Wednesday, August 31
I hate this urge to write something, but there's nothing to write about. So I just sit here going back and forth between the same five websites checking for updates. It's fucking lame, like I've lost half of my brain cells; I lost the half that's supposed to come up with ideas but kept the other half that has the enthusiasm to waste more time.

My mom's at work (for only three days), so I've got some time to spare before I'm under her doomful control. She sleeps on a certain side of the bed in her room, the side that's facing the door, to see if there's any light shining out of the bottom of my door at night - which means I'm awake and watching TV or on the computer. Then she would go up to my door, knock once, loudly and obnoxiously, as a sign of telling me to sleep. My immediate reaction is to turn off whatever I'm doing (only to wait until signs of movement in the hallway are clear and she has gone to bed, I turn it back on). Usually I don't know that she's there so it scares the shit out of me and I jump. And if it's the wrong day, I get pretty fucking pissed off because for some reason at night I like to be online, and there's also much, much better television on, other than porn. We don't have that kind of cable. I think once when she knocked on my door on the wrong day, I almost cried because I was watching something important. Talk about a fucking spoiled piece of shit. Or maybe it's just because it's at night and that's when I'm acting all weird and my mind fucks with itself.

Yeah, having it's own little self orgy in my head. Rubbing its wrinklyness against itself. Like bubblegum being grinded between the two layers of teeth in somebody's mouth. Nice and gooey.






What a shitty couple. I laughed out loud when I first saw this. Laughed out loud, not "loled."




Whenever in the future somebody asks me what my favorite band is, I honestly would not know what to say. I used to be one of those types who go from extreme phase to phase, currently deeply obsessing over a certain band. I've gone from Nine Inch Nails to Nirvana to Led Zeppelin to Guns n' Roses, Skid Row, etc. etc. and a bunch of other shit that I've probably forgotten by now. And the only bands that I randomly refer back to are often Zeppelin, Bowie, and the Stones, only to after a day or two, go back to nothing. I used to say to someone, after asking them what their favorite band is and getting an answer of "I don't know, I can't decide" or something like that, I would say, "How could you not have a favorite band? There's so many out there, man" and scoff at them.

And that is exactly where I have to contradict myself at present. There are too many that I love. I can't listen to an entire band's resume all the way through for day after day on end for too long a period anymore, unless I have thoroughly cleared my mind of every stressor in the world, laid down, and genuinely just listen to their records in the dark. But then after that single night, I'd be like "Fuck, I'm fucking sick of this band." At this very moment, if you were to ask me what my favorite artist is, I'd be lingering between David Bowie and the Rolling Stones. I seriously, seriously, cannot decide. I'll just have to see further down the road if David Bowie and the Stones still always come back to me, then they probably might as well be my favorites after all.

It astonishes me at how much of a Ledhead I used to be. Oh Jesus Christ, I fucking lived and breathed Zeppelin almost. Playing their records all fucking day long, reading books about them, and while listening to their records all day long, I would look at pictures of the members online or anywhere. Especially Jimmy. My goodness, what a piece of ass I thought he was. I mean, yes he is, but right now I think he was too skinny and bony, which he was. Nothing to grab onto. He's fucking even skinnier than I am. That wouldn't work out.

Aaaand that's it. If you haven't already noticed, I'm going through a dryspell. My entries have very clearly sucked lately.




Today I went to school at 1:15 P.M. to switch from an AP history class to just an advanced history class and to fix some other kinks in my schedule. Of course I would waste away college credit like that, because that's what assholes do. I would've been kicked out anyway, from not doing the summer reading and the three papers that come with the assignment.

I looked like a fucking tourist who just got up from their hotel room and just ran outside screaming because there was a tazmanian vaccuum cleaner that went nuts when the cleaning lady came into my room - I was legs-unshaven, wearing light grey gym shorts and an XL white tiki flower designed t-shirt, with my hair tyed up, unwashed and uncombed since two days ago. It wasn't an actual day of school anyway, it starts next Tuesday. Thank goodness my stench wasn't as rank as it usually would after two days of above-85-degree wet weather when on one's time of the month. You would be pretty fucking goddamn lucky to have seen me today.

When I was going to open the door to leave the guidance office, my mom was standing out there about to open the same door herself to go in. She came to find out why I was taking so long; And I wasn't. I guess she doesn't know how scheduling goes. I only took about fifteen minutes anyway.

Last night's episode of Rescue Me, for some reason in my weird twisted head, thought the episode purely sucked. Except for the chick with the huge double tree stump-sized ass part. The preview for next week's episode, the one before the season finale, is scaring the shit out of me. People dying, kid's becoming cripples, what the fuck? And just think about the season finale itself. I'll be in tears for the entire first month of school, therefore insuring my reputation as a big fucking pussy for the rest of my junior year. To think that I get such a thrill from people dying and becoming cripples. No, not in this case. Not with this show. I don't know why.



Tuesday, August 30
I need to stop binging on Lays potato chips and Keebler chocolate chip cookies, the kind that has "Chocolate in every bite!" Oh man, today I discovered this one chip where the entire top of the cookie was entirely covered with chocolate chips. There were only the thinnest, slightest lines of dough, almost hair-thin, between the chocolate chips. It looked like my fucking face four years back when I had a major acne problem - the major kind of acne problem that accutane patients have. That cookie was amazing, just plain fucking amazing. I would've taken a picture but why waste the cookie's short time of freshness by setting up a fucking webcam? No fucking way. I'm eating that damn puppy. That cookie ain't got no mercy from me.

Had my mother come home and seen all the food that I had laying around the house, she would've popped one in my ass. I'm not fat, I haven't had a heart attack yet, my cholesterol is fine for the time being, I am A-OK. I'd rather live a short life full of good food and satisfaction rather than a short life of sadness and celery.

Last night I cooked up an idea. It was sort of an idea though. Since I'm free all week and I don't want to bother my uncle this weekend when he comes home, I'm trying to find someone to hang out with and lessen the boredom level. I'm going to bring a $100 bill with me and buy all the shit that I want with it. I'll get that The Job DVD, and some clothes and chocolate and Natural Born Killers and shit. The Kids in the Hall Season 1 will have to wait though.



Sunday, August 28
I know you're reading my blog Shaina, GET ONLINE.




I was guessing that my rag was coming soon, and that was what explained for my unnecessary shorter fuse. It was so terrible that I even started fearing myself for risk of getting in trouble when I really didn't mean to piss anyone or myself off that badly. I know I was furious at my mom, possibly more angry than I should've been, but had I not been having flaming hormones I probably would've been angry anyway; just not to that much of an extent.

My grand uncle wanted to go to New York and go shopping for us all, but apparently my mom stuck in with her pathetic "It's too wet outside, I'm too lazy. I'd rather stay home" bullshit. She always told me that she would always do what the guest wanted to do, but this time she put her foot up her own ass. But most likely she won't go because of me - I would start pointing shit out and saying that I wanted this and that. The thing about shutting me the fuck up is a can-do situation, but the part about boring the poor man and his son by locking them in a house on a dingy day such as this is something else. But as someone once said, "Life sucks, get a fucking helmet!" or "'Wah wah wah, my life didn't turn out the way I wanted it to.' Well join the fucking club!"

You could change anything you want, it's all in your hands. It's just that most people don't recognize that and instead turn into fucking emo pussies. I'd rather just deal with it and move the fuck on. I'm turning into a fucking old man right now but I think you folks get the idea.

Last night I watched reruns of Nip/Tuck and laughed at all the blurry buttsex that was going on. TV cancels The Job for a dude who pops pills at the rate that a lactose-intolerant shits, but they allow full on humping and boobs? Jesus Christ. I shouldn't be questioning the lord's ways, because I might find myself in the middle of a Gwar splooge-moshpit one morning.



Saturday, August 27
Yesterday morning I watched a movie where Denis Leary smashed a guy's face in with a toaster. It was quite funny and I laughed a few good calories off. I'd like to get the DVD just so I can watch that guy's face being branded with a bread cooker over and over and over until I get hungry for toast. Then after I'm done making the toast I'll sit down and watch it again.

Earlier today when I was taking a shit, I hear my grand uncle in the kitchen telling my mom that he and hsi son were going for a walk to Shop Rite and asked if me or the sibling wanted to go. My mom replied, "Nah, we like to stay home and hang around the house." What a load of bullshit. I don't like staying home for days on end. I know that, she knows that. This was also a good chance to bond and try to take down my rigid wall of silence. So I shit as fast I could, pulled my trousers on, washed my hands, and to my extreme disappointment, they'd left already. I told her how much I wanted to go, my dad overheard and called my uncle on his cellphone. I changed as fast as I could, and speedwalked down the street to see my grand uncle with his hand on his heart showing how good he felt that I wanted to come along.

So the three of us went to Shop Rite looking for a 1-Hour Photo place, but there wasn't one. Then to Dunkin' Donuts where I saw Eric Kane for the first time in ages working there so that was pretty damn cool. Walked home, here I am.

I'm not sure if my uncle, who's 23 and looks the same age as I am, has an english name. But I fucking swear that that his vietnamese name translates to the word "bottle." It's either I'm fucking dumb and heard it wrong, or there's another synonym for some other word. Or maybe it really does mean "bottle," but some kind of special bottle from ancient vietnamese folklore that I don't know about.



Friday, August 26
Who the fuck keeps turning my underwear inside out? So I finish taking a shower, put a pantyliner on the underwear, put the fucking underwear on, and then I realize that the tag is sticking out. Usually, I would be the asshole and turn it inside out when it's the right way because I thought it was inside out at first. But that only happened one time. Right now, when I don't catch my girl drawers being inside out and realizing that they are inside out once I've put them on already, I don't give a fuck anymore. I'm not getting laid anytime soon anyways, nobody's going to care.

Yesterday the family with my uncle and grand uncle all went on a little trip to Atlantic City for the day so the grand uncle could go see his friend. My folks rented a Chrysler van (one that's eleven years more current than ours) with a wonderful DVD player inside. My dad told me to bring DVD's along for the three hour car ride, so I quickly snatched my Zeppelin and Denis Leary ones and very caringly and lovingly placed them in my bag so that the cases wouldn't get dented or scratched or scuffed. Turns out that my parents bought their own shitload of CD's and [vietnamese karaoke to put me to sleep] DVD's, therefore throwing me into the shit pile in the corner. I'm not sure if the CD's and DVD's went into the same hole, but if they didn't, I doubted they would've let me watch anything anyway. All I wanted to do was watch Denis Leary with absolutely no fucking volume on (so that I, or rather he, wouldn't piss anybody off). I memorized practically the entirety of his monologues and could've just laughed to myself, to leave everyone looking at me like some fucking twat, but I know am already. Or I could've just put on my iPod and listened to the entire monologue by myself while watching it. Crazy, I know, it's just that nobody else admits to their own oddities as freely.

My grand uncle's friend lives in this pleasant neighborhood a five minute walk away from the Boardwalk (also nearby Ventnor, if you get my drift) in this large house with a large balcony. And thank goodness for me, his house was clean. Lots of junk food, lots of television channels, lots of good internet, and lots of good noodle soup. Surprisingly, the guy was a good cook. Usually I despise eating other people's cooking because

1. the dishware and silverware (if the [asian] person even has any. if not, then it's plasticware) is dirty
2. the food looks like shit
3. the food tastes like shit

Number three is usually already known before tasting because you could just tell by the look of the food. It's not like a sloppy joe where it's supposed to look like shit but tastes pretty decent, but usually if a dish is supposed to look neat but a person makes it and it looks like a dog rubbed his ass on the plate, then you should rightfully assume that the food tastes like the inside of that dog's ass.

And by the way, I have never tried a sloppy joe because, well, they really do literally look the stuff that comes out of your ass after eating clams.

The guy had tons of homemade M&M's cookies (my favorite, man) and chocolate and candy and Doritos and peanut butter crackers. But it wasn't until about three hours after I arrived at the house and didn't move from my seat for the three hours before my mom called me to eat noodle soup that the guy told me he had all of that food. The reason I didn't do anything for three hours straight was because I was afraid other places in the house were dirty (which they indeed were), and there was nothing to do. The folks took the television for a while. The fucking sibling took over the Optimum Online-christened computer for a good two hours before lunch and after lunch took over the TV, which had fucking satellite. Come fucking on, no VH1 Classic nor any possible Denis Leary movies nor anything that we didn't already get with basic cable. I don't need to tell you what she was watching but I will anyway to make you feel even more sorry for me - Nickelodeon.

I really don't know what to do with myself when I'm stuck at home, never with anything to watch during the day. Watching the same DVD's over and over gets just a teeny bit boring, doesn't it? And since the VCR disappeared from me, I can't even watch the multitude of shit that I've recorded on VHS the past few years. Not even the South Park movie that is still in 95% mint condition. It's either beg my folks to get TiVO or buy me The Job - The Complete Series to keep me from complaining.

While my uncle was channel surfing, he passed by the BBC channel. There was this 70-lb. part bodily organ and 200-lb. part cellulite naked woman, flapping her hands (and other things), and the dude, after switching to another channel, was like, "What was that?" I know exactly what it was. It was a british person. What's with these brits and fat naked people on network television? Yes, I know in Europe some things that are found to be illegal here are legal over there, but to waste that precious right on fat people? No wonder there are still people emigrating to the States.

So after about 5:30 in the afternoon we all stroll down the beach. And goddamn, it was absolutely gorgeous. Sun is about to set in an hour or two, temperature is 77 degrees, nothing but whispy snot-thin clouds in the blue sky. Goddamn, the water felt so soothing on my feet. I stood around, the salt got rid of any excess skin flakes or bunions or lurking ticks between and around my toes. Then we found a pregnant crab in the wet sand and started bothering it. The orange thing (supposedly the most tasty part when you eat it soft-shelled) looked like a fucking tumor on its crab vagina. I wanted to laugh when my grand uncle turned it over and exposed the oversized citrus pussy, but I didn't.

Then to me and my mom's surprise, after just about an hour of hanging out on the shore and Boardwalk, somebody decides to go back to the friend's house and eat more soup. We wanted to go further by the casinos and games and wreak havoc. You know, what normal folk come to Atlantic City for. So everyone walked back, the adults talked on the balcony, I ate more cookies, bada bing bada boom, go home.



Wednesday, August 24
For some reason I really believe that Tom Petty could have been one of the children on Little House on the Prairie, had it aired around the time of his childhood. He's just got that homey, blondey, countrey look. He's also got amazing mutton chops. Whenever I think of mutton chops, I think of Lambchop. But to my dismay, Lambchop doesn't have mutton chops. Then again, I can't really tell, because Lambchop's hair goes around his whole head, and then makes this odd slant toward his chin. Or is Lambchop a girl? A girl with a lot of testosterone?




Great Mutton Chops of the World




Robert Plant
Robert has had his fair share of lots of hair. Along with his fluffy blonde mane, he's also had a medieval beard and mustache duo, and this cheek fuzz. Right now I can't remember any other styles of facial hair that he has done to himself.



Lemmy Kilmister
The exact term of "mutton chops" is unclear to me, but right now it is lingering between "Extended sideburns" or "Full beard that starts from both sides of the head but don't reach the chin area." If I'm right, Lemmy has himself a mighty fine mutton face.



Look at that fuzz! It's like a virus eating his face! (Along with the warts.)



Elvis "The Pelvis" Presley
No facial hair list is complete without the King of Rock n' Roll himself. Looking mighty fine right here. I'm guessing he's performing in Hawaii.



Looking mighty Phil Margera-like here.



Denis Leary
Believe it or not, this sissy-'70s-Barry-Gibb-and-The-BeeGees hater once had quite a fine set of mutton chops



during his Caesar era to make up for the lack of hair on top of his head.



Lambchop
Done contemplating whether Lambchop has mutton chops or not? Mutton chops or not, he/she has some kind of chop alright.



Tom Petty
Time for my most favorite pair of facial sheep legs ever. I can't really tell what kind of look he has on his face, but he must surely be happy about his very impressive mutton chops.



They are so impressive that they change color!



Tuesday, August 23
I really don't get ABC. That network has seriously got to be filled with dipshits too sissy to try crack so they snort Lysol bathroom cleaner. They keep airing great new shows and no matter how great they are, they're cancelled within the close of one season. I was so furious when they cancelled Complete Savages, and today while at the mall I almost got The Job - The Complete Series, but my mom was being a fucking moron. Typical of a fucking sixteen year old to say, but I actually have a logical reason to say. My visiting grand uncle from Seattle strictly said he wanted to get it for me. It's like a grandfather wanting to get his grandchild a toy that they adored to no end. He's sort of like my grandpa, a replacement for the one who disappeared. But while I was holding the box my mom turns me around to the side and secretly says to me, "Get something under $30, don't waste his money." The thing cost $50.

This may sound pretentious, but I think it was certainly not. I could go on and be sappy sappy about how this man cares about me, being just recently when he came to visit us after ten years of separation, he's found out that this person who was once a five year old who didn't know a single piece of shit from a cow's green piece of shit, that we had so much in common. That's just barely a description. You could just imagine how much he loves his grandniece. And with my mom's bullshit of putting on this completely fake face and tone of voice when talking to him, thinking he's too old to do anything, or too poor to buy himself fast food, is extremely disrespectful to my grand uncle. She's making him look like a total fucking idiot by telling false facts about her children and even her own husband. I can't even stand to look her in the fucking face anymore, it is disgusting. Even if the uncle is in another room, all of a sudden now she's talking to me nicely. Come on you fucking pussy, show your real colors. That's what the man really wants to see. He loves being unique and people who are unique, and this thing with my mother making me be quiet all hours of the day makes steam blow out of my ears. It's like compressing something that has potential within a tiny box, and squeezing it and squeezing it tighter and tighter, compressing all of its potential until it eventually dissipates into nothing at all.

Of course it's only polite to be nicer and respectful when a guest is around, but it's downright absolutely disrespectful when you are totally different from your real, individual self - putting on a new '50s wife-type smiley face, telling false ("politely" negative) facts about her household, and treating him like some 90-year-old in diapers and a wheel chair. She's faking it so horribly that I find it so ridiculous. When she talks about herself it's all good and perfect, no flaws.

Being that I am the child, and along with her looming belief that parents come first no matter what (even before moral and logical reason) and violating that belief I would get severely punished when the uncle leaves, I shut the fucking yap and just scoff at her when in private. What a fucking moron. Just watch me explode, just watch. When I'm seventeen years old, discussing my future with my mom, I'll explode. Just combust in anger. And then a million little red peppers will be raining from the sky over my blasted body. Like that dude whose head blew off in the Judas Priest video for "You Got Another Thing Comin'".

So back to the box set. It is on the borderline of wanting too much, but he strictly said to her before we went that he wanted to buy his grand nieces anything in the world. He told me he wanted to buy me the whole store, just so the reader could get a taste of how big his heart is. For my mother to reject (behind his fucking back) his offers, after how much he said he would do, is saying that

a) she thinks he is just doing it be nice
b) she thinks he is just a nice little old man
c) she thinks he's poor
d) she thinks his money isn't good enough
e) she thinks i'm being a brat
f) she doesn't like denis leary

I could object with selection (e) because he desperately wanted to buy something for me and see my eyes light up and be happy (even though I am already overjoyed of what I've learned about him). But to reject such a sincere and heart-felt offer is very disrespectful. It's like saying you don't love them in a way/rejecting their welcoming into their own loving. I felt like such a fool when we all were walking out of the video store empty-handed and he asked me, "Aren't you getting that thing?", and I just say, "I changed my mind." Just like that. Just like a fucking idiot. Just like a seven year old who forgot everything. I felt such a blow inside, and hopefully the same thing wasn't going on inside of him either. But it saddens me that it most likely did.

He is definitely not a little old man either. A refugee(?) during the Vietnam War, he's become an author, artist, teacher, and journalist in Seattle right now. He's big on culture and buddhism. Thinking he's a little helpless, stupid, old man is just plain revolting in my eyes.

Because of my mom and her being blind, we left the shopping center at 2 fucking 45 in the afternoon. I'm usually not even done eating lunch by then.

He wanted to get me a leather jacket because I kept looking over at them in every store window, but she flapped her mouth on and on about how crappy she thinks the leather is and how I have one already. Yeah, one that is too short and can't be worn in winter. Time for the pretentious part that not a single person lives without; the four things that I love are food, leather, rock n' roll and Denis Leary. I don't need anything else. She violated every single element in just a matter of three hours, implying that I'm old fashioned and stuck in my own little world. Well, if I didn't have my own interests and my "own little world" I would be just like that mask that you have on right now.



Sunday, August 21
Just some random pictures from July and Florida uploaded by Jeannie's camera because I'm like Regis Philbin with cameras and cellphones. He claims he doesn't need them so he doesn't own them, and just bothers other people to use theirs'. They're quite large being that they're not really my pictures and therefore I don't really have the authority to resize and/or tilt them and re-upload them myself.


The mexican negro Kevin Bacon, mini size.


My mother's demented pleach blossom tree,
Taken by yours truly
Me,
You fucktarded cunt pee


Sibling and my cousin Branda covering her face. I don't get it because that bag is uglier than her face.




GUESS THE OBJECT!
Also taken by me. Because only I would take pictures of something like that.

one
two
three
four
five

Guess right and you win the fact that you guessed it right and the feeling inside of being right because you got my assurance that your answer was right.





My pop pop mowing the lawn. He moves kind of fast and I was inside the house upstairs, that's why the picture is so shitty.


Stonemowing.




Some vacation stuff taken by the owner of the camera, which explains the lack of the other nine people who went along on the trip also.


A giant Betty Crocker dome cake filled with ice cream that they keep advertising on TV.


All aboard on the gay festival transport!


Branda being friendly with Dino. And don't give me that Edward Scissorhands bullshit because I've heard it enough and laughed already.


The Morocco section of the World Showcase in Epcot, Disney World. Quite cool.


Branda's dad trespassing over forbidden boundaries for a crappy pose.


Japan section of the World Showcase.


Branda giving us an absolutely easy breezy beautiful Cover Girl-esque smile and holding up the most divine and classy Mickey Mouse napkin.


We met up with gay festival bus right by the Mexico section, where I made my mom buy me a margarita.


Italy was fucking gorgeous. I didn't get to go in though, because everyone was split up and me and my folks had to rush to catch up with everyone else so we just walked by everything.


Germany or Norway, I recall. Or maybe Norway because there's no beer being passed around. Nah, it's Germany. They just drank it all.


Ancient Mayan ruins in Mexico. I don't care if this isn't in order.


I thought the bowhead (is that what that fucking thing in the front is called?) was a llama attempting to fly.


Would've been a nice idea (and an inspiration for me to want to walk in) if they handed out fortune cookies. Which they didn't. Cheap fucktards.


Mulan ain't chinese!


MGM Studios. Too bad they didn't give out free rabbits under that hat. I would've cooked one for a nice dinner and kept the other one for dinner the next day.


Tower of Terror. Now this really surprised me. I never expected this shit to be as fucking frightful as it turned out to be. You fall spontaneously up and down thirteen stories with doors randomly opening (as is happening here), looking as if you're going to fall out of the damn building. My eating buddy Leslie and I held hands like a couple of pussies, and after the ride at where your ride picture is previewed on the screens, we looked like two lesbians in the corner. She was screaming like crazy and being christened with such a deep voice, I can't scream. I just smile [in pain] like an ass. For example,


But my lower set of teeth were showing and my eyes were shut. Imagine him happily constipated.



Saturday, August 20
I am in desperate need of new layout ideas. Since my main computer is fucked up, all of my images and files are all scattered around on various discs. And my nails have grown too long, making it harder to type, and making me not want to type because of that. But I'm typing right now I have this weird need to always fill this shit of a journal up.

Tomorrow all of us have to wake up at 8:00 A.M. to pick up my dad's relatives from Kennedy Airport, I'm guessing.

These past few days have been very empty and boring; very mellow from the lack of people around the house. I'm not used to being back into my usual mood, which is the keep-your-fucking-mouth-shut-since-no-one's-fucking-around mood. From this "unusual" loneliness, I find myself pretty depressing. The fear and uneasiness of the fact that school is just around the corner adds to the burden of my shoulders, especially because it's junior year, the supposed most important year of high school (also known as the If You Don't Do Good, Your Ass is Going to Be Beaten Down to a Shitty Pulp year). But soon enough I'll stop being a fucking emo pussy because the two types of people that I hate most in the world are:

1. emo kids
2. pussies

I guess that makes myself a hypocrite. Or maybe not, because there is not a single person in the world who doesn't have one of those times where you just feel nervous and anxious. It's just that I happened to use those two words for description.

Watched Lock n' Load today, and I fucking cracked up as I always would. Personally, I very much prefer Lock n' Load over No Cure For Cancer. One reason is because Denis totally hacked Bill Hicks' material for just about that entire special (NCFC). The several original segments, including the part where he's sitting and talking about his family and childhood, I could tell are genuine and also happen to be my favorite parts, and that's pretty much what keeps me from not watching No Cure For Cancer at all.

A lot of people despise the man for that, but there's a thousand other things in his resume that still keep make him credible in my view. I just try to put No Cure For Cancer aside and move on. This is just my take on the material controversy, you're free to shit me on any lack of information. Whatever, man.



Friday, August 19
When I put this as my wallpaper, I started smelling mozzarella sticks. I am very hungry for some junky food. The left over ice cream cake in the freezer doesn't do enough, I need some salt. You know, to balance out the diabetes.




The Kids in the Hall are touring on the fall of 2006, and I would really like to go. It's not a raunchy insane concert, and they're mouths aren't as yappy yap fuck you yap like Denis, so I think my mom's answer would be a yes. But I'll have to wait until next year to be certain.

On the other hand, Denis will be at the Bulmers International Comedy Festival in Dublin, Ireland next month. That is a definite no no which breaks my heart. I could feel my eyes moistening right now.




Why why why do I always have to be the one that runs into one of these things every so often? Even if my mother is a neat freak and I am a sufferer of obsessive compulsive disorder? Almost to the point of Adrian Monk? Yet, they still stealthily crawl all over our house - through the little [clean] cracks in between where the walls or walls/floor meets, etc.; and a shitload in many little cracks and shit in the basement. They flourish in humid and dark areas, and the basement is full of those little areas. But about the ground floor, one would pop out when I first come into a room and flick the light on. Then in all its glory, somewhere on the floor, is that piece of hundred-legged scary stick shit. Along with its billions of brothers and sisters in this world, to give me a heart attack. Somehow, they know about my disappointing eating habits and are planning to teach me a lesson. Stupid fuckers. They're just skipping the simple heart attack and teaching me a lesson part; at this rate, with so many recent sightings (and swattings), they're going to kill me.

Keep in mind that no one else in the house for some reason ever runs into one these house centipedes as so seldomly as I do. Just stupid chicken pussy Christina who this time after splatting the goddamn thing with a pink fly swatter and watching its hundred legs scatter all over my kitchen, vaccuumed up all of its remains in the Dirt Devil Up-Right Vac. After watching its severed body and leg twitch separately, of course.

Although I'm terrified of creepy crawly animals (if they're even worthy enough to be considered animals in my world), once they're incapacitated and incapable of incapacitating me anymore, I love to watch them squirm in agony and eventually die. And probably the same thing vice versa happening to me in the near future, according to karma and the good conscience.

Cousins left today and yet this house has another guest coming to visit - almost permanently, perhaps. My father's uncle is coming with his son from Seattle, to discuss with my folks for letting his son to stay with us while he goes to the major art college in New York. Right now I don't know any details, such as in how old he is, how long he's going to stay here and/or college also, or if he's hot or not. If he's hot then I'm just about fucked. I'll be stuck in the "Incest or not?"-type situation that the Baldwins have to deal with.



Monday, August 15
I hate watching sad movies and then feeling all sad from watching the sad movie(s). But I still watch them anyway because I'm a chick who has a pussy and is a fucking pussy so you and I will just have to deal with that. I watched Indecent Proposal twice in a row tonight, wide-screen and enhanced on AMC man, but I didn't cry. Nosiree. No more crying for Christina. I'd rather suck it up and explode when I'm going through my mid-life crisis, a time when my looks disintegrate faster than Derek Jeter's balls.

There's this one thing that I must get off my chest before taking the deep temporary slumber for tonight:

I always fucking confuse Woody Harrelson with Jeff Daniels.





Bonus!



Sunday, August 14
I come back and see that people have deleted me off of LiveJournal and Myspace, and a bit of a multitude I would have to say. Why don't people tell me these things? That's fine with me, less more folks to worry about. But then there's a whole other new horde that's just waiting to be added.

This newly unhappily tanned fucker is not feeling very creative so you kids just have to hold your piss in for the time being.

Although I will say this: the trip was good and I almost thought I saw the real Aerosmith but it turned out to be a fucking screen.



Friday, August 5
So I was wrong about the being on the rag and not being cranky thing. I guess birth control is making my hormones conform to the stereotypes, and this particular stereotype I don't like. My mom pissed me off so many fucking times today that I lost count, and that I actually did that "ARRRRRRRRRGGGHHH" thing for the first time in years. And I mean fucking years, man.

During dinner and quite a few past dinners, my mom always does that "So what is your career choice?" thing to every person who belongs in the latest generation. Of course the doctor or author or high-profile big money making, typical occupation comes up. I despise living a life doing something you don't want, and I got in trouble for kidding that I wanted to be a trucker - sitting on my ass all day, eating quarter pounders and blasting music. My mom claims that that is not a good job for a woman (so I guess she doesn't know about my penis yet). Which is exactly what I do now, without the 70 MPH. It was a joke, being that I'm undecided and my mom took it too seriously. I guess I can't really blame her, because the trucker occupation suits me quite well. Except that I can never understand the american, or any, road system. Make me drive on one road and truck driving will be my soul-job.

Yesterday while everybody was in the van driving to the Palisades mall, Tina pointed out these girls walking on the sidewalk. The kind of girls who wouldn't like me. You know who they are. So I said out loud about them, "Hookers!" Sorry, that slipped.

Cut to when we're driving home. The word "hooker" is being said quite often around the car by folks other than me, and my mom, the driver, all the way from up front, starts yelling that I look like the hooker and that I shouldn't be talking. That thing in the morning was true though. They were hookers. Middle school ones.

Alas, today during dinner she didn't snap at my snap. She was talking to the cousins and my dad about her wanting a japanese style house in America someday, and that the vietnamese don't have a unique style of their own. She then said, "You know why?" - about to answer it herself, you know, that type of figure of speech. Knowing that she'll take about fifteen minutes to explain, I decide against shoving that next spoonful of food in my mouth and yap, "Because too many people took over the country throughout history so we're unoriginal." Meaning that our country never had the time to develop itself into something unique because of the constant imperialism taking place in it.

She agreed and I didn't get a lashing from her fiery mouth and golfball eyes staring me down like a UFO beam turning Keith Richards into a cactus.



Thursday, August 4
So I'm pretty angry right now, because there yet again is a shitful virus in my computer and have no idea who the fuck or how the fuck got it in here. I'm just dying in my pants to find someone to point my finger at but nobody I know of used the computer besides the cousins and the sibling. Cousins said they were just doing pretty much the same shit that I do which is nothing harmful to the computer. But when the sibling was using the computer yesterday (which was against my will, and against my authority to kick the fucker out), no one was in the room to see what she was doing. So far she hasn't woken up so I can't badger her about what the fuck she was doing. If it is her, it would be the third computer she has trashed.

Leslie and I scanned the computer many times and right now they've said everything is deleted even though pop-ups are popping like Snoop Dogg on cocaine Pop Rocks, programs open with difficulty, there's this fucking lame toolbar that I can't get rid of in my Explorer window, and "Program Error" notices galore. It fucking pisses me off because just a week ago, exactly a week ago I think, my dad cleared out my entire hard drive - deleting every single fucking thing and then installing Windows 2000 to replace the shitty Windows ME. It took him hours to do and obviously wasted a lot of his time that he had to work on his video editing business. I started off with a brand new computer and now I'm practically back to where I was. It still works okay after a while of getting all the error notices cleared out though, so maybe it's no big deal.

Kiss this, cockfuck. Goddamn viruses, man. I wish viruses were little green pixelated creatures that could jump out of computers, so I wouldn't be saying "Kiss this, cock fuck" to nothing but thin air. I want a little green piece of shit to spit on and stomp the crap out of.

I don't blame anybody though, I'm just pretty fucking pissed off in general. But I guarantee I'll be all dandy in a few minutes because in my entire history of walking on this planet, I never stay angry at something for more than twelve hours. I wish everyone were like that, then life would obviously be easier. But they aren't. It sucks balls when the people are angry at me, but it's fucking hilarious and I seek pleasure when someone is angry at somebody else.

Yes, I'm a dipshit like that, and I don't really care. One of my options for my future is to buy a huge ass house in the country somewhere, have a huge ass collection of guns, and do nothing but shoot animals all day in the woods. No neighbors to stalk me, no loud garbage trucks, no loud garbage-like people. Just me and my guns. And when I get bored of shooting shit, I eat brownies.

I got the rag today but that's not pissing me off. It never does. For some reason when I get the rag I'm happy as a gay man who got a date. It won't be bothering me during vacation in Florida next week, which is a great fucking thing. Last year in Hawaii, (there's even footage of this), I was about to punch the entire fucking island in the fucking balls and then squeeze their juice out with a wrench.

Last night's Denis Leary appearance on Late Night was the greatest fucking thing that I have seen on TV all week, or maybe even all month. I sort of wish I could record it but that's crossing the anime-fangirl-type fangirl line. But I really have to say, it was really fucking hilarious. Throughout the whole time I wished that Lauren had gotten tickets for that day because I could've been fifteen feet away from the asshole himself. Or maybe even saw (or met?) him like I sort of met Conan coming into the building a couple hours before the show started.

What kind of amazes me was that I was pretty damn close to New York yesterday too. Pretty damn close to Denis Leary. It's fucking dumb to even consider that something important but it just shocked me for a second and then I flipped back into Macho/Don't Be a Pussy mode. Which I am trying very hard to do right now.

So things are going pretty good. I finally have an eating buddy to enjoy chocolate and cheese and pretty much every single fucking thing in Shop Rite with. When the cousins leave I'm going to miss the all-day eating frenzy and will have to go back to eating;

Fruit.

That's my mom's call. She makes me eat the natural shit that sprouts out of the dirt like a tampon being inserted up the vagina and had probably been shit on a few times before being sold and washed.

Florida itself is not so exciting as the 24-hour roadtrip to get there itself. I don't know what sikes me about roadtrips. I guess it's just the feeling of being on the move and getting to use my new bag that was purchased just a few days ago. It's also a great opportunity to have long talks about some of the greatest shit in the world; for hours on end, because you have nothing else to do. And it's easier to talk while on the road in a car because of the scenery passing by in the windows gives you peace and stimulation for things to pop up in your mind. For some reason naps are great in cars too, never mind the neck and back pain. But once you find a nice position or just forget the fuck about it all, you feel pretty damn good.



Wednesday, August 3


How funny. He's going to be on Conan O'Brien tonight and I am so anxious and excited, being that it's fucking Denis Leary on his own fucking cousin's show, and that my mom will be asleep so it'll be time for me to able to eat ice cream. Dinner is never complete without dessert. Or at least in Christina Land. Even if it is five hours later.

The only reason I started this post is because I want to start the August 2005 portion of my archives. There's nothing to watch with my computer's lack of a DVD decoder, and that everybody is asleep from a long day of shopping at the Palisades mall.

"It often happens that I wake up at night and begin to think about a serious problem and decide I must tell the Pope about it. Then I wake up completely and remember that I am the Pope."

- Pope John XXIII



My favorite thing to do during my spare time is skinning my neighbors' pet pomeranians and trading their fur to crack dealers in Newark.




view profile

whiskey
Camel smokes
Humphrey Bogart
muscle cars
Watchmen
cheapass horror movies
Dirty Harry
Re-Animator
Denis Leary
Slaughterhouse-Five
Lucky Strikes
Voltaire
bacon
coffee that isn't Starbucks
all of Mike Patton's 9547658 musical projects

Email:
dontfeerthereefer@gmail.com

AIM:
nuclear volante

MySpace
Last.fm
Facebook
LiveJournal
If Sean Connery Didn't Have a Scottish Accent
buy me shit, asshole

10 Movies That Needed Kevin Bacon
50 Lemons
Arnold Schwarzenegger moments
Cockeyed
Contact me ASAP when you figure this out
Crack is Whack
David Lee Roth is a revolutionary vocalist
Dlisted
Don't Fear the Reaper
The Food, the Bad and the Ugly
Funfurde
Happyfood Gallery
I Think Satan Likes Your Mom
Iggy Pop and Joseph Goebbels
ilovebacon.com
IMDB Bottom 100
Insaniquarium
Institute of Official Cheer
Ipecac Recordings - Making People Sick Since 1999
Legal Weed
Lileks.com
List of torture methods and devices
Mike Patton Hates Wolfmother
Minazo the Seal
The Modern Day Book of Health and Hygiene
Mom jeans flatter no body
MONSTURD
Muffin Films
Mxyplyzyk
Planet Brenda
Pocky Gallery
Pookas do exist!
Shaina on the Braina
Buy a crate for $220e
The Imaginary World
The Sword











BLOGGER