I hope Lauren calls soon, hopefully tomorrow or someday this week so that we could go to the Short Hills mall. She wants to go to Tiffany's with her hundreds of dollars' worth of sweet sixteen gifts and I want to go to the fabulous little pastry shop there that sells little 5 inch x 5 inch cakes that cost $5 - $6 each. I'm one of those who don't have money or make any money; people give me money. This time no one gave me money so Short Hills is pretty much Beverly Hills according to me. It always was, always will be. But maybe this time it will inspire me to reach for the stars and work in a cubicle farm, growing paper documents and watering coffee mugs.
Today the family and I ate dinner at the International House of Pancakes (IHOP). Oxymoron, for morons like us. It was really fucking good because I was really fucking starving. But once I started to get full I realized that it was just mediocre dining. Although, the decor was much much of an improvement compared to Sizzler. God, Sizzler sucked. So did Ruby Tuesday. For a restaurant that's named after a Rolling Stones song, you would at least expect good food.
I think it was two days ago that I went to Marshall's and got a new shirt. It is quite the pretty thing. Unlike the 2002 facade showcase of Axl Rose at the VMA's.
There it is. As you can see, I am a photographer as great and studious as the likes of Herb Ritts. And I'm wearing orange shorts. Wrong pants, but I'm home and I could wear whatever the fuck I want. Whether it's a chicken suit or a pussy (Axl) suit, nobody cares.
Christina N. @ 11:43 PM
