Tomorrow my mom's taking me to Macy's and other places to shop because she has this $25 off thing to use. I'lm planning on trying to find a nice shrug and a new pair of shoes. Preferably a pair from the clearance section because she already thinks I have enough. Not really, just around seven pairs or so. Which is pretty much enough, but I got great feet, man. They need flare. I used to hate shoes to no end, claiming that nobody looks at them and the shirt always goes first. That is true. But then over this past summer I wore sandals so much that I started to actually check out my feet a lot. True story.
Last night I came to a conclusion: The more clothes I have, the more picky I become, thus getting sick of them more easily. It's a shame, really. I wonder if it's normal. Probably is, but it always counts for the rich bitches of the world who have closets the size of Robert Hinkley's shrine to Jodie Foster. I'm not one. I just tend to be annoying until I get whatever the fuck it is I want. But then again, maybe not, because I never really want CDs or video games or guitars or knick-knacks or books or posters or anything else, all I want is clothes. So as opposed to a well-rounded person buying lots and lots of varieties of shit, I just get tons of clothes. Pretentious, but hey, that's how assholes are.
Goddamn it, don't you hate it when something in your room smells like rhino ass and you have no idea what it is? Last time it was rotting uneaten bananas in the garbage bin and now I have no idea what it is. Sucks if it turns out to be me. Sucks even more if it's me and I'm around other people.
Christina N. @ 5:24 PM
Wednesday, September 28
I went into the bathroom at school to take a piss, and upon stepping in, the entire place smells like Benito Mussolini had a chili paste party in there. But my mind was set on taking a piss so I didn't even think about walking to the window and opening it. While washing my hands, this other girl walks in and immediately goes straight to the window and opens it. And I'm thinking, "Goddamn it, she probably thought I did it." Which I didn't. Keep in mind that I said "take a piss," not "take a crap."
So when you are 37 years old and telling your child a moral bedtime story, tell them my story because they will learn to always open a window when someplace smells like shit, to save the embarassment of people walking in and thinking that you caused the aftermath of a chili paste party with Benito Mussolini.
SEACREST OUT!
Christina N. @ 7:29 PM
I hate Apple computers. The mouse doesn't have a right-click button so 75% of the time that I'm on this computer I'm like, "What the fuck?" Don't get me started on how incapable this mouse is. It's a fucking cripple mouse, that's what it is. It's also hard to force quit on a freezing program. Usually I just sit there for about fifteen minutes waiting for it to unfreeze - which it never does. Then five minutes later I would find out how to force quit; Only to forget how to all over again.
People say that Apple computers are better for editing pictures and using Photoshop. I disagree. The basic things of how a computer should operate confuse the fucking hell out of me, making it hard to do anything at all, much less fucking edit pictures. The only good thing about these computers is that they look really cool. That's it. End of fucking list.
And I still can't find out how to open the disc drive. It's just this solid plate on the side of the tower with no buttons or big cracks to pick it out with a pen. Like I said - It looks nice, but no fucking idea how to do anything.
Much like modern interior and exterior design. The entire piece of furniture or building or structure, is one giant simple looking piece of shit and you have no idea what the hell it is - because there's practically nothing on it. Well, that's how Apple Computers are.
As you may have guessed, I'm in Computer Art right now. Working on this complementary color thing of a portrait of a celebrity. [Honestly] coincidentally, I'm using Denis Leary. It's a very a shadowy image, so it's pretty simple to do, and to trace. Jesus Christ, I'm boring.
Christina N. @ 12:26 PM
Tuesday, September 27
And to think that I was a tree hugger back in the day. Jesus fucking Christ. I am so ashamed of myself.
Anybody remember this?
Way down in the cockles of our hearts.
Took me months to figure out what his apron said. Then I realized that if it took me that long to find out such a little thing, then I should do what it says.
Christina N. @ 6:56 PM
Monday, September 26
So I applied for my first ever job today over the phone. I'm sorry, I should've told you to get a bottle of Bayer before reading my crap. But yeah, I really did apply to be a merchandise associate or coordinator at the upcoming TJ Maxx that's going to open sometime across the road from my street. You're probably wondering, if someone as inexperienced and young as I am did not apply for something as basic and the norm for beginners such as being a cashier. Man, I fucking hate register. Just hearing stories from people about all the bullshit that they get from customers pisses me off already. And plus, I am the absolute dimwit of the world when it comes to counting [money]. I'm fucking serious, too. Today during a math test I had to do 11 minus 4 on a calculator. It's that fucking 11 that confuses me. If a number ends with a 1, then I'm pretty much fucked. Or a 3. A 3 fucks with my brain too.
The answering machine, AKA my interviewer, said that they would call me back if they wanted a personal interview. I'm not being too overtly excited about it, but I am quite anxious. This would open up a whole new world [of cash] for me.
Yesterday my dad stayed home while I went to look for these shoes at Old Navy with my mom. He cleared out my entire hardrive and re-installed Windows 2000 on it. Now I can start from a clean slate all over again; organize all of my thousands of files of crap and listen/watch to anything I want without taking up too much memory.
Criminology was a total bitchfest as it usually is. It's an awesome class, I love it and all, but there's these bitches who debate and get all bitchy, hence their name, and bitch and moan without any logical explanation on a subject such as beating your kid with a "discipline paddle." It's really quite ridiculous when they get at it, because it's like Menstruations Unanimous. I mean, if I were on my period eight times a month just like they are, then absolutely, would I start wreaking my own havoc from my tiny student desk. But no, I hate arguing in the first place. I never argue. Gets nowhere and it always torments the relationship permanently with whomever you fiercely argued with, no matter what kind of relationship it is. Whenever I argue with anybody, the relationship never gets back to the way it was, nor does it ever fully resolve anything. If you never argue or are the type who hates to argue, then I love you very very much.
I really have to admit, throughout all the years that I've had conflicts with my mom, I never technically argued with her. I just let her do all the yelling and when she gives me a chance, I attempt to explain myself. Only to be yelled at again, but I just keep my mouth shut to reduce her length of lecturing/yelling from hours in the double digits to hours in the single digits. Also, arguing makes you feel oh so awkward once you start to look around you. No matter how many people are within the area. You feel like a fucking freak (which you are, if you argue like John McEnroe in public), and everyone's looking at you like you're a fucking freak.
I've yet to call a person who kicks my shoe off and dislodges from my foot, from walking too close behind me in the crowded hallways an assfuck. I've yet to grow girl balls and deck the next person in the face who does that. It happened twice last Friday - two short people (probably freshmen) at different times, were walking too closely behind me and kick my foot, and my flip flop, and it fucking slides off of my foot, making me stop in people-traffic mania just to try to put my fucking foot back in the shoe. And when I look at who did it, they look totally pissed off and stomp away in front of me - as I try to get my shoe back on. Twice, in one fucking day.
Christina N. @ 9:32 PM
Sunday, September 25
Miss fatty Leslie finally got pictures up from when she was here and when we all went to Florida. I have to admit, you could only really find family photos funny if they're your family, or if the photo includes something that we could all understand. Such as this here Mona Lisa:
When you eat enough Ruffles potato chips, your boobs will get stripes on them too.
Japanese people write the strangest books. What happened to All About Farts, or All About Walking in on Your Parents Having Sex?
Gay.
My cousins and I had an obsession with Halo. Jumping off of elevators and trying to get tanks through small doors was good old fashioned fun.
The Paris Hilton's Walmart.
Can you count all the Kyle's on the screen?
See the taco on the top left corner? You use it as a weapon - the method of using this tool is that your character takes a giant diarrhea dump on the road (sound effects included), and when somebody else runs over it, the poop explodes all over them.
The other one was George Michael. This one's Andrew Ridgley.
The flamingo is having a lean-back laugh.
Player 1 is about to initiate their Anal Probe. Notice there is nobody in front of them to anally probe.
Branda has a lot of cellulite for someone who is only 7 or 8 years old. (I never know anybody's age, even if they are my own kin.)
Really sweaty, really tired, really unable to stand up straight, and really beefy/horny on Leslie's part. And the anonymous lady's tag is sticking out.
Christina N. @ 7:56 PM
"I have come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass. And I'm all out of bubblegum."
Oh boy, I laugh my ass off every single time that I watch this movie. Can't fucking wait until Halloween season comes, because it's going to be on TV all the fucking time on AMC. I want to get it on DVD, but I'm kind of running short on cash. That sucks balls.
Christina N. @ 1:20 PM
Saturday, September 24
I think I am the only person in the world next to workaholics like Donald Trump, who does not like to sleep. Except that I'm not a workaholic. In fact, I'm the exact opposite. But getting back on track, the only reason I sleep is because I need it. Other than when I'm actually snoozing peacefully, sleeping is an absolute royal pain in the ass. Why? Because I may have chronic insomnia, or whatever the hell it is that's my problem. My mom always demands to know why I don't sleep. I say I can't sleep. Then she asks me why I can't sleep. I say I don't know. Then she says I think too much, and then would start accusing me of thinking about my boyfriend too much, and that would be my cause of stress and inability to sleep. I'm too much of a moron to have one. She never believes me, about both that I have a sleeping disorder and that I don't have a boyfriend. We have gone over this for the past many years.
It is very disappointing to me, because I really would love to be one of those people who fall asleep at the drop of a hat and along with that ease of falling asleep, they in addition to that have wonderful dreams. I have horrible dreams. No matter how great my life has been or how crappy it has been or how young I am or how old I am or how streesful or stress-free I am, my dreams have always been bad. If not bad, then weird. Overtly weird. Usually creepy weird. I have no idea why a child deserves this, but my worse dreams were when I was a kid (as I got older, they got more depressing). Those were the kinds that made you stay up at night with the sheets over your head and you're trembling like a vibrator set on high power because you're so terrified. Two nights ago for example, I had a dream that I was brushing my teeth. Only that I was missing some fucking teeth and my gums had deep, bloody holes in them, bleeding all over the inside of my mouth. When my toothbrush went over them (no fucking idea why I kept on brushing anyway, without any fucking toothpaste to numb the pain with spearmint freshness either!), the brush head would be covered in red gooeyness and I would be in pain. Then the dream stopped immediately.
Shaina told me about this "lucid dreaming" thing, where when you're having a bad dream, you should face your enemy and do something nice to it, like give it a hug. That way you become friends with your nemesis and things are all right in Dreamland. My dreams don't have enemies most of the time. Just weird, scary shit like I just mentioned. Only, that dream was a mild one for me. Unless I was supposed to brush the hell out of my gums and making it look like I was sawing my jaw in half - with a clear Oral-B toothbrush, adorned with a rubber green grip handle.
What makes things even worse is that I have especially noticed, when I have an exceptionally, great, great day, at that night - no matter how fast or how slow I fell asleep - I'd have a fucking nasty nightmare. The worst of the worst. It's like karma, almost. But why the fuck punish somebody for having a good day? It's like whoever the fuck it is doesn't want me to have a good life. That's the irony within me. Can't do a single fucking thing about it.
Also, at night, when you're just lying there and not doing anything, you tend to think deeper and start to analyze your day, or even your life. Well, since I can't fucking sleep, I end up thinking for about an hour or two, or more. It gets really horrible because then you start to think about all the sins and shitty things that you've done, and start to feel really guilty, and you can't do anything to keep your mind off of it. It gets really deep. I mean, if I had more power over my life and were allowed to tell myself when to go to bed, I wouldn't be lying there for three hours every night pissing the hell out of myself and wasting so much time - I could be baking cookies and watching Denis Leary specials or something; Something to keep me from going fucking nuts. Jesus fucking Christ. These are the times, the times when I'm contemplating at night, is when I'm sensitve at most. Turning and tossing in bed, my own mind not allowing me to get rid of the guilt, or of course, not even allowing me to fucking sleep.
I'd really like to get sleeping pills, but my mother doesn't believe me, nor lets me stay up and actually walk around the house at night, so I'm pretty much fucked. She thinks I'm fucking crazy to want to get sleeping pills. The longest I'd ever stayed up was going to bed at 9:00PM and falling asleep at 4:00AM. Seven hours of tossing around under the sheets and after watching every single good late night show on TV, I'm stuck with Showtime Rotisserie Oven infomercials.
Christina N. @ 11:41 PM
Friday, September 23
I really loathe telephones. Telephones of all kinds - cell phones, push-button phones, turn-dial phones, moose phones, wall phones, table phones - they all could go suck an ass. But unfortunately, I have to make a phone call today on super secret important business. That's right, super secret important business. And if the person is not home or taking a crap, then I really really despise phones. It's my fault that I call at the wrong time, but still, it fucking wastes my time to wait for them to wipe their ass or whatever, and plus it doesn't feel really intimate; Even in the most pointless of situations. Just isn't right. But if you want to hire a hooker and are too embarassed to showcase the fact that you look like an ass, then I perfectly understand why you used a telephone.
Bam Margera?
Christina N. @ 4:43 PM
Thursday, September 22
I don't get how I just ate a fairly fair dinner, was full for a few minutes, and I'm hungry right now. Probably some metabolic thing that I don't get. I was kind of worried the whole time, because my mom was talking to me for thirty minutes straight - no breaks. Usually I don't mind, but this time my head was going in circles. Goddamn, does that woman talk a lot. I could just say something like "plumber" and she'd go on for as long as I'm still sitting there. It's quite amazing. One bad thing is, her voice is quite piercing to the eardrum so when she talks (especially for long periods at a time), it feels as though a tooth drill is cutting into my ear at .00005 miles per hour. She goes on and on. Sometimes I really wish that I had another me who talks a lot, because that would be pretty cool, and I don't think my voice gives people headaches as much as a voice like my mom's would. I'm starting to believe that I have the lowest voice on the fucking planet. Even Howard Stern has his high points. Isaac Hayes and I should have a talk-off.
Then again, who knows. I'm not one to record my voice and listen to it, nor am I one of those who checks their feces for fiber.
So there's going to be this college fair thing at school on Monday, and I'd really like to go. Pretty much the only thing I know about colleges right now is that they are portrayed in movies such as Slackers and Animal House, and they cost a shitload of money; County College of Morris is going to have a lot of dipshits attending it because I live fifteen minutes from it; and I am seriously aiming for NYU. NYU, holy shit. I went to their website for the first time today, and checking out application needs. In order to get into a nifty house of scholarly activity, one must strive for the best job that they could fucking do. Christina goes partial way, just to be in the situation that they're good and safe - not in danger and not super academy-kid-fucktard hotshot. I do that in any situation, and it's extremely hard for me to go that extra mile or a few hundred. Working too hard in absolutely any situation causes stress, and you know how much I hate stress; So I avoid it. I avoid it so much that it's become a habit, therefore now making it hard for me to do anything. It's depressing, really.
I'd very much like to get this shit off of my mind because it's just not my style. Although, I had sort of an epiphany a while ago. Possible career choices:
Food Tester: I'm really fucking good at eating, man. And probably good at judging, because if you haven't already noticed, I diss a lot of things. I don't even have to worry about obesity; I have asian genes.
Foot Model: I got amazing feet, I fucking swear. Sitting around all day, sticking my feet in front of cameras. And I'd only have to shave up to my knees.
Chocoholic: I heard about this job while watching the Food Network. You get paid extremely, terribly well, to judge chocolate.
And that's all I could think of right now. Why spend half of your youth away at medical or law school, when you could just eat or wave your footsies around? Fucking conformists, most doctors suck anyway. They don't give a shit and they never even cure whatever the hell it is you have. Trust me, I've been to doctors about five times in one month, I'm still coughing to this day. And their acne remedies never fucking work, my mom had to get prescription medicines without the prescriptions in NYC for it to get somewhat better, because they wouldn't prescribe me the good stuff. Stupid fuckers.
I've pretty much given up on any medicine, except for birth control. It keeps me free from having a watermelon-belly and free from acne.
Adolf Hitler was a painter before a Nazi, did you know that?
Christina N. @ 6:58 PM
Wednesday, September 21
My mom totally despises the Stones. It kind of surprises me because I thought she liked a lot of '60s and '70s artists. And sometimes I subconsciously think in my own twisted head, "You've got the be fucking crazy to not like the Stones in some shape or form" (a phrase that I completely disbelieve). But I shouldn't be talking, because I don't like the Beatles. As a matter of fact, I try to avoid them as much as possible - I'm not sure why. One reason is because they bore the living hell out of me. This kid in my art class in freshman year, hogged the boombox and was playing a Beatles album; Which one, I [obviously (wouldn't)] don't know. It totally fucking killed me and it aggravated the shit out of me when I was trying to do my work. Ironically enough, that certain project turned out to be total crap. Out of logical sense I shouldn't be blaming the kid and the Beatles, I just said that to be an asshole.
It's not even a matter of that popular thought of "Beatles are clean-cut, Stones are hardcore" type of bullshit. They just purely, genuinely, bore me. I've tried liking them, but as the years went by, I gradually finally accepted [and admitted] the fact that I don't like the Beatles. Sure, I've had short phases of which they were all I listened to, but they only lasted for about a week. I didn't give a shit, no interest, really.
My folks, on the otherhand, fucking adore them. Then again, whose folks don't? Unless your parents are Fidel Castro and Elvira, then I understand.
Elvira needed stitches after having sex with Tom Jones, did you know that?
Christina N. @ 6:49 PM
Someone finally picked up the batch of photos from vacation in Florida this summer. I really wish I could scan them onto here, because they are really quite funny. Instead, I got this collection of funky Branda faces and one Kelly face that Jeannie took with her digital camera. I don't own one, because I'm not cliche and I'm not into photography.
That's another excuse for being cheap. Pictures are pretty small because I had to flip them with the only paint program that my computer could take at this moment - Paint. Thus them being in bmp format, thus Photobucket making them as small as Bob Ross' dick probably is. That's the only curiosity of the universe that I would not like to find out.
Not in Florida, but it's funny shit anyway.
"What the fuck is that muskrat doing in yo' ass?"
I don't know.
"Hee, hee, I'm sitting next to a dumbass
and they don't even know it!"
This makes me want to say "Branda"
five times a row, expecting for the Candyman
to suddenly appear in front of me.
I was sitting in the back seat blabbing
on about something stupid, and when I said
something really funny, she didn't get it
and instead gives me this ridiculously
confused look. I really forgot what I said,
but it was quite memorable.
The yellow thing behind her head is a fan
that my mom got for free at an asian market
in Orlando because it was ripped. Kind of ironic
that the price tag is still on it. I don't know
how it's sticking up like that out of nowhere.
Christina N. @ 6:09 PM
Tuesday, September 20
Picture day is tomorrow and I've got this mondo zit on my face. It's on the wrong fucking day because apparently I am at my ugly stage of the month; Physically for now and emotionally later on - I feel sorry for those who talk to me on a regular basis [later on]. Happens every time - I get fat and my face flares up, only for a matter of days. But usually it's a panic attack for me and I think it's permanent and that I actually have to start dieting or something, but then soon enough the ugly problems go away. If anything gets any worse by tomorrow, I'll have to go through that pathetic process of getting retakes. Jesus fucking Christ. Girls are very shallow, it's a cliche that I find quite accurate. Or at least for me, because I have nothing else to care about; This is the life I choose to endure.
This weekend or next weekend I'm going to have to find something to do, other than to go shopping. I've gotten into this crazy mood to eat at Taco Bell or Chili's, something with a spicy tomato-ey zest, just to get the boredom out of my veins. My low monotone voice needs to turn into something useful, like Isaac Hayes. Man, he could turn anybody on with that smooth vocal chording of his - men and women; straight and crooked. No wonder he's the fucking voice of Chef. You see, I have more of a Ben Stein type of vocal creation. Not very sexy. Well I'm not really certain, I'm not one of those folk who record their voices to hear what it's like or those who check their feces for fiber.
Christina N. @ 5:49 PM
Monday, September 19
Whenever I get home, from anywhere, I cannot stop eating. It's like after so many hours of being broke and not being able to buy food, it's like a rapist being let out into the world again from ten years in prison; But I'm being let into my house again after six hours of stomach chorus. You should see me come home when my mom went to the supermarket that day - I imagine myself like a giant vaccuum cleaner or a giant street sweeper that sucks things up, at a Shop Rite the size of the Soviet Union plus my neighbor's ass. I don't know if this is a teenage thing or a Christina thing, but I think it's a Christina thing because the only other person that I know who eats as much as I do, or possibly even more, is my own fucking cousin. And she's fucking three thousand miles away - I have no eating buddy for most of my life. Other than that, the only time I ever see anyone else eating is when I actually dine with them, or just an occasional snack. When I'm on my own, I'll probably spend three-fourths of my income on food alone.
Dude, I love the munchies so much that I even call it a hobby - I never do anything else. Listen to music? Sure, who doesn't. Play music? Nah. Do sports? I'd be in the hospital right now, only to be released with a giant heart guard strapped to my torso, thus flattening my boobs, which isn't a good thing. I mean, if I were to be one of those kids with heart problems and christened with those giant medieval chest shields on their torsos, I'd look like Heather Hodder for Christ's sake, without having to walk like I've got a pogo stick implanted up my anus. Nobody wants that. Except if you're a fat dude with man boobs, then I get where you're going at.
Today my mom bought home-made brownies and expensive croissants - how fucking fabulous is that? I can't even remember the last time she bought brownies.
So Saturday was a good day, Lauren and I went to Short Hills, just like I've said. She got two sweaters from the GAP and I got a whopping $140 jacket from Diesel. Yeah, Diesel, man. I had around $230 bucks from one year's worth of birthday and Christmas and scamming money, and couldn't resist from such an amazing jacket. I have this thing with jackets, they're practically all I look at when I go shopping. I might have as much jackets as I do pants. It's pretty sad. And the thing is, I never even wear them all too often.
At Sephora we saw this lip-plumping stuff and tried it on. It's this lipgloss that's kind of like a collagen injection, only without the injection. And painfully enough, about a minute after applying it to your lips, they start hurting. And of course plumping them at the same time. But holy fucking shit, it stings. My lips felt like a mentally unstable jellyfish that was floating around in my veins play rugby with itself. But on the plus side, my lips were one step closer to full-blown Angelinas.
Lunch was eaten at a restaurant called Papa-Razzi (sp?). It was quite good, but then I wanted to change my order to an absolutely delicious-looking pizza (I couldn't help but stare at the woman's pizza at the adjacent table), from some gourmet sandwich that I had initially ordered. Our waiter looked exactly, and I fucking swear, exactly, like Stephen Baldwin. Or some Baldwin, I don't know. There's too many Baldwins for me to keep count of.
At the extremely overpriced Lucky Brand Dungarees store, I saw this red-and-grey zip-up hoodie with the word "VIETNAM" stitched across the front. I found it so funny and ironic: never had I seen a popular asian country's name on a shirt, like Japan or China, but Viet-fucking-nam. And plus, if you haven't known already, I'm vietnam-fucking-ese. I wanted to buy the sweater just as a fucking joke, but it turned out to be $70 or some lame overpriced pricetag like that. I mean, if it was like $10 or $20, I seriously would. But that's going a little too far, this is Short Hills here.
And then I pretty much found my dream jacket. Well actually close to my dream jacket because my actual dream jacket is to get the exact one that Denis Leary has - a dark dark brown leather bomber jacket. The one I found at Lucky Brand was black. And $348. Since I had spent $140 on the other 100% cotton jacket, I would need somewhat less than $200 to be able to get that one. But man, was it a beauty. If I had a job, I'd definitely be able to get it. But you know, and I know, that I just don't ever go to work. If I did, then I'd be able to get the damn thing in no time. But I don't work. I prefer it that way, and to earn that hundred-something dollars by saving up my extra lunch money for twenty more years or so.
Christina N. @ 5:01 PM
Friday, September 16
Lauren and I are going shopping tomorrow at Short Hills - the insanely money-loaded people's mall. Damn right, we can't afford a pair of ball chains there, but she wants to polish her Tiffany's & Co. earrings (bought with a gift certificate, man) and I want to go to this amazing little pastry shop that makes the most amazing cakes that I have ever eaten. And trust me, I've eaten many a cake in my day. Nothing matches up to that little shop.
Ilona just called a few minutes ago while I was baking bread sticks for dinner, asking me to go to the movies with her and some other folk. I said no along with my stupid excuse, "I'm making dinner." It's a stupid excuse because the movie's at 7:30 and she called at 5:30 and bread sticks bake for 20 minutes. The real reason was because my mom would get pissed at me for going out too much. Sad, but true. Added with the fact that some dipshit that I don't like was probably invited too. I'm an asshole like that.
Christina N. @ 5:38 PM
Thursday, September 15
Shit man, I brought an umbrella today and it didn't rain during the trip home. Fuck you rainmaker, make rain on Michael Bolton's scalp, he's clearly the one who needs moisturizing nourishment in his deceased hair follicles.
So I cried, I seriously fucking cried today in school. Because Jeremy just said the most fucking funny fat joke ever. I was telling him about how I saw this supremely fat freshman chick wearing ripped jeans with rips on her buttcheeks and whatnot, and so he says something like, "She's fat and smelly and gross, clean between your rolls once in a while." And I just about lost it. I laughed so hard that my eyes were tearing as much as people believe some Jesus statues cry, or how an emo kid cries on a daily basis. Then he says something like, "Maybe there's some mice running in there.."
I cried an entire glass of water in one tear. I don't know why I laughed that fucking much at one fucking sentence that I had to wipe off my eyes a couple times. Then I tell my own anecdote about how my mom was once talking to me during dinner and contemplating on how fat people take baths; Because of all the rolls of fat in front of them, how could they scrub their crotch? So I say to my mom, "Use a back brush?" You know, those two-foot long toothbrushes that some folks use in the shower to clean their backs.
Christina N. @ 4:49 PM
Wednesday, September 14
Did I ever tell you that I hate rain? Well right now I'm despising it more than I despise Gwar. I've had many bad experiences with water and today was another edition to my thousand-volume series of bad water experiences. First of all, there's a numerous many times when I choke on water, whether someone is suddenly yelling at me while I'm drinking out of a cup or if I just choke on spit for no apparent reason. That makes up for more than half of my bad water experiences.
By some stupid fucker's decision, it rained this afternoon, and I solemnly swear, the second I stepped out of school to until I was four houses away from home, it rained like a thousand-foot-wide-in-diameter shower douche dumped Victoria Falls on Rockaway Township. Just for me. Even worse was that I didn't wait until it stopped to go on walking home (because the day was shitty already, I wanted to get the fuck out of there) and just decided to wing it and walk straight though, thinking it was just light to moderate rain. But once I got by the tennis courts the aforementioned douche took place of the pussy squirt gun. I was clearly fucked for sure.
All I hear is girls screaming about how their hair is ruined and begging their boyfriends to take them into their cars and drive home, but I couldn't find a single person whom I knew who had a car. Pretty much half of the parking lot was empty, or so it seemed like it. The rain was so bad that I had to cover my eyes like you would shade them from the sun, just to be able to see. Soon enough, my white, one layered shirt started soaking through and you could see my beautiful rock-hard abs.
At the corner of my street there was this woman holding a multi-colored umbrella probably waiting for her child's bus to come drop her child off. From the moment she saw me walking up the hill and crossing the street, she didn't keep her eyes off of me, like I was some fucking freak. Her dryness and my clothed-showerness. Way to make someone feel comfortable. It's either one of those types of things like if someone has a huge tumor protruding out the back of their head and you just can't stop staring at it, or I am really that sexy when I'm wet. I hope it isn't the second option because I can't even get a date and now I've got lesbians checking me out. I'm not Ellen Degeneres, you fucking dyke.
I didn't look at her directly in her face because I was worrying too much about my books, and you know how I am when it comes to neat books and office supplies and shit. I'm crazy over organization. Had I carried a giant, bulky waterproof backpack, then I would've thrown it on the ground and wasted a couple of well-wasted minutes fixing her eye problem.
While walking past the house that was next to my house, to my final dry destination, my neighbor fucking calls to me from her window and says some jibber-jabber that I didn't want to hear, so I didn't hear and just waved hello super quick without saying a word because by that time not only was I ready to bust some caps, but to beat the shit out of anyone who owned a carwash. Yes, I know she was being friendly but surely enough she should've sort of known that if someone is walking outside in the rain without a waterproof bag and no jacket or hat or anything, and with their tail between their legs, they're probably having a miserable time.
By the time I got home and looked at the mess in the mirror, I discovered that my eyes were pot-shot red - first time it ever happened from water in my life. Obviously it would happen, because how could it not happen when gallons of acidic water are being gouged into your eye sockets? After having a hard time getting my clothes off and changing into something dry, I walk to the hamper and find somebody's period-stained jeans on top of it. Sadly enough, I had to move it away with my bare hand in order to lift the hamper lid and dump my soggy outfit into it. Way to help my germophobia.
When I was about to turn the corner and go into my room, I see my sister suddenly running out of my door. As any person in a Denis Leary mood would say, I said in my low Terminator-shoot-your-fucking-ass voice, "What are you doing in my room?" I forgot what she said but from the living room my mom yells, "LET HER USE YOUR WHITEOUT!" And I'm pretty positive that I specifically gave her one some time ago.
What both of them did, was pretty rude in my view. My sister for ever since she was able to walk, when I'm not around or not at home, would go into my room and fish through my drawers and private stuff for what reason? I don't know. And when she found something she really liked she would go up to my mom and asked if she could keep it, and usually got her way after a huge hissyfit between me and my mother that I always lost at.
After all of this I should probably blame myself. Yesterday when I was watching the weather they said possibility of afternoon showers, and considered bringing along an umbrella. But this morning they said warm and pleasant. So no umbrella. Or at least I wish. They might've said it this morning but I was probably too lazy and yet they probably could've been wrong. This was the fourth or so time out of my many years of watching the weather that the afternoon showers actually came to be.
I'm sort of glad that Rescue Me isn't going to be on again until spring of 2006, or else I would be crappy like this every day. But every time when I turn around and look at my fucking five-subject notebook on my table since I got home, I get pissed off all over again. Last night's episode just had a shitload of shit going for it. Including my life, as you could see. This morning when walking into the bathroom, I see someone's period-stained undies in the bathtub. Gross. This afternoon when getting home and walking into the bathroom, I see period-stained jeans on top of the hamper. Gross. Kind of weird how whenever someone in this house is on their period, all the shit happens to yours truly; From bad moods being taken out on yours truly. Or maybe it's just today. Because today clearly is not my day.
Guess whose period it is and you officially get nothing.
Christina N. @ 5:09 PM
Tuesday, September 13
If it's one thing I learned this year, my junior year, was to take senior classes. They are the easiest fucking courses and plus it looks good on your record; You know, that "next higher level" crap and all. The only reason I took 20th Century Lit/Comp was that I can never understand a single fucking thing that Shakespeare says, and the junior english course is british literature. "To be or not to be, that is the question." Come on fucker you're supposed to say, "What the fuck do I do?" Simple as that, but no, Sir William prefers to waste words and my eyesight, further speeding up to my days of having to wear reading glasses. I could come up with a hundred different simple translations for that phrase alone.
"Should I do this?"
"Should I do this or not?"
"What do I do?"
"Do I do this, or do I do that?"
"Dude, I gotta stop thinking with my dick!"
Okay that was five, but at least you could understand them. And quite not frankly I don't find Shakespeare's lingo very beautiful in any way possibly because it's been overplayed into our pop culture, hence watering down its meaning. Perhaps someday I will get it but for now I'd rather read Arthur books and analyze upon why Arthur is the main character living a human life, yet he still owns a pet dog.
Today in literature we had to write a paragraph or two including at least ten vocabulary words about a date with a celebrity of our choice. I chose Keith Richards because there's a lot of shit to write about him. But no shagging. He's fucking hideous these days. I'm not quite sure why I didn't choose Denis Leary though.
There was a quiz on the first two chapters of The Catcher in the Rye and the questions were within the boundaries of, "What is the main character's first name?" The teacher even said that's how simple his quizzes are. And that's an actual question off the quiz. Take notice that he's only asking for the person's first name.
I failed the ten-question quiz anyway. Even if I did read the book two or three times before. But don't worry, I got that very question correct though.
So the Stones are playing at Madison Square Garden tonight and surprise! I'm not going. My dream concert would be to see them, and to see them front row center, within spitting distance of Mick Jagger just so he could spit on me. I mean, going up to someone on the street and saying that you've seen the Stones is like saying you've found divinity. Just say it: "I saw the Stones last night, man." And you'll feel like you just got the greatest blow job in town. And for girls - like you've lost ten pounds. Actually I should be saying twenty pounds, at the rate that this country is consuming calories and obesity points.
I shouldn't be talking, but hey I don't need to lose ten pounds like the majority of America's population.
Speaking of divinity, David Lee Roth seems to be everywhere this past century. Including your house.
bada bing
bada boom
voila!
I gotta give credit to whomever found that house and took those pictures, because they deserve to be pope.
Christina N. @ 6:05 PM
Monday, September 12
Oh and Shaina and Brenda, I'll get to those questions. Hold your piggies.
Christina N. @ 7:29 PM
Oh man, "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" is the greatest fucking song ever. I haven't heard it since about two weeks ago when I was lounging on the porch with the radio and the bee sexually harassed me, but I memorized much of the song anyway. When I first heard it, I was like, "What the fuck? Holy shit!" Everyone's like that when they have a life-changing moment. It doesn't have to technically be life-changing, but something like that.
My exact thoughts a while ago somewhere in the house today were, "School's been pretty decent. Oh shit it's Monday?" I hate contradicting myself so stupidly like that. Usually when I contradict myself, I don't think of the contradiction in a millisecond, and it's for debating myself purposes.
Last night I watched Rescue Me [again]. The first time seeing that episode I was too shocked and didn't cry like a puss, but this time the corners of my eyes welled up half a drop in each corner on each side of my face. I don't like crying, I prefer to be a rock and therefore my mom wouldn't make fun of me. (We're weird like that, making fun of each other's weaknesses. Like they say, the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. I kind of wish I had her looks too, that's the part I'm missing.)
That part at the end when they find out Tommy and Janet's son died, Denis Leary's acting was at its fucking prime. Where's his fucking oscar for Christ's sake? People should stop going all over that guy from that show called House, seriously. Even though I've never seen a single episode, and a million promotion commercials instead, the main character is really quite scary looking. Those pathetic big eyes of his always bending over some patient in a stretcher being rolled somewhere in the hospital. Is he a doctor? He ain't wearing no doc uniform, ever. I shouldn't be talking, but House looks pretty lame from what I see. If the show is actually good, then their commercials clearly suck in my opinion. But the guy still scares me. He looks like Christopher Lloyd, AKA the professor from Back to the Future.
So these new jeans make my ass and my legs look fucking great. It was a very good improvement compared to all of my other jeans, which are at least two to four to five years old by now. Yeah it's that thing that asians are cursed with, we have short legs. So we never need to go knickerbocker shopping too often.
Christina N. @ 7:28 PM
Sunday, September 11
So I've been having a pretty pleasant weekend so far. Yesterday I went to Bed Bath & Beyond (yeah man, to buy a shoe rack) and this cute guy kept glancing at me while stocking some shit that I didn't care about because I'd rather be looking at the cute guy. While I was standing on the only open line to pay for the shoe rack, he opens up a new register so that all the customers wouldn't have to wait as long. Yet, this other guy starts a new one too, but my guy was at a register too far. By the time I reached the closer open register, his was getting a bit crowded. If I had gone to wait at his, my mom would've complained that I wasted time and I think she is on her rag as of current. I'm a fucking failure.
It's kind of amazing how many interesting people you could find within such a small radius of land, but then you never see them again. Happens all the time. I make new friends whom I don't even know their names for a day, only to know that that will be the only day I will ever see them. People say it's a small world, but I say it's a fucking big ass world. Why? Because I haven't met David Lee Roth yet. That's like finding Jesus.
Then we head down to the mall so that I could find a pair of jeans to exchange with this shitty pair that makes me look shitty. Since it was an amazing looking pair of Calvin Klein jeans, my mom said I could find another pair of Calvin Klein jeans so that we would take the tags off of that and stick on the other one so that we could return it. It was the perfect opportunity for me to finally own a designer pair of jeans, but unluckily enough, everything was either:
1. bootcut
2. fatty pants
3. shorty pants
4. an ugly wash
And that fucking pisses me off. So I didn't get a pair of Calvin Klein's. Nor American Rag either. For some reason they've been doing whipits and coming up with ugly washes and pants that show off my asscrack. Who the fuck would be proud of their asscrack? It's just an invitation for someone, or some animal, to apply their phallus into the hole. And plus, it's pretty fucking breezy and I don't like that. When you sit down, you've got an entire canyon down your backside.
I mean, I would wear bootcut jeans, if I wore boots.
Ironically, there was this cheaper store selling more affordable labels that had pairs of jeans that fit me nicely. For only about twenty-five bucks a pair. I only got to bring home one though, we're asian.
Last night I missed The Rolling Stones and Trent Reznor on TV from coming home late. Instead I get a really fucked up looking Motley Crue performing with that's right, Chester Bennington of Linkin Park. I spit out laughing, although I had nothing to spit out. I spit out laughing anyway. Tommy Lee is still as hyperactive as ever, Nikki Sixx is still the biggest cocksucker on the planet, Mick Mars is still less mobile than an action figure of himself, and Vince Neil is still the exact living replica of a chicken mcnugget. I also get Kanye West performing a song that has nothing to do with the hurricane and is, as usual, saying a load of bullshit. I've never seen such a waste of human flesh stay famous for this long. Kanye West needs a dose of Mr. T and Mr. Richard Simmons, along with a hint of Mr. Michael Bolton. Then the planets would all line up again.
On the other hand, Neil Young was amazing. And not surprisingly, MTV cut off his last performance, which was also the last performance of the all-star charity telethon last night.
Christina N. @ 1:51 PM
Friday, September 9
Since I replied to someones elses', I guess I'll do it too.
Leave your name and:
1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal. You MUST. It is written.
Christina N. @ 4:55 PM
Thursday, September 8
Aw man I saw this kid wearing a Chicago t-shirt in school. When I saw him, my first reaction was to laugh, (which I did, a lot), but then I wanted to beat the shit out of him because he probably couldn't have done anything back. I mean, he's a fucking Chicago fan - Does he have balls?
I can't wait 'til I see someone wearing a Poison t-shirt.
Christina N. @ 4:30 PM
Wednesday, September 7
Like all cheap asians, I went to the cheapo ass Target today and got one of these boxes of bacon, egg and cheese in a biscuit breakfast sandwiches. These are the types of things that make my day.
Christina N. @ 9:22 PM
Tuesday, September 6
I made a new Brian Jones layout in LiveJournal. And I have to be honest, it is quite beautiful. And I'm talking about the picture mostly.
First day of school today, and when the normal family weekday dinner came by, my mom, of course, started asking me about how my day was. And even more obviously, I answer like an asshole. Let me ask you this, am I positive? If you don't know the answer to that question, then I suggest you exclude yourself from the internet and reading my shit for as long as you live, because you obviously are a shithead.
I prefer to be honest from now on when asked such questions rather than be a boring happy fuck. So of course I say shit like, "This ugly girl gave me this ugly look today which made her look like a bloated Jeff Goldblum" or something lame and typical but made my mom get aggravated anyway: "This year all the teachers are making me buy twice as many school supplies for each of their individual classes - I don't like wasting my money on notebooks that I'm going to use twenty pages of. And this is after I went back-to-school shopping already." And then she goes on like an pissed off menopausal woman, complaining about how I complain. I'm not really complaining because she asked me in the first place and that is my real sincere answer. (I'm not whining, it's just my opinion and since she asked me, I'm stating my real view on things.) It wasn't really a complaint anyway, I just tend to be on the "the glass is half empty" side. Also, honest to David Lee Roth, there wasn't that much good to say about today anyway.
Of course I was glad as all fucking hell to see friends again. But for some reason she doesn't care about that because I talk about boys. You know how asian and conservative moms are. "Boy? Did you have sex?"
It's probably just that she doesn't get my sense of humor, thinking that [even though she claims she knows that I'm just kidding about hating everyone] she really thinks I'm not normal and that I need help. I only need help when I'm on my period, because that's the only time that I'll actually deck someone in the face for bumping into me by accident. Call Denis Leary a fag and I'd just about cry. Then I'll deck you in the face with a car muffler two hours later.
What kind of knocks me off track is that my mom admitted that she's scared of me because I guess sometimes in her opinion, I look like I'm going to shoot her face with a rifle. Just like that, even if I'm just standing there waiting for her tell whatever it is that she asked me to come to her for. I don't know, I've lost the compassion in me long ago, around age seven or eight or so. I've lost just about every drop of being a caring person. For example, if someone tripped and scraped their knee and created a ketchup cup for french fry freaks on their knee, I'd just be like, "Are you okay?" Well of course they're not fucking okay. But that's just about how caring I could get. Unless that rare time when I love you or something. That'll most likely be post-period time.
Then I say some crap like, "If you don't like my negativity, ask your other daughter." And then my mom's like "No, I want to ask you. I want to fix your habit." No fucking way do you think I'm one of those emo/teen angst asses. It's just the way I tend to look at things, but I never take anything seriously so when I look at things negatively, I'm not really having some serious hate towards it. I would much rather have a negative sense of humor just for the fucking fun of it rather than the boring, "Yes Mom, I had a great day. I like my teachers and I love sitting next to my friends." Booooooring.
For some reason, after coming home and listening to the Stones, it is almost the greatest fucking feeling in the world. I'm not sure why, but I do know that their tunes are laid back and non-beating-the-shit-out-of-someone-crazy, which is great for quite a stressful day such as this. It's only the first day too, so get a sense of how my school-less [and preferable] life is.
Christina N. @ 8:08 PM
Monday, September 5
I'm bored with nothing to say, so here's something I took from Cassandra.
[my name is]: some spanish name
[in the morning i am]: having wet dreams
[love is]: a synonym for sex
[i dream about]: food and when i have to take a piss but don't want to get out of bed, i dream about taking a piss
-W I T H .T H E. O P P O S I T E. S E X-
[what do you notice first?]: from top to bottom - hair, eyes, pants
[last person u slow danced with]: i dance like a fag so i don't dance at all
-W H O-
[do you have a crush on?]: i love myself
[is easiest to talk to]: myself, fucker
-HA V E .Y O U .E V E R-
[fallen for your best friend]: no i am not gay thank you very much
[been in love]: of course, my ripped jeans
-W H O .W A S .T H E .L A S T. P E R S O N-
[you talked to on the phone]: lauren
[hugged]: leslie
[you instant messaged]: i make people message me instead
[you laughed with]: why the fuck would i take note of that?
-D O .Y O U / / A R E .Y O U-
[could you live without the computer?]: what's more important, oxygen, or a piece of plastic with metal and green shit inside?
[what's your favorite food?]: brownies
[whats ur favorite fruit?]: oranges
[what hurts the most? physical pain or emotional pain?]: inside your head, or otherwise inside your ass
[trust others way too easily?]: yeah i'm a pussy like that
-N U M B E R-
[of times i have had my heart broken? ]: once or twice
[of hearts i have broken?]: more than the answer above because older men keep hitting on me but no joe perry yet
[of boys i have kissed?] : a sad answer
[of girls i have kissed?] : i said i'm not gay
[of drugs taken illegally?] : none, i'm good
[of tight friends?] : in the single digits
[of cd's that i own?] : less than a foot tall when stacked up, do the math
[of scars on my body?] : a thousand on my face and some chicken pox scars here and there. if i say anymore it decreases my chances of getting laid
[of things in my past that i regret?] : crawling out of the wet vagina cave
-Self-Analysis.You.Probably.Don't.Want.To.Do-
[annoying thing you do]: i piss people off as a hobby and then my mom yells at me because i do it to her the most
[biggest mistake you've made this far]: the thing i just fucking said
[describe your personality in one word]: asshole
[the physical feature for which you are most often complimented]: height and hair, yeah it's two
[height]: 5'6" but that's asian comparison
[a smell that makes you smile]: man
[a drink you order most often]: lemonade
[a delicious dessert]: hot brownie sundae
[a book you highly recommend]: johnny got his gun, because i want to see you cry like a little pussy
[the music you prefer while alone]: sinatra or something super sappy like the carpenters or richard marx
[your favorite band]: the kind that you can fling 20 feet and is still strong enough to rupture duff mckagan's liver again. yeah i think it's his liver
[a film you could watch over and over]: Jackass: The Movie
[you live in a(n)]: planet full of dipshits
[your transportation]: i walk because bad drivers make me step out of the car and kick their balls in so high that they'll be shitting out bloody sperm
[under your bed or in your closet you hide]: i don't hide shit in there, be smart you twit
Christina N. @ 3:05 PM
Sunday, September 4
Yesterday was a good day, a very good day. I finally got that The Job DVD. So my mom and sibling and I were at the Sam Goody at Bridgewater Commons. I walk in, knowing what I was going to get and what section to get the damn thing, walk straight to the shelf and pull the volume out. At the register when I was reaching into my wallet and pull out a hundred, my mom offers to pay for me. I'm not exactly sure why, but you fucking bet I was grateful. It's probably because before she said she would get it for me, and/or the fact that she likes Denis Leary too. That's pretty honorable of her to, because as opposed to her always keeping her promises, I like to hypothetically cross my fingers behind my back whenever somebody is making me take an oath for them.
The $53 worth total was truly worth it though - I finally got a chance to watch it today and I lean-back laugh for at least three to five times during each half hour episode - and I've only watched the first disc [out of four]. There was this one episode entitled "Bathroom" that just fucking made me crack my ass off. (Yeah, it's named after the place where everybody takes their morning shits, of course it cracked me up.) Ironically enough, after watching that same episode for the third time, I had to take quite a nasty shit myself. Ate too much fiber today.
Or whatever the fuck it is that makes you take nuclear dumps, I'm not a nutritionist.
So I waltz my ass to the bathroom, and just about one step in my mom says, "Hold on, let her brush her teeth first." - pertaining to the sibling. Well right now I'm pretty fucking pissed, because what's worse news than when you gotta take a shit really badly, step into the can and then someone tells you that you can't shit? Alright, so I didn't have time to say something nasty except for a pussy little "I gotta go!" and without waiting for a reaction from either relative, I run off to the basement, and of fucking course, I do my fucking business.
Yeah so while I'm sitting there crapping, the light above my head in the center of the bathroom ceiling starts to flicker. At first I just figured, "Well, a lot of lights do that and it most likely will not go out." But then there was that little bald pussy with the spectacles wearing white in the back of my head going, "It's going to burn out, find a secondary light source so that you could see where you're wiping your ass." Three seconds later, the light goes out.
Luckily enough, there's another light switch that goes to another much brighter bulb in the bathroom. And even more luckily enough, it was within hand's reach. So I never panicked the whole time. Even if there was no other light, fuck that, it's the fucking basement, I could sit up for less than a second and push the door open for the light in the main room to shine in. I fucking swear, I would really do that. I would much rather have shit staining the door rather than have shit staining myself.
Christina N. @ 11:33 PM
Saturday, September 3
Christina N. @ 12:19 AM
Friday, September 2
Yoinked from Padmez.
Look at your LJ "interests" list. If you have fewer than 50 interests, pick every fifth one. If you have between fifty and seventy-five interests, pick every seventh one. If you have over seventy-five interests, pick every tenth one. If you have fewer than ten, pick all of 'em.
List them on your LJ, and tell everyone exactly what it is about these things that interests you so much.
Bonzo - John Bonham is a fucking lunatic. I admire anyone who shits in a hooker's shoe. And an underage japanese girl's purse, if that bit is even true.
David Bowie - fucking amazing and the only person in the universe who could rock a mullet that fucking well. End of story.
Farrah Fawcett hair - It's gorgeous, gorgeous on Farrah, and not gorgeous on me. I wish I could pull it off so that my head could bounce and fluff like hers.
Izzy Stradlin - In my opinion, the most goodlooking being on Earth. Not to mention very talented and underrated. You would think that I would say "Fuck Axl" right here, but no, more accurately I would say, "Fuck Izzy."
Knarly beards - Because they're knarly and knarly is cool.
Mr. Pink - 'Cause he's a faggot, alright?
"Safety Dance" - The song sounds very distinctively futuristic, and the band puts it with a medieval video. And I always laugh my ass off at every single person's lame impression of trying to sing this song.
Stone Temple Pilots - Because they're as good as strawberry cheesecake and beef jerky while watching porn on Saturday nights.
Tracheotomy Man - Tracheotomy Man is Denis Leary in fifteen years - Nine tracheotomies on his neck so that he could smoke a pack at a time.
Christina N. @ 8:17 PM
Thursday, September 1
I think my dad is masturbating in his room because I keep hearing loud sudden noises. My mom's at work still and the sibling went to bed. And for your information, I did not have clams for dinner tonight.
This afternoon I took my mom's words into consideration when she was talking about how dumb my sister is. One day, after Kelly's appointment at the eye doctor and hearing that it got significantly worse in such a short amount of time, my mom explained to her that she should find other things to do rather than watching TV or going on the computer 24/7, i.e. playing outside. Stupidly enough, Kelly went into her room for about a half hour to contemplate about her important change in lifestyle. She then came out and asked my mom, "What do I do outside?" She is eleven years old.
My mom's words just reminded me of the pleasant time that I had a couple months ago when I sat on the porch on a beautiful day, just sitting on a redneck lawnchair, eating vanilla oreos and listening to, that's right, Ted Nugent. I decided to do that same thing today, and enjoy what's left of my summer vacation.
So I took Kelly's radio out of her room, picked up The Dirt, and sat down in the same exact place as before. It was quite the nice day, except for the wind, which kept making my favorite radio station lose its signal. The reason I didn't play CD's was because I heard that Denis Leary was the voice in those Coors Light commercials, and thought I would catch a hear of one of them Coors Light commercials. I didn't. I waited and waited. Commercial break after commercial break. All I heard was this stupid most-likely-big-boobed chick advertising Amstel Light. I don't care if Coors Light sucks (or anything light, for that matter), I just wanted to hear it just for the fucking sake of it.
WDHA, I think (one of the guys who were made over on Queer Eye For the Straight Guy is a DJ on one of their radio shows) was airing this auction for front row Stones tickets, the proceeds going to help those in New Orleans. The bidding was up to $5050 by the time I heard it and it would go up fifty bucks on every half hour, I think until 9:00 P.M. I would've very much like to have participated, but you know me, not enough dough.
As I was reading The Dirt (again), this bee started flying around me. As any sane and non-chicken person would do, was to stay completely still and the flying mini Stryper-blimp would eventually go away. This goddamn bee would not go away. I stayed still for about two minutes, watching it whiz around my back and around my legs, and it would just not fucking leave. (Did I stink that bad or something? I hadn't washed my hair in three days. But that fact only applies to flies, according to myth.) The fucking thing just went around and around, for some fucking reason beyond my knowledge; Until I actually started to get nervous. I was waiting for the right time to make a run for it, but the thing would not even fly an inch out of orbit. So when it was behind my chair, I got up and dashed for the door.
I stood there inside the door looking at the bee fly around my empty chair for another 60 seconds.
Christina N. @ 11:32 PM
Shit that I stole from Britt.
Thirteen random things you like
01) food
02) stealing
03) kevin bacon
04) leather
05) big hair
06) denis leary
07) baking
08) sitting
09) scratching myself
10) cleanliness
11) dunkin' donuts
12) blue jeans
13) heavy cotton
Twelve movies
01) bachelor party
02) platoon
03) suicide kings
04) the ref
05) pulp fiction
06) footloose
07) the french connection
08) weekend at bernie's
09) chinatown
10) indecent proposal
11) lawnmower man 2: jobe's war
12) house party
Eleven good bands/artists
01) david bowie
02) aerosmith
03) megadeth
04) ac/dc
05) rolling stones
06) anthrax
07) nine inch nails
08) stone temple pilots
09) thin lizzy
10) black rebel motorcycle club
11) deep purple
Ten things about you (Physically)
01) my hair will always be kept the same style for as long as i live, or until i grow cheekbones
02) i get tanlines on my feet
03) my face used to be a pepperoni and bacon pizza
04) my nose isn't the typical asian flat nose
05) got moles on the sides of my face along the hairline
06) birthmark on the middle of left cheek that can't really be seen anymore cuz you get it confused with acne scars
07) tallest member of my family
08) tiny feet
09) only get a maximum of 20 split ends in one year that i know of
10) baby got no back
Nine friends
01) mr. refridgerator
02) me
03) you
04) denis leary dvd
05) mr. flamingo toy
06) alton brown
07) jacque torres
08) shaina
09) mr. toaster
Eight favorite foods/drinks
01) bacon
02) brownies
03) pancakes
04) waffles
05) chocolate
06) nachos with salsa
07) frappuchinos
08) drinks that burn going down
Seven things you wear daily
01) pants
02) shirt
03) underoos
04) hair tie
05) footwear
06) zits
07) germs and bodily fluids
Six things that annoy you
01) bugs at night outside the window
02) birds in the morning outside the window
03) pubic hair
04) dirtiness
05) my stink
06) stupid questions asked by the stupid people who ask the stupid questions
Five things you touch everyday
01) myself
02) my food
03) my computer
04) my house cleaning materials
05) my kitchen knives
Four shows you watch
01) rescue me
02) jackass
03) dirty jobs
04) rock school
Three celebrities you have a crush on
01) denis leary
02) his son
03) his dog
Two people on myspace that you have kissed
01) i don't
02) kiss myelf
One person you could spend the rest of your life with
01) david lee roth
Christina N. @ 4:38 PM
