Adore is the saddest album that I have ever heard. Yet it is so fucking good. So basically I'm screwed.
Screwed in more ways than one, man. My medical bill was over two thousand fucking bucks for just six hours in the cripple house. Thanks to insurance, we only have to pay $120. I'm not sure if my mom's making me pay for it since it was my own doing, but if I am, Jesus fucking Christ that would suck balls. And I owed John $150 as my portion of the fine. So that's $270 gone in what fucking night.
Just when I'm trying to leave Pier 1, hot guys are starting to apply and get hired. What the flying fuck? Am I cursed or something? Probably. I broke the wrong fucking mirror when I was younger. I should've broken the one for having a small handbag collection.
I hate moose. Fucking ugly, scary creatures. The topic of them and their terrifying existence on this planet came up last night when I was talking to Shaina on the phone for about five hours. We talked until the fucking sun went up. She was talking about thinking of moving to Canada, and moose dwell like ants in Canada. It reminded me of how much they scare me. There are only three things in the world that scare me: moose, germs, and pineapple eyes.
Seriously, that shit scares me. Like when you're cutting up a pineapple and have gotten all of the hard skin crap off, it's as though the hundred or so eyes are staring back at you and screaming and crying at you not to slash them off the pineapple head. And they got that stupid little hair-like thing in the center, too. That is the scariest of all motherfucking fruit eyes in the world.
Rambutan is scary, too. Fuckers look like bugs.
Christina N. @ 8:51 PM
Wednesday, July 26
How was work? It sucked balls. Of course it sucked balls.
My mom had to drop me off at the plaza about 45 minutes early because she had to go to work too, and it takes half an hour to get to her workplace. So I went shopping. Jesus Christ motherfucker that's obvious. Banana Republic had a nice cheap shirt on sale but it had holes in it. Kiss my ass, shithead.
I bought a shirt at The Gap and found fell in love with a dead cow. Fuck men, I don't need men. I need this jacket.
200 fucking bucks. This is going to take a while to get the money for. It just screams Christina. Oh, it really does. But only dogs can hear it screaming my name. Just like they can hear those whistles and we inferior human beings cannot.
On second thought, I do need men. I need that jacket so I could talk to men about sharpshooting at large land-dwelling mammals' genitalia and all the other wonders of life.
Bison in Ted Nugent's graphically award-winning video game, entitled Wild Hunting Adventure.
Christina N. @ 1:38 AM
Sunday, July 23
The NSLC was okay, I was pissed off most of the time; particularly because of my habit of watching human behavior and being disappointed with its mass majority - mass majority of corruption and utter stupidity. But I'll get to all that bullshit later.
Today I picked up an application to work at Mandee. If they hire me for eight bucks an hour, I'll definitely take that job. It's the store on Route 46. The Rockaway Townsquare Mall could kiss my yellow fucking ass. Like I want to see at least 200 fuckers from school every week. No fucking thanks.
Mandee would probably be a better job because I could actually use the discount there. I mean, I'm no sissy motherfucker who likes to change the curtains in my house as often as my mom pays for gas, alright? Changing curtains and ottomans and vases takes more energy and is more of a pain in the ass than changing panties or pants or shirts every day. Fuck furniture. Fuck home decor, man.
Then I went to Lauren's house, where I hadn't laughed my ass off so hard in weeks. I know it is very cliche to like Dane Cook, but admit it, he is funny fucking shit. I have no idea at all why he's popstar-popular and why there's at least a thousand other comedians who are just as funnier (if not more) who aren't the least bit known at all. It's a real shame, and I have no fucking idea why, because there's probably just a handful who are even better looking than Dane, if that's the case.
He's one of my favorites purely because he's funny as hell. I seriously, laugh so fucking hard every time that I watch or hear that motherfucker.
Lauren and I were watching Tourgasm on DirecTV and there was this part where Dane shits in a garbage can on the tourbus and shows Kelly the can full of poop. Bobby is so grossed out that he runs out of the bus and starts puking by a brick wall. Dane follows him out there and kiddingly tells him to puke into the garbage can while he shows it to Bobby's face again. Holy shit, man, my cheeks started to hurt from laughing so much.
She finally got to give me my birthday present, which is The Kids in the Hall Season 1 on DVD. I haven't watched that stuff in about a year or even more, and it's just so fucking random and odd that it's a wonder how so many people could see the humor in it. They are perhaps the only canadians in entertainment that are actually worth something. Fuck Alanis Morrissette and Celine Dion. Fuck them, seriously. Stupid fuckwits can't sing worth a pussy.
Christina N. @ 10:01 PM
Monday, July 17
shaina here guest blogging; christina is in the bronx at her confrence.
Christina N. @ 6:33 PM
Friday, July 14
I went to White Castle yesterday, goddamn was it good. It was so good, that it was bad for me. The myth is true - when you eat at White Castle you really get the shits. I had to run fucking back and forth from the bathroom within a timespan of five minutes, that means I wasted about four tablespoons of hand soap. Kudos to the fat fucks who eat at White Castle on a daily basis; your sphincter must be the strongest muscle in your body right now. You could eat pistachios with that ass.
So about our poorly scheduled visit to Rutgers University yesterday. The "discovery day" that we participated in was even more poor. I spent the majority of the 4-hour ordeal giving this hot guy the eye just for shits and giggles. He had a semi-beard and was wearing a Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers t-shirt - of course I'd want to hit that.
Other than that, I didn't get anything for my birthday. Quite frankly, I'm not really pissed off about it at all. But I would just like to point out that the one year when I am broke is the year when I get nothing. Whatever, man. The only person who gave me something was my sister and my grandparents who sent me a card and $20 that I spent on pants the next day, and my friend Amy who moved back to Harrison a few years ago who sent me a scarf that she had made. Kelly's gift was sort of a card thing.
When I came home from work today, there were freshly baked cookies that she made me on the counter. Fifty-five thousand miles down, I was touched. But being the cold motherfucker that I am, did not freak out. It was really nice, man. I asked her why she made them for me and she was like, "We didn't have time to make any yesterday."
So I'm guessing she wanted to bake cookies with me or some shit. That's cool. But I just started eating better a few weeks ago because I knew if I kept on eating the way that I was eating, I'd reach the adult diaper stage earlier than I intend to. No fucking thanks. I prefer to wipe my ass by my control, not leaving it to some kind of plastic/cotton three-inch-thick pair of underwear.
Her twelfth birthday is tomorrow, and it sucks balls that I don't have any money at this moment to buy her something. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty much in debt. Thanks to my drunk and disorderly escapades. You could also say that I could make her something, but I suck at the artsy craftsy department.
In other news, I fucking need a new job. Working at Pier 1 Imports is like working cuban child labor for five hours a day - hard labor and low wages and all. If they expect me to climb mountains of wicker chairs trying to get tissue paper to wrap people's purchases in, lift and carry furniture from ten feet in the air, do fifty laps around the store and listen to people's life stories in which I couldn't give less of a shit about - they should at least pay me nine or ten bucks an hour. But no, it's fucking $7.61 an hour; I got a fucking incompetent and phony eleven-cent raise a couple months ago.
Christina N. @ 6:50 PM
Wednesday, July 12
I have quite a hankering to go to White Castle. Don't know why. Maybe it's the miniscule cubic burgers that make them so adorable and amusing, and so delectable. Yeah, motherfucker. I could really use some of those right now.
So I leave on Sunday for the National Student Leadership Conference for six days in New York City. It's fancy shit, and I'll be meeting with a lot of fancy and supposedly important people for "an amazing experience." This shit cost a lot of money, it better be fun. I'll be living in a fucking dorm, and they better fucking have cable television (which I doubt) so that I could watch Rescue Me on Tuesday. Damn right shithead, I live for that show. I look forward to it all goddamn week long, it's that crazy.
I was also invited to another Leadership Forum type of thing in Washington D.C., where I'd study in the Pentagon or some shit. That costs about the same as the other one, around $1300 bucks but this one is going to be harder for us to pay off because of all the recent shit that's going on, and the fact that I said I'd try to pay off more than the half that I'd already paid for the other conference.
Birthday's tomorrow and no Pokemon cake has been purchased yet. Perhaps I'll go buy one for myself because I don't think any other motherfucker cares enough. Cares enough as in eating Pokemon cake with me.
Jefferson Airplane is seriously, one of the most god awful band names that anyone could ever have possibly thought of in the history of band names. Jesus fucking Christ, that shit is horrible just to say in your head. It's like taking a hit of crack every time you say their name. Go ahead, say it -
There. You have just lost 500 brain cells.
Christina N. @ 11:02 AM
Wednesday, July 5
Boston is a wonderful city. I'm seriously considering living there someday. Once I get the money, that is. When we first drove into the city, it was like a utopia. I'm always used to the dingy shitastic slums of New York, and seeing Boston is like, well, a fucking utopia. It was quite beautiful, the people were nice, the shopping is amazing, and there's a hot piece of ass around every goddamn corner. Of course I would never want to leave. We stayed for two days.
I did quite a bit of shopping at Newbury Street, which concludes why I'm fucking dead broke at this moment. There was a hemp store called Hempest, where I bought a pocketbook/clutch/purse/whateverthefuck. The dude who works there is a total stoner and for some reason kept watering the plants outside the store. Not sure if this is a coincidence or not (probably not), but part of the change that he gave back to me was a $2 bill with a green stamp stamped beside Thomas Jefferson's mouth was him saying, "I grew hemp." I fucking laughed my ass off and wished I could frame the bill but I can't spare the money to purchase a frame right now.
Pier 1 is clearly not paying me enough and they should go shove their overpriced furniture and wicker baskets up their ass. I hope they get more splinters than a porcupine. It's true, they really aren't paying me enough. I might go apply at Dick's [Sporting Goods] just for the fucking hell of it, because we all know I love Dick's.
Best Buy would be a pretty cool job because I could actually use the discount over there. I don't need no fucking furniture. My room is smaller than a nice bathroom. But you might have to be eighteen to work there. Fucking douche.
Life is not too great, because I'm tired of my parents' indiscrepancies and their constant underestimating me, therefore barking at me like you would to an inmate or some crap. So we're not much on speaking terms anymore. I'm not allowed to leave the house except for work, and I pretty much have absolutely no one to talk to, except to Shaina and Lauren who call me on occasion. Everyone else just has their own fucking business to do. On days that I don't work, all I do is eat, watch TV, and do boring shit in my room for hours upon hours, waiting for my insanity clock to tick and my head explodes out of boredom, crankiness, and failure.
This lack of communication with everybody is affecting my ability to socialize. I find myself edging away from many situations and even casual conversations are hard to keep going because I don't have single fucking thing to say - nothing happens in my life. Talking to cashiers and retail associates in stores is difficult also. Insecurity is taking over like a fucking plague. Oh yeah, it definitely sucks balls. Because this type of action commonly leads to your peers' loss of interest in you and this isn't entirely my fault. My folks need to get a 10-inch nail fucking hammered into their skulls just to get their minds open.
Yeah, motherfucker. I have tremendous patience if I could stand this shit for that long. While in Boston, my folks were too fucking cheap to stay at a better hotel so we stayed at The Red Roof Inn and my dad's snoring was absolutely, fucking painful. The constant rhythm of nasal agony throbbed and bounced back and forth between my ears inside my skull like a tennis game. I couldn't fucking take it. And then for some reason I had a sudden burst of energy, woke up at 4:00AM and couldn't sleep anymore. It was my worst case of insomnia to date. So I just lay there for four fucking hours, waiting for everyone else to get up and fucking get ready. It was pretty horrible. The room was rather small in size, and there was nothing to do outside of the hotel so I was stuck.
There's a show on Friday that I'd really like to go to, but still haven't found the guts or imaginary balls to ask my mother. According to her, I've either been oddly quiet for no reason, or that she knows that I've got something wrong going on and I don't know, either way she'd probably say no. But, I also have the plus side of not having seen any of my friends since school ended and I have to give Lauren her birthday present. It's way too long fucking overdue.
In other news, my birthday is next week, on Thursday. I'll be seventeen and I don't really give a flying fuck because I haven't done anything (nor am I that much allowed to) with my life. I at least should have gotten my permit by now so I could get my license sooner. Well, that hasn't even started yet. For some reason, about 90% of my friends (which isn't a very large population) are older than me, and whenever I think of my birthday, I remember how much older everyone is than me. Kind of odd. It's probably because I'm perhaps one of the few within this age range who realizes that most shits below this age group are really shits.
Christina N. @ 9:31 PM
Saturday, July 1
Tomorrow I'm going to Boston, but not sure if we're staying overnight. I prefer not to, because you know, my OCD problems and the fear of foreign and unknown bathrooms. Not to mention the 4-hour roadtrip to the city, too. But it'll probably be a grande olde time, because it's fucking Boston, man.
Since it's almost the 4th of July, the damn city is probably going to be packed. I almost got to go see Aerosmith play for free at the Esplanade, but my dad wussed out and said that he needed to rest and stay home on the 4th to go to work the next day. Of course I didn't mention that the oval gets packed before noontime, eight hours before the show starts, and you have to pretty much camp out all day just to get a spot. Everyone still wussed out. Figures.
I'm also a history fanatic, pretty much, so Boston is an ideal place to go.
Today is Debbie's last day at Pier 1 before she starts at Dick's [Sporting Goods]. I think only the two of us are closing tonight, which means trouble and gross conversations will ensue. We were thinking about getting tanked, but it's still a bit risque.
I'D HIT THAT SHIT!
Christina N. @ 3:37 PM
