Luckily, today did not end up being another hard heavy day of influenza, but I instead started to get a lot better - up to the point of clearing up my respiratory system of the devil. I guess praying really does work.
Just kidding, the immune system clears disease, not an imaginary superior being who was created by a human mind under the influence of crushed up/smoked foliage.
I don't think anyone cares about this, but I was the only fucker in my AP European history class who got 100% on a pop quiz. I'm sorry, but that is one hell of a superior feeling right there, especially considering that half of the class is nothing but fucking snotfaces.
I also finally started on my mockery of The School of Athens painting by Rafael, while everyone has done a significant amount of work on their art projects already [five days ago]. Once I'm done, consider yourself owned, bitch.
Drove as smooth as a newly waxed caucasian ass to Banana Republic after school (with a permit and my mom in the passenger seat) to just fill out paperwork for about an hour. People there are cool, and there's plenty of snacks. You know me and my love of fucking snacks, man. As I filled out the consent and W-4 forms and contracts and shit, I munched on three different types of cookies to the point of utter satisfaction.
This new job is pretty much going to fucking rule. Employee discount comes up to this:
50% off regular merchandise
30% off sale shit
30% off at the Gap
20% off at Old Navy
For those of you who don't know why I'm getting such a great deal at three different stores, it's because they're all owned by the same fucking company. Kapeesh? New wardrobe, here I come.
Done
Christina N. @ 8:01 PM
Wednesday, September 27
I would very much like to finish writing my book about Nothing. The thing is, I can't find everything where I had left off. LiveJournal, Blogger - be smart and invent a search engine where we could search through our journal entries. Like Gmail; why not include that option with Blogger, since both services are owned and run by Google?
Why do people insist on blowing their nose in a tissue, put it back in their pocket or bag, and reuse it again? That just fucking screams, "I'm going to infect you, you fucking shitfaced well-being!" (Lame) They don't even wash their hands after sneezing a tablespoon of phlegm into their palms. This is exactly the reason why I am suffering through yet another 72-hour case of the goddamn flu. Happens at least once every year. I fucking have to go to Banana Republic tomorrow for the first time to fill out paperwork. Cut me some fucking slack.
And to think that the person with acute obsessive-compulsive personality disorder gets hit the hardest. Thanks, shove some more irony up my ass until my sphincter turns into rust.
In regards to other inferior types of beings, is those kids who think they're so superior over others now because they've seen Jackass Number Two but have never even watched the show nor the first movie. Like you're such a badass motherfucker now because you can watch grown men bust their balls without it being censored or you puking all of your credibility out from your gut. Well, since you are such a sheep, I recommend you go look up the term "Darwinism" and its motto.
Christina N. @ 9:34 PM
Tuesday, September 26
I GOT THE JOB AT BANANA REPUBLIC!!! Fucking owned, bitch! $8.50 an hour, flexible schedule, shnazzy clothes and more sexy male customers. Fucking A. I also heard that the employee discount is very generous, and you folks know how that is secretly one of the single facts that drove me so fucking crazy to get this job. Thursday I come in for a half hour to do paperwork, and my first day is on October 15th. You know, to give Pier 1 my two weeks' notice and a sap story for them to bawl all over. I'd recently gotten a raise from them and it still hadn't even reached $8 yet. Kiss my ass.
Tonight was "Astronomy Night." Doc Smock, my Astronomy teacher, offered to everyone in the class [who wants to] to come to the football field bleachers at 7:00PM to come and look at stars and constellations and shit. You know, what cool kids who have lots of time and marijuana on their hands do.
So at 6:15 Lauren picks me up in her maroon fucking colored Ford Contour and we go to Quick Chek to buy some snacks. She gets like Perrier, Redbull, and yogurt drinks for herself while I stock up on chocolate and pizza-flavored snacks. It was cool beans.
It's really funny watching her screaming like a fucking inflamed Axl Rose at innocent drivers. She recently just got a car and today was the first time she'd ever driven me anywhere, and to be honest, she is a completely different person behind the wheel. Frankly, to get an idea of what she's like while behind the wheel, just imagine me ranting and rambling about Gwar in the norm.
Blah blah blah I can't finish the rest of this.
Christina N. @ 7:19 PM
Thursday, September 21
Fucking lame. I applied at Banana Republic on Sunday and decided to call them today to see what's up. The manager said they had just received my application and that they would call me if they're interested. Here is what I regret: getting nervous as all fucking hell, choking up, forgetting all the shit that I was going to say, and abruptly ending my opportunity [and phone call] by saying, "Okay, that's all."
What she said sounded like a rejection. This really pisses me off, because I fucking adore that store and does the fact that I currently work in the same shopping plaza scare them off? I think not, because it should, in my opinion, increase my chances of landing the job because I already have experience in a retail store that they are familiar with; and not to mention experience in working at that specific area. This weekend I'm going to pay them a motherfucking visit because this job actually means something to me.
Not being as financially well-off as I have been in the past, disables me from going shopping as often as before. Banana Republic ain't cheap shit, motherfucker. Their style fucking sends me through the roof. Working there, getting bonuses and shit, and getting an employee discount would make me happier than - I can't think of a good noun right now.
I have officially started my college search. Considering my laziness, lack of funds, and insufficient effort throughout high school, mainly points me towards attending Rutgers: the New Jersey State University. Good school, but the people are shitheads. Overall I'm not a huge fan of it. I don't like it too much. But my plan thus far is to go there for two years and if I'm still interested in becoming a graphic designer, I'll transfer to art school in New York. Biiiig deal.
Highly, highly doubt that I'd make it to NYU instead of Rutgers. Motherfuckers.
I was about to apply for the Charmin Angels scholarship program (yes, the fucking toilet paper company), but it required community service. Do you really think I care enough to? It's New Jersey here, people are never nice no matter what, or where you are. The only place where I've met the most kind folk was at the library. And they're the elderly old school folks who do nothing but read J.D. Salinger about twenty times a year, over and over; as they watch their grass grow while sitting on their porch reading J.D. Salinger.
This was a survey that I had to fill out on the first day of school for my british literature class. I thought it was pretty silly. Mind that it wasn't filled out to the fullest potential because I didn't want to be suspended and get my ass whooped into a waffle-type print embedded in it.
FRONT
BACK
Christina N. @ 4:28 PM
Tuesday, September 19
It's been a week, hasn't it? Feels like longer, but then again Napoleon's dick isn't either.
You know, the typical thing, unconsciously, that I usually do whenever given the opportunity to express myself, is negative. So in other words, complaining is a sad, sad, stupid fucking thing to do. Because it's not getting you anywhere. Get the fuck off your ass and start to do something about your fucking problem. That's what LiveJournal users need to take notice of. And by the way, since so many people do that so much, why let others see such immature infidelities that you hold? Oh, you're dumb, that's why. Must have slipped my mind. Like that dude that Kevin McDonald from the Kids in the Hall is so known for playing. The lazy dude where everything slips from his mind and is an incoherent asshole because of it.
My AIM hiatus is pretty great, I would have to say. No longer would I have to read about and listen to people's problems about their sex life. I don't fucking care. Mine is bad enough, you don't want advice from me. Do I look like fucking Pai Mei to you? Get advice from kneeling in front of your altar and start meditating, motherfucker. For I get advice from my common sense, not some imaginary motherfucker who sits his ass in clouds all day and dominates your life.
Here's a taste of irony - I had excommunicated the dipshits who are lowest on the food chain.
So for Literature/Language of Pop Music, we had to make an album documenting the music of our life. As in, songs that identify and coincide with key points/events that have happened in our very short, unworthy lives [in chronological order]. And to be pretentious, mine fucking owned everyone's and their mother's. Had to design a cover to go along with it, too.
COVER
BACK COVER
It instantly became a class favorite, but the only flaw (in commercial terms) in it is that it cannot be displayed on the bulletin board. (Fucking Caption Obvious right there.) The options are: Only face the back cover out, or don't have it displayed at all. Quite honestly, I don't really give a shit if it is never seen by more than forty people, because it is not my ultimate goal to rub my feces in other people's faces. They can see it if they want; They don't have to.
In other news, I recently applied for a job at Banana Republic. In the same shopping plaza as I currently work in. Even though my job is fucking great, they just don't pay me enough. I don't even get eight bucks an hour like everyone else does, no matter how hard or efficiently (moreso than quite a few other employees) I work. That's just lame, if you ask me. As opposed to other attempts at getting a new job, I'm really going to strive for this one. Man, I could totally use the discount to get myself some new rags. Not as much manual labor, nice fashion and dressing code, you know, the pussy shit.
Christina N. @ 7:13 PM
Monday, September 11
Did I ever tell you how much I fucking love food? Of course I have. I am infamous for inventing what is known as "anorexia" because after I leave, there is nothing left for the poor little girls to eat. Oh boy! Bad jokes.
Zara's boyfriend came by the school today to visit her and give her food. Dude, it was a grilled chicken sandwich or some shit from Steak Escape. She couldn't eat all of it so she gave a portion to me. Holy fucking shit man, I'm going to have to make regular trips to this place. And no, it did not give me the shits, in case you are wondering. My intestines are made of steel, bitch. I probably just jinxed myself for an early death twenty years from now resulting from blood clots and diabetes.
Why don't I have a sugar daddy who brings me food whenever I want? Seriously, I don't want more clothes or more handbags. I want an endless supply of chicken quesadillas, nachos, bagels, and sandwiches. Please, if you are out there and are reading this and would like to contribute to my dietary desires, contact me ASAP.
I should have signed up for work study. Then I wouldn't have to eat salt-less french fries every day.
My mom went to the amazing of stupendously amazing Shop Rite today, so now we have enough junk food to kill Patti LaBelle. Bad jokes! Maybe I'll be a cool hip-happenin' hipster tomorrow and carry my metal Conan O'Brien lunchbox to school, stuffed with yum yums. You know, so that by the end of the day I will have less friends than I already had before.
Otherwise, today sucked balls. I only know of two or three people left whom are truly worth talking to. The rest of the population doesn't know what band that John Bonham played for. It's quite sad. But I won't lock myself in the closet tonight and slit my wrists while my pair of bondage pants keeps swinging from the rack in front of my face.
My AIM hiatus isn't going too badly. As a matter of fact, I kind of like it. E-mail is the way to go, man.
Silly beans!
Christina N. @ 5:37 PM
Sunday, September 10
So I was at my dad's friend's house yesterday, and the guy's brother's son asks me if he could prank phone call my stalker again. Of course he could!
We call the dumbass son of a bitch and he still fucking answers the phone when my number shows up on the caller ID? From all the shit that we did to him a couple of weeks ago, he still answers it to get the same exact verbal abuse? Webster, I think I have an update to the definition of "retard." I let the kid spit and talk about pizza for a good few minutes [twice] until I thought that maybe, maybe, if the stalker somehow had at least two brain cells emerge out of his brain tissue, would call the popos on me. And trust me, I've had enough cop action this summer.
I was talking to one of my friends on Friday for the entire duration of gym class, because for the first couple of classes or so, the only thing you are required to do is sit on the bleachers and socialize. We were talking about acid and smoking and how once you get a tracheotomy it's your badge of honor, and once you achieve your badge of honor you could smoke like two fucking cigarettes at the same time. Then he said something so weird that I will never forget: "I want to smoke with my nipples."
Then we talked about the more beautiful things in life. Like Gwar.
Christina N. @ 7:20 PM
Saturday, September 9
Last night someone called me, and boy can I tell you it's one of those types of phone calls. You know, the one where they never shut the fuck up and I do nothing but rest the phone on my shoulder and do work on the computer for a good 15 minutes while they jabbered away without pausing, yet never noticed that I'm not paying attention? People are very selfish. And with selfishness comes stupidity and oblivion to their surroundings.
Don't get me wrong, I love talking to my cronies. But it gets up to a point with certain people where they start to get just a tad bit pretentious. And then they start to get ridiculous. And then I start to get fucking sick of it. Please, when you talk to me, please keep in mind that I don't give a flying fuck about the type of doorway you have to your office at your new job, or what pencil holder they give you, or what kind of car your boss has, or what the 17th sentence that it was whom your hot ex-assistant manager said to you today when you visited your old job. What pisses me off even more is that when they asked me how was school and I was about to start a story, after my first sentence they cut me off to talk about their office supply holder on their desk. Can I get a "WTF?"
This person, and about another diddy who is just as annoying and selfish, bother me so fucking much that I've had to go on an AOL Instant Messenger hiatus. Fuck you, man.
Christina N. @ 8:27 AM
Thursday, September 7
Is it just me, or have people all of a sudden stopped showering? I know our taxes are high, but come on, when you sense a funky smell wafting around you - it's you. Every day, every day, that I've been in school this year, somebody either stinks like ass, or fucking farts in the classroom and/or hallway. What the fuck is this?
One of my used Faith No More CDs came in the mail today, not even a week after I ordered it. Amazon, you will never let me down. My items always come earlier than the expected delivery date at My Account. Amazon.com was created by god's right hand himself. In addition to that, the CD is nearly in mint condition; the only thing missing is the plastic wrapping in which it first comes out of the factory. This is the kind of precision that obsessive compulsives [like me] fucking crave.
So it's about time I stopped using the same 17 or so insults in my vocabulary and headed to the library to pick up some brain food. Today I went and got Anthony Bourdain's book, Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly. That man, and his show - are fucking amazing. If there is any other TV host that should write a book, it is Mike Rowe. He's a silly bitch too.
School sucks balls, I don't need to elaborate on that subject. But I will point out this one unnecessary happening today - I was sitting at a table during lunch eating french fries like my usual habitual self and was waiting for two of my friends to come. They never came, but Richard did. After several minutes of wonder at where these two people were, we decided to go outside and scout them out. Turns out they were hanging out on the steps.
I asked, "Why did you leave me there?" She said, "Oh, I'm sorry." Like it was nothing at all.
What the fuck? I thought that was rather rude. And this is coming from someone who is constantly bitching and preaching to me about how shitty people can be. I see so much irony and hypocrisy throughout my life that sometimes I think it's just better to shove a pinecone up my ass.
Then there's my Lit./Lang of Pop Music class. This dumbfuck sitting diagonally behind me keeps waving his arm around for attention, moving his desk, being stuck in it like a fucking jack-in-the-box, and loudly asking and annoying people this: "What band does John Bonham play for again? What band does John Bonham play in????"
I was about to gag a rotting kidney out from my throat at that moment, man. That's like stabbing me in the heart with the end of a lawn flamingo; the end that you stamp into the grass so that it doesn't get blown away in the elements. Not knowing what band John Bonham played for? Jesus fucking Christ.
And yes, there is an entire course based solely on learning about the history of good music. It's just that the majority of students turn the class into the equivalent of a session at the salon getting your pubes waxed or some shit. Someone was taken aback by all the shit classes that I'm taking this year, and what apparent "senioritis" I have. That's one of the biggest loads of bullshit that I have ever heard coming towards me. I'm always like that; I don't go to class 100% of the time, I don't do my work 100% of the time, I take the cheap asshole way out of things, I never take shit too seriously, and most of all, am I ever one to follow rules? I've had senioritis since I was born, bitch.
Christina N. @ 4:53 PM
Monday, September 4
Full Metal Jacket = A++++++
I bought it yesterday for $8 at the completely shitsome FYE. This bitch fucking brakes for war movies. Because no type of movie kicks more ass than a war movie. I also sold some childishly embarassing CDs; sold five of them and came out with only 14 fucking bucks? Fuck you, capitalism. But then again, those bands' music isn't really worth much anyway. The shit list includes:
Follow the Leader - Korn
Issues - Korn
Three Dollar Bill, Ya'll - Limp Bizkit
Hybrid Theory - Linkin Park
The Great Radio Controversy - Tesla
God, Tesla fucking sucks. It's so terrible that my stomach ties itself up into a tuxedo bow whenever I remember smidgets of their songs. Korn is still a very, very, guilty pleasure. But I need to stop that right now because they are so lame right now I can't even look at another 14-year-old wearing one of their Take a Look in the Mirror t-shirts.
It's odd at how every single time that I go used CD shopping, there is always a Faith No More album somewhere in the pile (and a $4 Will Smith CD). This time, it was Album of the Year and deciding not to buy it was like having to leave my firstborn child to an illegal foster family. I put the motherfucker back on the shelf with tears pouring down my face like the Virgin Mary cries blood whenever Paul McCartney performs "Hey Jude" again.
Why did I not buy it? I already ordered another used copy from the beloved Amazon.com a couple days ago. Even if I did save money from ordering online, the wait is just too fucking long. Until the 11th or so, it's supposed to come in the mail.
So I start school tomorrow. Jesus H. Christ, this means that I will have to be partially a tool and say hello to people who used to be my friends but won't anymore because apparently their balls are decreasing in size. Lauren says my homeroom will be held in the fucking band room because they have to make room for the incoming freshman class. What the fuck? What did you just say?
Move the fuck somewhere else, don't come to New Jersey. We ain't got shit here. People say they move here because there's lots of jobs. Well there wouldn't be that many jobs if you stopped building fucking shopping plazas between every set of ass cheeks in the state. Seriously, must you chop down every hornet colony's tree to build your fucking family complexes? I don't need another fucking Walgreens. I don't need another fucking Super Wal-mart. And I definitely don't need anymore fucking shitheads losing their soccer balls on my front lawn because the field is being taken by one of the several hundred little leagues in Morris County alone.
Build your capitalistic greedy shit in Kansas, or West Virginia or some shit like that. When I was on vacation in Kentucky and drove to and back from my relatives', it was sort of weird for me to see that houses were spread so far apart from one another as we drove through about five states. You could fucking stand a cell phone tower on almost every single residence there was. In Jersey, our houses are so close and the property is so small that you could seriously see every single goddamn portrait in your neighbor's living room from your front step.
We're already the most densely populated state in the nation, and one of the smallest. Get a fucking clue, fuckwit. And now I have to sit in the fucking band geeks' territory and bask in their aura of how much they suck. I'm not sorry, but their music fucking makes my ears bleed semen.
Christina N. @ 7:00 PM
Friday, September 1
This is quite possibly, the most amazing album I have ever blasted into my ear drums. Last night I lay down in the dark and listened to this hunk of glorious shit with headphones on, and it felt as though my brain was being morphed into a glob of sticky, scummy, putrid green and red goo. It was quite a feeling. Drift in and out of insanity like a crazy bitch. Don't let the cover and title fool you - this record is fucking mind-blowing.
I'm normally not one to push music down upon others and shove it down their throats like bitches would pound down tarwater into their little brothers' throats back in the 19th century, but if you ever find yourself listening to Faith No More's Angel Dust, I urge you to listen to it twice. The first time it's hard to sink in, but when you listen to it more than once, it just fucking grows on you and the invigorating, tingling feeling of a crazy fuckass sensation spreads throughout your body like the most deadly of deadly malaria diagnosis.
Why don't I ever try to get others to like or at least listen to the same shit as I do? No one cares. Their minds are closed tighter than the angriest twat possible. End of story.
Christina N. @ 2:55 PM
