So I was checking my e-mail this morning in my junior-filled lit class, and found a letter from Rutgers saying that I was accepted. I half got up from my seat, arms raised in triumph, declaring to everyone around me of my good fortune.
Nobody cared. All I got was a bunch of people turning around from their computers and staring at me like a looney woman. And then I told my teacher because I bet she was the only person who would somewhat care.
Yes, I do dislike Rutgers. But if I do attend that place, it would be for financial reasons (folks promised to pay for all of my college if I go to Rutgers), convenience via transportation, and I would only attend there for two years - then transfer to NYU.
In other news, one of my Peeping Tom tickets came in the mail today!
Lita drew an accurate depiction of yours truly in pop music class.
Christina N. @ 8:58 PM
Monday, January 29
I just took the most foulest of foul naps. I woke up with a terrible fucking fissure-like headache and a sick stomach. What the fuck?
I really hate this turtleneck, there is no fucking room to move. Yeah yeah, I know that Mitch Hedberg says that wearing a turtleneck is like having a midget strangle you for the entire day.
FOOD!
Christina N. @ 9:20 PM
Saturday, January 27
For a while, I had been neglecting this thing quite a bit. And to be honest, as I update more often, I really fucking enjoy it. Dorky to the naked eye, but it is absolutely not. This isn't a pathetic "boo-hoo-my-life-sucks-and-I-want-attention" type of journal, I just basically like to write and get my weird-ass thoughts down due to ego. And to get a few giggles here and there - nothing more.
So...I'm seeing Peeping Tom in April! (Have I not emphasized that enough?) Last night I bought another ticket for Amy, who lives just right by the city and not to mention never bores me. Now that is a legit person right there, to attend this momentously grand event with me. We are going to see Mike Patton in the flesh. Holy fuckin' Jesus Christ.
He is a master of- everything. King of collaborations and mixing of musical genres. Soltan of experimental music. Rejector of Posh Spice. Shit terrorist. Urine showerer. Mr. 1000 Voices. Vocalist extraordinaire. Musician extraordinaire. He is also known for doing work on widely acclaimed records such as the White Album, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust, and Born to Run.
I got a wake-up call this morning from Raxa, telling me to get up right away. Having just awoken two seconds, I was absolutely confused. And then I remembered that we were all supposed to hang out today if I didn't have to work. I didn't have to work, so we hung out, duh. She and Lauren dragged me to the mall for the first time in goddamn many months, and thank goodness to god I did not see any motherfucker that annoyed me.
All in all, it was a very productive day. I spent five bucks at Wendy's for a wonderful calorie-filled lunch that was fucking delicious, and another 25 bucks on three things from Macy's. I got a black jumper/skirt, yellow t-shirt with a Hostess cake on it that says, "Happy Ho Ho," (LOLOLOLZ) and a pleated pair of grey shorts with black lace trimming by Guess. All for 25 bucks, Raxa's employee discount included. Hot deals, hot deals.
Raxa and Zara had to leave early, so Lauren and me went back to her house to make Kevin Bacon t-shirts.
I don't want to work tomorrow, even if that would be my second of three days off of work (must take off next Saturday for some interview-type shit for Rutgers) and have a $150 Banana Republic bill to pay off, plus two tickets for Peeping Tom - 25 dolla each, with additional bullshit Ticketmaster fees added.
Christina N. @ 7:41 PM
Friday, January 26
I don't know why I am very angry right now. Perhaps it is because my mother is scaring me again by her tone of voice - even if it's just to tell me what's for dinner or to go get the mail. That tone does not tell me that she is in a good mood. I am extremely anxious, because my friend Jennifer already bought me a ticket for Peeping Tom and I still have not yet asked my mom for permission. Jen offered to get one for me right when they went on sale at noon today, just in case; we're fucking freaks like that. But I have to buy yet one more, because I can't go alone. Given if I were 18 and my mamadukes' grip on my soul isn't as tight, I would absolutely go alone. Fuck everyone else. There are some folks whom I could think of that could come, but they don't give a fuck about the music. This shit is really important to me and I don't want to waste it on ignorance.
The tension just to ask my mom is fucking thick as a molasses nut bar. Whoever is reading this, please send good vibes my way. This is probably the only time where I will resort to such a pathetic thing, but hey, what's more important?
Sometimes people can be way too nice - that happens once every...so not often that I can't even remember. I was walking home today in my usual (now signature) garb of a military coat, puffy white scarf wrapped around my head up past my nose, with aviators. Yes, it is the terrorist look, but Angelica stopped on the road and offered to drive me home. It was 0 degrees outside, wind chill included. I still don't get why people walking in front of me still continue to walk slowly in such conditions. Are you fucking stupid? Yes. Yes, you are.
I like extreme weather. I hate when it's cold, but when it's extremely cold - up to the point where people start dying and the power goes out - now that is just great to watch the sop stories on the local news. I hate when it's hot, but when it's extremely hot - up to the point where people start dying and the power goes out - now that is just great to watch the sop stories and footage fat sweaty people breaking in their lawn chairs on the local news. It's when people walk slow in front of me that angers me to no fucking end.
Christina N. @ 3:34 PM
Thursday, January 25
I hate inferiors. Those who try to copy off my test without even asking. Just ask, I'll say yes. Ain't no problem in helping out a buddy who needs to pass; I've had that problem many times. But for some reason, when our assigned seats were rearranged in my lit class, I still ended up sitting next to the fat kid who probably thinks I'm bangin'. I catch that motherfucker every time he looks over at me - whether its for pleasure or for answers. It pisses me off.
Whilst the kid in front of me is smarter - he asks me what the answers are. Which causes me not to get pissed off because he doesn't think he could pull off being sly; like the other dude. I have eyes like a fucking hawk, as opposed to every other asian person on this planet. Fuck glasses; fuck contacts - I don't need that pussy shit in order to see. My eyes are fucking invincible, man.
Why do the wrong guys always make it obvious? I just suck - that's probably what you would say.
What do I do during the majority of the time I spend in places where I don't want to be? Cell phone Tetris always gets me - every single time. I brought steamed dumplings with me this morning, and fucking hell, they were great.
Peeping Tom is coming to New York in April. I don't think I've ever mentioned that yet.
Don't you hate those days where you just have continuous gas? Fucking asshole.
The only permanent member of Peeping Tom, practically.
Christina N. @ 10:17 PM
Wednesday, January 24
I have a question to ask: Aren't wearing bangs fucking annoying???
The trend for these past few years is to have a gigantic side-bang, as a substitute for an eye patch. Particularly for black-haired and/or black-dyed hair. Dude, I had bangs a couple of years ago (not a fucking side-bang, but coconut-head bangs), and goddamn they were fucking aggravating. The look isn't to get short bangs like a retard; you're supposed to get them that they go lower than your eyes. That's where the perturbance comes in. If you have the [emo] side-bang, you have to take your hand and manually move them to the side if they become displaced sometime during the day. But if you had bangs like the Ramones, you would constantly be shaking your head all the time. That's what I did. I don't know about you kids, but I don't want to look like a fucking shaggy dog, shaking his fleas off. Or just be temporarily blind for the rest of the day, until I went home and tied back my bangs with a headband or a hair tie, where nobody would see how odd my head looked - kind of like the Hawaiian Punch guy.
Sometimes I get tired of talking to my mom. Because she is too short and it hurts my neck.
Christina N. @ 4:43 PM
Tuesday, January 23
Today was quite a progressive day. It all started with me asking to go to the bathroom, hiding in a stall, and calling Pizza Hut in hopes of they delivering to the school. The people at Pizza Hut really are retarded. Our short conversation consisted of this:
Me: "Do you guys deliver to Morris Hills High School?"
Retard on the Other Line: "Our driver just went on a 15-minute break."
Me: "So your driver isn't available?"
Retard: "No, our driver isn't available today, not at this time."
WTF?
So I call some place called Dominico's afterward.
Me: "Do you guys deliver to Morris Hills High School?"
Retard #2: "Um, is that in Morristown?"
No dude, that would be called "Morristown High School." How long have you lived here, motherfucker? But anyway, the pizza delivery guy comes 40 minutes later as Me, Kerry, and Rina were waiting outside. Kerry runs like her child had just returned from a 3-year voyage across the Pacific to the extremely confused pizza guy driving up in his car. We pay him and take our pizza to class, not sharing with anyone.
Our pop music class went to the library to work on our final projects. Kerry and I decided to not do it today and instead tried to plot out a plan to swipe this really out-of-place stuffed walrus that's been sitting on top of a rotating bookshelf for as long as I've attended Morris Hills High School. All the while glaring at the librarians and teachers who hypocritically were setting up a party right in front of us students, while we were not permitted to eat at all whatsoever.
So school's almost over and we're standing by the rotating shelf of which the walrus was perched on top of. I zoned out (seriously, I have no fucking idea if I was even alive at that point, I was probably thinking about a big Mexican dinner or something) and before I knew it, there's a walrus being pushed at my chest by Kerry having just swiped it off the shelf and I proceed to stuff the motherfucker into my bag while falling on my knees behind a table to hide the little bastard, as though my water broke or something. Mission accomplished, bitch!
After school we walked to my house, dropped some shit off, and walked back to the abandoned Porsche in the woods that we had discovered two days ago. We flipped off the sunroof, reached in and unlocked the doors. Turns out there wasn't much to loot. There was nothing but manuals and Sony speakers that could have been useful had they not been gouged with water for so long and a nasty pleather jacket of some sort. All we took was a Superman trading card in near-mint condition and took the keys. Whoopty doo.
Odd attempt at trying to not let people touch our fucking food.
It seems as though wherever there's a pile of garbage, no matter if it's diapers with maggots in them, rotting food, or a car, there will always be roof shingles thrown onto the pile somehow.
My new pet walrus. Poor fella needed a new home because he had big holes on the side where the thread was sewn together.
Christina N. @ 7:26 PM
Oh man, I love it when teachers are absent. Particularly computer teachers. Do you know why? This means that I can get as many new posters for my room as I want within the duration of a one hour and thirty-minute time frame.
I think this weekend, Lita and I are going to go to the diner. Fuck yeah! It's Eat Time, Christina. Actually, it's always Eat Time with Christina. (And no, I am not currently infatuated with Bob Dole's speech impediment.) Anyone who's anyone whose seen my large collection of large handbags knows exactly what I carry in them; and it ain't crack.
100% SATISFACTION GUARANTEED!
Fuck Cingular. They keep charging me as though I'm not on a text message plan, when I am. If anyone is willing to fork over 500 flat, green enchiladas so that my parents and I could drop our contract with Cingular and switch over to Verizon, you will be greatly rewarded-
With a nice, warm, congratulating-for-your-humanely-good-deed pat on the back.
One of my most favorite foods in the entire fucking world is mashed potatoes.
Oh yes, I am still going to be at that goddamned Peeping Tom show in April no matter fucking what it takes. My folks just don't know it yet. It may sound like I'm exaggerating and that it's not hard at all to attend such an event. But if you knew my home environment and family background, you would understand why.
Christina N. @ 5:04 PM
I am kind of excited about tomorrow. Kerry and I are going to pull a Spiccoli and order pizza for lunch during school. Shit man, a deep dish supreme pizza. Too bad I don't have enough money to get breadsticks with some lovely marinara sauce also.
Today I didn't go to school because I had placement testing at Rutgers-Newark. It was easy-peezy shit. However, I did not fare well on the math portion, even if it did consist of simple fractions. I guess I'm going to be put in a developmental math course and then have to take calculus and then be finished with math for the rest of my life. Goddammit, motherfucker.
A guy named Ryan started talking to me and he has bangin' green eyes. Score! I was forced to leave when I finished the test before him without exchanging any contact information though.
Uhhhh I just got a new pin connector for my Nintendo and it is now flawless fuck yes!
Lame
Christina N. @ 1:35 AM
Sunday, January 21
I still have to admit, that this will always remain as one of my favorite fucking albums in the history of fucking history.
Don't call me a fucking pussy! Smashing Pumpkins ain't a pussy band. Like how the Rolling Stones aren't really in their 60s.
But don't worry, I still adore my fair share of Faith No More every hour or so.
And I still need someone legit to come see Peeping Tom with me in April. I think Raxa might come with me, what a good buddy. She's flexible and actually cares, unlike everyone else. Who do I still genuinely and wholeheartingly talk to? Pretty much, I'd have to say, "nada." The show is fucking three months away, why the fuck say no right now? Oh, it's because most people 'round my Radius of Pathetic People underestimate Mike "The Man" Patton. I don't even know what to say to that. Dismissing Mike Patton is like forgetting about your wedding day and going to White Castle for breakfast; forgetting about your mother's funeral to go to the arcade (does anyone do that anymore besides for DDR retards?); dismissing a sexual advance from Alessandra Ambrosio or Ian Somerhalder; not noticing that Jesus is sitting in your favorite armchair - basically, only a fucktard would. I'm sorry, am I getting carried away? My apologies.
Look!
I fucking hate when somebody applies Bengay or IcyHot on some part of their body of which they need medical attention. It smells too strong - and not even in the good sense of a strong smell. Actually, I don't think "strong smell" could ever mean any sort of a good smell at all.
Don't worry, Christina. Things will get better. Your mother will stop torturing the pathetic lame-ass entity known as your soul, your father will start helping you to defend yourself against your abusive mother, all other fellow vietnamese people will not shun you for being a radical, you will go see Peeping Tom with a worthy individual and suck Mike Patton's cock, you will write and publish a 300-page book about nothing and earn $30 million in royalties, you will win the lottery, you will OWN A 1969 DODGE CHARGER!!!!
Fucking twats. I have nothing to look forward to until April 9th. Obsessive? What else have I got to live for? Oh yeah, fudge brownies with chocolate sprinkles and cream cheese frosting.
I am now the "men's expert" at Banana Republic. Just because one day I decided to do exceptionally well in cleaning and perfecting the entire men's side of the store as though in a magazine - so my managers theorized from then on that I am a master at men's clothing; when I really don't know jack shit about it. I just clean very well and want to keep my job. I could do the same exact shit when I'm working in the women's side of the store. Whatever, at least I get to speak to all the prime pieces of meat who walk through my part of the store.
What is the point of being friends with somebody when they never welcome you into their life? When you always welcome them into yours? I don't get that. Am I not worthy? Probably not, to the general population - but it definitely hurts one's feelings. (reminds me of Wayne and Garth in terms of "worthiness") Yes, I just said, "Hurts my feelings." Oh man, to think of some of the wussiest sentences to ever say.
"That hurts my feelings."
"That makes me sad."
"You make me smile."
Sorry, but I am not that emo enough to think of anymore.
Did you know, that I still refer to pizza as being one of my favorite foods?
Did you know, that Napoleon Bonaparte had a 1-inch penis?
Did you know, that this entry is really annoying?
Christina N. @ 10:39 PM
Friday, January 19
What a shitty week, man. I think it's time to go shopping again.
Why are my school's standards so high? When the students are dumber than a 13-year-old Cradle of Filth fan? The school ranked about second to last or something in New Jersey's list of highest SAT score rate. (It's some sort of generic, lameass but supposedly important list.) How fucking depressing is that? The school on the bottom of the list was Dover or something. Not to be a fucking bigot, but facts indicate that the extremely large hispanic population in that school does not care at all to take the SAT nor go to college, and that is counted as a 0/2400; therefore all of the 0's add up. My school's hispanic population is a bit smaller, therefore our score is a bit higher. Not that I really care; their business is their business. I just want the standards lowered because I have enough shit stuck up my rectum.
So my job didn't need me to come in for my on-call today. So I watched my Faith No More DVDs again because that's what I do. Nobody else is worthy. Except for Peeping Tom.
Peeping Tom is going to be touring in the US again this year and are coming to New York City at Irving Plaza on April 9th. Motherfucker, I am going to be there if it costs my fucking left tit. Okay, maybe my flat-screen television, but you get the idea. I would probably be allowed to go, but the only problem is that I have no one to come with me. Or more accurately, to take me. My folks could, but that's fucking lame. I can't enjoy such entities as Mike Patton and Rahzel with my ultra-conservative parents standing next to me.
Natalia would definitely 100% go with me, but she's gone. That just totally ripped apart my insides when I heard about what happened to her. And for so fucking long, too. As for my other cronies? Nobody gives a fuck. But I am telling you, you have no idea what the fuck you're going to be missing. Trust me on this. You have no idea who the fuck you're fucking over.
I really need someone to go see Peeping Tom with me. I don't care if you're a fucking stranger. As long as you don't smell like curdled milk or want to inject that curdled milk up my ass, then you're A-okay with me. April 9th at Irving Plaza. Many months away. Many months to clear out your schedule. 45 goddamn minutes from where I live. Come on, I'll even pay for your fucking ticket. I'll even promise not to drink. (I fucking swear! Not really.) This shit is really important to me. But taking a look at my popularity in this area, by the time April 8th comes around, my only loyal friend as of then will be my cherished $300 leather handbag. Because it doesn't have legs, nor eyes, nor a fucking mouth to cuss me off. It's just one day. I'm fucking positive the music will not let you down. Come on, kids. Do it for my people back in Vietnam. They don't want to hear that a virtuous and lucky one such as I is severely heartbroken and on the brink of death.
So who wants to go???
Go here if you are a part of the uneducated.
Christina N. @ 6:53 PM
Sunday, January 14
Jesus Christ, I think I ate something foul today. I didn't get sick from eating copius amounts of chocolate Munchkins, chocolate donuts, cheesecake, Tostitos Scoops!, and caramel chocolates at work; but after I got home from Shop Rite with my mom and was eating carrots in ranch vegetable dip, I started to get nauseous. See? Me and healthy food are not meant to be. Fuck that, man.
Look at my new bag!!!! $298 at Banana Republic, but this season I get 60% off any single handbag or leather good. So it equals to...only $127 dolla, bitch! That ain't bad for such a beautiful piece of work. I'm serious, that thing will be worth thousands someday. Or maybe not. But in my lameass materialistic and Mike Patton-dominated world, it will.
I have a thing to say about Shop Rite. Shop Rite in Rockaway, on Route 46. After work, my mom and I went there to get groceries, duh. Then as I was wandering around with our cart, following and waiting for her to pick out our food and shit, I noticed that Shop Rite is full of the most scummy, poor, desolate, unfortunate, ugly, low-life folks that this town has to offer, next to my high school. Why is it that all the lame folks like to hang around Shop Rite for no reason? If I had no life, no money, no friends, no family, I'd hang around a place that didn't have wet plastic bags with fungus and bacteria and deadly viruses growing on the inside scattered all over the ground and guys with doo-rags leaning on columns everywhere; like Borders. At least that's about five steps up.
All the workers, and the environment itself, is absolutely gross. Employees eat and frolick everywhere on their breaks like bums, and some give me weird looks while they're stacking food items. Hey, I can't fucking help that I'm asian and I'm taller than over half of your customers, okay? Not to mention the vast amounts of hispanic families who like to hang around on plastic benches. A fat mother, a fat father, a fat grandmother, maybe a fat uncle, and their four fat children in cheap $15 strollers (the ones without the little awning and where the kid just sits their ass in the seat like a ball in a scrotum). I was talking to my mom about this and she said that they're all waiting for limos, because maybe they can't afford cars. I disagree. They are all illegal and need official identity or some shit to be able to purchase a car. They're illegal, so they can't. But come on, why take your whole family to Shop Rite? People do that in Banana Republic, too. That is just one step up, because I do not condone all these people fucking up my displays. But anyway, I'm fucking sick.
And to think that I tried getting a job there before. But back then, Shop Rite wasn't as scummy. Then I found out that Banana Republic was hiring - I fucking jumped ten miles at the opportunity.
Christina N. @ 9:50 PM
Monday, January 8
Why is it that whenever I go to the bathroom during one of my classes, the same one two or so bitches always come into the bathroom less than a minute afterward? Are there rumors that I am a goddamn coke addict and they want to catch me in the act of snorting coke on a toilet seat? I fucking swear, I bet every time that I am taking a piss on the bowl, they're bending over somewhere near the sinks and watching if my feet are facing in the wrong direction, which means I would probably be using some kind of substance with the privacy of a closed stall door. Well fuck you, let me shit in peace!
And then there's those times when I really have to go, because I just eat too goddamn much all the fucking time. You should know what that means. So there's bitches around and I cannot shit in peace. What the fuck is this? Are people too afraid to ask to go to the bathroom? Just because Christina goes to the bathroom, that means there's leeway and it's appropriate for other people to piss also now? Jesus fucking Christ. Then there's always the issue with fighting for the only mirror hanging over the sink, where you could put your bag and makeup shit on. Don't get me started on that.
I know I speak of many school anecdotes, but work is generally the same - I come in, pretend that I'm working but am really shopping for myself and shit to use my discount on, fold a piece of crap here and there, and then a minority or five yell at me for something that is their fault of being too incoherent. Okay if you're cheap, and/or are looking for something cheap, don't shop at Banana Republic! That's like looking for bargains at Dolce & Gabbana. Fucking dolts. Go fucking shop at K-Mart, where everything besides silk hosiery is within your price range.
Hey folks, I had to design an album cover about an album that is about the British Invasion. To be honest, I am really disliking this unit in my Pop Music class. Most of the bands, as a whole sound the fucking same; so I got sick of everything after only two days. Come on, to be biased but also factual at the same time, Faith No More touched more genres than that shit. Don't even get me started on Mr. Bungle, which fucking quadrupled the previous number. But then again, pop music was relatively new at the time of the British Invasion.
Here!
Still, fuck this shit. I know I love my Cream and Yardbirds and Searchers and Stones, but we never get to really listen to any worthwhile music, believe it or not. This isn't even coming from my point of view in terms of good music; just any important songs, etc. in general. We don't really have the sources to, and the teacher is sort of incompetent enough to not have much of a music collection at all to bring into the class; I could really tell. She ain't got shit in her collection except adult contemporary; she once brought in a crate full of her vinyl records and left it in a corner of the room. It was the corner where I sat at, so whenever I was bored I would go through it. What did it consist of? Let's see...almost the entire catalog of these lame folks:
Linda Ronstadt
Westside Story
countless movie soundtracks
Barbara Streisand
KISS
Olivia Newton John
The Osmonds
Crap
Crap
Crap
Crap-Crap
Just to let you know, I am not the constipated, menstruating young adult that you may assume. I have a loving family and make a very good profit at a job that I am very proud of. My grades are good and I hope to get a dog named Scruffy someday.
Christina N. @ 5:32 PM
Wednesday, January 3
As I was sitting in art class, constructing my clay sculpture of the Brave Little Toaster, I felt as though my soul was being burned alive from inside the deep depths of my DNA double-helix strands by listening to this fucking ho speak so obnoxiously loud to her table of friends across from me about how somebody walked in on her and a guy doing it doggy-style. Like dude, I'm doing a therapeutic and relatively peaceful activity here, can you please shut the fuck up? I mean, at least Fabio has a little more credibility than her. If she was Mike Patton or some shit who was telling of their sexual escapades out loud like that, I totally would not mind at all, but if you're a dirtyass bipolar fucktard bitch who walks like a man, I'd prefer you keep that shit to a lower volume.
Not that this is a rant about sexual frustration, because only a moron would admit to such a shameful position. But I would like to point out another shmuck in my most amazing of amazingly wonderful spectacular high school of high schools. As you can see, I take many rather, what can you say, "pointless" classes. This here, is Astronomy. So one day, half of the class forgot to bring in their textbooks; me being one of them. Because of that, Mr. Teacher wants everyone to pair up with a partner who has a book. I pair up with my partner, and then ask Mr. Teacher if I could go to my locker and get my book. I come back and some other fucking cunt moved my desk and put her desk where mine was, and as a result stole my partner. Since Mr. Teacher sees me without a partner right now, he assigns me to be partners with So and So. What's even more ridiculous was that neither of them had a book, and we needed one for the assignment. Oh okay, exclude the somewhat valuable partition who possesses the one thing that you vitally need to accomplish the task. My original partner didn't even stick up for me. Fucking dolt.
I'd always thought that So and So was a cool kid so I tried to make friends because I never had the opportunity before. He's full of shit. I tried to make conversation as we tried to get our work done, but he wasn't having much of a sense of humor for or towards me. (Someone thinks I don't know humor??) He didn't talk very much to me, but he talked to all the other chicks who were sitting around me and made quasi-sexual jokes towards everyone else. Alright, to be honest, I don't think I'm that fugly, motherfucker. At least fucking talk to me and not be an ignorant prick. Jesus fucking Christ, and I thought chocolate bars tend to like yellow-skinned chicks. I'm not saying that I have a boner for this moron, but as I have stated many-a-time before, at least somewhat fucking respect me, bitch.
Not to mention that that class has its fair share of characters. There's a really mean kid who always wears a leather jacket with dyed-black hair and once had his hair slicked back exactly like Mike Patton. Then he fucked it up and did this lameass undercut with it. I actually like undercuts, but that kid ended up looking like more of an asshole than he already was. He yelled at me once for asking for help on another assignment. Doesn't make sense (except that he probably hates my guts because, who knows, the asian and/or supposed loser factor always comes in) because we were working in the same group.
I feel like I'm Charlie Brown. I never mean any harm, but people still treat me like turd. Except, I do not have leukemia and I am not balding.
Oh man, wouldn't it suck to be stuck inside of an iron lung for the rest of your life?
HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!
IT LOOKS LIKE A CONDOM!!! LOLOLOLOLOLOL!!!!!!!!!!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HOLY SHIT THAT LOOKS LIKE MIKE PATTON!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA OMFGZZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He looks like he's smoking a pipe.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Christina N. @ 6:17 PM
Monday, January 1
Hey guys, guess what?
I LIKE SOUNDGARDEN!!!!!
Christina N. @ 2:35 AM
I am sleepy as hell, motherfucker. This has got to be the most lamest of lame New Year's ever; but then again, I don't really care. It's just a new date. New numbers that I have to date my papers with. There's no new beginning for me, there's no new promises - you know why? Because unlike the rest of the pathetic population, I know that I will not keep my promises. I'll probably eventually grow out of that belief of wanting to accomplish it anyway. Such as...being nice to people of the same ethnic background. Motherfucks are so oblivious.
So for tonight, none of my friends or acquaintances gave a fuck, so I had absolutely no plans. One person's high as a kite, the other is locked in their house being forced to play board games and spend "quality time" with their parents; and well everyone else, they have a much more progressive life than I do. But sometimes I really do like slouching around like a nobody. Such as tonight. After six-year-old Mary left my house with her parents (my parents' friends), I finally had an opportunity to do what the hell that I wanted without having been asked a million questions about it.
Eating was out of the question. As much as my birth control-induced appetite was just screaming and aching for me stuff my face even more, my watermelon-like belly wouldn't allow it. Computer? No, that is the lowest of the lowest activities to do on New Year's Day when you are 17 years old. TV? Traditional, but it's not as sad as clogging up my bountiful mind with even more Mike Patton shit over the internet. When your desktop wallpaper is of a particular person, place or thing, you know you've got a problem. But anyway, since I hate showering and doing the usual hygienic bullshit that everybody has to do before going to bed, I decided to skip that tonight and go straight to the Nothing Hobby.
It is really quite terrible thing when you have to wake up early to go out for lunch for a friend's birthday and then go to work the next day - I watched the Faith No More double-disc DVD on fucking rotation until I fell in and out of sleep and my mother had to come upstairs from partying with her friends in the basement to tell me to fucking go to bed. No dude, you don't interrupt my FNM moment right there. I don't care if my eyes are closed, my ears are still wide fucking open. ("Wide fucking open" I cannot help but think of Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction. God, that shit is just too funny to pass up!) I can't help but giggle and laugh and chuckle like a fat fucking bastard whenever Mike Patton sticks the microphone in his ass, says to the audience, "LISTEN!" farts this amazing on-cue of a gas leakage, and says, "It was real."
Yesterday after work, a couple of co-worker buddies and I tried getting into the porn shop across the road from where we work. It's this crumby-ass looking cubic purple building called "Cupid's Treasures," and there's signs everywhere that say you have to be 21 and older in order to enter. People have told us that no one gives a flying fuck if you are underage - you could still walk in. Well, bitchass fucktard wouldn't let us in. I think it was because Joshlynn yelled at Sinead to take off her varsity jacket while we were still outside, and the fat bitch clerk was watching the entire thing from the window. Shitface, don't tell me that. Just ask for my ID and since I don't have one, I'll leave. And then this old man walked out with a weird grin or look or whatever the hell it was on his face that he called an expression, while looking at us.
Have you ever pissed foggy piss? That's scary.
Christina N. @ 2:20 AM
