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