Let me tell you about my day. I was dressed as Axl Rose for Halloween. I had quite a bit of trouble getting into the car in the morning, for my hair added about five or six inches to my height. After school, I decided, "Why let such a great costume go to waste?" So I called Ilona, and since she's the type who is always available at anytime of the day, hung out with her. We walked all the way to the mall from her house and I danced the Axl Rose crab dance to every passing car with a microphone. Some drivers honked, some did the metal sign back at me, some refused to comprehend my existence. Crab-danced across a busy intersection with praise. The white van on the side of me honked and the driver was laughing his ass off.
Inside the mall, there was nothing but hundreds of parents and kids in Spiderman and Cinderella costumes, but Axl Rose ain't got no mercy on them and sang "Welcome to the Jungle" and spread his love all through the shopping center, like a good ol' pussy. He went into Abercrombie and screamed at one of the workers, "HEY YOU SEXY GUY!" and the sexy guy looked at Axl like Axl was a fucking moron. As if, sista. Talk to the hand, 'cause your mom's a man.
On the lower floor was a large children's play area with foam cars and foam playhouses for them to climb all over, on top of carpeting and surrounded by a fence. And along the fence are benches where the parents sit. Well right above the play area, overlooking it, is a staircase with a balcony where the staircase changes direction. Axl Rose gave a little concert on that balcony, and received many confused and disgusted faces from parents of all sorts. The kids didn't mind at all, of course.
About twenty minutes later, Axl's friend had to go meet some peeps so Axl's friend made Axl leave. So Axl and his friend walked back to Axl's friend's house, and on the same intersection as before, had to stop because of the "NO WALKING" signal. So what to do while waiting? Axl did another dance right next to the streetlight for all the stopped cars. Some loved it, some did not like Guns n' Roses. The ones who did not like Axl's performance are the ones who listen to Poison.
Axl Rose will have pictures of Axl and Slash on Wednesday.
Christina N. @ 8:03 PM
Saturday, October 29
Work sucks balls. But it's life. And it's money. A lot of my coworkers are super nice and then there's the number that are bigger assholes than that of residing on Axl Rose's bum. I don't know why that is, but I'm guessing that I'm about half a foot taller than everyone for some reason, except for my manager who's a dude and the two other dudes who work there too, and somehow they are intimidated by that. But then again, I've only worked for two days in my entire sad life so once I start to know what I'm doing it'll probably get better. And more tedious, probably. Because the faster you get shit done, the more free time to walk around and puff pillows.
I am also the last person on Earth to have just gotten a cell phone for just this purpose. If you want the number, just instant message me on AIM.
Today I worked for eight goddamn hours and on my only thirty-minute break sat on a bench outside in forty degree weather in a too-small-for-me shearling-lined jacket in the glaring sun and ate a cold-as-Jeff-Goldblum's-balls Philly cheesesteak that my mom had made for me. I then decided that I needed some sort of kick that wasn't exactly drugs so I went to Starbucks and spent about half of all the money I had left until I got my first paycheck; which was about eleven dollars.
There was this dorky looking prick sitting two tables in front of me, and I enjoyed watching him because he looks like that ugly delinquent prick son in that Denis Leary movie, The Ref. Yeah, that one with the stupid flip above his forehead like Big Bob's Boy, but not so puffy. For some reason I enjoy watching morons, because for once I'm not watching myself.
Goddamn it, I fucking hate Jeff Goldblum. If he keeps on doing that stupid stare, someday his eyes are going to turn into optical yo-yo's. As in popping out of his head. I was once searching for pictures of him on Google to make fun of him but then I got kicked in the ass - there was a nude picture of him and my eyes felt like Steven Seagal had just grabbed my skull, wearing his size 50 leather work boots and smashed three Roman candles into both of my eyes.
Christina N. @ 8:41 PM
Thursday, October 27
I start work tomorrow. But today I had to go see my manager to make him sign some shit on my working permit so that I could finalize it in school tomorrow and bring it to work afterwards. He introduced me to some other people who worked there. They all happened to be standing in a line behind the counter while my manager was talking to them when I came in. When he told me their names, they all in unison said, "Hi!" Man, that sounds cheesy but it sure makes you feel an assload better.
In his office we got to talking and filling out W-4s and shit, and I'm glad he agrees that New Jersey's working permit bullshit is such a pain in the ass. He grew up in New York and it was simple shit. I also told him that he's just about one of the only two people in the world who knew how to pronounce my last name and spell it correctly too. I forgot who the other person was, but there definitely was another person. Anyway, yeah he watches 21 Jump Street and the asian guy was named Justin Nguyen. This guy knows what he's doing. I think if my manager were about thirty or forty pounds heavier, he could be a bouncer for Studio 54.
For criminology there was an assignment to design the perfect police officer. Apparently, the class purely enjoyed it by their show of extreme laughter during my presentation. So I thought I'd share. And for your information, I used Photoshop and did not cheat by stealing somebody else's creation.
· 5'9" but 6'1" with the afro, 175 pounds
· voice of John Wayne
· the bravery and courage of Rambo [as you can see in the background, he is in 'Nam]
· the pride of his heritage like professional sushi chefs [hence the headband]
· preparedness of Steve Urkel [that's why he always carries a rifle, AK47 specifically, with him]
· firmness and fairness of Judge Judy
· the common sense and wisdom of Mr. Miyagi in The Karate Kid
· punches (but doesn’t bite ears) like Mike Tyson
· runs like Forrest Gump
· precision in shooting like Robin Hood [hence the bow]
· crudeness (and hair) of Samuel L. Jackson
I have no idea how to make bullets but it just copied onto there from Microsoft Word.
Christina N. @ 7:06 PM
Wednesday, October 26
When Mr. Wittner was taking attendence in gym class, he tells me to come up to him. I'm thinking that there was something wrong with my grade or that he had something important to tell me, but then he tells me a story about a street vendor in New York who sold pretzels and bagels. His name was John (or Dan?) Bagelman and Mr. Wittner would call the guy John the Bagel Man. Then he made me go sit back down. He told me this story because I'm a bagel fiend and that's pretty much all I eat in school except for candy and french fries, bagels making up for 80% of what I eat. Man, does that Mr. Wittner know how to make someone's day. His picture is right under the word "awesomemotherfucker" in my book. It's my book, that's why "awesomemotherfucker" is a word.
You know what's disappointing? When all of the nice looking jackets in your house are too fucking small. My leather jacket feels like it's shrunken an inch or two since last year but still weighs about ten goddamn pounds. So today I borrowed my mom's shearling lined jacket, and even though my back and shoulders were as warm and cozy as Axl Rose in a Dunkin' Donuts kitchen, my hands were more frigid than the lines of exposed skin on his head where his cornrows are parted. Now I'm going to wait until I get several paychecks from work to buy something new that fits. Jesus fucking Christ, it's about time that my hormones told me that they've been eating their Cheerios in the morning.
So this really scary little asian girl keeps staring me down in the hallway every B day after first block. It's really fucking scary because she's pretty fucking short and really fucking pale with that typical japanese orangey color dyed hair, and the puffy pink jacket with the fur trim and Ugg boots. I don't know what her problem is, but I always spot her looking at me, like I've got some kind of problem or that I look too weird. Well excuse me, missy, we're only from the same continent. This girl is so freaky, I don't even know what grade she's in. I've never heard her speak or even open her mouth. She looks at me like I've disgraced something or that she's stalking me for some unusual reason, and it doesn't help that she's paler than Howard Stern's ass. And everybody's seen Howard Stern's ass, because he was Fartman.
Christina N. @ 5:25 PM
Tuesday, October 25
I start work at Pier 1 Imports on Friday after school at 4:00 to around 10:00, which is closing time. I also work on Wednesdays and the weekends; Weekdays at 4:00 - 10:00 and weekends 10:00AM - 6:00PM. So for the remainder of my life I am no longer going to be the scumbag that I am so proud of. And if the job goes well, my folks are soon going to get me a cell phone. That's right, I'm a big girl now.
Today was the field trip to the Guggenheim art museum in New York City. It was fun and a nice break from my normal life of eyelid-lifting in class and from my mother's constant surveillance of what I'm doing at all times when in her presence. Borrowed Jeannie's camera but unfortunately enough, I learned the hard way that photography was stricly prohibited in the museum. This three-foot-tall little snobby bitch of a security woman came up to me when I was about to snap a shot of Eric pointing at a name on a painting's frame that read something like "Van Dyck" and rambled all this bullshit about how the "no pictures" signs were all over the place and how I should pay attention. She was short and was looking up at me like I was some kind of naughty skyscraper. I could've decked her one in the face but that would've gotten me kicked out or something and therefore ruin my entire day.
So I only got four shots in all, none of which are of a single piece of art. It's better than nothing. I ain't no photographer and I don't intend on being one, so criticism of my skills is ridiculous because I've done all the criticism by myself already.
This turned out really bad, but the museum's a big place. Big enough to fit new Axl inside comfortably, other than Mongolia.
Mr. Eric Mauro contemplating on the finer things in life, and why he has circles all over himself.
I don't know what that is but I believe it is fabric.
We ate at McDonald's and this was the lovely mediterranean view that I saw outside the window.
From last night, when Woody (yeah I fucking named that old chap) was flaunting the fact that he has no penis.
Found this in my room when I got home today. Taking a picture of it was pointless, but that security bitch caused for the camera to have lots of space left in it.
The backyard reminded me a lot of Fruitloops. Don't know why I was shaking.
Fuck going outside, man. Who cares about netted windows.
This is our collection of multi-colored toilet paper.
I didn't actually stand in front of the tree when taking this.
My mom made me make those vases. Glued every single goddamn piece of tile by hand and with no measuring, it took me a week and she got angry because of that.
She made this in about fifteen minutes and it looks like she pulled out a ginger root out of Pat Morita's ass.
Christina N. @ 5:17 PM
Sunday, October 23
I am currently listening to my sister repeatedly telling her friend to shut up over the phone from in her room. That's really ironic, because they're on the phone. It's really scaring me because I've never heard my sister being impulsive to someone other than me. Oh the hormones, man.
Dinner with Amy on Friday at Bennigan's was fucking amazing. The millisecond that I stepped into the car when she came to pick me up, we started talking and going off like there was no two year gap at all. It was like we saw each other the day before. When you've met someone like that, you know you've found a great friend.
One thing that I found pretty peculiar and mildly amusing at the same time was, every single waiter in the restaurant looked like Steven Hyde from That '70s Show. I don't know if they just coincidentally hired a bunch of curly-haired irish guys or that an entire group of friends decided to apply for work at the same place.
Christina N. @ 12:33 PM
Saturday, October 22
I've been neglectively realizing that I have been in foul, foul moods lately. Shitty states of mind. Well today it dropped to an all-week low because despite the fact that I just got hired at Pier 1 Imports this morning after an only 10 - 15 minute second interview, I am no longer allowed to rent movies nor am I fully trusted in what I view on TV.
I'd been asking my mom to take me to Blockbuster for a few weeks now, and she said I could get horror movies if I wanted to. (fucking sounds like i'm an eleven year old, but that's how things are in this house) At around 1:00 in the afternoon we head down the place, and I pick up Hellraiser and The Wall. The Wall isn't categorized as a horror flick (even though it's pretty horrendous all in itself), but my first choices were the original Texas Chainsaw Massacure, American History X, and Natural Born Killers. All were out, and while I was scanning an aisle of movies, I saw The Wall, and a lightbulb flickered on in my head, reminding me that I'd been curious about seeing it for quite some time. So I take it off of the shelf with good intention of whack.
At the comedy section, I couldn't resist picking up a Denis Leary movie, so I chose Wag the Dog. When I met up with my mom again, ready to use her membership card, she starts going on about how I'm not going to be able to watch all three movies in time to finish homework and go to school and all that shit for Monday. It was only three movies. My schedule is always to watch two movies in one day and finish the third the next day (Sunday); and calculating that I don't have as much homework, should be able to finish each and every film in addition with completed homework. She still goes on and on and gets angry so I walk back to the comedy section and put back Wag the Dog, because it isn't all that much as significant to me.
Watched Hellraiser alone in my room, being that everyone else in the house either goes to work or is a fucking pussy, and later tonight I decided that my room fucking sucks because I can't smear all of my facial cream off by rolling around comfortably in my bedsheets (and sitting on a bed is pointless because there's fucking nothing to lean on), so I decide to watch The Wall in the living room because there are sofas with pillows and I can sit comfortably without smearing my face on anything.
Bad decision. This decision cost me the right to rent movies for the rest of the time that I am living within these walls. A little into the beginning of the movie, my mother was in the kitchen washing dishes, and one of the most well-known songs, "Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2" comes on, parallel to its meat factory scene. Since she actually likes the music of Pink Floyd, she decides to come and watch it with me, as opposed to her loathing of horror movies (Hellraiser).
The movie continues and there comes the boob and drug and raping and fascist parts. All with no real dialogue or obvious plot. I could feel her anger, watching her looking tense and infuriated while watching the film. I was fucking dying, waiting for the film to end, so that her anger wouldn't build up and force me to stop it in mid-movie and make me go to bed or something. She didn't, and remained quiet and in the same position all through the whole thing, even after I turned it off when it was over, took a piss, went back out into the living room and took it out of the DVD player.
She still remained quiet after I sat back down and started watching TV. I'd been feeling really guilty, exposing her to such things - things she hates, so I decided to apologize (first time I ever did to her in my life. i actually said the word "sorry" like a goddamn itty bitty pussy), and tried to explain why I would want to watch such a thing, and why I don't think it's the "cool" thing to do, to rent a movie as crazy as that, but because I like to see new and different and weird things just for the hell of it, and that I would never take these types of films or images seriously - I simply watch them for the thrill and the thrill of seeing different things; to open up new horizons of what there is out there.
As usual, being the extremely talkative person that my mom is, she talks for 93% of the time and makes me so fucking nervous from her ability to intimidate someone. I was shaking like a detoxing crack addict, in terrible fear of what my punishment will be and the belittling shit that she'll say about how she thinks how low my intelligence is. She claimed that she completely understood every meager word (meager out of fear and stress, which leads to lack of adequate words) that I said.
Then I asked if I could rent something lighter the next time. She said that there wouldn't be a next time because she doesn't know what light or heavy means according to my standards and my point of view. This means that she doesn't trust me picking out films and wasting our money, thinks that I am too influenced by the television (she had asked where I had heard about The Wall from and I said TV, just to make it short and simple, and hopefully to blot out any further disputes, which it didn't, and caused one that was just as bad). By the way she explained things, she firmly believes that I really soak in every single minute of bullshit I see on TV or movies, and take it as a role model and will copy after these "bad people." Yeah fucking right, woman. I watched The Wall and took it as seriously as I would have taken it if I watched a documentary on wallabies. It meant nothing to me as in guiding my future (if you take this movie into consideration in terms of basing your future upon, then you are officially on my shit list along with Gwar, KISS, and Lord of the Rings fanatics [that is, unless you want to get into the world of psychedelic animation]).
Like I said, I watched it for the mere enjoyment of seeing weird, unusual, new things. There is nothing wrong with opening up a new perspective on how films could be and are made, and knowing that they aren't strictly made after some kind of list of what they must be like according to some fifty year old balding shithead who watches Cold Case Files religiously and works for the Academy.
So in a nutshell, my mother thinks that I take rockstars as role models and look up to them like role models. No fucking way. I look up to myself and I do what I feel is right and logical and what is within reason. I don't listen to some heroin shooter pussy who weighs as much as one of Whoopi Goldberg's weaves and writes songs and plays music like a god. I don't give a shit who they are, how great they are at this or that or how shitty they are at other things. I calculate things within my own boundaries of morality and make up my own fucking style of presenting myself, believing in certain things, and performing certain actions. No fucking way would I do something just because some gorgeous guitar player does it, or some smart-mouthed comedian said it was cool. I base my decisions on what I've experienced and observed in my surroundings and in the past, and from there I decide on whether it is right or wrong or logical or stupid or cool or not cool. It's about time that she knew I'm a firm believer in independence and improving oneself. That way you truly become your own person, and possibly the best you ever could be, because you're not a copy of some other ball sucker who most likely isn't perfect either; Just like I, or you, could never be. You're open-minded and susceptible to any fucking thing that is coming to you, and you don't think in a straight fucking line. I hate those types, those types who think in a straight line and inside a box that is 1 x 1 cm in size.
My opinion on The Wall: I would've enjoyed it 110 times more had my mother not been spreading her wing over my head like that. I saw it as a fantastically illustrated depiction of the subconscious, and the subconscious is something that could be beautiful or horrifying or anything - it is absolutely mysterious, and I always find the mysterious to be extremely intriguing. It also isn't the greatest movie either, because sometimes you aren't in the right state of mind and it could totally scare the fuck out of you, or you're just not in the right mood. To put it in other words, it depends on the individual viewer - whether they see it as a smut film or an artistic masterpiece, this movie cannot really be judged specifically. I mostly like it, just because I could see crazy shit happening for more than two hours. Shit that you don't even have to find out the meaning of. You know how much of a fucking great kick I get out of seeing things get blown up or beaten to orange pulp at the bottom of a juicer - I fucking love it. Just for the fucking fun of seeing some fucker's head get bashed in with a bat or giant walking hammers or an eyebrow-less fascist Bob Geldof who can't find out how to imitate the Village People correctly.
I know I probably took this way out of proportion and too seriously, but hey, writing this shit makes me feel better.
Christina N. @ 10:52 PM
Friday, October 21
I think I'm either lately being a self-righteous prick or that a lot of people have been affected by some weird disturbance in the Earth's magnetic atmosphere and have suddenly decided to set a high school goal of pissing me off. I think I'm just a prick. The main reason is that my mother has been pretty bitter, and/or disappointed in me, and has caused me to be worried, stressed, and embittered as a result. Her main reason for being disappointed is that for one thing, on my progress report I got two 70s and a 65. She didn't give a shit that everything else out of the eight courses was 89 and higher, including two 100s (for the first fucking time in my number-graded life, man); nor the fact that I really worked harder this quarter. Even if she has told me that all she wanted was for me to do my best. I fucking did, man. She doesn't know, and probably wouldn't believe me if I said this, but for gym every single goddamn person gets the same exact grade, which is just a showing that they passed or not passed, and for business management my teacher lost my paper and lied to me - she said that my grade would be higher but by seeing it on my progress report - she was wrong.
So I am taking Amy out for dinner tonight at 6:00, which I'm assuming is against my mom's will because she hasn't really been talking to me ever since I stepped into the house after coming home from school today, except for telling me that Pier 1 Imports called earlier, asking me for a second job interview with them. But what I'm guessing she only sees is that she thinks I just want to fucking go out - out of her house. That is not fucking true at all. I hadn't seen this close friend of mine in two fucking years and her birthday was just on Wednesday, and thought it would be a splendid idea to take her out to dinner as a gift, and was also a good opportunity so that we could catch up on things. I'm not fucking doing this for myself entirely, that would only be something a self-righteous dick would do; I'm a self-righteous prick who doesn't like underclassmen because they keep stepping on my feet in the hallway and talking about Fall Out Boy.
I'm pretty damn worried about how long this grudge from my mother is going to last, and how far (if at all) she is going to punish me. She said that going out once every week is too much. That's a conservative asian thing, for those of you whose eyes just popped up an inch wider. But then again, I could just be overreacting and there may not be anything wrong at all.
And yes, I'm pretty damn excited about this second interview for the job at Pier 1 Imports tomorrow at 11:00 in the morning. The place smells pretty damn nice, it's not messy, the place is stylish, and there's not a shitload of people everywhere at all times. I probably have a good chance at getting it, and hopefully the turnout would be different that from that fucking T.J. Maxx place.
Maybe the thing about seeing Conan O'Brien (and much less that comedy festival that Denis Leary is going to be at in Soho, NYC) next month is totally out of the question at this rate and point. Kind of upsetting, but I'm not really sure if I deserve to go anyway.
Just a minute ago when I was packing my purse ready for dinner later, my sister stands outside my door and demands, "HELP!" - meaning that there is something wrong with her computer and I have to go help her. Jesus fucking Christ, at least ask me to. Eleven fucking years old, decent student in middle fucking school, and she still doesn't fucking have a smidge of respect. She's fucking lucky that I didn't pull a fucking Axl like my initial reaction would've normally been, but I surprised myself and my anger guage didn't fly. Mostly because had my mom heard me get angry, which she usually does because the house ain't that big and it's a fucking ranch house, she would've really given me a harder time than she already is.
Like I've said many times before, nothing pisses me off more than disrespect. And the only time that my sister ever talks to me is if she needs (or rather, demands for) help, or to ask a stupid question about her homework, like "What's the answer to this question?" The question is usually relating to an entire short-story that must be read in order to answer the goddamn question. At least have the common sense to know that the only way to answer those types of questions is to read the story over for a better understanding or at least show me a portion of the story to read to help her answer the question. Another reason why I don't think she ever talks to me that much is because she's afraid of me. Well that's nice because she pisses me off and therefore I get angry, and anger never makes a person not look scary.
Added to my voice and how old I look in comparison to my age, is one of the reasons that my parents don't have many friends. Yeah, you know, that type of situation in which your dad's friend-from-work's family is having a party and so your dad takes his family to the party too, thus opening a door to new family (mostly parents') friends. Normally, when people at these parties see me (considering that they are vietnamese, all the time), and how many feet taller I am than them, along with my beastman voice, fucking scares them. This naturally leads to them judging my parents too, even if they are nothing like me. This leads to them not wanting to get into contact with my parents very much after that particular party.
I am absolutely fine with that, because if someone is that fucking shallow and close-minded to judge a person entirely on their outer appearance, and only on their fucking daughter, then I don't want to associate with them at all. And the adults that really do admire me despite my grizzlyness, then I admire them greatly in return. These are the folks that my parents are actually friends with and are in contact with pretty constantly. It's really disappointing, because of just my appearance and persona, is the reason that my parents don't have many friends. It's really disappointing that a lot of people back away so easily and by something that dumb.
Christina N. @ 4:41 PM
Tuesday, October 18
Behold, David Lee Roth:
Behold, David Lee Roth with no clothes at his country ranch:
Christina N. @ 5:25 PM
Monday, October 17
Goddamn, talk about being bored. It's 12:30 and I'm just about to run a marathon while eating chocolate sprinkle donuts and downing Tropicana pulp-less orange juice at the same time, while wearing spandex blue bicycle shorts and those new Nike sneakers with the springs on the heel. And I wouldn't give a shit if the donuts cancelled out the orange juice because I'd be fucking running. Up and down the street, all the way to fucking Utah if I could. That is how tired I am not at this moment. Forty-minute presentation tomorrow? Fuck that. Paying people back money I owe them? Fuck that. I'm ready to fucking jump. David Lee Roth style. All the way to Jupiter. And I'd still be able to do the hokey pokey over there.
It's funny how at night you start thinking about all these weird things like saving the world from tree huggers and thinking that you're the next Nostradamus and all that shit; Just wait until you see me at 4:00AM. I'll have the answer to how big god's penis is and exactly how many twinkies it took for Axl Rose to get such a fine set of love handles next to a warthog's sphincter muscle.
Man, I'd be baking M&M cookies and chocolate cupcakes with pastel green icing on them if I could, while wearing nothing but lacy black underwear and fuzzy red slippers if I could, just for the hell of it. And hoping that a hot pizza guy would come at the door. Never mind the fact that I didn't order pizza and all the pizza places are closed at this hour.
Did I ever mention the time when all of my cousins were at my house when we were all little and I was it when we were playing hide and seek, but the catch was that I had to close my eyes and run, and when it was my cue to start looking for all of them I ran into a wall headfirst, charging-bull mode? I'm not sure if they told me to run or if it was just my own stupidity, but I ran alright. And the sound I heard in my head when I hit the wall was like a cymbal being smashed onto an anvil by Hulk Hogan on speed.
Christina N. @ 1:02 AM
Sunday, October 16
Aw man, tomorrow I have to "look decent" for a presentation that I have to do. I just came up with the idea of wearing velvet pants and tucking them into cowboy boots, just for kicks. And it might actually be accepted as looking "decent." Hmmm. Maybe. I need more opinions on this. My mom wants me to wear a skirt and cami set, which I don't want to because for one thing, tomorrow's going to be windy and I don't want my vagina to be cold. That is one thing that I definitely do not want.
What really sucks is that it's about the Fifth Amendment. No matter how many times I'd read that fucking amendment, I still have no idea what it says. After so many years after it had been written, nobody bothered to write a translation? Jesus fucking Christ, added to the fact that I'm asian too; We're not able to comprehend such language. But luckily enough, I'm the one in the group who all they have to do is go over the worksheet, which is ten easy true-and-false questions. Hell yeah, man. I asked for that single contribution too, because, I'm a fucking jerk.
So I'm planning on taking Amy out to dinner for her birthday this Friday. We hadn't seen each other in two years since she moved back to Harrison, which is somewhere near Newark and Newark is somewhere near New York City. The idea is to give her something as a gift, but to also give us the opportunity to catch up on our lives and gimmicks, for old times' sake. I really hope my mom doesn't flip into Super Asiam Mom Mode and lets me do this. She probably would, because I'm actually doing something nice for a change.
I really hope this gets into action because man, Amy and I had the greatest times. I always feel like I owe my friends something and yes, as a pussy would say it: It feels good to do something nice.
This weekend hasn't been all that great. All I did was stay at home and eat leftovers for their third time. Which really bothers such a picky glut as me, we just can't take it.
Christina N. @ 5:22 PM
Saturday, October 15
One of the scariest things in the world to experience is this: I was once dining at a buffet and after eating thirty or ninety crab legs, went into the bathroom to wash my hands. While standing in front of the sink and what the fuck do you think, was washing my hands, and then in the mirror I saw this squat little middle aged latino woman with short hair who looks like the woman who killed Selena walk into a stall. This woman must have had like two buckets of chili peppers or whatever the fuck, but in record time, I could fucking hear her pull her pants down and man, immediately after that I could've fucking sworn that the Japs had come back for revenge. Dude, not only was she making massive sound effects with her ass but with her mouth as well. It was the most uncomfortable time in my life to wash my hands. And even worse for me was that those thirty or ninety crab legs left no mercy on my fingers. Took fucking forever to get them clean. But the lady in the stall right behind me kept making these bomb-and-fuck sounds so I didn't complete the hand cleaning job 100% out of fear that the Japs would start going german on me and use a poison gas attack. So I dried my hands with this really awkward look on my face and even more awkward thoughts in my head, and dashed out of there in the record time that the lady took to drop her trousers.
Christina N. @ 4:28 PM
Friday, October 14
I'd get into specifics about a decent day such as today, but I'd start to overdo myself and write one of those four-page entries again. Too tired for that right now. But not enough to go to sleep. I just watched Nip/Tuck and took a shower; That is no fucking way to fall asleep. Being clean and horny at the same time just doesn't do good for a lonely sixteen year old girl. I shouldn't say that, in case cyber-perverts are lurking. But do I care? I don't need to because my mom is asian. She could go Chuck Norris on yo' ass.
I made another LiveJournal username called absolut_jesus for no fucking reason. But it's pretty lame in general for someone to say that something happened "for no reason." I say that a lot, mostly because I'm just too lazy [and would probably take up two more pages to state the actual reason] and I should be considered a hypocrite because of it. There's a reason to everything, and most of the time everyone's a phony (that's right, I read The Catcher in the Rye too often) and won't admit to the actual reason. And that actual reason is apparently something that they're ashamed to tell us about. Well I'm not. I was browsing and saw somebody named "absolut_couture" and thought, "Oh, man. What a brilliant fucking genius to blend vodka and high fashion into one goddamn username." So I pulled a Hot Topic shopper. Pulled a Hot Topic shopper as in being a fucking poser and copying something. There you go.
Christina N. @ 11:52 PM
Thursday, October 13
Macy's called this morning, and left a message on the answering machine that they'd really like for me to come in for a job interview. Of course, I was still sleeping (day off from school for Yom Kippur), and when the phone rang I half wake up and suddenly I can hear everything; But I'm still technically asleep. So after the lady was done leaving her message, I immediately awoke and got up to call and arrange an interview. When I called her, she asked if I was eighteen and the story ended right there. You bet I was disappointed. I guess more high-quality stores like Macy's, rather than horrendous cheap shit like Sears, only hire adults. Come on, I look like an adult and sound like a fucking middle-aged man, cut me some slack here. But what I just said is immature. Whatever, man. And right now, while my mom is buying groceries and dinner at Shop Rite, is picking me up an application. I heard the pay isn't half bad and that they might hire minors. And plus, I know some people who work there.
T.J. Maxx never called yet, which really doesn't make sense. Then again, they could've been lying motherfuckers like the majority of this universe. The store opens on October 30th, so maybe they're just calling people later. Highly doubt it, though.
There's been soot, or this weird black stuff that you could see on the piece of cloth when you're cleaning something, that's been being disposed from some kind of unknown source in our house. For instance, when I cleaned the dining table with Windex, the part of the rag that touched the surface was stained completely black. The thing is, you can't tell that all this soot, or whatever the hell it is, is on the surface of something until you clean it. My mother's been going nuts on trying to find out where it's coming from and why, and we're both guessing that there's something wrong with the heating system or that the chimney needs to be cleaned, even if we never use the fireplace. It's sort of worrying me because who knows how long we've been breathing in this stuff, and when I blew my nose today the tissue was black. So that's pretty bad. I hope it isn't too much of a health hazard.
Last night I was watching Jay Leno, and he was talking about how Boy George was recently arrested for finding cocaine in his apartment. He then said, "It's also illegal to wear white powder under your nose after Labor Day." I fucking laughed my ass off. I don't know why everyone hates Jay so much, but his show is fucking funny in my opinion. And what's funnier than watching his chin grow every second? It grows faster than Axl Rose can run a marathon these days.
Christina N. @ 5:31 PM
Monday, October 10
I've never seen a better depiction of scumbag dog in my entire life. That's not a very long time, but still. It looks like the type of furniture piece that a firefighter or wife beater would own. Fuck them, I want it. Three of them. For when I get my own place in the future. Two of them on each side of my bed, just for kicks; And definitely shits and giggles. Literally, shits. And one in the entry way of my place - right when you open the fucking door - you will see this table in front of you, up against a wall, with this pig on top of it:
Yeah, that's a pig with teets. A piggy bank, shall I say. What it's banking is all up to you to figure out.
After school my mom drove me to the Rockaway Townsquare shopping center where I tried to pick up an application from Target, since the salary was nine fucking bucks an hour. Turns out most of the assholes who work there are assholes to the 900th degree, and told me that I had to apply on a computer. Fuck that, man. I'm not standing there for fifteen minutes, looking like some library computer geek looking up seventy year old newspapers in the presence of these folks. So then we went to my most desired place to work - Victoria's Secret. Hell fucking yes.
In the mall, on our way to VS, we passed by Godiva and saw a sign that said they were hiring. When I went in and asked for an application, the clerk said you must be eighteen years or older. For selling goddamn chocolate? Hey if I can trust fifteen year old supreme-pizza-faced dipshits making my full-course meals at McDonald's, then I, as a sixteen year old, should at least be able to sell wart-sized truffles to horny people.
Then we got to the (my) desired destination and picked up an application, hoping to god or David Lee Roth or whoever the fuck it is that runs the universe, to get me this fucking job. What could be greater than wearing a hot sexy black suit, walking around in a jungle of racks of frilly and lacey underwear in a pink/black/white environment all day, and talking about underwear and boobs? Man, if you want to work at Limited Too or something within that level of coolness deviance, then you're a bonified idiot.
And the question about how old to work there, I think at my age you could - there's areas on the paper that indicate it pertaining to stuff. Sorry for the lack of word there.
Finally, my mother had to go to Michael's to buy some Christmas garlands and wreaths. A few months too early, but she had a shitload of coupons that she wanted to put to good use; Very typical of an asian woman, or even any goddamn asian person, to be money-conscientious. Since she had two coupons and two items to buy, she gave me the giant six-foot garland, some money and one of the coupons - to save even more money, because she'd save on both items with two people using one coupon for each. So while I was waiting on the usual russian-border-long line, the people before me had an entire fucking cart towering with fucking boxes of cheesy Halloween decor. They were this tiny little middle aged woman who looked too old for her age but wore the makeup and the dyed hair anyway - from far away she looks like a little girl (probably younger looking than I am because I'm a scary old looking mothefucker with a forty-eight year old man in his middle age crisis' voice), but up close she looks like a witch. Kind of like a Monet, if you've watched Clueless. Ironically enough, she probably bought something that resembled a witch.
She and her daughter moved slowly too - the whole time that I was standing behind them and waiting and waiting and hormoning and hormoning and losing more and more brain cells that contain the answer to the mystery of the creation of the universe, it took for them to lift a fucking box of cardboard spooky house onto the fucking counter. And like I said, they didn't buy just one box of junk. Junk like elementary school teachers would buy to decorate their classroom with.
Christina N. @ 7:36 PM
There's this field trip to the Guggenheim art museum in New York City and I'm not sure if I could go, because my mom's been watching the news lately and she saw that subway bomb threat thing and is now labeling the city as "no man's land." I just summed it up in a shotgun shell for you, and today I'm going to try to ask her to sign the permission slip. This also puts my trip next month to see Conan. Denis Leary was on Regis & Kelly this morning, and thanks to the school board, we had to come to school today and I missed it. I heard that he's coming out with a TV special and new song or something for the Christmas season. So you bet I'm riled up.
Great, fuckers, blow things up when I've got important shit to go to. At least do it on November 17th when I'll be done and done with seeing Conan and so I'll be labeled as "The lucky fucker who escaped national disaster by just one day while seeing Conan O'Brien."
I really hope my employer calls me today. Or at least sometime this week because I think it's the last week that they're hiring; Or that they've already interviewed everybody and are calling up those that they hired on this week, and orientation would probably be next week. No idea how fucking bummed out I would be if I didn't get the job, but I'd probably be beating some asses to orangey pulps.
It's obvious what class I'm in right now, and I'm pretty lucky off that the teacher adores me and that I ain't no sucker at art, so for practically the entire class I just play games and shit - That is, whatever I can actually do or know what to do on this shitty Apple computer. The only thing is, the girl who sits next to me is very class-active and is always asking questions about whatever project we're working on, so she's constantly calling the teacher over to our little area. So while I'm not doing work and she calls the teacher over, I'm always thinking, "GODDAMMIT! Shit man now I have to try to minimize all of my windows with this Mick Mars-agile mouse." Something lame like that. Kind of sad that I'm talking about her like this when she's only three feet away from me.
Christina N. @ 12:49 PM
Saturday, October 8
Today was pretty rad. Jeannie and I made plans to go shopping and after a few little mishaps with her mom, my mom ended up being the designated driver/savior/taker carer. It was the horrendously shitty Rockaway Townsquare Mall, but that place isn't all too bad when you minus all the shitty people in it that make it shitty. It was typical girly shopping - trying out shoes and clothes (especially in Macy's, man) and picking out ribbons and bags and papers and cute little toys and all, but we're non-Ellen Degeneres-like girls so of course it's fucking fun.
One thing that was absolutely nagging my ass was I was wearing these Aerosoles, and even after all of my mom's praise of how comfortable and fabulous they were, they gave me blisters anyway; and I couldn't walk as fast as I normally would. The shoes only beat the shit out of one foot. The other was fine and quite comfortable, actually. Things on the left side of my body are fucked up anyway. It's the stupid side. And it's probably where the mathematical side of my brain is.
After that, we went back to my house and hung out and talked and knee-slap laughed for a while.
My employer(s) never called me yet, even if they distinctly asked me for my phone number again and said that they'd call around 8:00 last night. I'm starting to get worried. Because if I'm spending all this money at such a fast pace and don't get the job, I'm pretty much fucked. Especially considering Christmas, when I have to buy presents for folks. This morning my mother and sister were pissing the hell out of me because they kept using the phone for about a half hour at time - both of them. I didn't want to tell them to switch to a cell phone because the smaller person would get all bitchy and have no fucking idea what the hell I say, and the much older one would start blowing excuses at me.
Naked Leonard Nimoy. Holy fucking shit. I'm pretty much speechless for once, and for that I am really sorry.
Christina N. @ 9:37 PM
Friday, October 7
So I'm pretty content with myself right now. I might actually have gotten the job. I'd earn $7.25 an hour, but who gives a fuck. Five hours a day, four days a week equals twenty hours a week. That's $580 in one fucking month. (I needed a calculator, man.) That's a goddamn fortune for me, considering I have no bills to pay, no car to care for, no baby to feed. Today after school I had to have my mom drive me to my employer to sign my working papers, drive right back to school (the losers who have the shitty bus drivers were still waiting for their buses), finalize the working papers, and go all the way back to my employer to give it to them. While the people were talking about stuff and looking through my files and telling me what's next and all, I kept hearing fragments like "...and we can take her to orientation." I've heard this quite a few times over the past couple of times that I'd seen them so I think it's a good thing. Unless I've got my shit wrong or something. Which I hardly doubt.
In other stuff, my totally hot uncle came home last weekend for a visit from the Pratt Institute in New York. Out of all the seven deadly sins, I think I have committed every single one, and committed them well. To the very fucking core. (You all know that I'm the master of gluttony.) And having met this guy for the first time in August, I accomplished lust. He's twenty-three, shorter than me, but it's quite astonishing that he's the only hot asian dude that I have ever seen. What the fuck, man - he's related to me. And to be honest, I have no idea if he's my uncle or second cousin or whatever the fuck. But he's a relative.
On Sunday before he was going to leave to go back to the city, we had this long talk on lots of stuff. (talk about vague) It was mainly music though, and how he met the Kings of Leon, loves The Strokes and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. He went to a whole shitload of Strokes concerts and they are probably the band that he digs most. It's really amazing that he likes all these bands, because they make up pretty much all the current music that I listen to. God, I used to love The Strokes so fucking much, and dropped dead when first seeing Kings of Leon and BRMC on TV for the first time. But lately I hadn't been listening to either bands, and now I find myself falling all over them again just to get a reminder.
My uncle or second cousin or whatever the fuck he is, on Saturday he lent me his iPod to borrow. And Jesus fucking Christ, I thought I had quite an impressive music collection - but he fucking blows me away, double time. I wish I could've copied a lot of the songs onto my computer to save, but it's either you can't do that or I don't know how to. Apple and their products are so fucking difficult to use. What really cracked me up was when I plugged the iPod into my computer, saw that he named it "Binh's lil white bitch." I fucking laughed. And I swear, his name translated to english translates to the word "bottle." It's either that it really does mean "bottle" or there's some other synyonym that I don't know about.
Another thing that I like about him, very much, is that he actually wears clothes that fit him. Every single other asian dude I know either doesn't care what the fuck he looks like and ends up looking like an even uglier ass than he already is, or is a ghetto wannabe and therefore still makes him end up looking like an even uglier ass. Binh has a pair of dark dark navy corduroy pants - how fucking cool is that. Anyone who wears corduroy pants gets a thumbs up from me.
He still can't pronounce "Greenwich" either, which is pretty funny. For him it's still like "sandwich." Overall he's just a really rad guy, and I'm glad that we relate in many ways.
Oh and while surfing the net a while ago, I came across a butt shot of Leonard Nemoy beating the shit out of somebody. That's right, Dr. Spock without the ears, without the clothes, beating somebody up. It was really funny. But I'm not going to show you because I think I'm the only one who finds it funny. Pretty much everyone besides myself would be totally disgusted to high heaven.
Christina N. @ 5:11 PM
Thursday, October 6
Portrait of Joe. Joe from Blue's Clues. (Compare the difference!) The fag that didn't go to college and replaced our adorable and lovable Steve. Mind that my drawing capability is not that low. Read the fucking signature. That big meatloaf-like thing on the right is his gay notebook. Steve's was much better because it was in a shape that you could actually fit drawings on, not a fucking chair. And Joe has about ten clawed toes on each foot because he's dumb like that. I mean, it's fucking Joe. Joe without a last name. Neither does Steve, but at least he had his looks going for him. Joe, on the other hand, looks like a lame dopey mix of Joey Tribiani and Joaquin Phoenix.
My mom yelled at me this morning because my sister did something wrong and put her in a bad mood. She left home right after she pissed off my mom, too. Therefore escaping my bulgey-eyed mother's wrath. What my mom yelled at me was some really, extremely, lame bullshit on about how she doesn't want me to wear spaghetti straps/camis under cardigans. I really don't get it, and I don't have much cleavage either, so I have no fucking idea what was wrong. Then she complained that I have to go get working papers from the school office today or else I'm not going to work. Yes, woman, I know that. I didn't snort myself dumb. But she said it like a threat. Why the fuck wouldn't I get the papers today? Thanks a lot, sister. For dropping all of my mom's temper onto me.
So I just finished making a flyer for the school play, which I couldn't give two shits about, for Computer Art. The teacher made me do it and it's for a contest. Highly doubt I'll win though, the half decent ones never do. It's alright and I could've done better, but from seeing the past winners of any school contest, the winning piece is always looking like a portrait of New Axl Rose's ass, so I'll keep it mediocre. Just to win whatever the fucking prize is. I hope it's money or a Denis Leary because I would be way beyond fucking overjoyed. Boy, was this entry immature.
Christina N. @ 1:22 PM
Tuesday, October 4
Sexiest bottle of water, ever. Fuck plastic, only the goddamn cap is allowed to be plastic if you really want a "cool" bottle of water. It's what all the cool kids are carrying with them. Not even Evian beats this cool shit.
This morning at 10:00 I went to apply for T.J. Maxx again [in person] and by surprise, got my first interview. I was a fucking bust, I have to admit. The lady was scary and intimidating, and I was a pain in the ass because I didn't have any referrals to write down. She also found out that I cannot memorize phone numbers for shit. Phones are my antithesis. So I highly doubt that I'll get the job. It would be a miracle if I did.
After all of that, which took almost an entire fucking hour, headed off to the city. Ate lunch at this swanky restaurant called Elmo. Thank god it had nothing to do with the fuzzy female sanitation rag that speaks like it's high on helium of whom we're all familiar with.
Yadda yadda yadda, story time is over, kids.
Christina N. @ 9:26 PM
Monday, October 3
I never knew that ironing clothes and listening to Pink Floyd during sunsets could be so soothing. But doing anything while listening to Floyd is soothing. They could even turn bullfighting into a Madonna-erotic sponge bath. Or play them while watching the movie Bloodsport and turning the movie's volume on mute. Bloodsport now becomes a Sandra Bullock movie.
Oh man, did I love Bloodsport. I used to watch it all the time when I was like five or seven, around those years. Anything Jean-Claude Van Damme, Steven Seagal, or Chuck Norris would drive me nuts. That's how fucking dumb I was. And looking back on those horribly acted action movies, they were fucking hilarious. Except for Bloodsport, that was one hell of a quality fighting movie. Jean-Claude's last opponent, that asian dude, scared the bejeezus out of me. He was so fucking scary-looking and beefy - I never knew such hardcore beefy asian guys existed; Except for sumo wrestlers and samurai. But even they're pussies because they either have tons of layers of fat or armor on them. The hardcore beefy asian guy had nothing on except underwear or something of that sort.
So I had an absolutely shitty morning today. First, my eleven, eleven year old sister takes forever in the bathroom, making me late and off schedule. She's fucking eleven. Eleven year olds aren't allowed to take that long in the bathroom. They don't have the fucking hormones to want to take that long. And then just when I was leaving home to go to school, my mother suddenly says that I'm not going to New York tomorrow. "Because you're constantly stepping all over problems, repeatedly. You aren't scared until I do something." She's wrong about the second sentence. I'm fucking terrified of her, always. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. But then again, if I'm always fucking terrified of her witch claws, then why do I still keep fucking up? Beats me, ask my subconscious or something.
When I got home, my mom happened to be in a really good mood. So I totally ditched my earlier immature decision that was made at school to ignore her when I got home. While I was eating a toasty sandwich that was toasted by the brand new sandwich maker, she made this brief - extremely brief, actually - lecture on how she didn't want me to be an ace in grades and education; All she wanted me to do was follow the rules and not get into shit with officials. If I could even call the school board officials. I'm kind of glad that she said that. And that I am going to New York. School is just something that I cannot commit to, but halting this adamantitity (I know that's not a word[?]) of not listening to anybody needs to be fixed pronto, if I ever want a social life.
Especially if I want to go see Conan next month. That's what I'm really working at.
Christina N. @ 6:56 PM
Sunday, October 2
For the first time ever, I got sick from being grossed out by watching TV. First time, man. First fucking time. And it wasn't even the actual show that it happened on. I was eating dinner and watching Best Week Ever, and they were talking about the new show on The Discovery Channel called Going Tribal; Going Tribal is about this totally british dude going and living with natives in the deep deep jungles of the world. Well, in the first episode, the guy had to get his penis inverted. Penis inverted? So in other words, he's getting a vagina? Because I've watched this other thing on TV a long time ago that said vaginas are inverted penises and penises are outverted(sp?) vaginas. Absolutely sickening. They showed it too, sort of. All blurred out, of course.
In another episode that Best Week Ever talked about was, was when the British Man ate a giant maggot. He described it as: "An explosion of pus just happened in my mouth." Or something within those borders of disgusting. I mean, I get a total kick out of just watching people eat gross things, but when they describe it with the term "pus explosion," I have just recently discovered that I could immediately lose my appetite and the food that is in front of me is no longer delicious. The term "pus explosion" really grosses me out because for years I've coped and dealt with acne - many of which whiteheads that are stuffed with pus. And I, firsthand [many times], know what pus looks like and how it looks when you cause a little mini "pus explosion" on your face.
I've watched Going Tribal a couple times already, and now I finally get sick? Talk about delayed reaction. By weeks.
But oddly enough, whenever I'm totally grossed out, I want to eat chocolate. Maybe it's a total woman thing, but come on, I just watched a man get his penis inverted up into his man-body and couldn't eat my fried rice and tomatoes and salmon anymore; But all I wanted to eat is chocolate. It is clearly the ultimate comfort food of the world.
The term "comfort food" is bullshit all in itself. Because anything that tastes good is comfort food. Right? Because anything that tastes good makes you feel good, and feeling good also means feeling comfortable. So "comfort food" should never have been fucking invented.
Update on my mom's scaring of me last night: Everything is A-OK I, think. Just don't know what's going to happen to my new clothes from yesterday. But everything else is still going on; going to New York and trying to get a job and all. Yet, another lightning bolt of luck came today. Lauren called and said that since Helen is in her school play and they're rehearsing the entire week of when they're both supposed to go see Conan O'Brien in New York, Helen is not going. So Lauren calls me and tells me I'm in. Hopefully I'll actually talk to Conan and La Bamba (and maybe even Max) this time, or if my cards are really being played right, Denis Leary would be the guest on that day.
One small thing before I could go: I have to get my mother's permission. That means that I strictly cannot fuck up anymore (especially since that goddamn lame Unprepared for Gym Class letter). Something that is pretty fucking hard to do. But I'll definitely (you fucking kidding me?) try. Man, Denis Leary might be on the show. It's absolutely reasonable. Season 3 of Rescue Me is in the filming process in New York all fall and winter, I'm assuming, right fucking now. Why the fuck not go on his own cousin's show for one day if it's so nearby? And if the fucker goes on something like Letterman, I'd be fucking pissed as hell.
Christina N. @ 7:49 PM
LJ Interests meme results
- bongs:
Because they look like warped pears. - complete savages:
This show makes me laugh louder than a turkey on whippits. - duran duran:
Because any guy named Simon The Good in a band with a two-finger-only keyboard player is A-OK in my book. - good eats:
I want Alton Brown to be my best friend. - jerking off:
Self satisfaction at my own pace and my own style. And my own hand. - led zeppelin:
Self-explanatory. Unless you're a Who fan. - mr. white:
He's a nice guy and helped Mr. Orange and pisses off Mr. Pink. - safety dance:
We can dance if we want to
We can leave your friends behind
'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance
Well they're no friends of mine - steve buscemi:
'Cause he's a faggot, okay? - tom petty's mutton chops:
Nice and fuzzy. The most amazing mutton chops that I have ever seen in my life.
Enter your LJ user name, and 10 interests will be selected from your interest list.
Christina N. @ 2:01 PM
Saturday, October 1
I am in some deep, deep, shit. Just an hour ago my mom finally looked at the mail and found a letter from the school, saying that I've been unprepared for gym class twice already - and on the third time I'd get a Saturday detention. She takes this shit seriously to no fucking end. She asked why I did this and I say because I'm on my period and I don't want to be lying around outside on my back, in sweatpants with an extreme risk of leakage. But of course, it was a half-truth. I almost thought I was going to get away with one menacing holler, but then she got this serious authority look on her face and sternly said, "You'll see how I'm going to punish you."
Fucking sucks, because we had just gone shopping hours before this happened and she paid for new jeans and two new shirts. And we're supposed to go hang out at Greenwich Village in NYC all day this Tuesday. And she said that I could only get/keep a job is to do be doing alright in the education system. Jesus fucking Christ, I'm going to grow a new wrinkle in my forehead from this.
Just when my life is flying high, I get a fucking Osama-wannabe on my plane. Told you I have the Al Bundy curse.
What sucks even more, is that I was thinking of looking through the pile of mail before she got her hands on it. Letters that say you don't change for physical education is a fucking waste of tree, I already knew their penalty for it. And do they really think most parents would care? Mine happen to, and mine ass might happen to be kicked in by three feet before next week. Not sure if I'll learn something though, I'm a repeat offender. My head's as hard as Judge Judy's unbirthed tits.
In other news, I'm guaranteed 100% keeping one shirt that I paid for myself. Finally got an fcuk shirt because it fucking has the word "fuck" in it. There were about three different phrases that I had to choose from, but the staring clerk and the white lights were intimidating me and I made a quick and bad decision by getting the one that says "lucky fcuk" instead of the "cool as fcuk" one. That's right, materialistic and self-centered 'tis I.
Christina N. @ 11:09 PM
