I would like to spend this moment to express my deep concern for:
Myself.
Everyone else in Rockaway could kiss my ass. It's fucking Morris County, New Jersey - don't we have the fucking money to build sidewalks? For "one of the richest counties in the U.S.," they could fucking build sidewalks out of imported Mongolian wheat grass and make it feel like cement. Yeah, there's just like fifty fucking feet of sidewalk starting from the school and ending at a big boring grey house at the end of a stop sign. From then on it's hardcore asphalt with so many pebbles to get stuck in your shoes that the soles of your sneakers would turn into grating sheets by the time you get fucking home. And the fact that every single high school student is a bad driver doesn't make me feel any better either. So the folks who have to walk home have the decision to either:
1. Walk on people's bumpy lawns that they can't fucking take care of - the grass is more bumpy than Seal's face.
2. Haul your ass onto the road where young drivers will either swerve around you really quick with a screech more annoying than Gilbert Gottfried's voice, yell or honk at you just for the hell of it, or not see you (which would result in me not writing this right now).
Oh, no space you say? Then fucking cut part of people's yards off because they don't fucking use them anyway. It's only extra space for their dog to shit on. Like I said, they don't even take care of the lawn; Except for mowing it as often as Peter Jackson takes a bath. Fucking Lord of the Rings loser. Thank god there were only three books, otherwise WWIII would've started already with those Harry Potter fucktards to see who has the bigger and better saga.
Kip Winger's nasty feminine dick is bigger and better than that shit.
It's either that, or cut the people. Just take a cuban machete and go through the fucking exploiters like slicing cheese. This place gets more and more populated every year, and New Jersey's already fucking known as being the most densely populated state in the U.S. I know this for a fucking fact, because I've been living here for thirteen goddamn years. It's growing faster than that Harry Potter actor. (Oh yeah, his name's Daniel I'm-going-through-puberty-cliffe.) Go the fuck somewhere else. Arkansas needs a better reputation. Go fix it.
This guy understands.
Christina N. @ 5:04 PM
Sunday, February 26
I forgot which day it was, but it was either today or Saturday while at work I thought I saw Gene Simmons in Pier 1 Imports. Upon blinking once it turned out just being a fat woman with dark curly hair wearing all black. If he really did come to Pier 1 someday, I would've walked up to him and told him that he's a dickwad. KISS sucks.
If you take KISS seriously, I can't take you seriously. End of story. I think Axl Rose should take that into consideration, no? Actually, Bruce DICKinson should.
After work my family picked me up in the new car and we went for a half-hour drive up to Paramus to find a certain store. They knew it was closed, but we just went anyway, just for the fucking sake of owning a new car. Then they asked where I wanted to eat dinner. My mom offered to go to the Olive Garden, but when we got there it was an approximate 60-minute wait. Fuck that shit, fucker. I fucking hate Sundays. Go eat some other day, America. I haven't gone to a nice restaurant in months, cut me some fucking slack and spend those extra bucks on Jenny Craig or something.
So we ate at Charlie Brown's Steakhouse. The place sucked. The End.
Christina N. @ 9:11 PM
Saturday, February 25
I was just at Blockbuster and saw this asian chick that looked really, really familiar. I fucking swore I met her somewhere but half of her face was covered with hair so I wasn't positive. But then again, it could've just been any asian girl because they all look the same. The only difference I bear from them is that I stand above them like a palm tree.
My mom kept picking up all these shitty chinese and japanese movies. For me, once I see that horrible "trendy" pose by the "actors" on the cover, the movie will suck 800 times the suckage that you see on the cover. I know I'm horrible to my type but we really do suck. Except in matters of cuisine and hair texture.
I wanted to see this new Kevin Bacon movie, The Woodsman, but my mom for some reason doesn't like the dude at all and refused to even look at the box. Come on, he fucking has bacon in his name - of course he's awesome. I ate one of his relatives in a McDonald's breakfast sandwich this morning; it was nothing short of scrumdiddlyumptious.
Oh shit, did I just use a word that was invented by five gay men playing Chutes & Ladders in a pink-painted basement thirty years ago? I'm sorry. I meant "delicious."
Christina N. @ 6:17 PM
Friday, February 24
The cheap bastard that I am, I picked up a couple more CDs from the used section at FYE. I seriously hate that store, but there's nowhere fucking else to look. No pawnshops or vintage stores or anything, anywhere. I guess Morris County is just too full of shit and stuck up to have any of that within its boundaries. I heard that the three richest counties in the U.S. are located in New Jersey, and Morris County is one of them. Doesn't make any sense because what about Orange County, CA and New York? I'm probably fucking wrong.
But yeah, I picked up Trash by Alice Cooper and The Real Thing by Faith No More. The Real Thing really is the goddamn real thing, but I'm still leaning toward preferring Angel Dust. Whatever, I have plenty of fucking time to decide, because I have nothing better to do than fiddle around with my music collection for hours every day. And Trash, on the other hand, to be honest, sucks overall. It's fucking produced by Desmond Child - no wonder it sucks. About two, three - tops, songs are good. The rest is pure, clean crap. At least he made it easy by placing the good songs towards the beginning of the album, therefore I don't have to get up off my ass and press some buttons to skip a few tracks every now and then.
The Stones' Beggars Banquet was also on sale. Maybe should've gotten that instead. But I have to say, Trash had a pretty sweet album cover. Oh shut the fuck up, that doesn't matter.
When I was buying ranch/bacon fries at the food court in Willowbrook, I had the displeasure of two ugly guys hitting on me. One was the guy making my food and the other was another guy waiting on line. The guy making my food was at least nice and didn't look like a fucking sack of black potatoes - because the guy on line did. He had that typical baggy black jeans with matching jacket and black hoodie, cheap bling, and matching slanted hat on his head. Oh, and the typical butt-ugliness. While we were waiting, he said "Hello" to me and I said hi and then he did that pouty horny nodding with his head. I ignored the idiot from then on.
BAD
GOOD
I also bought a yellow t-shirt that had a picture of Jesus on it holding up a beer mug and it says, "Jesus, I'm drunk." My mom hates it because it's a hideous shade of yellow. It's like, mustard yellow. But hey, it fits well and it's funny. I don't give a flying fuck.
Like all immigrant asian mothers, she has an accent. So sometimes she pronounces "Jesus" as "Jeshit." And "Starbucks" as "Starbutt." Fucking funny as hell, man. But I think she says the "Jeshit" on purpose though. I think had the shirt been another color, she would've enjoyed it very much.
I've made up my mind. I still prefer Angel Dust over The Real Thing. It ain't the real thing. Go Jesus!
Christina N. @ 8:06 PM
Thursday, February 23
I'm sitting in my room until all of a sudden I hear this absolutely horrible cover by some fucktard of a "singer" singing Wham!'s "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go." It lasted for like seven fucking minutes more than it should. And then an even worse cover of "Thriller" was being heard from the living room. I was thinking they were some shitheads from American Idol, but then heard people talking about dancing. And then I found out it was my mom watching Dancing With the Stars. Man, I thought Axl Rose could get away with not singing and calling it five studio albums. I'm not saying six because Chinese Democracy is just pig noises.
Searched for Double Live Gonzo! on Amazon.com and the cheapest used one is $12.50. I am pissed alright, but I do understand how attached one can be to such a glory.
Not really. Fork it over, dipshit.
Oh how I love Anthrax. Ha. Ha. Ha.
And please tell me why a bobcat has decided to hibernate on Axl Rose's head???
Christina N. @ 10:01 PM
Whenever I think about that last scene in Ghost when Patrick Swayze is walking away from a crying Demi Moore away into the light, I fucking crack up. I mean, come on, it's Patrick Swayze. To Wong Foo!
I haven't washed my hair in three days. And trust me, it is more hideous than your dog's asshole after five days running away from home. Thank god for hair ties. Tomorrow me, my cousin and company are going shopping at Willowbrook. I shall shower tonight. Fuck water, man. It only touches my mouth when I drink it from a cup. That's why you'll never see me at the beach either. Water and salt? I'm not a Keith Richards; I don't need my blood to be drained. Fuck that, whenever I get back from the beach I end up looking like a filipino. Except without the shortness. Or more like a zebra, because I don't go to nude beaches. As a matter of fact, 60% of America's population shouldn't be near any beach at all because I think statistics say that 60% of americans are obese. Or maybe it's 40%. Or maybe I'm not even close at all. Whatever, but the number is pretty fucking high up there.
For example:
This was one day after going to the beach. I'm the big one who looks like she's about to jam that Heineken can down your throat and watch beer gurgle out of your mouth.
This is a filipino kid.
Christina N. @ 5:03 PM
Wednesday, February 22
I went to this store today called Five Below and look what they were selling:
Snappers!
Don't ask me why Photobucket resized the picture so much. I've told them to go fuck themselves but apparently they haven't done that yet.
200 pieces for one dollar. That means 200 random bowls of soup I could explode in people's faces.
Oh man, last night's episode of Family Guy was probably one of the greatest things that I'd ever fucking seen. It had this part where Hitler and Eva Braunn were sitting in a bunker and giggling at who would swallow a bullet first.
magic brownies
more magic brownies
It looks like something that Hyde from That '70s Show would wear.
Christina N. @ 6:06 PM
Tuesday, February 21
I have a problem.
Staying home all the time only drives me to eating like a vaccuum. All I eat is brownies, oreos, and ham. Because you know, you gotta have the balance. Lots of sugar, but at the same time you must have the salty. It's either go to work - which nobody wants to, do homework - which nobody wants to, do chores - which nobody wants to. Shithead. Going out with friends is pretty much out of the question, because if I make up excuses to go out, my mom gets bitchy. Only if someone invites me to go do something then the bitching gets to a lower level and I would most likely be able to go. She's really lame like that. So I'm pretty much stuck at home for the rest of the goddamn week unless someone decides to be friendly. I highly doubt it though. If you ask for me to go watch Brokeback Mountain with you, I'd meet up with you only to beat your fucking face for insulting me by actually asking me to go see what piece of shit with you.
I love it how my family likes to leave rotting food in its place, right next to the fresh food on the counter or in the fridge. For example, this bread:
Christina N. @ 10:30 PM
I know this layout isn't the best but goddamn is that picture fucking bangin. Ideas have been really hard for me to come up with, so there's your answer for lack of a good entry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I never have any thing much good to say here, nor to friends either. It's really quite sad. Listening to The Eagles doesn't help at fucking all either. They're a band for when you're feeling sappy like a fucking pussy. I'm not feeling sappy like a fucking pussy right now, but I'm about to if I keep listening to this crap.
Well it's not really crap. Depends on when you're listening to them. I'm sorry if I offended you middle-class suburban baby boomers.
Christina N. @ 9:21 PM
While dusting my sister's computer desk, I found the new CD that she had bought yesterday. It was Panic! at the Disco. I wasn't going to bash her for it, because she's only eleven years old. And if I did, I'd probably get the shit kicked out of me by my much shorter and louder and bug-eyed mother. Believe it, I would. If it weren't her CD and it was someone else's who I have no idea, I'd have chucked it out the window and have it smashed against that ugly fucking lawn knome that resides in the yard across the street.
Yesterday went to Short Hills simply for the fact that I could afford it now. Save money for college? Fuck college; I'm asian, colleges rain down on us with scholarships.
This totally fucking bangin guy applied at Pier 1 on Saturday. I hope to fucking god he gets hired, man. For selfish reasons, of course. One of my assistant managers and I were chit-chatting and I told her about the guy. She started laughing her ass off and promised to keep a note of it. He'd most likely get hired, because our current stockroom coordinator, despite being a cool guy, basically sucks, I heard. I don't know, I guess it's because he is one hell of a bitchy gay man and gets into little disputes easily. We're tight though - he makes asian jokes about me and I make spick jokes about him. It's all good.
Christina N. @ 2:42 PM
Sunday, February 19
I am Pier 1 Imports' Sales Associate of the Month for February, 2006. The minute that the store manager, during the store meeting tonight, announced my name, I wanted to burst out laughing because being employee of the month is just about the corniest fucking thing in the world. But aside from maliciousness, I like my job and I do take it seriously. Because if you want the fucking money, you have to fucking earn it. I learned that the fucking hard way.
As Sales Associate of the Month, I get fifteen Pier 1 bucks and a pin to put on my apron. I should wear the damn thing in public just for kicks. Oh, you're wearing that $10 1x1 button from Hot Topic? So, I'm fucking Sales Associate of the Month. Fucking moron.
On my break I went to Panera Bread for what the fuck do you think? Bread. Actually, a sandwich. On a sign in the window it was advertising some new Chicken Olivada sandwich. The dead, once kicking and flailing its legs and reluctant to having its head dunked into boiling water chicken that was sticking out between the pieces of bread looked really fucking good, so I went in and ordered one to go. Like Jim Gaffigan says, "Fun to pet, but more fun to chew!"
After just picking up my order and about to walk towards the door to get back to Pier 1 and eat, there was this girl from school that I'd seen before standing ten feet away, staring right at me like Saint Christopher just appeared on Earth and said he was going to teach her how to drive a tractor. She's a freshman or sophomore or some shit, I've never spoken to her and she's always staring at me. I'm sick of people staring, man. Go fucking stare at yourself in the mirror and look at what's wrong. She also has an ugly ball piercing on her chin, underneath her lip. Looks lame. Most piercings look lame so I'm pretty biased. But then again it may not be the same girl because Panera Bread is dimly lighted and I had on aviators so everything was fucking pink and black.
The sandwich was fucking exceptional. But as dumb as I am, didn't know that it had olives in it when I looked at the sign so even though the sandwich was good while I was eating it, the aftertaste of the olives was fucking nasty. Never again am I getting that sandwich because the olive aftertaste lasts way too long and way too strong than anything should. Nasty fucking shit. Maybe the sandwich just looked really good because my vision was impaired. The plaza that I work at is faced directly at the afternoon glare - nobody can see shit. Added to the fact that every store has windows the size of Pam Anderson's tits so everything is reflecting light off of everything else, including my own face.
So that Rolling Stones video for "Emotional Rescue," goddamn it's as seizurizing for me as Pokemon was for those japanese kids. They probably think it's nothing at all while I think Pokemon is pussy shit, but oh man is "Emotional Rescue" fucked up. The song isn't that fast or anything, but it's all but a bunch of thermal colors and black horizontal lines flashing like some funky TV set, added to the different camera views every so often; That video I just cannot stand watching. I was at my dad's friend's place last night and the guy had DirecTV or TiVo or some shit that is way too expensive and works too slow for my budget.
There was also a live performance of Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Free Bird" and I'm sick of that song so I went and watched something else for twenty minutes. Flip back to VH1 Classic, Lynyrd Skynyrd is still performing "Free Bird." Or at least it felt like twenty minutes. No, it was fucking twenty minutes, man. The thing about epic I'm-so-fucking-great-I'll-write-a-10-minute-song-with-a-4-minute-guitar-solo-in-it-because-I'm-the-shit kinds of songs is that I could listen to them for about once or twice or maybe even three times in a lifetime, but then that's just fucking it. Yeah, Axl, I'm talking about you. "November Rain" doesn't need to be played on the radio five times a day.
And "Stairway to Heaven" of course. Good song, for like the first seven listens. And then whenever you hear it from then on it's like taking a standardized test without the test and the pencil and the piece of turd the size of Puerto Rico lodged so high up your ass that you're not allowed to go and dump because that fucktard of a teacher won't let you go. But watching Zeppelin performing it live for eleven, sixteen, even twenty minutes, is fucking priceless.
Christina N. @ 9:44 PM
Friday, February 17
I just bought a $10 used copy of Soundgarden's Superuknown and it is fucking amazing, man. The case is more scratched up than Paris Hilton's pussy and the booklet's pages for some reason happen to be glued together so that there is no hope of ever seeing the inside contents, but the disc itself works just fine. 1 b3 gh3tt0, y0. Buying new CDs is just not my fucking thing, because they cost more than a fat hooker with fungus growing in between her rolls and a forest in between her legs. Unless I really, really want the particular CD, then yes, I will shell out the extra ten (or most likely more) dollars. Couldn't get Badmotorfinger because there weren't any used copies and it costs around $14 or $16. Yes, I'm fucking cheap, I know. All asians are.
What was totally disappointing at FYE was that even if the Nuge has two shelves of his own material, not a single copy of my long-cherished Double Live Gonzo! Jesus fucking Christ, I've wanted that goddamn live album forever.
There was a half day of school and my mom wanted to go shopping at the mall right when I got home. Pleasant surprise, and got some pleasant things to go along with it. It was the perfect time to go to the mall because it was 1:00 in the afternoon, many hours before the entire Hot Topic shopper population within a 10-mile radius comes to the mall and loiters their pants with the many ropes that a small dog could get caught and die in. No wonder they fucking smell. I felt like laughing out loud like a total asshole when I walked by the store, because it's closed and there's a giant temporary gray wall built around it for construction.
My mother wanted to go to Claire's to buy hair clips because all winter long she'd been going fucking nuts about all of hers breaking. The second that I walked into that store, I knew that I was going to eventually break down and shrivel up into a 4-foot-long dried pepper. Helping her pick out clips was fine for about fifteen minutes and my hair starting to be of the static/sticky variety from changes in temperature, I started to panic somewhere inside. I couldn't take the excessive use of flamboyant colors and feathers and sequins throughout the store - And holy fucking shit, the store is so fucking small so everything is bunched together so when you look around it looks like a giant clump of that movie with the Agent Smith guy from The Matrix dresses as a chick and does Vegas shows or something. I forgot what the movie was called. Or To Wong Foo. It's like you're going dizzy in a room filled with a dozen Wesley Snipes' in drag. Each Wesley Snipe actually being a spinning stand of earrings or bracelets or fuzzy pre-teen menstrual-training handbags.
And then to a skater/snowboarder/whatever-the-fuck store called Zumiez. I fucking know I don't skate but their clothes are really damn decent. Purchased a $13 white t-shirt that had a chef on it with a 1st place medal on his apron, the title of the shirt saying, "Humboldt County Fair" and the chef, in a word bubble, saying, "There's magic in those brownies!" Ha. Ha. Ha.
Then the creme de la creme. One of my biggest fucking guilty pleasures is constantly looking for any item of clothing or accessory that has the word "aviator" in it. That's right, fucking more aviator sunglasses, man. I can't afford a leather aviator jacket, because I do not have the gung-ho grandfather whose beard has bald patches from having bomb shrapnels or flak spat at his face forty years ago and sits in a wheelchair because he's missing his left leg and constantly complains about how the stump has been itching for the thirty years. This time a silver-rimmed pair with rose-tinted lens for a measly ten bucks. And yes, I would probably come back someday and buy another pair that is silver-rimmed with super-shiny silver lens; The kind that cops wear.
While on line waiting to pay for the used Soundgarden CD, there was a girl that I'd seen in school asking the cashier about the day before when she bought the hilarious Monster Ballads compilation album and she didn't know that it had two parts so she wanted to find the second one. I fucking laughed inside. Like a fucking lunatic. Monster Ballads. With the biggest hits from your favorite '80s rockstars including KISS, Warrant, Winger, and Mr. Big! MusicSpace is offering this great 2-CD set for just $29.99!
I don't know how much Monster Ballads costs but if I were in charge of deciding on its price, I would say a pubic hair would do just fine.
While walking through JCPenney on our way out to the car, my mom stopped to look at jewelry. Yes, I know jewelry at JCPenney is cheap and not the most flattering. But minus the fact that they don't shine as much as real shit does, the shapes and colors were pretty cute. She put a necklace in front of my neck to see how it would look and said it looks bad, and would probably look great on my sister because she has a cute face that only a really kind and generous person would have. And the fact that she doesn't ever know what to do outside of the house and therefore stays inside it her entire life, makes her more pale than yours truly so she's pretty much a whitie with blackie hair. She's the exact opposite of what I am, not fucking kidding. I have a hardcore shitfuck face, so cute and colorful things don't go on me very well.
In the car while driving to my dearly beloved Shop Rite, there was a road sign that said, "Rockaway." But some brilliant mind that should've been involved in the space program took a big sticker with the letter "C" on it and stuck it on top of the "R" so that the sign read, "Cockaway." This time, I really did laugh out loud and really tried to help myself from making noise. Luckily I did muffle myself out, because then my mother would've asked me what I was laughing at and she wouldn't like what I was going to tell her.
Christina N. @ 5:19 PM
Thursday, February 16
I'm a cheap fucking bastard. Two of my friends wanted me to come to the library and help them with biology. Yeah, I sort of pretty much helped and tutored as I was supposed to, but then at the same time checked out CDs because FYE and pretty much any other corporate bullshitter sells music for way too much. And then I had to pay two bucks for a new library card because somebody stole my wallet a couple weeks ago. When checking out the CDs and a John Grisham book, I had a fucking three-dollar late fee from sometime century before to pay off. I think the highest late fee that I have ever had to pay was around $11. Irresponsibility, man. Libraries are free and when you don't take advantage of that, you really do have to pay. Yeah so I took out:
Coverdale-Page - Jimmy Page and David "Whitesnake Sucks" Coverdale
Full Moon Fever - Tom Petty
Bridges to Babylon - The Rolling Stones
All the other Stones CDs they had were compilations. No thank you.
Van Halen Live: Right Here, Right Now - Who the fuck do you think?
Sort of a regret, because it's a Van Hagar freak's gem. But the sound quality is amazing.
The Brethren - John Grisham
I recognized his talent as a writer when my english class is currently reading The Street Lawyer and we're almost done with it. Next week is winter break and I fucking need something to do if Pier 1 Imports still considers me as a shitty sales associate, which I don't deny.
Very noticeable in the township library's music collection was that there was a shitload of Ace of Base, Michael Bolton, and ABBA. That is not very impressive. For some reason whenever I think of Ace of Base these images come to mind:
Gay in every aspect of the word.
Christina N. @ 9:57 PM
Wednesday, February 15
When the lord created people, I am highly disappointed in his decision to create dumbass motherfuckers. There's this girl who's going around saying that she and I are best friends. Bitch, I barely talk to you. But that's how life is; Eat a fucking donut, masturbate and go to sleep and fucking forget about it. And when the stressor comes back, either ignore it or kick it in the fucking face with a Dick Cheney. Because we all know he'll shoot you.
One of the worst breeds of people, the worst being religious numbnuts or emo no-nuts, are the ones who despite you telling in their face that they're a fucking moron, still bother and hang around you to no end. It's the obliviousness to everything around you that makes you a pathetic piece of shit. Wake up, smell the fucking coffee and take notice that everyone would rather eat 1940s german blood sausage with diced mangoes rather than be homedawgs with you.
Nicole Richie. Ha. Ha. Ha.
Christina N. @ 5:44 PM
Tuesday, February 14
There was this kid in my sociology class who had a copy of The Satanic Bible on his desk. For now I will never feel safe around that kid again. Not that I ever did, for he is one hell of a fucking nutcase. After all, he was once suspended in middle school for having a hit list in his locker or something. I mean, reading The Satanic Bible for a good fucking laugh I understand, but if you take it seriously like a dumbass, then you've got issues. And I definitely know that kid isn't the type to take The Satanic Bible lightly. Who knows, he's probably read Mein Kampf about five times already.
I think today is a good day to go shopping. Is my family materialistic? Very so. We live the American Dream right up Uncle Sam's own faggy ass. Four bedroom house, three cars, two parents, two kids, $7000 imported Danish leather sofas, six television sets, garden lighting - fucking crazy. My folks just ordered an SUV and these two new white sofas from some fancy shmancy store called Bo Concept and I'm thinking, "Holy shit what the fuck you're preparing us for horrible karma!" Or at least me. The bad always comes from the good for me. Al Bundy knows how I feel. Win the lottery? Lose an arm two days later.
Christina N. @ 1:06 PM
Monday, February 13
If somebody were to ask me what my favorite store was, by far I would say Shop Rite. Fucking Shop Rite, man. Best place ever. Whenever my mom and I are on the way home and have to stop by Shop Rite for a few minutes, I get so fucking excited.
Sandy: "I have to stop by Shop Rite for a little bit to buy milk and bananas."
Christina: "Food? Hell yeah!"
And what rules even more is that we live just across the road for a beautifully and newly rennovated Shop Rite, complete with food court, pharmacy, shit shop and liquor store. Oh man, I'd ditch a shopping trip to the lame ass Rockaway Mall any day to hang out at Shop Rite. I'd be ooh-ing and ah-ing at all the bagels and donuts and shit in the glass display counter, and see all the new items that they pulled out in the bakery section and how they rearranged or marked down the old stuff.
Not to mention that Shop Rite has the greatest collection of fucking vending machines ever. I think there used to be a pull-the-sticker-out-with-caution-or-you'll-lose-a-hand machine that gave out South Park stickers, and for some reason the Mr. Barbrady one cracked me up. I never got the opportunity to get one though. Still makes me cry to this day.
Hey, at least I don't fucking cry about how the release date for the newest Dashboard Confessional or Panic! at the Disco CD is delayed by three months. Joining PETA is more time-worthy than that bullshit.
Fuck PETA. Every time I read that name I think of pitas.
After school I had to go to the dentist again for a quick post-surgery check. Everything is just fine, except for the fact that my dentist looks a hell of a lot like Jon Lovitz. It's insane. Not only do they look alike, their voices are similar too. I wear that fact like a badge - My dentist is the striking hispanic version of Jon Lovitz.
Oh yeah, I got a story for ya. Most people would still be blushing in embarassment like a fucking pussy right now if it happened to them but I just laugh it off. While changing for gym class in the changing area, I was trying to take off this annoying sweater and it got stuck on the bottom of my bra on the way and then what came of it was a nip slip. More like the entire tit. Pretty humiliating despite the fact that I was facing the wall but then I remembered that I ain't no fat ass fucktard, so I'm not hiding anything. No shame at all, I'm not hiding five rolls of fat that probably have mushrooms growing in them. Nor an entire grand canyon of cellulite under my arms
Christina N. @ 6:53 PM
Sunday, February 12
Mother nature proved me wrong. There's enough snow on the ground to drown most of my relatives. The bad part is, I can't come into work today. One of my assistant managers called me, for the second time today, and said that the store manager still hasn't called her back about what's going on and who's supposed to come in for work or not. Goddamn.
I lost five pounds last week and gained it all back in two days. What the fuck? No one could tell because my face was still swollen as though there was an onion implanted into my right cheek. The left one could just go fuck itself.
Can't remember which day this was, but I was watching a rerun of the red carpet for the Grammys and this shit truck of a band called Jars of Clay was being interviewed by a shithead of a TV personality named Giuliana(sp?) and she asked what music genre they played. One of the guys answered, "Rock with a conscience." That's just as oxymoronical and full of shit as Stryper. And yes, I am aware that "oxymoronical" isn't really a word.
I bet not even Paris Hilton would touch that.
Christina N. @ 3:35 PM
Saturday, February 11
What the fuck I never knew John Denver died in 1997! I need to get my shit straight.
The topic of him came up again today when my mom was watching ReDesign with Kenneth Brown, a young and most likely homosexual interior designer who wears very trendy clothing and who bears an uncanny resemblance to John Denver. Or at least in my opinion. He's cool though.
HGTV is one channel that I can never watch for too long. It's too monotonous and boring for one episode of anything to last an entire half hour. That's how much I am not into that shit. Although I do like a nice looking house. I have no desire to design any interior or exterior any terior except for what clothing I wear, which is really ironic because I work at Pier 1 Imports. Oh fucking hell everything is ironic about me working at Pier 1 Imports.
Everybody has been panicking and raving about a supposed "blizzard" that was supposed to happen about four or five hours ago. There is so much snow outside that I could still see the tips of the dead grass on my front lawn. I knew it, there ain't shit happening that's to worry about. Unless you're stupid enough to own a Porsche and not have a garage.
In the past four days or so I've had about three nightmares. Jesus fucking Christ, if I ever want to be a peaceful person this isn't helping at fucking all. The worst one was when I sat in front of a person committing suicide, person after person, technique after technique and bleeding after bleeding. Another one was about sewers or something. And yeah sewers are fucking scary. And the third one? I forgot. I seriously don't know why for a person who doesn't live too shitty of a life has to endure such horrible images during their sleep. It's no wonder I look old, this shit makes me not enjoy sleeping.
Lately I'd also been reading stories about murderers dressed as clowns and hiding in people's houses as statues. You know, those urban myths with the babysitter and the "clown statue" in the parents' bedroom. And when the babysitter calls the mother if she could cover up the statue because it keeps staring at her and the kids, the mother says that they don't have a clown statue and tells her to take the kids out of the house immediately and call the police. For some reason stories like that scare the hell out of me. Or the one where a babysitter keeps getting these strange phone calls and when she calls the police they track the calls and they're coming from the basement. No wonder my subconscious is so fucked up.
Why is it always babysitters? Why not, let's say, housekeepers. We never hear about boogeymen made of two tons of diarrhea jumping out of the toilet when a maid is cleaning the bathtub. No, never. It's most likely because the babysitter stories are bullshit and are made up because the fact that they include children in them it's supposed to make it spookier. Well nobody cares about housekeepers. They clean up your shit and skinflakes and clean your dirty underwear. Children don't do that. Children make the messes that housekeepers have to clean up. Just watch, someday I'll be the first writer of the scariest housekeeper urban myth ever. Or the first one, at that.
I only went to school on Thursday and Friday this week, because the recovery process after getting my wisdom teeth pulled out was hands down the worst experience that I had ever gone through in my entire life. Some people are lucky bastards and it's nothing at all to them, but I had it really bad. I'll sum up of what a supposed five-paragraph story into just about five sentences: First night, Saturday, was impossible to sleep through because I had the flu at the same time. Couldn't breathe out of my nose so I had to breathe out of my already fucked up mouth and lips got so chapped that you couldn't tell them apart from a slab of desert land. Sunday was even more pain, because for some reason in the middle of a nap my stomach started screaming in agony. So much agony that I couldn't move a single goddamn muscle because it would only hurt more. And then it got to the point of puking. Puking out blood, motherfucker. Even when I blew my nose there was blood in the tissue.
Next couple of days couldn't really hold a conversation because of the pain in my mouth. All I ate was thin soup and lost about three or five pounds. Friday I tried eating peroggies and I could, pretty messily, but I finally could without having to rip pieces off like a fucking baby. When I got home from school and tried eating a banana, I still couldn't fucking open my mouth wide enough to fit it in and after a lot of struggling, gave up and almost welled up a tear in my eye out of frustration. Today, exactly one week from the surgery, am still a teeny bit swollen on the right cheek but still can't open it up all the way, can't stick out my tongue, and still cannot eat a fucking banana or stick anything into my mouth with chopsticks that's bigger than a sugarcube. But, mozzarella sticks I could do.
So that wasn't five sentences. Shows how much I know probability. Just like how Kanye West thinks he's the shit.
Christina N. @ 10:56 PM
Wednesday, February 8
Erica and I made up our own list of David Hasselhoff facts. Steal our facts and idea and you may soon feel the wrath of The Hoff.
1. David Hasselhoff contains enough hair on his chest to sponsor the entire North American Hair Club For Men.
2. Men don't need Rogaine to replace their hair. For a small quarterly fee, they can take the hair off of David Hasslehoff's chest and replace their long-gone tendrils.
3. According to statistics, the Farrah Fawcett pin-up poster has decreased 95% in sales due to a new line of David Hasselhoff pin-up posters from his Baywatch days.
4. David Hasslehoff doesn't need to use a net to go fishing - his chest hairs catch only the biggest and best fish.
5. There is no more need for musk to lure in the opposite sex - All you need is a collective jar of David Hasselhoff's armpit sweat.
6. The day that David Hasselhoff cries, is the day that Chuck Norris' chin will prematurely go bald.
7. A mere orgasm by The Hoff will cause for the entire Rocky Mountain range to collapse.
8. David Hasselhoff poops out gold.
9. David Hasselhoof poops out small round, gold figurines of himself that are wearing red lifeguard shorts. Once flushed down the toilet they gradually gather to become the Vietnamese Communist Army.
(Oh my god I'm so cruel to myself.)
10. David Hasselhoff has a time portal in his asshole. That is why every woman that he has fucked was never heard from again.
11. There is no such thing as vegetarianism, only those who have seen David Hasselhoff's penis.
12. Elvis died not from pooping out regular poop, but from finding out that David Hasselhoff was inside his small intestine trying to save Sammy Davis Jr. from drowning.
13. David Hasslehoff doesn't need to jump into the ocean to save lives, rather, he looks at the drowning, flailing victim and they float to shore. Of course, they don't show that on television because people might accuse "Baywatch" of not being realistic.
14. Clocks are not made in order of how long it takes for the Earth to revolve 360 degrees, but for how long it takes for David Hasselhoff to wipe out an entire species of bear.
15. David Hasselhoff wrote the how-to guide on mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
16. David Hasselhoff invented first aid for all the hopeless men who can't get laid intentionally.
17. David Hasselhoff created the world's first male impotency drug by crumbling up one night's worth of skin flakes left on the brick that he sleeps on every night and compacting them into a small capsule. We know this drug as Viagra.
18. The jewish star of David was created after the signature smoke shapes that David Hasselhoff puffs when smoking a branch.
19. David Duchovny once had large, magnificent blue pools for eyes. They are now of the asian slit-like variety for he had once questioned David Hasselhoff on why they share the same first name. This has also happened to French Stewart, for he is not very bright being that his name sounds like a variation of french toast, which is something that The Hoff will never tolerate to be compared to.
20. David Lee Roth, once a mega rockstar with the patterned, neon tights to boot, once competed with David Hasselhoff to see who had the hairier chest. David Hasselhoff not only won, he won the admiration of Germany.
21. David Hasselhoff doesn't need to put out an ad in the singles pages; rather the singles come to him. When he meets them, he doesn't have to take their clothes off; they just fall off when he gives them a once-over.
22. The standard for how large a penis should be is modelled after David Hasselhoff's penis.
23. There is such thing as a high tide and a low tide because even the ocean is in fear of The Hoff. Depending on how happy he is in the pants, the water recedes or secedes from the land. There is mostly low tide during the day because this is the time where Pamela Anderson runs across the beach with her dog.
24. David Hasselhoff is the reason why kids are afraid of eating broccoli.
26. After an animal has felt the wrath of The Hoff, it becomes what we know as canned meat.
27. The Hoff doesn't get crabs - he repels them.
28. David Hasselhoff once donated his kidney to an ailing swiss child. The swiss child soon died but the kidney lived on to co-star with David as Kit in the hit TV series Knight Rider.
29. The types of crabs that David Hasselhoff gets are so complex that they crawl out into the ocean to live and breed on their own. They are later fished back onto land and are served in Boston's top 5-star restaurants as king crab.
30. David Hasselhoff could understand the famous Pink Floyd film, The Wall.
Christina N. @ 8:15 PM
Friday, February 3
If I had gone to school today, I think my head would've exploded. Or maybe just have a hole fucking leaking from the side, so I could slowly watch my blood and brain fluid flow out of my head like a tranquility fountain. I have a nasty flu and it seems to have built up all its fucking virus soldiers into my head. My mom made me go to the bank with her today despite my bad condition, and it was just plain fucking hard to keep my head up. I looked like a fucking dolt.
Yesterday was manageable, but after I got home from a small bit of shopping, it was goddamn overkill time. Everything just seemed to shut down - right after I had accepted a call to work today at 4:30 to closing. Jesus fucking Christ. And then I have to work tomorrow morning, then two hours after working, must go to the dentist and have my wisdom teeth removed. Before I know it I'll be the size of half a Kate Moss and addicted to painkillers like a motherfucker. Also known as dead.
The good thing is, all of this is keeping my appetite under control. It's 1:30 right now and I haven't had an urge to eat anything at all. It's a bad thing to say, but when you see a fucker like me eat, it's like watching a mosquito doubling its size with its preferred delicacy.
Christina N. @ 1:29 PM
Wednesday, February 1
My mom and I were engaging in our usual bullshit conversations over dinner tonight, and she said that she is now going to buddhist temple more often because it's good for her. Good for her as in to make her shut the fuck up and try to not talk as much and not as fast without thinking. In her words, it's to, "CRUSH ME DOWN!" Which of course is pertaining to her speaking habits. She said she needed to cut down on the speed of which she talks, the amount that she talks, all the yelling that she does, and all the insulting that she does. Hell, I think I'm going to end up there someday too. Just for the mere fact that I would have to shut the fuck up, not that I really believe in a higher power besides David Lee Roth. And Kareem Abdul Jabbar, because that guy is like fucking seven feet tall.
If there is one thing that I absolutely cannot fucking stand, is high-pitched voices. Especially on a person who all they do is whine and screech about pointless shit that not even a sloth hanging on a tree with a piece of shit still stuck to its ass for two hours would give a damn. Jesus Christ, I put up with my mom enough, and having to hear anymore people like that makes me want to take two giant slabs of steel and squeeze their head until I get a Bloody Mary's breakfast omelette. I swear man, the next time I hear a stupid motherfucker whine and dine louder than Robert Plant on crack about something as dumb as pink candy, and if you were to take a picture of me doing my reaction to them it would be this.
At least she and I get along most of the time. If I didn't like her, then the slabs of steel idea would not be a mere thought any longer.
On Monday in gym when everyone was sitting on the bleachers, there was this girl sitting two bleachers behind me making obnoxious noises with not only her excessive amount of blabbering, but just plain old fucking noise with her tongue and lips, along with her high voice. For no fucking reason at all. She wasn't talking to anyone nor was she angry at anyone. She kept making these weird obnoxious sounds for about eight minutes, all the while the thermometer in my head was going up faster than an erection being satisfied. My mind was going fucking nuts, trying to keep my thoughts together, for I couldn't stay sane; The noise she was making was literally driving me crazy. I was seriously about to turn around and tell her to "SHUT THE FUCK UP." As she kept on doing whatever the fuck she was doing, I was trying to muster the strength to actually tell her to shut her fucking mouth tighter than a scared cunt with the consequence of causing a scene from it, until she just suddenly stopped. She stopped. She fucking stopped. So nothing happened. Good.
Having a high-pitched voice is almost 100% accompanied by being a constant whiner and talker. I find it to be very true. Me, on the other hand, I have a voice like a fucking grizzly bear. Get me angry and hear me roar - the ground would start shaking. That's how fucking scary my voice is. But when I'm calm, I think I'm somewhat the equivalent of Luther Vandross. Yeah, a big fat black man is what my normal voice could be described as.
Christina N. @ 7:56 PM
