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
