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