I fucking laughed my yellow asian ass off when I saw that. Oh Cotton Factory, why do I still not own one of your tons of brilliant t-shirts?
My elementary school music teacher was quite a bitch. Didn't seem like it to most of you brainwashed fuckers who went to Birchwood Elementary School around my time, but she was. Well at least to me. For the untrained eye, she, Mrs. Sloand, looked like the cutest and sweetest little old lady ever to walk the face of the earth. Short white hair, flowery short-sleeved button-up-from-the-stomach dresses, slightly heeled shoes and pearl earrings. She sort of looked like Queen Elizabeth but without as many wrinkles on her face. Everybody loved her and loved how nice she was. I tried to be conformist, as I was only a young child, but I could never get back the adoration that I so desperately wanted from her.
She hated me, and to this day I have no fucking idea why. It could've been because I was the seemingly dumb asian kid who couldn't speak english that well. Let's face it, if you don't know the dominant language of your surroundings, you don't know shit what's going on, therefore coming off as a shithead. That's how I was for half of my time in elementary school - my parents being immigrants and all, and they themselves barely knowing enough english, let alone teach me. All I had was the television.
But anyway, I knew enough english to follow directions to the exact pinpoint of what someone would be telling me, and without the hardheadedness of a teenager that you know today. I followed every rule of hers, never talked or chit-chatted to any of my classmates out of cue, and participated to the fucking core in every single one of her activities. I conformed my fucking little ass off to that class, and still the teacher never was friendly to me. As a matter of fact, one day when I was tired and had something on my mind from the night before, when I probably got in trouble by my mom or something (because at least we spoke the same language, I couldn't really shit her), I was sitting with my legs spread out and my hands on the floor, in a more comfortable position rather than the stupid typical "pretzel style." Mrs. Sloand looks at me, infuriated, and says, "Christina, sit correctly!"
What the fuck? I wasn't even talking, I was looking at her, waiting for class to start, and all the other fucking kids in the class were bustling around and lollygagging, looking for their goddamn floor spots to sit down in. It really hurt my feelings, man. Right now I would've thought, "Shut the fuck up, cracker." But back then, I remember thinking right after she said that, "Why? What did I do wrong?"
Every rare time when I started to lag in an activity, or pay my attention to elsewhere, or stumbled with notes, she would only snap at me. But not when someone else was lagging. She didn't even bother with them. Go take your fucking cheap maracas and tambourines and shove them up your crusty ass. I really would've liked to talk to a friend about it, but no one would've believed me, since she was "the sweetest lady in the world."
I'm glad the bitch retired and a new, younger teacher came in. She also happened to respect me.
So the moral of today's story is: Always believe in Jon Lovitz.
Christina N. @ 7:52 PM
Today my mom and I had the ol' cell phone talk. Out of the 700 minutes that me, her, and my dad get from the Family Plan every month, I used 600 in my first month of ever having a cell phone; many of which are hour-long long-distance calls. So, if it happens again by the time she receives the next bill next month, I am either going to have to pay for my service or have my phone taken away. Guess I'll have to reduce 90% of my calls to after 9:00PM and weekends only.
You kids should sign up for Audiocrapper so we could waste time together. I can't believe that out of the entire time since June 21st, I listened to Motley fucking Crue the most. I mean, if someone asks you what band you've listened to the most throughout your life, would you want to say Motley Crue? Fuck no. I don't have much of a disliking for them, but I just cannot take them seriously. And if you do, I feel sorry for you. Over the past few months, I have wisened for the better and have not listened to the Crue at all. Neither did I listen to Bon Jovi. Shame, Christina.
The greatest fucking song in the world is "Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows" by Lesley Gore. Too bad it doesn't show up for some reason. And unlike Maroon 5, I am not ashamed of enjoying the likes of Lesley Gore.
Last night my head was throbbing in pain from a giant zit growing on my right cheek. It's fucking horrible to actually feel the pain while you're fucking sleeping. So you bet it's a nasty one. No fucking way am I going to take a picture of it. But, I did take pictures of the ridiculous amount of beer in my basement.
Keg.
Two and a half boxes. Can't see any in the left one, but they're in there.
Mini fridge.
Christina N. @ 1:46 PM
Monday, December 26
It's only the third day into my week-long holiday break, and I am competely bored already. The boredom started yesterday, as a matter of fact. There's always a million things to do, but nobody admits that they're too stubborn to actually do it. Such as cleaning or doing work that I refused to do earlier in school. Or writing letters of apology that you owe to people whom you've been an asshole to. Not that I have to do that. But I do have to clean somewhat. And this is what I've been missing for the past two months? When my life was nothing but homework and Pier 1 Imports? Yes sir, I guess I'm back to the bum life that I am so proud of.
So does anyone want to make plans for New Year's Eve? My parents are going to a party in Boundbrook that I do not want to take part in and I must make alternative plans other than sitting and watching shitty TV for six hours straight.
Thanks a fucking lot, Pier 1, for cutting my hours down from eighteen hours and three days per week to four hours and one day per week. That's about $27 I make every week with tax deducted already. What the fuck am I going to do with $27? Not even an anus wax is that cheap nowadays. Yet again, that's just this week. I've yet to see next week's schedule. It better at least be worth that anus wax.
The television seems to be failing on me too. Throughout the entire weekend, I found only one single program that fascinated me - Best Year Ever: 2005.; which I only saw the last half of. And That '70s Show, until some stupid fucker changed the channel and wouldn't let me watch. The overbearing fear of some conservative family member constantly walking around the house keeps me from finishing Season 1 of Nip/Tuck. I received it early last week and have only finished watching two episodes out of the thirteen or so.
My friend invited me to a birthday dinner that was rescheduled to tomorrow evening but I'm not sure whether it's still going on or not, since she hadn't mentioned it for a week. I hope it is, because I've been dying for some food that isn't stale snacks lying on top of the refridgerator or counter or rotting asian food. My mom said today she's making us vegetarian food for dinner. What the fuck? If it's one thing that I cannot do to save my ass from starvation, it's eating vegetarian. Jesus fucking Christ, I dream at night about eating steak, man. Eating vegetarian does not satisfy me at all. I don't know how you health foo's do it.
Christina N. @ 4:55 PM
Sunday, December 25
Since my mom got a waffle iron from her friend, and since I'm a pig, decided to be the first to use it. While already having the iron out of the box and already making the batter, she suddenly comes into the kitchen and tells me that she's going to give it away. As an alternative, I was told to use the sandwich maker instead of the waffle iron to cook the batter. It really works, it's just that the waffles look nothing like waffles, inside and out. Maybe it had to do with the fact that (in addition to using a sandwich maker) since we didn't have any rum for the "crispy waffles" recipe, I put in vanilla instead. This took place at 3:00 in the afternoon after waking up at 2:00. Sad to know that only an hour later would sunset occur.
I guess I could say that I invented a new breakfast food. Vanaffles? They taste pretty damn good, but we really need to buy some syrup.
These are from when after everybody left.
one
Guess I forgot to resize this blurry piece of shit.
two
three
Unfortunately, I look more like my dad than my mom.
Very unfortunately.
four
Christina N. @ 6:58 PM
Call me a stupid fucker, but I had a nice day. Today as you may know, was my folks' Christmas party and presents galore. I really did get a nifty camera and Chanel No. 5 perfume, a makeup kit, ten bucks, and three gift cards for Macy's and Target. Not much compared to the spoiled child, but they could just go fuck a poodle.
I was so excited to get to use the Canon Power Shot A520 that I had the batteries put in within five minutes of unwrapping it and snapped some shots of people with their presents just for the hell of it.
Momma.
Cousin Branda holding an ostrich and a dog.
Henry, my pop's friend's kid, Branda, and a cognac gift set with two glasses on the right. And yes, I own an Xbox.
Henry and my sibling, Kelly. Always arguing but I happened to capture a moment of peace in this picture.
The tree, with snowflakes made out of white pipe cleaners. w3 bE gh3tT0, yo.
Henry's three-month-pregnant mom, in front of the cognac gift set, a waffle iron, and a beverage warmer on the coffee table.
Macy's gift cards come in these really cute little boxes, about 5 x 7 inches.
And a Myspace-esque picture of me that is taken that way not because I want to be like Tom or xMatthewx, but my arms are just not merely long enough to take a normal picture.
Christina N. @ 1:21 AM
Thursday, December 22
Today I saw a kid wearing a Bon Jovi Have a Nice Day 2005 Tour t-shirt, and I laughed. I can no longer take him seriously anymore. Although I can't remember what his face looked like because the sad shirt that he was wearing was too overbearing.
In aerobics we listened to The Kenny G. Christmas Album. Right when I heard the teacher say the title, I laughed. And then we did Tae Bo with Billy Blanks because my life is corny like that. Knowing the fact that my life is quite corny, I don't laugh.
Adding to how corny my life is, my parents are having a big Christmas party on Saturday - inviting about twenty people in all. And maybe a few more thanks to me and my greed of being lonely whenever my family members have or go to parties because my own kind of people reject me. If I had a camera, I'd have taken pictures for ya'll of the house - it is completely holiday-a-fied: Tree neatly decorated and lit, lots of shiny wrapped presents placed under the tree, a lighted garland hung around the mantel of the fireplace, christmas lights on the bushes outside, and more lighted garlands and wreaths in the basement/entertainment center, as my mother calls it.
She even went out and bought Christmas music for this occasion. I have to admit, I am pretty embarassed about that part. But hey, she has good intention.
This next corny fact is that my parents and their friends, whomever is having the big party that year, the party is always on Christmas Eve and everyone who's invited to the party brings in presents and puts them under the tree. Party goes on all night until about some time before midnight, everyone is called to gather around the tree and there's always the old guy who wears the Santa hat and hands out a present to someone that it belongs to, one by one and everyone watches the person open the present and be happy, pictures are snapped, yadda yadda yadda. Happens to be the favorite part of my entire day besides the taste of freshly cooked food in my mouth being enveloped by my germs.
I feel guilty about being an asshole one night while I was bored, because somehow I ended up standing in the living room in front of the tree and spotted a mysterious-looking present that I had not seen before. So what the fuck did I do? I picked it up and saw that it was for me from my dad. It's a box approximately 6 x 5 x 10 inches and is quite heavy, most likely a digital camera because he totally knows I want one so that I could take pictures of people in wheelchairs and publish an award-winning photography book and become part of the french elite.
I had to be even more of a dick by shaking the present from my mom and finding out that it feels a lot like fabric tightly and neatly packed inside a small box to try to conceal what it is. Also known as it could be a new shirt. The corniness of this is that there are tons of old school cartoons showing kids sneaking out from their beds at night to shake their presents. Except that I'm twice the size and three times the age of your average child. Not to mention a hundred times more asian.
Christina N. @ 5:08 PM
Tuesday, December 20
This probably accounts for many women in the world, but in my case it's pretty bad; Before I get on the rag, my appetite is like a poor child from where my foreign roots are - in some third world country. I just eat and eat like a fucking space vacuum on crack. My friend helped feed my appetite by happening to give me in addition to Nip/Tuck Season 1 on DVD, a metal Conan O'Brien lunchbox from the actual NBC Studios when she went to see the show, and two chocolate Rice Krispies Treats. It's starting to give me ideas about not carrying around a bag to school anymore, but just that lunchbox so I could stuff it with food, and perhaps pull a Frank Feranna Jr. by putting rocks in it and beating any shitheads who happen to annoy the hell out of me. Today I devoured so far:
2 chocolate Rice Krispies Treats
2 batches of french fries
brownie
bag of oreo wafer crisps
Lays original potato chips
fruit smoothie because of mom
for dinner I'm guessing it's fried tofu, soup, some sort of dead animal and rice
That was just another two months taken off of my lifespan but it's part of the two months where I'd most likely be wearing an adult diaper and sitting in a wheelchair for my pussy born-again christian grandson pushing me around the mall to make fun of everybody, because by then the whole world would be taken over by scene kids and Fall Out Boy fans. A fate that none of us likes to admit. A time that I would not like to be alive for, which I am working on right now by committing such gluttony.
Either that, or I'm lying in an iron lung with my head sticking out of it tilted so that it would be facing in front of a ten year old Panasonic TV where the nurse is too fucking lazy to change the channel and I'd be stuck watching The Golden Girls for the rest of my life.
Christina N. @ 5:49 PM
Monday, December 19
If it's one thing that I hate, it's socks. Fuck socks, man. They are the most uncomfortable things in the world next to metal chain thongs and it gets really disgusting when your feet are sweaty and you can't wiggle your toes to get any fresh air because they're fucking covered in wool or cotton or lint or whatever the hell they're made out of. What drives me into flaming murder is when people show off their multi-colored Winnie the Pooh socks that are stained black on the bottom. Fucker, don't show something off if you've stained it black, yellow, or brown. The people to whom you show it off to end up losing their stomach fluids. Ugly red socks with yellow polka dots and green pom-poms sewn onto the elastic around the ankles are hideous too. Or any kinds that people think are hardcore, like thinking a fucking guitar design on the side of a sock is cool. If you think that a guitar or an axe or a fucking lightning bolt sewn onto your sock is cool, then I suggest you saw your feet off. Don't even feed it to the dogs because even they will reject your nasty once-socked feet.
White and black socks do it for me. That's it. The only variations of lengths I need are ankle socks and regular gym socks. Pantyhose if you must for the right occasions, but usually not because I don't like the cold feeling when somebody snaps it. No fancy shmancy office socks that don't keep your feet warm at all and keep slipping down your foot so it bunches up at the end of the shoe, almost forcing you to wear those things that hold up socks that businessmen tend to wear. You know, those things that make you look like a pervert with hairy legs. I think they're called sock suspenders. Had they been raised up much higher up the leg, they'd look like gun holsters.
Not to mention that when at someone else's house where it may be messy and nasty as George Constanza's ass, and they make you take off your shoes for whatever reason (a reason that I don't get because their house is already dirty so why need to keep it clean from dirty shoes?), your socks get dirty and it is the most disgusting feeling on the bottom of your feet. Or if you step in something wet and the wetness and coldness stays in the sock for a long time as it dries, as opposed to your wiping whatever the hell it is off your foot with a towel. Fucking horrendous, man. Getting hair stuck on your socks and having to pull it out is absolutely appalling too.
Don't fucking ever talk to me about socks because I'd most likely want to smash your fucking face in with a brass fireplace poker and then toss your head in, L.A. Confidential/Russell Crowe style, into the goddamn fireplace itself.
What makes me feel even worse about socks is aerobics class, although the class in itself is pretty awesome. There's a matted floor so no shoes are allowed, and the teacher announces a Most Valuable Socks Award for every day. This is the time where I see people show off and be dumb about their dirty and ugly socks, which probably cost too much for just two ugly designed pairs. It's fucking horrifying. I'd rather have a Most Valuable Feet Award because I'd totally win that, hands fucking down. Because you know, asians for generations bind their feet into tiny shoes and therefore mutating into pretty feet. Unless your ancestors were farmers who go around barefoot all the time stepping in poop. I guess mine wore shoes.
Christina N. @ 5:47 PM
Saturday, December 17
After a minuscule four hours at work, had to go do some last bits of Christmas shopping at the shitful Rockaway Townsquare Mall. And as my tradition goes, I never go to a shopping center without buying something for myself. Never. Since I am currently trying to save money for my dream car that I would probably never get, a black 1970 Dodge Charger with white leather upholstery, I only bought two used CDs from FYE since they are overpricing shitfuckers and the CDs only cost five and six bucks. Who gives a shit if they're compilations or greatest hits, they're fucking cheap. I got Aerosmith's Gems and Creedence Clearwater Revival's Rollin' on the River. Anthrax didn't have any used CDs on sale and I totally forgot about Ted Nugent, so I didn't get any from either artist.
As I have mentioned before, the Rockaway Mall is notorious for its number of scene kids walking around within its walls. And I think I found the king of all scene kids. Yes, The King of All Scene Kids. Saw him at FYE when I was walking around the aisles trying to find the "A" section. He had that stupid black lopsided mohawk sculpted with tons of product, many layers of striped polo shirts under a denim jacket, incredibly expensive-looking ripped jeans, most likely eyeliner because I didn't want to look at him and laugh at his face, and get this: un-fitting white pants underneath the ripped jeans, folds of it sticking out of the holes in the knees of the jeans. I was cracking up way, way back in the back of my head, because I was too concentrated on finding that goddamn "A" section.
Christina N. @ 8:19 PM
Friday, December 16
If Darwin were to choose a successor who had the right and the power to "thin the herd," he should choose me. People just fucking barraged me with shitty music all fucking day today. Shitty not in the aspect that it sounds like "shibby," no no, my friend, shitty as in its synonym, Michael Bolton. In history class we had a substitute teacher, so of course we did classwork. Well this bitch of a showoff that was sitting two seats behind me had a laptop and was playing show tunes off of it. Jesus fucking Christ, way to show us that you are gay. I could feel my brain contracting so I decided to take a fifteen-minute bathroom break.
And then there was gym class. The almighty Mr. Wittner's music policy for the aerobics course I'm taking, is that we go in order by seating and that person gets to bring in music for one day. Not surprisingly, one of the dumbest people in the world next to the person who invented arsenic wallpaper brought in, yes, Fall Out Boy for the class to stretch to. Every stretch that I did, every calf muscle that I pulled, I cringed. Cringed not because I was in pain from months of being a lazy sod, but cringed because I am actually sane when it comes to what is good musicianship and what isn't. What a fucking dolt.
There was a delayed opening, and since I couldn't sleep, decided to watch the ol' television. VH1 just happened to be exploiting some sass of a pussy named Jonathan, John, Josh, something? Blunt. Yeah, his name is Something Blunt. I can't remember his first name. But I do remember that he had ugly, ugly feet. And that he sat on a white floor in Bruce Lee sweat pants and sang to his sneakers and a few pieces of cardboard or lint or some shit that was lined up in front of him. Well he has this big hit of a song, called "You're Beautiful." Yeah if you're Cindy Crawford of Joe Perry or something like that, yeah then you've heard it enough times. But when you're asian and you have a fat face, it doesn't make you feel too good. And not to mention that they play that song at Pier 1 Imports all the fucking time; it was on one of the CDs that was in rotation for the store's atmospheric purposes a while ago.
I swear, back then I had no idea who sang the song nor had I ever seen the video, and genuinely thought it was a woman singing. I also saw the video for the first time a few nights ago and thought Something Blunt was lipsynching the woman that was actually singing the song. Guess I was totally wrong. He sings like a fucking girl. Just like other crap musical ensembles like Coheed & Cambria or Fall Out Boy. I would not want to fuck a guy who sings like a girl and looks like a fat palm tree or who bounces around on the stage claiming that he could play bass like the Energizer Bunny. Man, I bet the Energizer Bunny could play a clarinet despite the fact that he has no fingers and make it sound like a Ted Nugent guitar riff compared to that fucking Fall Out Boy guy.
Christina N. @ 4:45 PM
Thursday, December 15
I know this has become quite a cliche, but I happened to come across another God of the Beard list and decided to replace my otherwise shitheaded ramble where I talk about beating people's heads in and then sucking the cerebral fluid out of them with a bendy straw as an appetizer for a full course cannibalistic meal.
35 Facts That You Thought You Knew About Chuck Norris
1. If you ask Chuck Norris what time it is, he always says, "Two seconds 'til." After you ask, "Two seconds to what?" he roundhouse kicks you in the face.
2. Chuck Norris only masturbates to pictures of Chuck Norris.
3. When Chuck Norris has sex with a man, it is not because he is gay, but because he has run out of women.
4. Macgyver can build an airplane out of gum and paper clips, but Chuck Norris can kill him and take it.
5. Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.
6. Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
7. Filming on location for Walker: Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris brought a stillborn baby lamb back to life by giving it a prolonged beard rub. Shortly after the farm animal sprang back to life and a crowd had gathered, Chuck Norris roundhouse kicked the animal, breaking its neck, to remind the crew once more that Chuck giveth, and the good Chuck, he taketh away.
8. Chuck Norris lost his virginity before his dad did.
9. There are no disabled people in the world. Only those people who have felt the wrath of Chuck Norris.
10. Since 1940, the year Chuck Norris was born, roundhouse kick related deaths have increased 13,000 percent.
11. Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.
12. Chuck Norris does not have AIDS but he gives it to people anyway.
13. Chuck Norris has recently changed his middle name to "Fucking."
14. Chuck Norris once lined up to kick the winning field goal of a high school football game. When the football went flat, he persuaded the referees to let him kick the field goal with a 3 month old child. Chuck roundhouse kicked the baby 60 yards through the uprights and then proceeded to bang every girl in the stadium.
15. When Chuck Norris sends in his taxes, he sends blank forms and includes only a picture of himself, crouched and ready to attack. Chuck Norris has not had to pay taxes ever.
16. There is no chin behind Chuck Norris' beard. There is only another fist.
17. There are two kinds of people in this world: people who suck, and Chuck Norris.
18. In the movie "Back to the Future" they used Chuck Norris' Delorean to go back into time and into the future. When they gave it back to him with a scratch on it he was angry and roundhouse kicked Michael J. Fox, which years later was the cause of his Parkinson's disease.
19. Chuck Norris spends his Saturdays climbing mountains and meditating in peaceful solitude. Sundays are for oral $ex, KFC and Tequila.
20. Chuck Norris always has sex on the first date. Always. The only time he didn't was in 1941, otherwise known as the beginning of the Holocaust.
21. Chuck Norris can enter up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, Select, Start using only his erection.
22. Crop circles are Chuck Norris's way of telling the world that sometimes corn needs to lie the fuck down.
23. There is no theory of evolution, just a list of creatures Chuck Norris allows to live.
24. When Chuck Norris goes to donate blood, he declines the syringe, and instead requests a hand gun and a bucket.
25. Chuck Norris once walked down the street with a massive erection. There were no survivors.
26. In an average living room there are 1,242 objects Chuck Norris could use to kill you, including the room itself.
27. Chuck Norris has two speeds: walk and kill.
28. Chuck Norris coined the phrase, "I could eat a horse" after he ate every last unicorn in existence.
29. Chuck Norris is the only man to ever defeat a brick wall in a game of tennis.
30. When Chuck Norris was born, the nurse said, "Holy crap! That's Chuck Norris!" Then she had sex with him. At that point, she was the third girl he had slept with.
31. Chuck Norris can set ants on fire with a magnifying glass. At night.
32. It takes Chuck Norris 20 minutes to watch 60 Minutes.
33. Chuck Norris is not lactose intolerant, he just refuses to put up with lactose's shit.
34. Chuck Norris can divide by zero.
35. When Chuck Norris does a push-up, he isn't lifting himself up, he's pushing the Earth down.
Christina N. @ 8:54 PM
Sunday, December 11
Yesterday, after a six-hour day at work of nothing but register register register, I went shopping at Short Hills. Yeah fucker, that amazingly rich people's mall that has the only public bathrooms that I'd comfortably take a shit in. The reason I wanted to go there was that it had one of my most favorite fucking stores located within its boundaries: Anthropologie. I never wanted to leave. I wanted to buy every single goddamn thing in that store, but instead just ended up buying a $30 clearance sweater. I also picked up some gifts for some friendly folks at that store and the rest of the mall also.
For some reason when I buy gifts for people, they end up being more expensive and better quality than a lot of the things that I buy for myself; I guess if I buy a gift for someone, I have to genuinely care about them, therefore getting them something nice and sincere. Being an asshole for these types of things is not acceptable, unless the person is a fan of some shit like Fall Out Boy and I want to get a good laugh by getting them a toiletry set at the dollar store. If you listen to Fall Out Boy and think they are good musicians, then you are automatically on my fucking shit list.
Disappointingly, tomorrow my mom and I are going to have to go to the mall that's nearby our house - the stupid Rockaway Townsquare Mall - the Homeland of the Scene Kids and Fake Wrist-Slitters Who Hang Out There Because They're Too Fucking Pussy to Actually Slit Their Wrists. I think New Jersey is famous for our insane population of scene kids. I'm not positive about that fact, but I'm pretty sure it is. That mall fucking sucks so many balls that I vowed never to seriously shop there. The only thing that it has going for itself is that I have a few friends who work there and I could visit them from time to time if I ever go there. And the only times that I go there is that if some other friend is too cheap or lazy to go to another quality shopping center with me when we want to hang out, or my mom makes me because she's too lazy to go someplace else that's farther.
Yeah motherfucker, I talk about shopping a lot. Because I'm a fucking girl.
Work today was fucking exhausting. Got there at 10:00AM and didn't get a break until almost 4:00. Then I went home at 5:00. I think I only spent one hour either throwing pillows like John Elway throws babies across football stadiums onto high shelves in the stockroom with one of my co-workers while trying to organize a good one hundred of them, and the other six hours was all register and helping out customers picking which fucking candle holders and table runners they want. But it's a pretty good job I'd have to say; There's practically nothing to complain about.
Oh man did I ever tell you kiddos about the janitor and the chicken nuggets story? Well I think it was last Wednesday or something, when I was walking into school, and I saw a janitor outside sweeping up these weird brown chunks off the ground. Well when I was inside, I see my friend and he asks me if I saw the janitor outside that was sweeping. I say yeah I did. Then he tells me that when he was outside he asked what the janitor was doing and the janitor said something like, "My boss likes to feed the birds in the morning with chicken nuggets." And then my friend comments something like, "That's cannibalism! That's horrible!" So I laugh my ass off for a good long time because that is just one of the funniest fucking things I have ever heard.
If the role model principal feeds birds chicken nuggets, then I might as well feed bacon bits to my pigs or beef jerky to my cattle. Because you know, I raise cattle. Whenever I walk home from school I like to see my black and white cows grazing on my front lawn around our wooden flowerbeds and garden lamps. It's a beautiful, relaxing sight to come home to. I don't give a shit if it's 23 degrees out and the grass is dead, they're still grazing no matter what. I train my cows to stay on my property and to eat grass. It doesn't matter if the grass is dead - they eat grass. Fuck you neighbors with your flamingo lawn ornaments, I got cattle.
If only that were true. I swear, I'm using live cattle as lawn ornaments when I settle down like the white man's American dream when I'm 35 years old. I don't need no lawn gnomes or iron deer statues. I want real cows. And if you get tired of that look, you just take that weird giant candy cane-shaped stick that sheepherders carry around and poke your cows in the ass and make them go into the garage or something. Or if you're awesome enough, you'd have your own barn house in your backyard next to the kiddie pool that you bought at a hardware store like Home Depot, or for you trendy people: Lowe's.
Christina N. @ 7:11 PM
Wednesday, December 7
I changed my mind about how good my coat is. I was wrong, it fucking sucks balls. Today was about 25-30 degrees out when I was walking home and that goddamn piece of shit didn't do shit for me. It is really about time that I got a new one. But my new found job and its income will only be sufficient pretty much for Christmas gifts and a new handbag and shirt for myself. Or I just could not get the bag and buy a new coat instead. You see, this is where Shopper's Insanity comes in. One cannot decide between fashion or health.
Yesterday my friend sent me a CD with ninety-nine songs on it by a band called the Excrementory Grindfuckers. The reason why there are ninety-nine songs on one CD is explained in their name. I know folks in New Jersey would get it in a second. For we are famous for living in the land of the many "-core" genres in music.
The music is fucking hilarious and they did a gnarly version of David Hasselhoff's song, with some line that the former Baywatch hairyman repeats, "I've been looking for freedom." I have no idea if it's the actual title of the song, along with being the chorus or if it's just the chorus.
Yeah, so Christina joined her first extracurricular activity of high school not too long ago. National Art Honor Society. The only reason I joined it was that it's the only thing I can do, and I should at least give one decent thing for those college fuckers to look at. There was a meeting today at 7:45AM that I reluctantly arrived (late) at, and the teacher filled us in on the details for the induction ceremony for tomorrow night at 7:00. Jesus fucking Christ man, I don't want to go. But I have to, or else I'm not a goddamn member, hence the title "induction ceremony." I didn't hear everything that the teacher said, but us new members sit on the stage behind the senior members with a candle under our chairs, and the senior members go around and light our candles or some shit. And then everybody stands up and recites a poem. What the fuck, man. The whole time that she was telling us this I was thinking, "Why the fuck did I sign up for this? I'm no candle-lighting hippie tree hugging quilt-making fucktard."
But I finally looked at the big picture. We're most likely only meeting at a maximum of five times a year, and we're most likely not going to do anything at all. Just an assignment or two to help a teacher out with bulletins or posters or shit. One thing that I do not want to give up is my lunch. If there is any assignment that forces me to give up my lunchtime or cut it to a mere fucking ten minutes, I just won't show up and eventually get kicked out of the society altogether. I could always join again next year. Yeah man, that's the way to do it.
I told my mom about the ceremony tonight during dinner. She didn't really want to go and I agreed with her. It was a mutual and I think overall, logical, decision. Her reason being that she is ashamed of her lack of english (which I don't really see as apparent because everybody I know or she knows claims that she is fucking great) and she doesn't know what to do when around other caucasians, and my reason being that I am not taking much pride in this. When I don't take pride in something, I prefer to handle it alone. Not to mention that my mom loves to make fun of everything, just as I do. So if she went, she'd probably make fun of the ceremony and the candle-lighting and me actually standing on a fucking stage. And of course, if she were in some sort of ceremony, I'd be making fun of her too after the whole thing is over. So yeah, no one is going to come see me be inducted into the NAHS. I couldn't really give a lumberjack's beard because I'm joining it for all the wrong reasons.
Plus, there probably would be a good chance for a field trip or an assignment that gets me out of normal shithole classes. Or excuses to walk around and eat or do nothing - just the way I like it.
Christina N. @ 7:22 PM
Monday, December 5
What do you call a chicken that was too afraid to cross the road? A chicken.
That wins the Chuck Norris Award for Cheesiest Joke of the Century. Not to Christina who made it up, but just to it itself. Yeah man, I'm on a roll today for corny jokes.
On Saturday I bought a twenty-fucking-three dollar tube of Chanel mascara, and this morning I put on too much so towards the middle of the day, as I blinked more, it got stuck underneath my eyes, where my under-eye circles would be. So I looked like one of those stupid fucking lame "goth 1'M hardXcore!!1!" chicks that I see prancing their turkey asses wrapped in bondage pants all over this shitsome town of Rockaway. I was pretty ashamed of myself for not even a second, because after that, while in the bathroom, I fucking thought it was funny. Hey, if I look like a jackass with too much black stuff under my eyes, they do too.
I wasn't expecting today to be so cold, so I just wore my long wool coat without any gloves or a scarf. Turns out I pulled a slut. Pulled a slut as in not wearing ample articles of clothing to keep you warm. I'd been wearing that coat since seventh grade, and the pockets are so fucked up that my mom had to fix them with plaid green patches. They're so fucked up, but at least I'm lucky that it's the kind of normal pocket that's hidden. Overall, the garment still looks pretty good.
Watched The Boondock Saints on Saturday after getting home from six hours of working and four hours of shopping. I have to say, that movie is fucking overrated. The story is just like a typical action film, but any film has the possibility of being fucking amazing with a simple storyline; It's just that the movie had some great concepts and parts, but once the fucking great part reaches its climax, it's fucking put to a halt and immediately jumps to another scene - totally disappointing me. This has happened a many number of times during the movie, and it sort of pissed me off. Some of the acting was so corny that it wasn't even the good type of corny, like those Chuck Norris or Bruce Campbell films, and no, not Steven Seagal because he's bad corny. And please, Willem Dafoe, choose your movie scripts wisely. I've been dying for a decent movie where you aren't dressed up as a soldier. (i.e. Platoon, Clear and Present Danger)
Did I tell you kids about how I almost went on a date on Saturday? At work I was talking to one of my male co-workers and the different places to eat where the plaza that our Pier 1 Imports is located at. He asked if I ever at ate the italian restaurant Bensi. I said no I never did and he said he never did either. So while he was asking me if we could both go out and eat there after work, he stopped in mid sentence, having just remembered that I got out of work approximately six hours before he did. Man, were we both disappointed. And this week we aren't working on the same days.
Christina N. @ 7:15 PM
Sunday, December 4
Yesterday after work, I went shopping at Willowbrook. My mom said I was supposed to buy Christmas presents for some folks, but turns out I was greedy from just having received my paycheck on Friday. Yet I did have one humble moment at the Hallmark store, and found the funniest fucking Christmas card ever.
front
back
What aggravates me about the mall nearby my house is that the Delia's there closed down. I admit, I shop there like a fucking fiend. Their clothes ain't that bad. They used to be crap, but now it's really damn stylish in my opinion, and at pretty good prices. There I got an unseasonably unreasonable cami, and a pair of brown corduroy pants. Corduroy texturey pants you know, for the guys to touch. I wanted to buy every single color that those pants came in, and half of the shirts in the store, but my mom would've called me crazy - which I don't deny.
I also wanted this hamburger t-shirt, but she would've called me a fucking idiot. If they had its mushroom cousin that I muchly rather preferred, I would've bought both, man.
Believe it or not, motherfuckers, I walked all the way into the back of Abercrombie & Fitch for the first fucking time in my entire life. I have never spent a complete five minutes in there. Come on, folks, you have to admit that their clothes aren't that bad especially if you pair them with the right crap, except for the shirts with their lame ass logo across the front, and the ripped up overpriced destroyed denim items suck too. But the jackets are pretty fucking amazing, I have to say. And that was the only reason that I actually sort of "shopped" in that store. I found one that I really liked, but the store was too dark to actually look at myself in the mirror when trying it on.
One thing that I don't get besides their $100 vintage denim jackets, is why there is another store just a few stores away from Abercrombie & Fitch called Abercrombie. No fucking sense. It's just a smaller expansion than from what Abercrombie & Fitch sells. And yes, I went into not only Abercrombie & Fitch, but Abercrombie too.
Christina N. @ 5:07 PM
Thursday, December 1
After physical education, and all the girls were changing in the "changing area," a walled-up section of a crappy gymnasium with steel benches lined up in it for people to put their shit or asses on. I was standing near the end of one bench changing my pants, when I didn't even get them zipped up, these girls started gathering together near their friend who was right next to me, and they kept taking up space and ignoring my existence and unzipped pants. They were being quite the obnoxious shitload, so with pants still unzipped, took my stuff and moved to another empty bench to continue my zipping. When I was done getting those pants on correctly, I had remembered that I left my mom's sherpa jacket lying on the other bench. So I go back to get it and discover that it somehow got on the floor and one of the "Shove Pants-less Asian Out of the Way Girls" was talking away like a coked-up Gilbert Gottfried to one of the other Shove Pants-less Asian Out of the Way Girl friends and was standing on the sherpa lining of the jacket with her most likely muddy shoe. I figured since she was one of those academy dipshits, she assuredly would not apprehend my existence if I chose to ask her to step off of my jacket. So I yank it out from under her sneaker. She still acts like nothing had happened at all and continues talking. Like a cotton plant was never stuffed under the bottom of her foot and suddenly ran away magically by itself. Such arrogance pissed me off so I turn to my friend and said some shit out loud and loud enough so that the girl could hear. Something beyond the boundaries of, "She fucking stepped on my jacket, stupid fucker." I turn my head a little bit, and from the edge of my eye the girl was still not turning around. So I gave her the finger.
Her friend who was facing in my direction most likely saw my good deed, and hopefully the bitch who stepped on my jacket saw it herself too. Or at least I hope her friend told her that she got the long finger treatment.
Mean Deed of the Day #2:
This little pest of a loser kept bothering and wanting to talk to/hang out with me and my friend during gym (yeah that class is just full of problematic beings), so I decided to start talking loudly about something that my mom and I were discussing about the night before during dinner - Punching people in the face. The speech consisted of yours truly saying that I had the urge to punch people in the face, so bad that their nose would turn into a pig nose because I would fuck it up so badly. I guess the pesty girl heard it and she disappeared for the next twenty minutes of class. It was a job well done.
Christina N. @ 7:13 PM
