So my Dilbert book came in the mail today from the all-too-amazing Amazon.com. Paid only literally a penny for it and it's in excellent condition. Sometimes people can be way too kind. Usually, they aren't. But you folks know all too well that I have focused upon those negative aspects for more than enough already.
I almost got in trouble for calling a teacher by his first name. What can I say? When you have a first name such as Eugene and you're sitting in a student's desk while I'm giving a presentation about a cynical philosopher, why not be just as humorous? The guy's about 24-years-old and all the ladies swoon over him, I guess admitting that his real name is "Eugene" sort of deflects everybody away. Oooooh well.
Does anyone else hate socks? Fuck socks, dude. Moisture gets trapped inside them at all times and I can't help but feel that acres and acres of microscopic fungus fields are growing in between my toes. Also, when you step in water or something wet, it fucking stays wet. You can't just dry it off with a towel like when you're going barefoot. But shoes - shoes, man. Shoes protect your feet from everything. Thank god for shoes. None of this "FUCK SHOES!" shit, you fuckers need to find a new comedian to glomp over because you basically look like a jackass whenever you quote Dane Cook too much. Right now, the only reason of which Dane Cook is still cool in my world is because he is a fan of Faith No More.
I know, I know. That was lame.
Christina N. @ 6:06 PM
Monday, November 27
Ever notice how when you need something from someone, they disappear for a few days? This person said they'd pay me back my 20 bucks and never came along to. Since then they've disappeared. I fucking need this dough by Wednesday. No more lending money, Christina. No one's kept any cash of mine for this long before and it's really ticking me off because money is not a light matter. I work my ass off for this shit and I'm sure you do too. So you probably would know how I feel. I don't want to borrow from my parents because borrowing in general is sign of weakness in my opinion; you're not worthy enough to come up with anything on your own. That's why I never ask anyone for anything - I can get it myself. And if I can get it myself, the more I could respect and rely on myself. Egotistical? Not really. Just common sense.
Last night was pretty insane. I completed two college applications straight from the beginning within just 3 hours' time. Essays, personal statements, fill-ins - everything, motherfucker. It took fucking forever to start on the admissions essay, but once you get that spark, you just keep on going like any other pointless pink bunny with the stupid fucking drum and sunglasses. Since I don't really have a particular aspect or talent that is striking enough to solely base an entire piece of writing upon (such as being an athlete or a journalism dork), I decided to start sarcastically right from the get-go and define "genius."
Eh, fuck my original intention to write yet another lengthy hunk of crap.
LOOK WHAT CAME IN THE MAIL!!!
Eternal Fashion Icon of the 20th Century
I guess that's how you get rid of a bad case of crabs.
Christina N. @ 7:06 PM
Tuesday, November 21
So one reason why it is bad to have a core group of friends is that it is just too much goddamn money. Just because you're in the same circle of friends as someone else automatically stamps you on the forehead with the certification that you must get them a Christmas present. There goes my new purse. One that I actually intend to spend about a hundred dollars or so on. You know me and bags, I can't get enough of them. I have recently realized that I have too many fabric ones that could just fold up and be put away. Cheap shit, motherfucker. And yes, purses and handbags are my weak spot when it comes to humility.
Who the fuck assigns students a presentation with just two days to do it? Jesus fucking Christ. As much of a history buff as I am, this class pretty much sucks balls.
But back to purses. Lita is having a purse party on Sunday and I am just fucking stoked. That is, if I could avoid work and get my mother's permission. Parties + Purses = Super Jubilee Bonanza
Did I just fucking say "stoked?" Isn't that Boston or California lingo or some shit? Somebody stop that bullhocky before it becomes the next "That's hot!"
Want to know more current and popular lingo with the idiots of today? Read on.
"Yo, that's mad huge!" - You sound like a fucking dolt when you say this.
"Wus good?" - I'm not black, and neither are you.
"That's mad wicked yo!" - Mixing Boston words and Brooklyn words? Puh-leaze. I prefer to sound intelligent when I am speaking.
"That's mad crazy!" - Anyone who uses the word "mad" to describe an adjective is a fucking numbnut.
"I totally schooled you!!" - "Schooled" does not flow smoothly, thus hard to say. Plus, who wants to hear "school" during their regular life? Ulgh, with a side of ulgh.
Notice that most of these phrases end with an exclamation (that is, one without an exclamation could always have one stuck in there at the end to enhance further said stupid statement). This is because the dumbass who uses this "Dipshit's Lingo" is always the loud, obnoxious idiot who thinks that he is the shit. Well think again, buddy; take a moment and contemplate on what you have just said to your 50 million so-called "friends" who are cavorting and yelling out the same dumb observations as you are about big asses and tits.
Christina N. @ 6:50 PM
Sunday, November 19
I can't even remember the last time I actually wanted to write. History papers about the Catholic church that aren't allowed to be bias just fucking drill themselves up my ass. It sort of gave a phobia of writing for a very long time to come. The next time I am forced to write an un-biased, full factual paper on Catholics or Christians, I'll fucking cut your head off and perform an eternal damnating ritual on you by Satan. Devout christians are people that probably despise me from the very beginning because once I hear you say something utterly stupid like, "God made me this way and this is why I am here right now" bullshit I immediately form a I-Hate-You,-You-Fucking-Dumbshit shield. No, you are not here because of god. You are here because your parents fucked the brains out of each other and their eggs and sperm united. Go ahead, wish for spontaneous combustion to happen upon me. So that I burn to death, starting from a single flame coming out from my heart and then spreading to each of my limbs like some kind of invisible magic gas was poured upon me by god's right hand. Yeah, he's peaceful; sure. At least I won't have to meet you someday.
Speaking of church and Satan. Me, my movie partner and two of her friends found the abandoned satanic church in our town last week. It was so fucking close - right under our noses. So we explored. I think it was true that satanic activity occurred there, and that children were molested there or some shit. But anyway, there's signs everywhere telling you not to trespass and that the area was patrolled. Patrolled, my ass. I tried breaking in, full view during daylight and from a car's plain sight from the highway by throwing rocks and bricks at the windows; fucking nothing happened. Stop fucking bluffing, you popos. It ain't working no matter what.
Kerry shot a video of the whole experience while at the church, but has yet to send it to me.
So I got my new phone - and it's the greatest fucking thing right next to a V-Cast or Sidekick or any touch-screen bullshit. A Samsung D807. Beats the Razr's fucking ass to the wall. But then again, pretty much almost anything could beat the Razr's ass. The pussy-colored one gives me a headache. I don't get why girls would want everything in the color of their own private parts. It's kind of a self-love or lesbian thing, in my opinion. Kind of hypocritical, come to think of it. I mean, at least make a white-colored Razr for sperm. You folks are thinking ass-backwards, I tell ya.
You know what else pisses me off? "Friends" who never do anything when you ask them a critical favor, when you always do something for them and never bullshit them. So in response to that, I will not pull an Axl Rose. I have to support one of my closest friends and attend an NA meeting with her on Wednesday night. That shit isn't funny, and it drives me up the fucking wall (and her, of course) that not even her own parents are helping her. It's fucking immature. I couldn't give a flying fuck if anyone accuse me of being a goddamn cokehead; what matters is that my friend has actually made it this far. And I plan on keeping it that way.
Christina N. @ 7:49 PM
Thursday, November 9
Ulgh, my movie partner sucks. She told me last week that we'd go drive down Clinton Road today. She mentioned it only one time without speaking to me for the rest of the week, therefore not reminding me and validating that we really are going. I did remember, but since she never brought it up again nor speak to me again I figured that she'd just forgotten about it and didn't want to go anymore.
I just got a phone call from her ten minutes ago to meet her in front of the school when I've already made plans for tonight. Plans as in getting a new cell phone and family plan along with a whole new service provider with my parents, something that I've been waiting for and am in desperate need of for quite some time now. Week after week I hear more and more static from this current piece of shit phone, and on the day when I finally could get a new one I can't go out and pick one. Whatever, I guess this is all my fault here.
So today went shopping for Christmas decorations (yes, Christmas decorations because we have nothing else to do) and I bought more stuff to work on my portfolio with. All in all you could call it an "arts and crafts day" since that was all that we bought. Well, alongside with my petty purchases of a cell phone carrier to attach to my bag (lame, I know. But it had such a cute design on it and for only $3 I couldn't resist) and a book called The Little Book of Insults.
You kids should try the omelette with bacon and cheese on a croissant from Dunkin' Donuts. That shit is fucking deeeeeee-lish.
Christina N. @ 6:55 PM
Wednesday, November 8
Today has been a weird day. Besides the fact that I have eaten nothing but four meals of different types of bread, ran about ten laps around the gym as crazily as Forrest Gump, I feel odd. (Not from the oh-so-uncommon feeling of actually being active for once) People from all ends of the small spectrum of which I call "my friends" seem to not want to talk (on the day when I have endless carbohydratic energy to actually blurt out a couple thousand more sentences). Whatever, fuck that.
After school, my mom drove me to Michael's Arts & Crafts so that I could buy supplies to work on my portfolio for next Saturday. What is next Saturday, exactly? Next Saturday is Portfolio Day at the Pratt Institute in New York City, and since I have quite a hefty portfolio that has never been flaunted in its entirety, I think it would be a good opportunity to also get professional advice from scholars and possibly into a decent art school.
I went digging through all of my works of art and shit, and in the process found my old Criminology binder. There was a sheet of paper in it that had debatable scenarios of which two friends and I made up for an assignment and man, are they funny shit:
- Vietnam veteran is buying a hotdog in NY. The hotdog vendor also has a popcorn machine that breaks down and makes a large crashing noise. The veteran blacks out and has a flashback. When he wakes up the vendor is on the ground bleeding from his head.
- Sid Vicious gets high on heroin and kills a horse because he thought it was a unicorn. He wanted to keep the horn and decided to carve it off with a knife, but ends up stabbing the horse in the head because horses don't have horns. The horse's owner was Michael Bolton and he loves his horses very much.
This next segment is a paragraph in a paper that I had to write, stating my take on assisted suicide and I have to say, it's pretty much the most fucked up paper that I have ever had to write according the boring mind.
Many of us like to say, "But that's still killing yourself." Yes, it is. But who said dying was always 100% a bad thing? Darwin's theory of evolution states that he who is not needed will diminish, and this has been proven over time. Since we mostly relate this to animals, inferior/prehistoric human ancestors have drifted off the face of the planet, leaving the stronger organisms to live on and breed, to what becomes as us today. Such as in the words of an anonymous person, "thinning the herd." I sort of think this is a very crude take on this issue, but I pretty much firmly believe that if something or someone is not needed, they don't have much of a purpose in staying around to take up time and space.
Rule #1 for writing a successful argument that makes you look smart: Include Darwin's Theory of Evolution. The theory has a long title and his name sounds nerdy. Guaranteed to score you five extra points.
The anonymous person who spoke of "thinning the herd" was actually Denis Leary.
Mike Patton and Peeping Tom were on Late Night With Conan O'Brien last night. Since I am asian and therefore know everything in the entire goddamn world (including knowledge that that man and that band were going to be on a late night television show at that specific time and date), set my alarm to ten minutes before the musical performance on the show was supposed to start. Sad, I admit, but it was well worth it. Anderson Cooper was a guest and talked about when he paid a visit to New Orleans to help out with the current environmental situation, saw what seemed to look like Steven Seagal in a cop uniform. When he walked up to the man and asked if he was really Steven Seagal, Steven said, "I'm just doing my job."
On the subject of Peeping Tom, their performance was interesting to say the least. (But isn't that what every sick, snobby tool of a music critic says about any of Mike Patton's projects when they hear it for the first time?) I would very much like to own a copy of their album. But then again, I probably enjoyed the performance more than the average person should, because it's The Fucking Man himself on the fucking television screen right there. He made funny faces at the end, which I of course had to "LOL" to. Fucking sad, Christina. Fucking sad.
Christina N. @ 9:12 PM
Monday, November 6
So I ended up skipping my first class in the morning so that I wouldn't have to hand in my paper. Still didn't even do it, and the only reason I went to school today was to make (and eat, of fucking course) Red Lobster-like biscuits in my cooking class. Turns out the teacher was absent. What great luck I have. If I had known that she was going to be absent, or if we were going to make something else, I would've just stayed home, write the goddamn paper, and watch shit like Wayne's World 1 and 2 all day long. Because you know, food is my #1 priority.
I felt pretty gross, too. Because last night at around 11:30 I was so exhausted that even after an hour of taking Excedrin Tension Headache, my headache came back at full blast anyway, along with a Green Goblin-like monster of nausea circulating around in my stomach. If I didn't lay down and stop stressing out like a motherfucker ASAP, I would've been throwing chunks at my computer screen and all over my perfect obsessive compulsive disorder desk. The only time I puke is when I'm a.) drunk, and b.) after surgery. Fuck all the other reasons that people puke. Those reasons are for fucking wusses; bulemia, for example.
As a result of being in perhaps the worst mental condition since July 7th, 2006, I decided, "Fuck it." and just collapsed for an intended half hour that turned into two hours, crawled into my parents' room, told my mom that I'm going to school late the next day, and went back to sleep without showering or brushing thy teeth or washing thy hair or any of that other pussy shit. As a matter of fact, like I've said a number of times before, I fucking despise bathing. But I do it every day because I despise dirt, grime, and germs just as much. Kind of ironic, if you think about it.
Christina N. @ 8:17 PM
Sunday, November 5
Dude, how much does it suck to have to write a paper about the Roman Catholic Church? Every kid and his goddamn mother knows that I pretty much despise the Catholic Church, and now I have to write an un-opinionated paper about them? Jesus fucking Christ, serve me a plate of cancer instead, please.
Politically incorrect in so many ways; I know.
Oh man have I missed Panera Bread bagels with vegetable cream cheese so much. Oh lordy lordy lordy. My mom gave me five dollars today to eat lunch. How childish. Five dollars in 2006. That's like half a penny in 1918.
I don't think anyone has procrastinated worse than I am right now. I was assigned this paper a month ago. It was due three weeks ago - I didn't do it because I fucking gave up on its lame-osity the night before, which was the night that I first attempted at writing it. But since the entire class did so terribly on the paper, the teacher didn't grade them and just gave it back to everyone so that they could correct their mistakes and then declared the paper officially due tomorrow morning - first class of the day, first thing in the fucking morning. I started my first draft of this shit three hours ago.
Fuck you, Catholics. Why be so hypocritical and SINFUL(!!!!!!!!!) so that Martin Luther would piss you off and start the astronomical event known as the Protestant Reformation? Such a supernova of opposites crashing into one another creates the perfect formula for perhaps the most difficult history paper made up in the entire course of time. Document based question papers do not permit opinions, nor fancy helping verbs or any of that fancy shmancy shit. So basically I have to write like a 5-year-old about a several hundred-year-old subject.
Why am I rambling here when all of this is already what the length of my paper is supposed to be? As a warm up. Quite honestly, not getting enough sleep keeps me from remembering anything - therefore not having the brainskill to finish this paper already by now. Ulgh; with a side of ulgh and diarrhea.
Do you know how much of this paper I have done so far? After one month? One sentence. I'm not even kidding. I swear on my fucking babies that I only have one sentence so far. I'm not even sure if it's correct, because the writing style is supposed to be a specific stylic and basic - something that I don't truly understand. I've been taught for so long to fancify and prettify (fuck real words right now, man) my writing that I can't go back to writing like a retard. I kind of wish I didn't have arms right now, then I wouldn't have to type or write this piece of shit; and then speaking my words out loud to someone who would type or write it for me gives me an excuse to take even longer than the rest of the class' designated deadline is.
Is it possible for Faith No More to give me such a terrible headache as of now? Yes, yes it is. As much as that is a heart attack-causing statement is, it's true. A truly great band of all bands, but they definitely are not a sound to listen to when you want to do homework. Come to think of it, that's sort of an insult to Faith No More - listening to their music and doing your homework. But I don't give a flying fuck. They don't either. You don't. No one does. Maybe Tom Cruise, though.
Christina N. @ 10:54 PM
Friday, November 3
Blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Yadda yadda yadda. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Yadda yadda yadda. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Yadda yadda yadda. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Yadda yadda yadda. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Yadda yadda yadda. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Yadda yadda yadda. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah.
PAY DAY!!!!!!!!!
Christina N. @ 3:49 PM
Wednesday, November 1
This is fucking ridiculous. My movie partner never calls me or answers her phone even if she says she will, so I've already gone on two trips to film without her. Whatever, man. I prefer going with friends anyway. Sadly enough to say, there was no one else in the class that really wanted to be each of our partners so we had to join together mediocre forces.
On Monday I took Natalia with me to Shades of Death Road and we drove down that 4-mile long or some shit stretch of highway. Got pulled over by the goddamn police, my camera mysteriously shut off for a few seconds, bought food at Quick Chek, ate at the laundromat next door, attempted to make it to Clinton Road in the same night but our folks wanted us back home by 10:30 - what a fucking doozy.
I got the entire drive down Shades of Death on tape, should upload the cop scene for ya'll to laugh at sometime. The thing is, someone had tied metallic rope across the road, blocking access for any car that's driving down on it. We didn't know whether to turn around and go back, or to drive through it. Then a cop car stops in front of it on the other side of the road, gets out of his car, takes down the rope, and gives us the okay to keep on going. Later on a few minutes later down the road, he fucking pulls us over.
So he takes a look at Nat's ID, and says, "Do you guys have anything to do with that rope back there?" Blah blah blah. "And what are you doing driving down Shades of Death Road on Mischief Night?" We were fucking filming something for school. "Shades of Death is nothing more than your average boring road. Just don't run over that old lady." That last sentence is what it sounded like to me, I'm pretty sure. But we were free to go. Thank god he wasn't that much of a prick, I don't need any more cops up my ass this year.
Luxury dining at your average old laundromat.
She dealt with the maps, I suck at that shit.
This is what you get when you ask me for directions.
I've met my match. Motherfucker wouldn't open.
You can see that I am a direct descendent of the late, great Hercules.
Mmm mmm good!
What the fuck do you fools think this is?
The Carrot
It looked like a fucking anus, I swear.
The Carrot soon made friends with Lemontard.
We made one kill for the day. This was it.
Pee pee!
Pickin' garbage
Yesterday, my partner was still being a fucking shmuck, so again that evening Nat and I went to John's house this time. John enough is a terrifying being for my movie. Ha! I kid. His room was adorned with the usual Slayer, weed, alcohol, horror movie and upside down cross posters along with a bottle of fake blood on top of a tiny ass television that was playing some weirdass horror/snuff film with the avid aroma of cigarettes in the air. No surprise.
Since Nat had to be home early, there was no time to go to Clinton Road so we all just went to this abandoned house by the canal or some shit in Wharton. Or maybe it was Dover, I forgot. The house was demolished and pretty much the only thing left standing was a single stone tower/structure, where someone painted the word "CLOWN" vertically down on it. Not really scary, I'd have to say. We couldn't get in closer, because the property was fenced off. The walk to and from the dead house was freakier, because it was a dirt path surrounded by two bodies of water on both sides; then trees and shit were across the water too.
Today was lame. No road trip or anything. All I do is get yelled at by my computer art teacher because I never look like I'm working. It's not a lack of work, it's magic is what it is, man. I always get my shit done without that look on my face as though I'm taking a shit on the can or having a pit stain 14 inches long going down the side of my shirt. Now that's what I call skill.
Christina N. @ 7:43 PM
