucking better. This is why I never delete any songs from my computer, because who knows that one minute I'm fucking sick of something and the next I fucking worship it and desperately want it for some kind of therapy.
Ten hours and thirty-eight minutes that I have been logged online. I'm trying to beat my record of eighteen hours. Without cheating and sleeping through half of it. There's nothing better to do when you've got more than two months left of summer to go.
Christina N. @ 2:15 AM
One o'clock in the morning. I'm not tired, not tired at all. I don't think I should watch any Denis Leary right now because that would put me in a bad position. If you know what I mean.
I felt like such a redneck today, sitting on the deck on the quintessential lawn chair looking at trees and stuff while eating vanilla oreos and drinking water out of a plastic cup on a sweltering warm day. Wearing ugly shorts and a big t-shirt that I wiped my nasty face on and made brown marks on it, with sandals that are three sizes too big. Added to that, I was listening to Ted Nugent. He cracks me up with his "Nashville pussy" talk. I feel sorry for the neighbors though, being that the ones who live next door are very old and very traditional.
Had I been eating beef jerky and drinking Jack and wearing my aviators, I would've gotten it right on the ball.
My mother made me wax her car and vacuum the interior, so that was my break. It was hard work but that good ol' typical asian rice got me lots of carbs in my stomach and lots of energy to bust out.
The Victoria's Secret clothes that came in the mail today look quite damn good. Now Saturday must come because that is when I will actually go out, to Monica's sweet sixteen party. Full of folks that I am not really fond of anymore, but hey I get to wear my new material. Whenever one gets new clothing, one must wear it as soon as possible. It's a female (and a certain number of males) law.
Yesterday when riding in the car to the Rag Shop, there was this middle aged man in a convertible stopped by our car at the red light. He was booming his crappy bump-and-grind music really loud, we could hear it through our closed windows nice and clear. He had a bushy brown mustache and ugly, ugly crew cut-type hair doo. I didn't want to look, but from the corner of my eye I could tell he was checking me out. How horrid. I wanted to take a dump on his chest and punch him continually in the neck. And wax that caterpillar-like mustache off with lucite strips. Then maybe shoot acid at his balls with a super soaker.
It was funny nonetheless. I kept laughing inside and tried not to because then my mom would start getting nosy. She probably wouldn't want to talk about anything as provocative as that in front of her own mother which was in the car with us.
That's right, the younger sister, the mom, and the mom's mom were in the car to go to the Rag Shop. It was a shopping trip to various places to get various things. So we're not that cheap. Or that asian, to put it in other words. I have nothing better to do anyway.
My entries have really been less than par lately. I've just gone blank and cannot secrete anything from my mind to even make myself chuckle like a beaver. It is terribly sad.
Who agrees that Billy Corgan looks like that mummy custard on that old Disturbed album?
Christina N. @ 1:35 AM
Wednesday, June 22
I made this Audioscrobbler thing and it still isn't working. Shaina and I were afraid that Bon Jovi would show up on our lists and therefore making us look "un-hardxcore." It's cwoffee tawlk, I say.
Whenever I feel like writing, all I could do is bust out a few sentences and then I go suddenly dry. This sucks, man.
Christina N. @ 8:06 PM
I wonder why we have a VHS rewinder but no VCR? It's like it just died on us, literally. One day the clock on it started slowing down, then the clock stopped working altogether, showing nothing but two dashes. Then the VCR stops working completely; No little lights on or anything. And then one day the VCR disappears. This happened over the course of one year and the VCR has been missing for about five or so months.
Yesterday I went to a K-Mart that was closing down and being taken over by Sears and found this hideously cheap but hideously adorable purse on sale for five dollars. Even my grandma was threatening to take it if I didn't grab it from her hands.
Christina N. @ 5:34 PM
False:
True:
Christina N. @ 1:02 AM
So I was just watching the new season of Rescue Me. (dumb name in my opinion, but it's a fucking amazing show) And throughout the whole time that I was watching it and Denis Leary, I was thinking, "Damn, I'd definitely tap that alright." Goddamn, it's not even a fetish that I have for that guy. It is way beyond that. You know what? Fuck my age. Draw two little simple lines on the one and I'm automatically forty-five, then I could tap that ass legally. There was this one scene where Denis is sitting on the couch fucking his girlfriend and he was wearing the greatest little black undies. Holy god, that was a bigger turn-on than any repeat of "Welcome to the Jungle" ever.
Denis Leary is just so fucking irish I can't help but crack up at all the shit he drinks and all the people he beats up and how much crap he gives to everybody. If we were in some small island like Fiji or something, marrying wouldn't be a problem. And plus, nudity ain't a problem over there either.
Sometimes I feel awkward thinking about Denis Leary, because my dad's fucking name is Dennis. And I think that is too much for you and me both to handle.
I'm considering buying the first season on DVD for obvious reasons.
Christina N. @ 12:38 AM
Monday, June 20
So yesterday at the barbecue I asked Jeannie if I could borrow her digital camera. I have come to the conclusion that I am the shittiest photographer on this earth next to that guy who shot Jessica Simpson's new video. It is apparent that everybody doesn't use every single picture that they take and posts them. The ones that aren't here show how much I gained some skittles. I'll take pictures of crap to entertain myself later on. You must see how disgusting the trashcan in the bathroom is. But that's for another time, like I said.
I told you I suck. Those jeans don't fit quite right so sometimes they fold up and make me look like I have a penis. This takes place in the parents' room where my grandma currently occupies for the time being.
I'm guessing it's about 4 inches long.
More like 5.
Double the mint, double the pleasure. Eat Doublemint Gum!
There's a wall in my house that is completely covered in mirrors. Having put on a bit of flab, it goes directly to my legs making them look shorter, so I look shorter than I actually am. And my grandparents tend to hang towels in odd places. My mom likes to leave her shoes in the middle of the road and in the hallway.
My grandmother uses horrid looking blankets and sheets that don't match at all, whatsoever. However, I do like the marshmallow-shaped bedside lamps.
She left this scary looking heating pad on the bed.
Fucking ugly. Nobody pairs puke-tan with reddish-white flowers on a blanket. And I just got that Stones shirt on Friday.
This is what I look like when I'm about to masturbate.
Bigger lips would make a knarlier sneer. But unfortunately, I'm asian.
It is a gorgeous day oustide of my window but my mom didn't let me walk to Dunkin' Donuts. So therfore I am stuck inside. I never go out of the house except for school and to eat. Today was the last day, by the way. So I'll only go outside to eat from now until September. Had I not told you that this is what it looks like outside my window, you would've thought it was green mush that comes out of a vegetarian baby's ass.
I am telling you computer illiterates, do not buy this piece of shit.
Even though my milkshake isn't better than yours, my television set sure is.
And so are my leopard-print sheets.
Christina N. @ 4:50 PM
Sunday, June 19
If I had a dog, I would name it Canned Meat. I was watching Apocalypse Now last night and I forgot whether it was a cannon or their boat that had Canned Heat painted on it.
Later today we're going to Jeannie's for a barbecue or some kind of get-together, before my grandpa returns to California on Tuesday. I heard we're having lobster. How fucking awesome is that.
One o'clock in the morning they aired Jackass: The Movie on Comedy Central. I almost feel sorry for anyone who was awake (or even sleeping) at the time, for they would have heard me laughing my ass off and gasping for air. Had I been sitting up, it would have been one of those lean-back laughs, where the upper half of your head is practically severed from the bottom of your jaw from laughing so hard. But I was lying down and I felt like some kind of supernatural ghost thing with its mouth screaming and its radius a mile wide. With my head sinking down into my pillow and blankets like I'm drowning and dying in a sea of Gwar albums. That's how hard I was laughing. Or I may have looked like something popped down under and was just enjoying it so fucking much. Goddamn, I can never get enough Jackass.
It didn't end until three, so around two o'clock I was falling asleep for a few seconds during all the commercial breaks because they were so fucking boring and the movie kept me awake because it was so fucking funny. But then I discovered something. To keep me up for at least an hour more, all I had to do was get up and take a piss. I'm fucking serious, too. Get up, cold feet on the floor, turn the fucking bathroom light on and blind yourself, and the whole experience just knocks a lot of that sleep out of your head for a little while longer.
After taking a piss, I stayed up without dozing off for a second for the rest of the movie; commercials and all.
Christina N. @ 1:37 PM
Saturday, June 18
I was eating dinner in the living room watching Tom Cruise on Access Hollywood, and suddenly my mom comes in the room. She starts yelling all this hooplah on why my bowl was only a third eaten and the fact that I started a half hour ago. (that's because I piled a bunch of slabs of beef or something and was eating those all freehand without touching the rice really) And then lastly she gives me this funky look and walks up to the TV and points at Tom Cruise and says, "LIAR!"
She hates the man. Simply because he's a pedophile. I really don't know what to think about him, nor do I really care, because he's a fucking Hollywood A-list celebrity. But the interview was mainly about his beliefs and helping the unfortunate. Which I found to be really touching and sincere, from what it looked like. But then again, it could've been just him acting. He also happens to share my view on mind "fixing" prescription drugs, like anti-depressants and such. But I don't feel like getting into it because I've got this serious hankering for some ice cream and cannot waste three more large paragraphs just on that and setting the risk for crazy people getting up my ass.
I think the only things that make me keep watching Kept on VH1 is that Jerry Hall at some times, in her older age, is good gay eye candy, she was married to Mick Jagger, has connections to the Rolling Stones, and some of the guys are, well, you know. They're like lucite glue for my eyes to the television set. I particularly like Austen. Even if he does have an insanely huge mouth, he's the sweetest guy. Seth is pretty awesome too. His mouth is huge, but in the talking too much sense. He seems like those asshole type guys who talk shit about everyone, but I find him to be quite fun and plus, he seems very committed. Whatever, reality TV usually isn't my thing anyway. Nor is TV in general anymore, but this is just a sort of slight relief from the usual shit. Like American Idol or Who Wants to Marry My Dad? Fucking lame, I say.
Christina N. @ 8:27 PM
My lower sides hurt, and I don't know why. I think it's from holding my piss in for too long last night. I fucking hate it when I'm sleeping and I'm so comfortable, and then I get that feeling, half awake, telling me that I need to go take a piss. Which means I have to get up into the cold air of the night away from the warm covers, open the creakiest door of the house [which is my room], walk through the darkness that could yield who-knows-how-many house centipedes, blind my fucking self by turning the bathroom light on, and sitting for five minutes because there is a tank-full of piss in my bladder. Not fucking worth it, in my opinion.
This would be a good time to have a penis. Because I could just put a bucket in my room, sit up on my bed, and aim away. It's not even that much noise, anyway. I could put like a layer of paper towels or sponges or something on the bottom to muffle out the trickling sound. Pure genius, whoever made up penises. And then in the morning I would clean out the bucket. It's an easy job, as compared to cleaning poop out of a bucket.
Come on, give me a fucking kidney stone if you want. I would rather sleep comfortably.
Today I watched my Zeppelin DVD for the first time in so long. And I'll admit, while watching Jimmy's performance of "White Summer," I fucking cried. It was only one tear, but that's something. I started loving the damn bastard all over again. The thing that really annoyed me, was the extras in the first disc. They keep on playing the same two songs, "Dazed and Confused" and "Communication Breakdown," over and over, just in different places. I got so fucking irritated that I started looking through clothing catalogues and glancing up to look at the band's sex appeal, while trying not to listen to the music. Had I put it on mute, I wouldn't have known which sex-filled part was coming up. Damn right, I know my music and videos that well, fucker.
Christina N. @ 7:02 PM
Friday, June 17
Goddamn, I'm so angry. I spend an entire day eating good food and power-shopping, only to finally sit and relax to find out that after reviving for a short while, my favorite television show is being cancelled for good. After so many months of abhorrance of mainstream television and finally finding a light in the darkness of poo, they flick it off right before it could even shine. Does ABC not want us to laugh anymore? No wait, fuck that. America doesn't laugh. Even if the show airs on 8:30 on Friday nights, it's #82 on the charts. America is fucking dumb. And they watch old reruns of Fear Factor? Come on, a Phil Collins Christmas special is more exciting than that.
That's right, I'm talking about Complete Savages. I've never laughed so hard while watching TV since the old days of Friends. And I'm not talking about some giggle that flushes your face. I'm talking about lean-back South Park canadian split-head type of a laugh. I look like this when I watch Complete Savages:
And I'm told that I have a curly-end Jack Nicholson kind of smile so it's lots of teeth and lots of nasty-person curling. But usually you can't tell because there is so much hair in the way. You see the ends of his mouth sort of curling like the Joker who he rightfully portrayed in the Batman movie? Well me and Jack share that same trait.
Christina N. @ 10:30 PM
Thursday, June 16
I just realized, that my birthday is in less than a month away. And quite frankly, I don't really give a fuck. No sweet sixteen party for me. No friends, no cake, no booze. However, I think my parents are getting me a necklace and/or iPod or something like that, finally an iPod at last. That's good enough for me, there's nothing great about being sixteen having to think about work. No one would come to any party that I host anyway. I can't even keep a conversation going, let alone a fucking party.
And if anyone is the least bit kind enough, I would like these shirts. The first one in size large because it's a women's shirt and the others size small because they're men's shirts. Call me a bitch but my mother prohibits me from purchasing such clothing with such sayings on them myself. But if someone else got them for me, she can't do anything about it so therefore I could keep it.
This last one is just for kicks. I would sit in front of the mirror for hours every day, laughing my ass off at how ridiculous it is.
Christina N. @ 5:45 PM
