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