I am sorry kids, but I don't have much of a story to tell you today. But I come bearing flying hair. And lots of it. For Computer Art the teacher made me go take a picture for some project, and I decided that I was not going to do the typical one where a bunch of cronies huddle together for a glamor shot. A urinal came into mind, but then I came to the conclusion that unless a urinal has piss all over it or is cracked and leaking, it will in no way look good. So Amy and I thought up some other options and instead of a urinal being the subject of focus, I would.
Auditioning for future job opportunities in the world of appearing in Pantene Pro-V Shampoo & Conditioner commercials.
Sort of like this.
Observe how the girl in the background that was giving me a baffled look in the first photo magically moved down the hallway. Hey, at least my ass looks tight.
Look at those arms. You could squeeze a llama to death with those.
The intent of this photo was after taking the crutch away from a cripple kid, was to smash the tupperware. As you could see, I ashamedly missed it.
At first I was too embarrassed to post this one because of the "Ouch dude Chuck Norris just kicked me in the ass!" look on my face.
Christina N. @ 7:40 PM
Tuesday, November 29
Has anyone ever heard of that thing where celebrities call your house like a telemarketer and tell you to go shop? They've advertised this on TV, showing Heidi Klum and Kermit the Frog and mentioning Terrell Williams and some other folk that I can't remember. Well Terrell Williams called my house yesterday and it was the funniest fucking thing in the world. So the phone rings, I'm pissed that it's interrupting me because I was discussing something with my mom, and was planning on telling the telemarketer to go screw themself with a steel-toe fireman's boot once they let me know that they are a goddamn telemarketer. But the unexpected happened. Instead, I heard the blackest most fucking peculiar accent most stereotypical "I'm a football player and my brain is the size of my steroid-influenced testicles" ever, saying, "Hello, this is Terrell Williams calling. May I speak to Dennis?" I was too shocked and freaked out and pulled a shithead, by saying that none of my parents were home and hung up. Man, I could've asked him about the Superbowl Shuffle and why the Chicago Bears would participate in such a horrendous single. That is, I think he was involved in the Superbowl Shuffle. Do you really think I'd know these things?
I ruined a once-in-a-lifetime chance. And I thought asians were supposed to be smart.
"Daaaaaaaaaayum, you dat stupid?!"
Shop smart. Shop S-Mart.
Christina N. @ 9:31 PM
Monday, November 28
So I did wear makeup - just mascara and eyeliner above the upper lashes - and when I put on my leather jacket to go outside, I checked myself out in the mirror and discovered that I looked like a really really mean person. Moreso than I already am. Now I don't have to tell people to fuck off, they'd get the message just by taking a look at my face. I guess it looks good, even my mom said so. And that's something. Because she compliments people as much as I do; That's barely ever.
ASS RAPE!
I wonder if his wonderstick is as metallically decorative as his head.
Christina N. @ 5:06 PM
Sunday, November 27
I have made a decision. It is about time that I fucking grew up and started wearing makeup. Lame epiphany, but it's true. I'm sixteen fucking years old, I look like I'm eighteen or nineteen or even older, shouldn't that give me a reason why I should start?
There was a really nice customer that I was helping today at work at the counter, but then my co-worker went up to me to tell me something and I said something something "they didn't bullshit me" by mistake right in front of everyone and then the lady didn't look so kind anymore. It kind of baffles me why or how I got this job, because you try to help people for 90% of the time, and not to mention that my manager always assigns me as the greeter - the person who walks around in the front of the store saying hello and giving out candy in a basket or coupons or catalogs to people.
I have never seen so much irony in my life.
Buy one here!
Christina N. @ 6:52 PM
Saturday, November 26
Worked last night and worked this morning to this afternoon, man I'm fucking sick of work now. Well I eventually get sick of it on some days but now I've just fucking had it. Not really, but right now I am. Only when I get my next check, is when I won't be so tired of it anymore. And then the process starts all over again.
One thing that I am positively, absolutely sick of is glitter. I spent about half my day reorganizing two walls full of Christmas ornaments, and there is not a single one that isn't glittery and shimmery and flamoyant, much like Boy George's head. For a lot of the time I had to reach up and move them from rack to rack, moving racks from level to level of wall, switching ornaments from barrel to basket, etc. Reaching up and touching ornaments with my fingers causes for glitter to fall off, landing onto my face without me noticing. So when my mom came around to pick me up and exchange vases a few minutes to 4:00, she told me that I looked like I had glittery makeup on. So since my hands were already glittery, I wiped my forehead with my forearm, and my forearm became a shimmerstick. Wiped my forehead again with the other arm, and that arm became a shimmerstick too.
Jesus fucking Christ, tomorrow I have to go at the same time and for the same amount of hours too. I haven't had a single day where I stayed home for twenty-four hours in a long time, and now I really fucking miss them. Just lying around, getting chunky and not doing anything. That's the way to do it, man.
Today this really hot piece of ass was on line to buy something, and I only noticed him looking at me by actually looking up and around my surroundings for once, from wrapping people's purchases because today was fucking busy and I didn't step away from the register for a really long time at that point. But today was not my lucky day because my co-worker finished helping a customer before me and got to help him. Goddamn. But he probably has a girlfriend anyway, because then why the fuck would he be at Pier 1 Imports in the first place? To buy her a present. But yeah, he was pretty fine.
My parents are leaving for a party in an hour or two and I'm stuck home watching the younger sibling. Normally she'd go, but I guess since she's a big girl now (also known as being on the rag), she decided to stay home and make my potential good rest time into a headache time. I also wanted to watch Natural Born Killers in the living room where there's actual seating, but she already claimed the fucking room. To what? To watch Nickelodeon. Nickelodeon, to me, is the equivalent of the water in a toilet bowl - is something that I would take a shit on.
Christina N. @ 6:45 PM
Friday, November 25
Aw man, Black Friday. One of the greatest fucking days of the year. I couldn't give half a shit about the crowds, the sales override those stupid fucktards. I was shopping at 9:00 in the morning to 2:30 in the afternoon and got a shitload of DVDs and some fashionable items. I'll skip all the crazy hubbub that happened between me and other shoppers because that would take about another five or twenty paragraphs, so there will only be a list of what shit I got.
The Boondock Saints
American History X
Wayne's World 1&2 (The Complete Epic)
Natural Born Killers
lacy shirt from Macy's
248 fucking dollar leather dream jacket, fucker [from Macy's, my beloved shopping friend]
I wanted to get Nip/Tuck Season 2 for Lauren for Christmas, but it wasn't really on sale anywhere so I just thought, "Fuck it, shitkicker." The only reason that Boondock Saints caught my eye was that not only was it just $8, but Willem Da-fucking-foe is in it. And the Wayne's World was only fifteen fucking dollars. Amazing, man. And yes, I am very cheap. Except for when it comes to leather jackets.
Christina N. @ 10:35 PM
Thursday, November 24
My parents woke me up at 8:00 in the morning, thinking that Circuit City and Jennifer Convertibles are open from 5:00AM to 11:00AM today. Since we found out that they aren't open by firsthand experience, they decided to go to their friends' house. This family of two parents and three kids. I didn't really want to go there in first place, being that I don't think such a successful family as theirs could pair up very well with a jerkoff like me. Which we don't all that much, but me and the girls engage in small talk pretty easily. I hate the son, who's a sophomore or a freshman I don't know, to the fucking core because he's a fucking douche. Not to mention that he looks like a monkey with ears of cymbals and the eyes of those slots on soda/snack vending machines where you insert dollar bills into. Had he not been so tall and hunchback-y and monkey-like, I'd fucking deck him in the face the next time I play Monopoly with him. It's not that he beat me at it, he just has this stupid rule of playing up to a certain point and forfeiting in the middle of the game, needless of winning or losing or if there's three other people still playing. I have no idea how that rule makes any sense or any gain at all for him.
Nah, I don't really hate him that much. I just wanted to say that because it feels good. But anyway, since everybody bored me and kept disappearing and doing their own business, I decided to watch TV by myself in the family room of their house. And guess what movie was on Sci-Fi this morning? Army of fucking Darkness, man. I finally got to see the entire thing this time (except for missing about three or five minutes of the very beginning) and it is so fucking cheesy, cheesier than that stupid Kraft Mac & Cheese dinosaur, that the movie was so fucking excellent. I laugh so hard during that film, that I even laugh at the phony "don't fuck with me, you fat fucking bastard" looks that Bruce Campbell makes.
Yeah, so I sat there for two hours watching some great fucking entertainment and freezing my ass off at the same time. That house is so fucking cold, that I bet if a guy were to just stand in front of the fireplace for five minutes, his balls would be turned into two-of-a-kind special Christmas tree ornaments. Since I was wearing my mom's hand-me-down sweater, the sleeves [and entire shirt in itself] isn't that long so my hands were fucking cold, so I sat in laughter with my hands squeezed tight between my legs, which didn't really do much because I'm not the size of the likes of Larry the Cable Guy. It was so fucking cold in that house that I was shivering, and laughing at the same time, in front of the TV. I guess the patio doors and door to the garage and the ice and melting snow outside had something to do with the cold factor in that room too, and it baffles me how the kids went around in shorts and no shoes.
The house was dirty. Dirty not in the way a whorehouse is (emotionally, but a whorehouse would probably have some sorts of crust all over the place too), but dirty as in an Algerian port-a-potty. Since I was on my rag and sat on a futon watching Army of Darkness and laughing, laughing which causes lots of bladder leaks, sat up and went to the bathroom upstairs. And holy fucking shit, my face looked exactly like this.
The hand explains for me in fear of the hair and dust and crust and mildew suddenly jumping at me and rubbing itself into my face. I have a major obsessive compulsive disorder like Detective Adrian Monk. That bathroom basically looked like this. Man, I was even afraid to keep my eyes open. But I had to, in case of any jumping clumps of hair. Just taking a single step and feeling all the dirt and grime and hair and dirty black-stained bathroom mats under my boots sent shivers down my spine. Even when I was done taking a shit that I had to or else my ass would've self-imploded, there were fucking strands of hair hanging off the edges of the sink. Man, even the bottle of handsoap was filthy. Then all my hard work in washing my hands went to waste when I had to touch the doorknob to get out. Even the air in that fucking Michael Bolton of a bathroom was downright hideous because someone had just taken a shower in it, so it was humid and muggy and warm and hard to breathe in, and the mirrors were foggy so I couldn't even fucking see myself. The foggy mirrors was one good thing, because it would've doubled the view of the dirtiness of that potty chamber.
I have this horrendous phobia of dirty things jumping at me and pulling me down into the scumminess of the bathroom, like this.
The family invited my family to go to some other family's house with them later today for Thanksgiving dinner this evening. We said no and lied that we had to go somewhere else. Since we lied that we had to go somewhere else, we didn't go somewhere else and just went home afterwards. I ate some leftover pasta and mashed potatoes and steak from last night's dinner that I missed due to working, and man was it fucking good and makes me stuffed even until two hours later.
Tomorrow I have work at 4:00PM to 10:00PM so me and my mom are going Black Friday shopping in the early morning. First we have to get to Burlington Coat Factory or Macy's or some shit to find me a new coat. Every single one in this fucking house is too short and I guess the Jolly Green Giant flew to my house one night and sprinkled some of his special Miracle-Gro beans on top of me when I was sleeping. Then we're going furniture shopping, which I am guessing is going to be extremely difficult. Moreso than the coat (leather jacket) hunting.
Christina N. @ 3:58 PM
Monday, November 21
I was peeling an orange for dessert (after eating four cookies) and I was in extreme agony. From the cool weather, my hands are dry and I had open blisters and cuts along my cuticles and peeling an acidic, citrus fruit does not do them any good. Part of the orange was good. Part of it was more sour than Gilbert Gottfried's face.
And for you kids who cut yourself for attention or to see if you could "feel," fuck you, pain ain't no fun and it only gives you negative attention, if at all. I know it's only my fucking cuticles that got an acid bath this evening, but that cardboard, work-induced cut on my wrist a week ago was no sex orgy, man.
Could've asked my mom to take apart the orange for me, but seriously, only a fucking pussy would be sixteen years old and ask their mommy to peel an orange for them because the skin around their fingernails hurt. Unless the gashes were an inch long and bleeding like my menstrual week, then fuck yeah, of course I'd ask for some help. Fuck gloves, you can't feel your way into scalping the goddamn piece of produce.
Yeah, so that was the first piece of fruit I'd eaten in about a week. I'm getting my fiber, man.
For my afternoon snack I ate beef jerky that my mother finally bought home a few days ago, and for some brands they have nice, soft, tender strips and others have really hard and whiplashy strips of beef, and yet others are a mixture of smoked beef texture. Well the brand that she bought this time, Oberto, sucks balls and I almost cut myself on the face with a strip of beef jerky from whiplash of biting it, and then it ricocheting across my face when I was trying to pull the strip away from my mouth. My right cheek hurt almost to the point of walking in front of a mirror to check it out, but the pain soon went away so I just assumed it was nothing at all.
Another ricochet accident was when I once punched myself in the collarbone. I was pissed off one morning and was trying to get my tight sweater's sleeve pulled up so I could brush my teeth without getting it wet. Well the fucking sweater was really stubborn so I pulled extra hard on the sleeve, my hand slips, and ricochets into my collarbone. Hurt like fucking hell. And ironically enough, hitting a flattened, horizontal hand on one's collarbone is an equivalent of a raised middle finger, translating to "Fuck you."
Christina N. @ 7:56 PM
French fries sucked today. I was purely disappointed. For the second batch that I bought, which were curly fries, they fucking sucked too. And the lunch lady didn't even fucking put that many on the dish. They sucked because they weren't that hot, but they were pretty decent overall. With fifty cents left I couldn't buy anything. Fuck this shit, man. Fifty cents back in the day would've gotten me a goddamn bag of chips. Right now it's not even worth a fat stinking whore.
So I found a rip in my leather jacket. Man was I pissed. It'll be about a month or two until I could earn enough money to buy a new, quality one. Unless someone is willing to take me to the Salvation Army so I could get five old, worn ones.
Work yesterday was good because it was busy all day and I didn't have to walk back and forth with the fucking mint basket to hand out to nobody because no customers came in. Instead, the store was as congested as Anna Nicole's arteries not-too-long-ago so I just constantly helped customers, handed out candy and did register.
Yeah man, for some reason my manager always puts me in the front of the store where customers come in and make me greet them and smile a fucking toothpaste commercial smile and for the holiday season walk around with a basket of mints and offer them to people. Hard to imagine, but that's a big part of my job. I think I might be the official Door Greeter from now on.
It's not a hard thing because I don't know anybody, the majority of the customers are middle-aged women and aren't the stupid "hardxcore" kids that "be cool" at the mall every fucking day after they get out of school, so I can't scoff at anybody and tell them to get the fuck out of my way. And plus they don't give me nasty looks like folks at The Learning Institute of Finer Education for some reason beyond my knowledge, which is a very comforting thing. Maybe it's because I'm asian and I'm yellow that the folks at The Learning Institute of Finer Education tend to observe me like a poor black child at a rich white man's wedding. It's because I'm a slave, you fucking idiot.
I watched that Chevy Chase and Dan Akyroyd movie, Spies Like Us, this weekend and man did I fucking laugh my ass off. If there is one man who has made me laugh at anytime during his long-ass career, it is Chevy Chase. I mean, that man has a fucking street named after him - Chevy Chase Boulevard, in Los Angeles. Believe me, fucker, I've been on that street and it's nearby Rodeo Drive, I think. He might even have a bank or a few named after him (Chevy Chase Bank), because not only is he worth millions of laughs at the box office, but in dollars too. I'm not talking about Chase Bank, but I fucking swear I've seen one or two banks in my lifetime that have signs indicating the name "Chevy Chase Bank."
Christina N. @ 5:52 PM
Saturday, November 19
So I was totally fucking bummed out today because when I woke up at 10:07 to call my manager to see if I had to come in for my flex shift, she said I didn't have to. That meant that I had to come in for work at 3:00 to 8:00. I couldn't go see my friend's band at 4:00, man.
Work was really boring and I hope it isn't like that for every fucking day that I show up from now on. And I'm going to have to work on Black Friday. Goddamn it, I'd rather sit at home and get extreme heartburn for no reason. Just so that I could sit there rubbing my chest and roll around in agony on my favorite sofa while watching COPS at 2:00 in the afternoon; As spontaneously as I would combust someday from years of not being able to beat up Michael Bolton with a meat hammer and a lipstick.
Well one decent thing that happened was I got my second ever fucking paycheck today, about $164. Added to my other paycheck makes it around $254 or some shit, and I'm going to cash them in on Monday. But that doesn't stop there. I gotta buy Lauren and some other folks Christmas presents and pay back Jeannie for the Guitar World subscription. I don't play guitar but I read it anyway because I have that much fucking time on my hands.
Tomorrow I'm working from 10:00AM to 4:00PM, six fucking hours. Just one more compared to today's five measly pussy hours, but hey this time I get a food break. It's just a ten minute break but I call it a food break because that's all I do on my breaks. There has not been a single day where I have not eaten during one of my breaks. Tonight when I got home, there was a lobster waiting for me and man did that fucker taste fucking amazing. But then I ate some orange sugar pastries and drank some homemade-by-me-which-means-an-assload-of-sugar orange juice of course. Now I feel fucking bloated and fucking sick.
Christina N. @ 10:17 PM
Friday, November 18
Books that I hate the most and would take a huge nasty shit on, but first using all the pages to wipe my ass with:
A Child Called "It"
To Kill a Mockingbird
Where the Red Fern Grows
And that's pretty much all I could remember right now. I guess I'm starting to think with my head and it got itself out of my ass.
Or maybe not, because for Computer Art we had to design four robots that are made from random objects and all of mine were made of food and military gear, except for one. This one robot has the torso of a milk carton, the head of a KKK hood, gasoline pumps for arms, and burning crosses for legs. It's horribly cruel, I know, but man did I have a good laugh. Good thing I'm asian in this case because I'd pretty much be mocking myself, since the Klan most likely, most definitely, discriminates against my own kind anyway. I hail it the name of:
The KKK Milk Carton
I don't know what the teacher is going to think of it yet because I didn't yet complete the project because I didn't put all of my robots together into a background. Just a scene that we could find on the internet, just like the parts of the robots. Mine are supposed to be in a scene in an old Bruce Lee movie. You know, the one with the seven-foot-tall skinny man. Kareem Abdul Jabbar. The movie where he and Bruce wearing that gnarly yellow jumpsuit go at it and when Kareem kicks Bruce on the chest, there's this huge fucking footprint the size of an ass staining his yellow outfit on his chest. Yeah, the movie's called Game of Death.
No wait never mind that background. I changed my mind earlier. It's actually a screen shot of some old horror movie from the '30s or '40s where this giant mummy guy is walking toward a man sitting in a chair.
Christina N. @ 7:51 PM
Thursday, November 17
This picture is so wrong in so many ways. This propaganda poster has inspired a very popular music group that all of us should be familiar with:
right here
Christina N. @ 9:53 PM
How the fuck did a telemarketer get my cell phone number? How in fucking hell did they track me down? For a second I felt like going down to wherever the stupid fucker was and attack him with one thousand Rocky punches while wearing brass knuckles shaped in the words "I FUCK KIWIS."
So I'm in a shambles when it comes to this weekend and next weekend, also known as This Weekend and Thanksgiving Weekend. On Saturday I want to go see my friend's band play, but at the same time I'm probably, probably going to have to be at work. But the thing is, the show starts at 4:00PM and if my manager doesn't need me to come in for my flex shift, then I can't go. My regular shift is from 3:00PM to 8:00PM and my flex shift is 12:00PM to 3:00PM. It's really fucked up, and the only time that I'll know if I could go to the show or not is at 10:00AM when I call my manager to see if I come in for my flex shift or not. I really hope I do. I usually have to anyway. But if they don't need me for my flex shift, then I'm fucked.
Another and very important thing is, I have to get my mom's permission. And all you kiddies know how difficult she is when I ask to attend, well, pretty much any fucking thing that doesn't have to do with school. Do I ever do anything for school? The day I do something for school is the day I attend a Dashboard Confessional concert. Well if she lets me go, the second part is finding a ride. I'd much prefer if a friend gave me a ride rather than my mom is because she'd be having a hissyfit the whole way there. But it would even be difficult to find a friend to drive me because they won't know if I'm going to need a ride or not until only a few fucking hours before the show starts. Jesus fucking Christ.
Next Wednesday Amy and I are supposed to bake cookies for Mr. Naclerio at my house after school, which is a half day. This would most likely happen because I'd be under my own roof. I'm excited because I love nothing more than diabetes-inducing baked goods.
I have no idea what I'm doing on Thanksgiving. Not a fucking clue.
Next Friday is Black Friday. And being that I work at a retail store, I'd most likely have to come to work on that horrible day to work at a retail store. My family wants to go to my dad's friend's house, because some dude is coming back home from making a mistake (mistake to them, not me) and had moved to Florida. He's moving back so they're having a Thanksgiving/Homecoming party and since my folks are going to be gone, I have no way of getting back home from work. And another thing is, I never fucking go to this guy's parties because they're fucking boring and the only reason one of my parents would have to not go, is to stay around and wait to drive me home. That would be their only reason for not going, and I don't want them to miss out on seeing their friends and having a life. I sound like a pussy saying this, because they never really let me see my friends all too much.
If I'm not working, or not working at the time that they'll have to leave for the party, I'd be fucking sick of staying home alone [again] and I'll have to find something to do until like 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning when my folks and sibling come home. But I doubt any of my own friends would be free or wanting to hang out with me either.
My sister has a bag of M&M's lying on her desk and I've been contemplating for about fifteen minutes whether I should go steal it or not. It fucking drives me nuts when people leave chocolate uneaten in this house for weeks. It makes no fucking sense to just let it rot, so the best thing to do is to give it to me. They're fucking lucky they get it free from their stupid supermarket giveaways or little kid schools, high school doesn't give you fucking shit.
Christina N. @ 7:08 PM
Wednesday, November 16
I think my cells went through a genetic mutation that has happened for the worse. I used to never get cranky from lack of sleep and now all of a sudden I'm like Denis Leary with a communist flagpole cemented up his ass. That is, if there isn't already one way up there. But if there is, then Gwar just rode one of those gnarly new high-tech japanese trains into his ass along with the communist flagpole. I'm even starting to get headaches, some other thing that used to be considered foreign to my body. Today was just fine and school was just fine and my mom's just fine but my sister and dad tend to set me off when my mom isn't. My sister keeps a television running on some fucking lame cartoon/kids network in whichever room she's in and blasts it and when I'm tired it gives me throbbing headshits. The house is a ranch house so you could hear everything loud and clear from the bedrooms. No one fucking wants headaches. On some occasions when she watches the tube while I'm in the same room, I take the remote or go up to the TV set and turn the volume lower to a level that wouldn't give me Pete Townsend ears in the future. For a fucking eleven year old she still doesn't get that I hate her TV habits and continues, at other times, to watch TV for twenty-four hours a day with the volume practically half fucking way to its maximum capacity.
I've told my mom about this many a time, but she said I should just let it go and let the fucking girl grow out of it, as opposed to ruining her happy childhood. Something within the borders of that. She said the wise thing to do was to keep quiet. I do for 96% of the time, but I can tell that my sister still has no fucking clue or has showed any signs of growing out this fucking habit, nor does she have or has shown any respect for others' feelings; Which is what really counts in my view. It's fucking rude to barge into a room while two people are deep in conversation and suddenly turn on the TV to the volume of something to show off how "fabulous" your preferred television shows are, is as horrible as a KISS concert, therefore disrupting the conversationalists' tenacity. Keeping quiet is certainly a correct thing to do, but when the person continues to show no progress at all to a certain length, the only natural thing is to get really fucking frustrated.
Quite a few times I have told her that it's fucking rude to do that, and she starts getting giggly like it's something cute to do and that she has a right to do it. Oftentimes, when I'd be talking to my mom about something pretty awesome, the sister, in front of the fucking TV, would turn the volume up even higher, hoping so that we'd hear what the hell is going on on some shit like that piece of yellow shit that we use to wipe off our kitchen countertops. At a time like this, do you really think me or my mother would give a shit about what's on the TV?
Lately I'd really been trying hard to do better in my grades because my mom said that if I continued to suck balls, I'd have to quit my job. That would put me in a bad position because she also said I had to start paying for my own clothes and car and college, and in a nutshell, take responsibility for myself. Well it's pretty fucking difficult to do schoolwork when something so agitating could not be muffled out no matter how many doors you shut or how many complaints you file. But then again, life's not supposed to be easy so I should shut the fuck up.
As the year goes on and on, every new day that I walk home from school, I see more and more people staring at me. It is quite uncomfortable and had I been in my shit-kicking mood these past couple days, would've shit-kicked every single staring motherfucker in the fucking face. Yeah, man. Yesterday, the same short, fat, hispanic woman that had been staring me down like me at a Ripley's Believe or Not museum, was standing at her usual spot on the corner of the street, waiting for her son's bus to come. As I was crossing the street onto my street (the streetcorner that she was stands on) she watched me like I was a boxer-wearing, pot-smoking, mullet-rocking redneck on COPS. I wanted to spread my arms out and yell at her, "What the fuck are you staring at, bitch?" But I didn't, because then I remembered how good Taco Bell and Qdoba was.
And then only three houses down our street, there was a boy standing inside a stormdoor who was observing me also. I wanted to shoot that door down and hit him with a rock blaster.
Today, while I was walking and talking on my phone, I had to walk past this house that was being rennovated by more chunky, hispanic but this time - men. The whole group who was working on the house was standing along the curb on a break and some even in the street, fucking checked me out from top to bottom as I walked by. Them and their shitful horny looks in their eyes and stupid obnoxious sound effects and yells. It's pretty fucking disgusting. And I constantly asked to myself in my mind, "Why couldn't they be tall, studly irishmen with five o'clock shadows with rips in the ass part of their jeans who don't talk useless shit everytime a person walks by?" Not fucking cool, man.
However, I did make one conclusion about the homeowner of the house that was being rennovated: they're fucking cheap bastards.
I have just realized that this is another very important reason why I should start the process of getting my license; So that I could slap on aviators, wearing a black t-shirt and fucked up jeans with harness boots, blast Aerosmith and Foghat, and using the steering wheel with my right hand and my left forearm and elbow resting on the open window and running over any fucktard who attempts to stare at me for the wrong reasons with my black four fucking thousand horsepower 1970 Dodge Charger. Eat my metal, shithead.
And a Chuck Norris picture just for kicks.
Christina N. @ 8:48 PM
Tuesday, November 15
1. Coup Detat.
Seize power.
- Legally: Elected or appointed to a high position
- Take part in a civil war and gain power once your side wins
2. Consolidate Your Power.
- Ban political parties except your own
- Surround yourself with "yes" men
3. Maintain State Control.
Form your own secret police force.
4. Create a Propaganda Machine.
You are their savior.
5. Long-Term Control.
Control public schools.
6. Build Up Your Military.
Inspired by the rise of former kindergarten teacher Benito Mussolini
Learned this in history today. Very important thing to know for all you future totalitarianists and fuhrers out there.
One last gift of advice before I go: Beware of tops with shelf bras sewn into them. I got a new shirt last Thursday by Tommy Hilfiger and holy fucking shit, do they sew their shelf bras in with quality. It was hard enough to get the shirt on over my lack of cleavage, but man, was getting it off when I got home a struggle. Sort of like mein own kampf. It was so hard to get off that, when I only had the shirt over my head but the shelf bra still elasticated in place and my head and arms bent and making a pretzel shape stuck in the air by being enveloped in the shirt, had to rub my chest on my bed just to try to move it up at least a little bit so it'll be easier to get off with my lack of able arm movement. The fucking thing was constricting my ribs so insanely that the rub-your-boobs-on-bed technique didn't work so well. Right now I forgot how I got the fucking shirt off, but I did. Otherwise I'd still be stuck in the strangest straight jacket there ever was to exist.
Christina N. @ 4:51 PM
Monday, November 14
Do not look up Jeff Goldblum in Google Images. I repeat: Do not look up Jeff Goldblum in Google Images. I was talking to Shaina on the phone and somehow the Jurassic Park series came up in conversation and then Jeff Goldblum, being that he was in the third one for you fools who don't know, and since I was on the computer at the same time, thought I'd look up pictures of him just for shits and giggles. Turns out it was just for shits.
By me mentioning this and the horrible pain that I endured by it, you're probably going to do it too. That was my intention, to cause you pain. And by the way, I fucking hate Jurassic Park and all of its shitty sequels. And I hate Jeff Goldblum too. He was never sexy in any way, shape or form. That is, if he ever changed into the shape and form of Denis Leary, I might reconsider.
Today was pretty alright, the four-day weekend went by really fast. Except when I got home, my mom immediately made me change the water tank which just set my trigger off for the rest of the time until I go to sleep tonight. But I'm pretty fine now, because we just talked about sea cucumbers and turkeys and Heineken over dinner.
Out of the many things that I regret throughout my life, one of them was being a treehugger.
Observe.
Hearts and flowers and no socks, man. Didn't like that my parents used such hazardous chemicals to put that floor together, though. What really makes me look stupid is that the tree, not even the spanish moss, isn't real. I really think Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas would be exceptionally proud of my slip-ons and lack of socks.
Christina N. @ 7:10 PM
Sunday, November 13
Goddamn, what a fucking tiring day at work. Had to come in at 9:00AM for a store meeting, which was an hour. My flex shift was on at 11:00 so I had an hour to go lolligagging across the plaza. The thing is, only about two of the stores were open out of the fifteen-or-so stores in all. So no lolligagging.
I gained weight over the past week so yesterday I told myself to eat better today (it was supposed to be yesterday that I ate better, but then my mom made me order Pizza Hut). Since she doesn't trust me working four stores down from a Starbucks, she bought some McDonald's for me to eat for lunch later on. (She has this thing that I'm not allowed to drink caffeine, man.) And to my surpise [and pleasure], at work, somebody bought in two boxes of Munchkins and a carton of orange juice. Guess who had the most, and the last, donut. The orange juice didn't really make sense because the donuts cancel it out, making it taste sour.
Instead of walking across the road to the porn shop during my hour-long break, I sat down and ate my McDonald's. Didn't taste as great because I wasn't as hungry (thanks, Donut Person, whoever you are). But I ate it anyway because it would've stunk up my handbag if I left it in there long enough.
Yeah, there's a porn shop across the road from my job. More like diagonally across. You could barely see it due to lots of cars and lots of trees, being that the plaza is along a major route. The store's called Cupid's Treasures: Erotic Toys blah blah blah I forgot the rest of the name. It's been there ever since I could remember and the windowless, small building is painted purple, and the door is always open; but too far for me to see anything in it. There's always about two or three lonely cars parked far away from each other in the crappy parking lot, rarely ever any more than that number. Makes me curious. I am making it my goal to someday go in there and see how "playful" that store is. Fuck Pier 1's goal of $8000 a day, Christina has to go check out that porn shop across the street.
The reason I couldn't get there was because there's this barrier in the middle of the road separating the two lanes. I'm not going to make myself look like an ass and dash across the busy roadd and try to climb it, even if it's only about four feet tall. Well I'd still look like an ass walking into a porn shop in broad daylight, but trying to jump over a cement barrier on Route 10? Please, have some dignity.
Usually when I work for too long, I end up smelling like fifty different kinds of candle scents. Today I don't, and instead I'm tortured of having cheesy happy music rotating in my head. Exactly like it does in the CD player that is heard all over Pier 1 Imports.
Greta has spared me boredom.
Ten Things That Make Me Happy
1. Scoffing at people who like Poison
2. Denis Leary
3. When I'm not chunky
4. The last dancing scene in Footloose
5. Whenever the topic of "Chuck Norris" comes up in conversation
6. When people wash their hands after using the toilet in a public bathroom
7. Beef jerky
8. Muscle cars
9. Blue jeans that make me have at least part of an ass
10. Krunk
I tag prices on dining accessories.
Christina N. @ 4:50 PM
Saturday, November 12
My mom's friend just came over with his five-year-old daughter, so that he could help my folks rennovate the basement. I was washing my shit-stained hands in the bathroom when he rang the doorbell, and I thought my mom was going to answer it or that he was going to take the backdoor. My sister pulls a dumbfuck and walks back and forth twice past the front door in full view of the little window that is in it, and doesn't even bother to answer the door. By this time I thought my mom would've answered it already. Turns out she wasn't even upstairs. So I open the main door and there the guy was, about to get back into his car and drive back home, which is like forty-five minutes away. I open the stormdoor for him and his kid to come into the house and he doesn't even say hi to me, but he does to my mom and the other person who was too ignorant to answer the door. I don't know why he won't ever speak to me. This has been going on for quite a number of years and it really baffles me because he used to play with me all the time when I was a kid. Maybe he's afraid of me, like every other friend of my parents'.
I don't hate the guy, I mean, he's a fucking hippie. It's either he's exactly like all of my parents' friends and dislikes me for me, or that he knows that I disapprove of treehuggers. Who knows. It's about time that I accept the fact that I don't belong around my own kind. Actually I do, but it's just that they should at least acknowledge my existence. And maybe even fucking say hello for once. I'm sorry that I'm not a fucking pussy like everyone else who he does speak to, but I prefer to not be a pussy. I'd like to be proud of my girl balls and not keep them in my purse, thank you very much.
Turns out I read the schedule wrong and I have work today at 6:00PM to 10:00PM. Good. Because I like helping customers and holding money at the register and stocking martini glasses. This morning I woke up at 4:45 from insomnia. I didn't give a shit because I thought I had to work at 6:00AM and I have to wake up an hour earlier to get ready and to actually get there. Pulled a stupid, alright.
Pisses me off that The Tick isn't airing, and I have no idea when it will again. Fuck Spider-man, Major Glory kicks way more ass than he can. And Valhallen. And Krunk, too.
Hell yes.
Christina N. @ 11:19 AM
Thursday, November 10
Believe it or not, but Christina was once a happy kid. I had five years of freedom before my sibling was born, and since then I've been the asshole that you know today.
I'm Chubby Cheeks on the right. Check out the old school sofa.
Me, my cousins Leslie and Jeannie from left to right. This is how children stand when they are prohibited from frolicking in the grass.
Leslie is rubbing her crotch with both hands.
Leslie's shoes have me baffling over what the hell they are to this day. They look like two toads that exploded from excessive Ex-Lax feeding.
As you see here, the asshole persona was surfacing for a short moment. For I was pushing people the fuck away already.
I always look grouchy when there's too much sun and my eyes squint like a relaxed sphincter muscle.
4th birthday party. And that's my vagina standing next to the table.
Cheek fat oozes out of my hands.
First blow job of my life.
My other cousin Tina. For some reason she was never included in any big family things.
Christina N. @ 10:36 PM
Wednesday, November 9
When I got home from school I found that my favorite TV room had been taken by the person who always sits in front of the TV in the dining room. Yes, we have a TV in our dining room. So since the dining room sucks and the only lounging chair available is a computer chair in that room, I go and lay down in my room to watch television. That Robin Williams movie What Dreams May Come had just begun on AMC, and after watching about fifteen to twenty minutes of it, knew it was going to put me into chick flick mode. The bed was starting to get really comfortable, so I fell asleep at 3:45.
Well, the person who took over my television spot in the living room starts blasting Star Wars Episode III on the Xbox. Jesus fucking Christ. Every blast, explosion, light saber swoosh, every wookie gurgle - I heard. So basically my nap was pretty much destroyed because when there's so much noise, I'm only half asleep. It's like you're sleeping solidly but you're thinking clearly and hearing everything that's going on around you. Pretty useful if you're homeless and living in a stoop, but not when you live in a suburban ranch house who's fed more than they could possibly sustain.
Even worse, around the last hour of my three-hour nap, for some fucking reason after the Television Area Perpetrator was done watching her movie, blasts regular cable television to the fucking core. For the movie I just heard noises and explosions, but when she started watching cable afterwards, I heard every single goddamn word that came out of every character on Nickelodeon's mouth. So I started dreaming about storming out into the living room and yelling my fucking head off at her like a bi-polar Joan Crawford at her closet person who used wire hangers to hang up her Oscar gowns.
I woke up in the most confused and sad mood. This is the reason I despise naps - it's because I tend to feel so fucking lost and like I've lost an entire day, or something major has happened and I wasn't there. Not to mention that whenever I wake up from a nap I'm so eligible to cry - I turn into a pussy. That is one position that absolutely no one wants to be in. It was around 6:41 when I woke up and immediately had dinner of a large bowl of soup and two chocolate chip cookies, with water. Right now I'm still fucking lost and feel sort of sick. Fuck naps, man. Fuck sleeping. If you were to ever have sex with me, we'd probably be fucking all night because I just fucking hate sleeping.
I only sleep when I need to, and lately I've only been getting about six or seven hours a night.
This nap didn't help my crankiness either. I'm a bomb just waiting to be at least flicked at, and I'll fucking explode so bad that your grandchildren would get tumors.
The noodle soup that I ate was so fucking hot that my nose started dripping. But I continued to burn the inside of my mouth because I was so hungry and it was really damn good. The cookies sucked though. Too hard. And the chocolate chips were too small. I'm disappointed in you, Shop Rite Bakery. Your M&M cookies are as excellent as a Denis Leary hockey fight, but your chocolate chip ones suck more balls than Axl Rose at a jawbreaker eating contest.
Tomorrow Jeannie is coming over, and on Friday I think we're going shopping at Bridgewater. I'm trying to decide whether I should cash my first check for Friday or save it for Black Friday. Because I might not even go shopping on Black Friday. The crowds make it pretty much not worth going at all on that day. But the savings are fucking incredible, man. Or so I hear. I've never shopped on Black Friday before. Once you hit sixteen, you are officially deemed a shopstar.
Today at lunch I sat in the hallway that I always do, but then I started noticing these freshmen girls starting to spread all the way into that once quiet and peaceful place that I sit and eat lunch at. This group of four or so sat directly across from me on the other side, and they kept staring at my shoes for reasons beyond my knowledge. I wear them underneath my jeans, not tucking the jeans in, because I'm not fucking hardcore as Chuck Norris. Nobody is. But anyway, yeah they kept eyeing my footwear like my feet were not feet, but Grinch heads that suddenly grew on the bottom of my legs because of some weird asian birth defect.
In the "locker room" I learned to rearrange the curtain stands so that I would completely in privacy; And so that horny bitch from two weeks ago wouldn't get wet again.
I kind of wish that Saturday would come so that I could go to work, where I don't know anyone too well and I could talk to them civilly. People who get paid to be nice to each other, because that is part of the Pier 1 pledge. Well not really, but the store's general atmosphere is full of pleasant folk. Surprisingly, I work there. What sucks is that I work from 6:00AM to 10:00AM this Saturday, hours when the store isn't even open yet so I'm not interacting with any new people (customers), nor handling money or doing easy stuff like rearranging pillows and dinnerware. Instead, I would probably be taking out the trash and unload furniture again. But by then my new schedule would probably be in place, so my hours will most likely be at times and therefore positions, that I prefer.
Christina N. @ 8:34 PM
Tuesday, November 8
If I had to pick one sport to play and get paid a shitload of money, it would be hockey. Because you get to hit shit with sticks and if things don't go your way, start beating the shit out of the other guy and it would only attract more spectators and therefore boost up your paycheck. Rugby is pretty much the sport that involves the most ass kicking, but at my size it's not very promising to go charging at other people like that. But hockey, oh man. You wear all this samurai gear and put on shoes that are sharp enough to slit seventy emo kids' wrists, wear insane helmets, yield big long grim reaper sticks and just, fucking hit shit. Getting it into the goal? Yeah, that too. But I bet it's not the players' first priority. The whole fucking reason he got into hockey in the first place was just for the purpose of hitting shit.
Jesus fucking Christ, was I pissed off today. I think it's because I hadn't been getting ample sleep for a week and last night was only just a few short hours. Not to mention that right before I went to bed my mom yelled at me and hurt my feelings. In the morning she hurt my feelings again when she said that I couldn't go see Conan O'Brien next week with Lauren and Amy. And on top of that, my only good lunch was fucking congested with underclassmen that just fucking get on my nerves - bright red neon hair, lots of "punk" clothes, the kind of stuff that makes my life worth living.
I also found out that the NYC Comedy Festival was on Saturday, which Denis Leary attended. I could've easily been there, but you know the reason. The same one as mentioned about why I can't see Conan.
And right on top of that, in my Computer Art class, the same motherfucker who bought in that bullshit CD with crap like All American Rejects and BB Mak (how the fuck do you spell that?) again and this time I actually did something physical that showed my anger. Nothing crazy, but it was at least something as opposed to my usual statue-emotions. Yeah, I just clenched my fists and bent my head down and squeezed my eyes in agony. The "no headphones" rule really got to me today.
When I was talking to my friend who sat next to me in that class about how much I fucking hated the music, I said pretty louder than I intended to, "Whose the fuck CD is this??" From across the room, the girl whom the CD belonged to heard me and made a shocked expression on her face while looking straight at me. I kept saying, "I'm sorry I'm sorry" just to make things seem a little cooler, but inside I didn't feel sorry at fucking all. Alas, that didn't make the music stop playing.
Just a few minutes later, after getting half of my project done on the computer, and was done talking to my friend, turned around towards it, put my arm down and fucking hit the Esc button by accident, losing every fucking thing that I did. Then the teacher just happened to come by and asked how my progress was going. It is just not my day.
My neighbor stopped me while walking home to give me some magazines that her niece is the editor of, which is Jane magazine. The niece got to meet David Bowie and Mick Jagger, and this I was telling to my folks during dinner tonight. Well my dad just had to burst my bubble by saying, "And how much are you willing to pay to meet this guy?" as in David Bowie. Jeez, meister. I didn't mean it that way, I didn't mean that I'd devote my life to trying to meet David Bowie. Then my mom, claiming that she understood me, starts going on about how stupid I am by wanting to meet my favorite celebrities, at all. Even if it's just a little urge to. Do you really think that that is my major priority in life? Then you might as well call me a Fall Out Boy or Gwar fan who learns how to paint northwestern scenery by watching Bob Ross on PBS. It is really not my day.
So I broke a tennis racket yesterday in gym class. Surprisingly enough, I was not angry at all. Not during that class, not during the entire day, whatsoever. It was a "peace day" as you may call it. Well, my friend hit our only tennis ball onto the roof of the school, so I decided to hit rocks against the brick wall of the building. It worked for a while and I enjoyed watching the rocks smash into little pieces, until one time I hit a rock but didn't see it fly or where it went at all. I look at my racket and see a big hole in it. The rock had gone through the racket, making it lose a thread, or whatever it is the plastic strings are called, and the one that was broken had like four shards of where it split sticking out and causing a potential multiple emo kid pleasure.
And by the way, the cut on my wrist from work has changed into a giant tape-bandaged thing. I decided to stop using little bandaids because it was a waste, so I made my mom wind bandage tape around my arm. Fucking lame, but I don't want a fucking scar. It would look like I pulled a Luke Wilson in The Royal Tennenbaums. No one would ever think at first that my arm was cut from carrying a large-sized wicker chair out of a stockroom.
Man, my blood is boiling so furiously that I could cook softboiled eggs with it. I swear, by next week if I don't beat the shit out of somebody, you might as well consider me as one of those explosions that happen in the Middle East sometime in the future. What? MOAB bomb just exploded in the desert? No, it was that asian girl who hates Gwar!
Christina N. @ 7:42 PM
Monday, November 7
I have a four(?)-page report to write for Business Management that's due tomorrow and I didn't even start on it yet. Four fucking pages on bullshit that I don't know how the hell it makes sense in any fucking way at all. Picking a product that should be sold in a certain country, design a logo, describe business customs, explain trade barriers. Dude, having anal sex with a millimeter-in-diameter funnel in your ass makes more sense than this. I might as well not do the paper. Damn right, fucker. Kiss my fucking yellow asian ass and enjoy it.
The packet that the teacher gave us says the summary is supposed to be two pages long, but then while she was explaining the project to us, changed it to four pages. Thanks a fucking lot, you have started the clogging process of a pore on my face, therefore causing another stress-formed zit to grow spontaneously on it someday.
In biology we watched the movie Gattaca, and I was just about the only person in the classroom fucking laughing my ass off when Jude Law, also known as the cripple, was confiscated by an official to check if he was "valid" or not. Well, valids in the world of Gattaca are not supposed to be in wheelchairs, so Jude Law's character lied and said that he hurt himself training and that he would be out of the cripplechair the next day and started yelling at the offical and chasing him on his wheelchair, yelling, "Whot's yo'w numbah? Whot's yo'w numbah?" And fucking cursing out the guy in that funky accent that he has. Man, there is nothing funnier than a cripple with honey-dyed blonde hair chasing around a guy in a tan trench coat and yelling in a british accent at the guy for insulting him.
Jude Law is the bitchiest cripple I have ever seen, and I get such a hell of a kick out of it. Because he's the first cripple I've ever seen who wears suits that cost more than Michael Bolton's haircut, gets drunk and keeps samples of his alcohol-saturated urine for another guy to wear around his leg, and chases privileged people who have workable legs around while on his wheelchair.
I made a pact to myself to start dieting today. Guess I didn't.
Breakfast
1 everything bagel
2 strawberry Poptarts
Lunch
1 bag of cooler ranch Doritos
1 bag of M&M's
Afterschool Snack
half a large bag of Lays regular potato chips
1 banana because of my mom
Dinner
1 bowl of vegetables and rice
fried tofu
3 chocolate chip cookies
I'd probably have to seriously start eating better tomorrow, because I still have to do at least one jumpkick with David Lee Roth before I leave this world, where I would go golfing with Elvis. Since he can't really do anything else at that weight of his.
I was watching The Tick on ABC Family (man I hate that channel to the fucking core, except when they show old superhero shows like X-Men or when they show Whose Line is it Anyway?) a while ago and man, I never realized it was so great. Watched it when I was a kid pretty often but never remembered until now. It seems even funnier right now because I actually get most of the jokes. When I was a kid I just liked it because it was silly. As of now, it's way more than just silly.
I laughed my fucking flat ass off when in the particular episode that I was watching, the villain was the empress of not the Ottoman Empire, but the Ottoman Empire. As in one of these. Her superpower was to fly, and to summon pieces of furniture to move and try to kill The Tick and his cronies. She made a table move and bark like a dog and chase somebody's ass, and a tall green drawer with two sides of drawers going down, punch Die Fledermaus with two of its drawers.
There was also an enormous green armchair that was hailed "The World's Most Comfortable Chair" and when someone sat on it, they basically get stoned. The Tick sat on it for a while during his battle with The Ottoman Empress and that's how he was losing for some time. As seen here.
The whole show and everything in it is fucking hilarious. Just thought I'd point a few characters out:
Baby Boomerangutuang
His power was to throw dolls at bad guys and they'd come flying back like boomerangs.
Bi-Polar Bear
Pretty much the superhero for all emo kids.
Gesundheit
He's allergic to everything, therefore his super sneezes give him super flying powers.
Joseph Stalin
Superpower of one day hoping to take over the world and promote totalitarianism upon all of us.
Chairface Chippendale
This chippendale ain't never gettin' paid from me, man. His head's harder than his penis, literally.
the Swiss
They may have made cool knives, but their real motive behind that is to encourage suicide upon the world's population.
The Man-Eating Cow
I have no idea.
Uncle Creamy
"Uncle Creamy was an actor used as a corporate mascot to sell ice cream, but after a freak industrial accident he is transformed into a seemingly evil ice cream cone."
Uncle Creamy II
Fuckin' most kick ass ice cream I have ever seen. Created to kill Uncle Creamy.
Christina N. @ 8:02 PM
Sunday, November 6
Got my first paycheck yesterday, $89.70. Could've been $99 but thanks to Uncle Sam, it isn't. Work yesterday was pretty awesome, and I have to say that I officially like my job now. I guess it's just the first three or so days that are really hard on you because you don't know shit and it seems that everyone has a rhino-ass-sized brain and you have a walnut-sized one during that time. But once you know your shit, working at Pier 1 is really decent.
On my work break, I only had $1.02 in change with me, so I decided to go to Starbucks down the block, assuming they'd have something for under a dollar. Like a cookie or something. Turns out there's not a single one that's under $1.50, except for these little shot-glass-sized brownie cookies for forty cents each. So I'd buy two; It's better than nothing. While I was standing in line, crying inside like a little emo boy who wears eyeliner, that I couldn't have one big cookie, the guy behind the counter calls over to me if I wanted a free cappuchino. Somebody changed their mind or walked out, I couldn't remember, so the people working there just wanted to give it away - fresh and hot. Aw man, was I thrilled. Then when it was my turn to order my zit-sized cookies, the lady was announcing all this happy shit, "It's your lucky day, honey!"
It truly was. That cappuchino of theirs is fucking delicious.
Had to work this morning from 7:00 - 11:00, and it wasn't the greatest thing because the store doesn't open until 11:00 on Sundays, so I had to take out garbage and pull out furniture from boxes out of the stockroom and assemble them for display. It was today that I found out that I should never be a stockperson, and as a salesperson I should be compared (better yet promoted to the likes of) Olivia Newton John in the world of looking good in pink spandex. Squeezing giant and heavy boxes through narrow aisles of shelves with more boxes sticking out in your way is pretty uncomfortable, man. Because of that, all the other boxes and shit that was in the way forced me to squeeze my arms together, and therefore squeezing the box, therefore making the corners of the box cut my inner arms. Or rather, my wrist. Jesus fucking Christ, something(s) cut my right wrist about four or five times, three inches down my arm and now I look like a fucking suicidal emo loser. There's bandages all over it now and now I can't wear t-shirts without looking like everybody that I hate. Hey fucker, at least I didn't do it on purpose. I don't even need a fucking razorblade. All I need is cardboard and a retail job.
The fat phase is kind of backfiring on me because I kind of shrunk back to normal again some. It's probably because I skipped breakfast today and didn't eat after coming home from work at 11:00, but my lunch was fucking amazing.
Lunch
1 bowl of soup with rice
leftover grilled pork
2 cases of Burger King french fries with ketchup
2 bowls of Honey Bunches of Oats Cereal with milk
Afternoon Snack
1 Hershey's milk chocolate bar
Dinner
2 KFC chicken legs
2 small cups of mashed potatoes with gravy
2 biscuits
Yesterday, although, went smoothly. It was just today that I fucked up.
McDonald's Breakfast Of:
1 hash brown
1 bacon, egg, and cheese McGriddle
small (and flat) Sprite
Lunch
2 double fudge brownie cookies
1 bowl of baked ziti
medium cappuchino (fuck "tall," "grande," and "venti," or whatever the fuck it is)
Dinner
6 slices of Pizza Hut supreme pizza
1 bowl of soup and rice
grilled pork
Dessert
forgot if I had any or not
And there's one more thing that must be made clear: An asian cannot go one day without eating rice.
Christina N. @ 4:59 PM
Friday, November 4
As of yesterday I have decided that I am going to go through a fat phase. Most people do that in college, when they live in a dorm unsupervised by their parents, and end up eating junk food for every meal of the day. Fuck that, I'm doing it right now. Under supervision of my parents and along with the healthy food that they stuff down my mouth.
But then Ilona just called me an hour ago, asking to go to the movies with her. Said I couldn't because I can't. And I can't because I'm a lazy sod. Then I asked her if everyone else was busy and why she couldn't go with them. Well, one friend of hers, was busy because of modelling stuff. That made me feel crappy. So I decided to reduce my fat phase to just this weekend.
Today went rather well with my plan, and I'll list all the things that I devoured just for the fucking hell of it.
Breakfast
1 hash brown
2 sprinkled sugar cookies
Lunch
2 styrofoam plates of french fries
1 sprinkled sugar cookie
2 chocolate tootsie pops
Afterschool Snack
nachos with cream cheese
2 strawberries
Dinner
1 and 1/2 stone crabs
1 bowl of soup with rice
grilled pork
Dessert
Haagen Dazs chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream
1 croissant
Alright, I'll explain to you about the nachos with cream cheese. I come home and see a fresh new bag of nachos lying on top of the refridgerator, and was totally excited because my mom never buys nachos. But to my disappointment, after rummaging through every cabinet and counter top and refridgerator shelf there was in the kitchen, discovered that she did not buy any sort of dip, at fucking all. No cheese dip, no salsa dip, no ranch dip. Goddamn was my bubble busted.
We didn't even have cheese slices so that I could unwrap a bunch of them and microwave them. Peanut butter or just plain butter or pate or condensed milk would be too weird. So, the next best thing was a two-thirds empty Philadelphia Cream Cheese container lying somewhere in the back of the refridgerator. Hey, it's cheese, that's something. It didn't taste all too bad, but after a while I got totally sick of it - a feeling that I have never before experienced with nachos in my entire life. In the end, I still would have preferred the melted cheese slices because they were at least yellow.
Coincidentally, my mother declared that tomorrow all we're eating is Pizza Hut pizza. The bad part is, I'm going to be at work from 10AM to 4PM (and the damn place opens at noon) so it won't be as fresh by the time I return home, and hopefully there'll be enough left for my Fat Phase standards.
The good thing about fat phases is that you could get rid of all your belts and rip out all the drawstrings in your pairs of sweatpants. And the fact that you have a reason why you look like such a fucking fat fuck. When someone tells you that you're fat while you're in a fat phase, you just say, "Fuck you, motherfucker. Just wait until I get skinny again, we'll see who's the ugly bitch here."
Oh man, I can't wait until tomorrow after work. Pizza and fucking ice cream and soda and maybe some stuff left over from Starbucks or Qdoba from my work break. Not to mention adding another few heart attacks somewhere down my lifetime. I'd rather die of a quickie Fred Sanford heart attack than twenty years of syphilis.
Christina N. @ 6:59 PM
Thursday, November 3
Oh man, I don't think I ever told you folks about that scary freshman girl yet. She's officially on my shit list, write this down. About two gym classes ago, when I was changing in the "locker room," since there really is no more locker room because of construction, I took my shirt off and out of some natural instinct, I turn around. I see this chick checking me out like no tomorrow. Her face was like a fucking full moon, she was looking right at me, from straight across the room. And I'm thinking, "Holy shit, what the fuck is with this girl?" And then the thought that we all like to hide way in the back of our minds, "What the fuck, do I really appeal to lesbians?" In my head I felt so fucking violated that such an ugly daughter of a bastard would check me out like that. I mean, if you like someone's undergarments and hope to ask them where they purchased them from, I understand. Same thing about jeans. But this chick didn't ask me where I got my undergarments from, so she was checking me out without at least hiding behind a curtain or something, so she rightfully belongs on the shit list. Fucking dumb, man. In my mind, I looked like this:
I feel your pain, brother. I wouldn't want ugly lesbians eyeing my tits either. Not that I have much, but the quality bra made it look like there was something.
This person kept popping up in my mind all day because I fucking saw her again this morning in the hallway, when she almost tripped over my friend. Then I told my other friend about her and she told me that this scary chick was checking me out again and just got caught in the moment. It was a joke though, but would be scary as all fucking hell if it were true.
That really sucks balls. This is one of the times when I wish there were a unisex changing area so that I could at least feel a little bit decent. If this moron keeps on "popping up" any longer while I'm feeling pissed off, I guess I'll just pop one up in her fucking face.
Christina N. @ 7:09 PM
Is it a rule for autumn to always be so fucking windy? The temperature is just fine, but the wind is as almost a big a pain in the ass as finding out that there's no potato chips left after opening the bag, when thinking it was full because some stupid motherfucker tied it back with a rubber band really neatly near the top of the bag, as opposed to tying it near where the chips would be. That happened today, by the way. But anyway, it was so windy that dust kept blowing into my eyes and blowing my hair into my face, whilst fucking it up too, causing for an hour or two's worth of combing later on. It's not Chicago, for fuck's sake. And right now I bet Al Capone's grandchildren are having the time of their lives because they could actually sit on their stoops without the checkerboards and checker pieces and midget tables flying into some hobo's ass four blocks away.
I bet when you were a child, you loved getting bandaids taped all over your little boo-boo's. There would be Minnie Mouse, Mighty Mouse, Underdog, or any other animal that's not supposed to wear clothes, on those bandaids and sold in aluminum boxes. The aluminum boxes were amazing and I have no idea why the fuck they wouldn't sell them anymore, and they really are not sold anymore. But back to my point; having bandaids all over my left hand sucks balls because they don't help all that much if your skin cracks easily in cool weather and you're obsessive compulsive - always wanting to wash your hands, and at the same time are too lazy to change the fucking bandaids (which includes ointment) after washing your hands, which is about thirty-five times a day. For god's sake, you can't even put lotion on, man.
Working on weeknights is really damn decent, because I enjoy minding my own business and restocking cups and dinnerware and having to ring out a few customers, as opposed to working on busy weekends during the day and having to be stuck on register or helping customers out with shit that I don't know the answers to. But unfortunately, a certain somebody's mother claims that a certain somebody is a dumb shit in school so this certain somebody is strictly prohibited from working on weeknights from now on. So I guess I should go back to complaining about work nowadays if I could only work on shitty weekends, as opposed to my more recent and way more positive opinion about work on weeknights.
The only bad thing about working on weeknights is that I only get about half the amount of sleep that a healthy, maturing adolescent chick should be getting. And therefore the next day the chick (the time when not in work) causes fucking havoc on everybody around them because of lack of rest. It's like my calmness meter used to be within the coolness of Greenland, and now from lack of sleep has become to the likes of, let's say, Fiji. Or Mercury, for that matter. Which explains the wanting-to-rip-your-genitals-off-with-a-pair-of-ice-tongs mood that you have just wasted your jerkoff-to-Teri-Hatcher time with. I don't care if you're a girl, I bet you jerk off to her anyway. I know I don't, because whenever I think of her I think of Dean Cain and his horrible acting in that Superman show. And I ain't no fag.
Christina N. @ 5:00 PM
Wednesday, November 2
I have no idea what the hell is wrong with the Earth's atmosphere today, but for some reason it totally fucked with my head at some time last night because I woke up on such a wrong side of the bed, that in comparison I woke up in Mongolia this morning. Yeah man, that is how horribly and incredibly cranky I am today. It didn't help either that when I stepped out of my room, found out that my sister wastes even more of my fucking time by having to watch five fucking minutes of TV before brushing her goddamn teeth, added to the fifteen minutes that she already takes up inside the bathroom. And no fucking way will I wake up early just to brush my teeth before her, get dressed and pack up, and wait for the time to go to school. No fucking way, I've got enough shit that takes away enough time for sleep already.
Jesus fucking Christ, and some fucker bought in a CD with All American Rejects and that dumb band who performs "Can I Be Your Memory?" for my art class to listen to, despite knowing about the rule that no headphones are allowed. There is no worse a time in my life where I wanted to punch something so bad but can't, because my knuckles have bandages on them from last night at work when trying to move a ladder, which got stuck on piles of plastic molds, which I caught from smashing into my face, but instead ended up cutting my fingers [instead of cutting my face].
Work last night was really fun for a difference, except for the part that no fucker told me about flex shifts (and the finger cutting), which meant that I had to call in two hours before the scheduled flex shift to see if they needed me or not. So I just went in to work thinking that it was my regular shift.
But never mind that. You children are selfish and want to see Halloween pictures of the first ever asian Axl Rose in history.
Jeremy had the gnarliest nose ring but I don't know where it went. And he stole that tophat from somebody two seconds before this picture was shot because the reliable town of Rockaway did not have a single quality top hat on sale anywhere within its boundaries.
The cameltoe is there on purpose.
Slash doesn't need no fucking headband.
He doesn't even need a goddamn breathalyzer from the asthma he would eventually get from breathing in so much hair. And you could see the shadow of my enormous Axl-esque pompadour while taking the picture.
Mike making a gay pass at Cartman.
I would've been in this picture, but my head took up too much space.
For now I don't have any pictures of my bicycle shorts or my nasty legs or any Axl-in-motion shots, or anything from outside of school because I'm fucking broke and can't afford my own digital camera.
Christina N. @ 12:18 PM
