Friday, May 18, 2007

Bye Bye Boner


That was it. It's over. No more classes, no more high school, no more Fontbonne Hall Academy. So strange. Sad would be too broad, bittersweet too cliché, ecstatic too understated to describe what I’m feeling. It’s like someone kicked me in the gut and then gave me a lollipop. That’s exactly what it feels like. My horoscope specifically said that “May 16th would be legendary” and while that may be pushing it, it was pretty awesome. But, in true Chree fashion, we must go back in time. Last Thursday I had to take the AP Lit test, during which the voices in my head were debating the differences between circumcised and uncircumcised blowjobs. Yeah I’m going to do really well on that one. Friday was the devirginization of The Raven on the highway [Imagine the highway scene from "Clueless"]. Me and Steph ventured into Bay Ridge to the glorious sounds of tight-pants'ed falsetto'ed men, Freddie Mercury and Mika ["WHY MIKA WHY?!?!?!?- Us sobbing to "Happy Ending"]. Met up with Mike & Co. but didn't really get much accomplished due to the paddy wagons that were giving out summonses like pedophiles give out candy. Saturday night, we were supposed to go to the Trash Bash but I and Steph are losers so we had a lesbian love date of dinner [Applebee's] and a movie [Spiderman 3. We fell asleep and had to leave] instead. Sunday, I really have no recollection of whatsoever. I think I'm getting premature Alzheimer's to couple my precocious menopause [hot flashes much?].

Monday was the last day of Major Art *insert sobbing and clawing here*. B did his infamous goodbye speech during which I shockingly somewhat held myself together, except for the parts where I was biting back tears and scarring my hands from my nails digging into my clenched fists to control the sobs. We literally put our blood, sweat and tears into everything. I'm going to miss our prayers, the distinct art room smell of peanuts and fixer, the bone necklaces, the hidden messages, the chaos, the breakdowns, the hysterics, the horrific, the joyous, the grotesque, every moment that we all put in that room. I'm going to miss the feeling of having a place of my own, a hole to hide in with freaks just like me- the freaks covered in acrylic paint with charcoal smudges on their faces and prismacolor-caused calluses on their hands; the freaks that care more about art than sleeping or eating, who can explain all of the Dadaist movement quicker than they can multiply thirteen by thirteen; the freaks who would give up their own senior prom to be photographed by Mary Ellen Mark, who actually know who Mary Ellen Mark is; the freaks who paint bones and windows and imagination; the freaks who’ve taught me more than I’ll ever learn in any lecture hall or classroom. That's what I'm going to miss the most: my freaks. I'm going to miss Vicky's compulsive drumming, Alyssa's dramatic tendencies ["The phone is ringing!!"], Sarah's meltdowns ["I'm going to huff paint in the darkroom"], Erica's aloofness, Liz's carelessness ["You're an asshole"], Rosie's perfectionism, Bridget's perversion, Christine's reliability, Brittany’s sweetness, everything. Here’s to the freaks, my friends. We make Awrt.

Wednesday was the last day of high school. Shirts were attacked, carbs were inhaled and nuns were pisses off. To celebrate, the seniors had a makeshift barbecue beach bash in the courtyard at 12:24 full of water floaties, bubbles and music but Sister D. broke that up quicker than Bennifer so we were back in our classes by 12:29. Although, in a cruel act of karma, The Big D. did get flashed by Kearney drive-bys and probably burned out her retinas. My last class of high school was, rightfully, Psychology because nothing else would make more sense. English was really hard to say goodbye to. What am I doing to do without my Winnie and my Apes, the Duttywhiners and the words of the day, “Hot Stuff!” and “Hit Your Lights!”. I’m really going to miss it. I don't think it's really hit yet. We were all in denial, laughing away our tears because I don't think we're ready to let go of everything yet. There will be no more The Boner. I will never sit in the same classroom as any of these people ever again. No more uniforms or twelve-pound clogs, no more ballroom dancing in gym, no more Twelve Days of Christmas, no more “Servant Song”, no more cookies, no more nuns, no more Mrs. Kier, no more FA 6, no more taco fest. There will actually be burritos in the room. I haven’t sobbed yet, but I can feel it brewing. I teared a little during the season finale of “The Real World” but I know I’m going to have a full-blown mourn-a-thon soon- probably Senior Day because that’s the most suicidal day of the year.

Enough, I feel like barfing from all the nostalgia. Back to reality. Wednesday night, our celebrations were hindered by the mighty wrath of God in the form of a rain storm. Yesterday, went to get my nails done with Jess and Gen, during which I was tortured by the slowest-moving, Asian in the history of mankind [side note: I really loathe getting my nails done. Not for the obvious reasons, like the expensiveness, time consuming-ness, and lack of durability due to guitar and piano wear, but for more personal ones. Like the fact that they talk about you in their chosen Asian language, or bruise your knuckles when filing, or rip out your cuticles so hard you bleed, or the fact that they use the foot scrubber even though you ask them not to and every woman in Brooklyn knows how you hate it seeing as how you laugh like a hyena when it’s being performed. Pooper scoopers]. Afterwards, slept through my piano lesson with Ed, then went to Sahara with Steph, Brenna, Allie, Megan, Caroline and Stephanie to celebrate Steph’s 18th over tabouli and camels. After, went back to Steph’s casa for interesting conversations about fat, boys and astrology.

Today, the most productive thing I’ve done so far is eat peanut butter with a spoon and throw said spoon at my television after Tivo failed to record my Ugly Betty and Queer as Folk from last night. I think me and Tivo might be breaking up. Me and Gen are going to go to Jess’s pre-prom later, then I’ll probably go out although my whereabouts haven’t been confirmed yet. I’m going to go physically abuse the Tivo some more. Ciao.

Quotes of the Day:
"Maybe she baths in milk?-Allie
“She was so gothic. Her screen name was LokusMinion.”- Allie
“I just want to hold him…I want to take away his pain”- Me, wailing with Steph to Mika’s “Happy Ending”.
"If when I'm saying goodbye to you and you give me the pat hug, I'm breaking your hand off"-Jess
"Does that mean my dreams about David Duchovny mean that I have to further my relationship with him?"-Me

Chree: omg bob's sucking his dentures and slapping his sandwich
JeSs: ewww
Chree: this is my life
Chree: he doesn't get that me clearing my throat all the time is signal for "you are disgusting!!!" so now i have a raspy throat because he's disgusting all the time.


Sunday, May 6, 2007

There's No Place Like Gnome.

I have a garden gnome living in an empty KFC bucket in my room. How MTV cameras aren't following me around yet, I don't know. Recap of the week and then explanation as usual.

Monday was the waste-of-time Walk-a-thon. The Boner forced us to “donate” $75 to literally walk around the neighborhood for half an hour, during which me and Steph vandalized public property with advertisements for prostitutes [“I’am a hoe. For some fun, call SUGARBUSH at *insert Brenna’s cell number here*"]. After we went to Paneantico’s to fill my prosciutto and pretension quota for the month. Then we went to buy Steph a car; a silver [oh wait, sorry, “crystalline grey”] Subaru that I named The Raven because of its wing-like Spoiler. The rest of the school week was fairly ordinary. Now that there are only nine [eight?] school days left and all thoughts of education have vanished from student and faculty minds alike, we're in heavy movie mode, all of which enigmatically feature John Malkovich. Senioritis [Actually it’s gone beyond pedestrian senioritis. It’s like a dull impatience I just can't shake] is at an all time high and I am rebelling from doing anything that remotely resembles work for the remainder of the year.

Thankfully, Friday we had off because of our “kind work” from the Walk-a-thon, so I decided to host a little scavenger hunt. And by scavenger hunt, I mean a highly-competitive teamed car race throughout all of Brooklyn in pursuit of eternal glory and the following eccentric items:


1. An “Employees Must Wash Hands” Sign: 50 points
2. Teams must tag a bench on Shore between 79th and 85th, the find another Team’s tag and take a pic with it: 50 points
3. Picture of someone wearing lingerie: 50 points
4. Five pics with strangers, including: 20 points per picture
a. security guard/cop
b. a balding man wearing brown shoes
c. bar bouncer
d. senior citizen
e. waitress
5. Stolen condoms: 10 points
6. A periwinkle crayon: 20 points
7. A packet of ketchup from McDonald’s: 10 points
8. Picture of team walking through McD’s drive-through and ordering food: 75 points
9. A parking ticket: 50 points
10. A clip-on earring: 30 points
11. Picture of team with Winnie the Pooh: 10 points
12. Picture with Mike’s Chinese Cat: 30 points
13. Switch clothes with someone not on your team [picture is acceptable]: 50 points
14. Stolen garden gnome/Jesus statue: 100 points [200 for both]
15. Picture of team member in a stolen shopping cart: 50 points
16. Membership card from an adult film store [must be in team member’s name]: 75 points
17. Picture of team in a photo booth: 30 points
18. Picture of a hickey [cannot be self-sucked, sucking must be in progress in the photo]: 25 points
19.Purple shoelaces: 20 points
20. Picture of someone getting tattooed: 80 points [180 if it’s a team member]
21. Picture of team member with a dog with a doggy biscuit in team member’s mouth: 90 points
22. Picture of team member wearing bowling shoes: 40 points
23. Picture of senior citizen flipping off team [cannot be team members’ grandparents]: 150 points
24. Flintstone vitamins: 30 points
25. A bowtie: 20 points
26. Picture of team in wigs/toupees: 40 points
27. Tube of Preparation H: 20 points
28. Ping pong paddle: 10 points
29. A dill pickle: 10 points
30. Something that says “Made in Canada” on it: 20 points
31. A skateboard: 10 points
32. An empty KFC bucket: 40 points
33. A funnel: 10 points
34. A kiwi: 10 points
35. A tambourine: 15 points
36. Picture of members in front of a bakery: 20 points
37. Picture of team with hamster/gerbil: 50 points
38. Finished Sudoku puzzle: 50 points
39. Picture with a map of Narnia/ Middle Earth: 30 points
40. Picture with a Swahili dictionary: 20 points
41. Picture of team with a bottle of spermicide: 20 points
42. Picture of team member hoolah-hooping: 30 points
43. Picture of team with a Twister game set up and ready to play: 100 points
44. Picture of team with an actual pitched tent [not, I repeat, not a boner.]: 100 points
45. Picture of team member with a bowling trophy: 20 points
46. A boomerang: 40 points
47. A tape that teaches French [picture is acceptable]: 50 points
48. A wooden spoon: 10 points
49. A toilet seat: 50 points
50. A whoopee cushion: 20 points
51. Picture with a Daniel Steel novel with team reenacting the cover: 50 points
52. Picture with an 8 ball: 20 points [50 if actual 8 ball is present]
53. Picture of team with someone in a cowboy hat: 10 points
54. Picture of team with someone with a mullet: 50 points
55. A bible [bible must be present in every picture taken by the team. Oops, guess you should have read through the whole list first huh?]: 100 points

There were three teams, three cars and three hours to complete the fifty-five tasks. Team Cruiseship was me, Dre, Mike, Chris and Angie; Team Whistler was Jackie, Jamie, Amanda and Jesse; and Team No-Name was Ana and her boys. Team Cruiseship did pretty well; obviously we got the garden gnome [who is in my possession and has been named Nigel the Fabulous], we walked through McD’s drive through, got an old fart to flip us off, found a toilet seat, stole Preparation H, the periwinkle crayon, Sudoku, spermicide, Flintstone vitamins and condoms from various pharmacies, etc. At one point we were literally in the ghetto looking for a tattoo place so that Angie could get a smiley face and put us in first place for eternal glory but tattoos aren't cheap and an army of giant rats stole Deirdre’s salad so we had to escape. In the end, Team Whistler won with their enthusiasm and amazing-ness, but Team Cruiseship came in second with a respectable 1000 points [Woot!]

However, our party was cut short, in what Mike correctly described as a “dog pissing on your Carvel”, when Team Whistler got in a car accident during their victory lap. They sped right into a mint-condition Mustang at a red light, though, thank Coco Peru times two, nobody was seriously hurt. It did shake everyone up though but I'm so happy Yesterday was Cinco de Mayo and Glenn’s birthday [the golden oldie is the big 4-5] so I had to choose to celebrate one or the other. Luckily, Jody’s was taking Glenn out so I was going to go hang out with Jessica and get wrecked. But of course, excrutiating physical pain took over [due to over-exertion from exercising (when your abs hurt when you sneeze, you know you're in bad shape) and severe nausea from ancient homemade pizza crust] so I spent the night in with my Tivo. Today, Jody is throwing another insane Dinner Party competition [although I really shouldn't talk because my hunt-making abilities are definitely inherited from her side of the family] so me, Hootie, Steph and maybe Mel and Manda will probably go out for dinner and a movie. I have to go clean up the war zone that it is my room. Ciao.

The Adventures of Brooklyn Girl in Boston

I have literally had this post festering in my email box for a week now and have just discovered it. This will be long so I recommend you stretch beforehand. Anyhoo, here it is, better late than never:

I'm writing this in Pre-Cal and Sister Helen keeps interrupting my writing spree with her teaching. What does she think this is? school? Preposterous. Anyhoo, got back last Saturday from Boston, which was a lot of fun even though the weather did not parallel the good mood. Me, Deidre and her parents left Thursday after school for Boston, hit shitloads of explicable traffic in Connecticut [apparently the rest of the world has caught on that Connecticut bites the big one and wanted to get out of there as fast as they could] but still managed to make it to Massachusetts at a decent hour. We stayed at a nice hotel, which though didn't have a Neutrogena bathroom cosmetic line for me to steal, did have beds of bliss, mini-muffins and "Pride and Prejudice" on demand, all three of which are key factors to my existence.

The next morning, me and Deidre went to BU's [or The Boo as to it will now be referred] open house while her parents moved out her sister from Northeastern. We got there late, right in the middle of the Dean's Welcome, plus we were parentless and New Yorkers [They can smell the subway on us. They're like enraged wolves], so we really started off on the right foot. After a few presentations, we got to eat lunch at one of the cafeterias. The pasta was horrid but it did have pretty good coffee [Wow, a stretch for Beantown] and even a goldfish dispenser. A goldfish dispenser! That, coupled with the red plastic cups and "Baba O'Riley" [see October 9th post], have assured me that The Boo is indeed home.

However, once the cheese-coated high of the dispenser wore off, we realized that a lot of students were eating alone during lunch, which, aside from Paris Hilton trying to write a book, is the saddest thing I've ever seen. Eating is such a communal process to me, like the amount of calories you're lining your esophagus with is meaningless when you have a bunch of friends around you doing the same so that you'll all die together with high cholesterol. If I have no one to sit with at lunch next year, I will literally hide in my dorm in shame, gnawing on a year-old rice cake.

Anyway, after stalking other open housers for an hour to make sure we didn't get left behind, we were taken on a dorm tour by Chow, one of the Benetton-Ad-looking tour guides that were obnoxiously cheery [like Happy Girl cheery] and most likely on something. The hallways of the freshmen dorms look like something out of "Hostel" but the actual rooms are nice-sized and pretty tolerable. However, said tolerability may not correlate to the subject of roommates. Think about it: you are practically encaged with a stranger in a two-by-four for an entire year. What if I have an obsessive compulsive cleaner who will be revolted by my slob lifestyle and will douse me with Windex in my sleep as punishment for my messiness? Or what if I have a roommate who performs routine animal sacrifices involving ferrets in the middle of the night? Or, God forbid, someone who chews with their mouth open when they eat. THE HORROR! THE HORROR! Or, worst of all, what if my roommate isn't the strange one? What if I am?

Enough anxiety. After, all of the accepted students had a Q&A with actual students of The Boo. It was all major and minor mumbo-jumbo until finally a Jeri-curled Jew asked about partying and fake ID's, and the real shit came out. Afro boy is my kind of people. We took a campus tour, during which me and Deidre tortured the poor guide girl with our incessant pestering about the student store [which has its own Jamba Juice and Starbucks. I am going to be the most caffeinated girl on campus], which we raided. After that, because, again, apparently the scent of Brooklyn is specifically putrid in the nasal canals of Boston cabbies and therefore they ignored our frantic waving hands and left us stranded in the rain, we had to trek a mile in our matching The Boo hoodies to Northeastern. It appears that walking in Northeastern territory in The Boo hoodies is like Don Imus walking through Harlem- it’s a guaranteed death act.

While we did almost get hit by a train and had the fury of Northeasterners burned into our retinas, we managed to get there in one piece. We helped her sister move out of her apartment, which was inexplicably covered in feathers and thumbtacks, stated ourselves on Au Bon Pain and started the long drive home, salvaged by “The Devil Wears Prada”. We got home late, I went to bed later and geniusly took off work on Saturday so that I could catch up on sleep and Tivo love [sidenote: My Tivo officially knows I’m a notorious faghag. It records anything with the word “gay” in the title or description. It’s bad when a nonhuman digital recording device knows me better than some of the actual human specimens I know.].

Saturday night didn’t go out because my brain was still on snooze mode, so instead had lively conversations about marijuana and multiplication tables with intoxicated fifteen-year-olds over wine and cigarettes. Sunday, I couldn’t skip work again so I had to spend a day at the office, though, thankfully, I was left alone most of the day. Okay, so that’s it for this post. I’ll save the rest for the next one. Ciao.

Thursday, May 3, 2007

People are Strange

Jim Morrison said it best: "If you're strange, people are strange." I am strange, but people are definitely stranger. Evidence:

1. Someone from Alabama searched "Whoopi Goldberg's vagina" and ended up here. You are sick.
2. Someone searched "gay city chree" at Yahoo! and wound up here. Those three words basically sum up my entire existence. This person is my soul mate. Call me.
3. Someone from Michigan searched "Pork pig animal rights" at Blogpulse and ended up at my "All Hail The Timberlake" post. Timberlake=man meat so maybe there is a correlation?
4. I've apparently become the number one source for Shia LaBeouf-related information, because everyone who's searched the poor boy, his movie "Disturbia" or Jewish ballerinas are winding up here.

Monday, April 30, 2007

The Greatest Love Story Never Told

Immaculate realization has hit and significantly brightened my day. The Tribeca Film Festival is coming up. Normally, this fact wouldn't even cross my mind but this year the festival is premiering "Scott Walker: 30th Century Man," produced by my one and only Qaf obsession Mr. Gale Harold *insert elongated swooning here. and a thud*. Now that I've been doing all these events for UrGuide, and there's a very good chance that it will be covering the event, there is a possibility floating around the universe that I could be in the same proximity as The Gale. If this dream somehow transforms itself into reality, I am 90% sure that I will be arrested. For rape, of course. The other 10% is equally split between the possibility of me fainting at the very sight of The Gale's hotness or death [cause of death: hot flashes?]. And I am not exaggerating, I know a lot of people say if they meet so and so they will "die" but, if I even breathe the same air as The Gale, I will literally die. I will combust from overheating. I seriously didn't go see him when he was Off-Broadway for "Suddenly Last Summer" for fear of croaking or pouncing on the poor boy in the middle of his performance. I'm a wreck. Ciao.

Seriously, can we just take a moment to behold the beauty:


Editor's Note:
Breaking News: My life is an inflamed, puss-coated sore. Omar called me to come cover Tribeca later today. And where will I be? At the prison that is my job. So all of my dreams of me and The Gale locking eyes on the red carpet, him sweeping me off my feet and then impregnating me with his flawless man juice of love after a night of ravenous rape-age has been thwarted by "The Man." And by "The Man," I mean Society? Tracey? Bob? Who cares, I'm in mourning of the greatest love story never told. Sob.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Got High?

My yogurt just ejaculated on me and there is a bunny scarecrow in the corner of the office. I am not clever enough to make this crap up. As you can tell, life is great. My coworkers are the most vile beasts the free world have ever seen. Bob the Denture Sucker and Hairy Harold are facing off in a Gross-Out Contest and so far they're at a dead tie. As a result of this competition, I can no longer consume egg drop soup or sugarfree Jell-O without activating my gag reflex. Thanks guys.

Anyhoo, apparently someone has decided to segue my glorious Spring Break with a complete and utter suckfest. This weekend was a bust. The week was okay, although work was uncommonly shitty, as you can tell by my aforementioned anecdotes. Thursday, Jody let me take a mental health day from school to go prom dress shopping [I love my mother] in Hicksville Long Island ["You know your town's bogus when the coolest thing in it's a water tower"], which, surprisingly wasn't as traumatic as last year's experience. After trying on a million and one prom dresses, I finally picked my perfect one. It's lipstick red and slinky and I love it. On the way home, Jody ridded me of my giddiness when she attempted to initiate a sex talk [not as genius as The Cohens' sex talk though. Evidence:
Sandy: Hey, listen, you were lucky to be able to hang in there after all that foreplay.
Seth: Fore-what-now?
Sandy: We Cohens are sexual beings.]
which prompted me to roll down the window and take a crack at highway suicide. Gross.

Friday was 420 so after school I migrated to Bay Ridge to celebrate the stoner festivities with Janine, Brenna and Laura. We pregamed at Casa de Other Izzo, where I discovered that pasta makes a really good shot chaser, then went to Fanning's where me and Brenna couldn't even drink because we were ID-less. Then went to Peggy's where we paid $20 cover charge for approximately fifteen minutes at the bar [where I may or may not have been called a "troll"]. The bar tender, who initially foiled our plans with her preposterous "one drink per ID[It is so hard to drink illegally in this damn country], recognized the girl on Laura's fake so she kicked her out and, being the good friends we are, we willingly followed. Pouted on a bench for twenty minutes with Mike & co., passed out in car service, threw up the six shots I'd inhaled and was out like a light off before 2. Wow, great 420 guys.

I was hoping Saturday would alleviate the overall shittiness but instead it actually intensified it. Work was, as you can tell, a suckathon, although, now that tax season is over, Bob the Denture Sucker leaves early and I do get an hour of freedom at the end of my shift. Saturday night, was supposed to go to karaoke with everyone for Mike's birthday but, due to severe migraine, exhaustion and mere crappiness of life, I stayed home with the new issue of Vogue and reruns of the GLAAD awards ["Chree, you've got to stop watching LOGO!!!"- Michelle. She's probably right; when you start identifying more with homosexual males than you do straight women, you know it's time to turn off the gay cable], which I cried hysterically to [out of awe of all the gay men of course]. Thankfully, Sunday was a much-needed snoozefest, although it was halted momentarily by my dog attacking the 'gina in my sleep. I believe she's a lesbian.

The school week was, again, relatively normal. Monday, an acting group from NYU came to The Boner to perform Shakespeare [I was sleeping, therefore I have no idea which play it was. It was the very definition of zzzz], whose only interesting occurence was when me and Ana discovered Mike's long lost twin from Oklahoma. Tuesday, me and The Apes got to ditch school to see "Jane Eyre" performed at Baruch College, which was Tony-worthy compared to the NYU play-o-crap, especially as a result of the adorable dogboy and all the molestation [I really wouldn't ask]. Today was the usual, except for the penis-covered period pads, the sex sermon and the catfights during Art History. Tomorrow I'm going to Boston with Deidre for BU's accepted student open house, which hopefully will get me out of this slup. Now I'm going to go back to my cashew consumption [I've literally eaten the entire cashew compartment of the candy machine. Like the entire thing, singlehandedly. That's talent] and Youtube stalking. Ciao.

Quotes of the Day:
"I love gay, anorexic raccoons"- Victoria

"I never want to be described that way after sex...wet panties and a swollen face."- Jill

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Go Shia Go!

Warning: Here is the delayed actual Spring Break post. It will most likely be long but it's my blog so bear with me:

I am hungry, cranky, and my family thinks I'm a lesbian. But I have a brand new deliciously orange manicure so life's not all bad. I have to go back in the time continuum. Last Friday, everyone went out for Justine's 20th. Me, Justine, Mike, Christina, Alex, Will, Zain, Gabby, Tekla and Tara went to Mars 2112 for a night of intergalactic voyeurism, and, er, dinner. Traveled in a space ship ["Oh look, hemorrhoids...I mean asteroids"- Mike], spent the night mimicking alien yoga with Tekla, and made our skin turn into rubber with the magic of the bathroom air-dryers [Videos will be added because they are stupendous]. Afterwards, we searched around Little Korea for an available karaoke bar [Apparently, the only thing outnumbering karaoke bars in Little Korea are actual little Koreans. They're like the plague]. Once we found the designated destination [unfortunately not called Ding Dong Dang, as the one I had wanted to go to was spectacularly named], we started showcasing our jaw-dropping talent to the sophisticated sounds of Britney Spears, Spice Girls and the Backstreet Boys [Mike and Will's interpretation of "I Want It That Way" was particularly spell-binding. Evidence:

Me and Tekla did bring the house down with our performance of "That Thing You Do!" [see my karaoke envy in the Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced post on March 18th], if I do say so myself. The highlight of the night was when the young Asian guy who was forced by his boss to confiscate our alcohol snuck in a few cups of vodka during our group sing-a-long of Blink 182's "All The Small Things", spurning all of the girls to simultaneously molest him. We unanimously finale'd to the Hanson classic "MmmBop" [Retreat!], which starts to sound like "Oohbomdabalabalajadoobom, Dobeedamala!!, doobom" after a group of sloshed youth sings it over and over again. Took cab home, which sparked the previous Dashboard Confessional post, which was 60 indispensable dollers out of my pocket and got me home at two, just to wake up a few hours later to go to the torture chamber that is my job [I will eventually quit...I will...stop looking at me with those furrowed brows of judgment!].

Saturday, after work, I believe I slept because I have absolutely no recollection of what I did. Sunday was, unfortunately, Easter. Easter, like Thanksgiving, is one of those holidays that make me realize how truly and utterly insane my entire family is, because I'm not clouded over by the magic of presents like on Christmas or sugar-high from candy like on Halloween, plus the turkey-coma wears off after a bit, leaving me to view, in pure sobriety, how I ended up the mess I am. It was the same as every year; spent at Uncle Lou's house [yawn] and consisted of watching a ferocious three-year-old maul his father [Is there a hotline for abused parents?], sparking an argument about what Jesus-centric event we were actually celebrating [mind you, I've been in Catholic school for fourteen years], and craving nicotine as much as Donald Trump's hair craves a makeover. Afterwards, I was actually allowed to chauffeur la familia to Aunt Rachael's house, to the chorus of Glenn and Jody's backseat breakdowns, where I was tricked into writing a letter to Oprah about Bon Jovi for Cara by means of ice cream sundaes and watched "The Sopranos", who are officially more normal than my own family.

Monday, after work and a brief meeting with the Elliptical [we're slowly making our way past the friendly acquaintance mark], Steph, Ana, Mike, Justine, and Chris came over for what was supposed to be a manhunt masquerade [Steph even came in her witch costume and I was prepared to break out the Marilyn] but what quickly morphed into turbaned hide-n-seek. After a while, we ended up just doing the Hokey Pokey in the middle of the streets with bed sheets wrapped around our heads and chasing down those annoying late night joggers. Snarfed craptastic Dominos at 11 [Diet's going really well!], watched Harry Potter and did face [and boob, Michael] painting like the mature gremlins that we are.

Tuesday was the "Perfect Stranger" premiere so I met up with Omar, John the Breathatarian [ comment], and Catrina. The premiere was crazy; there were so many celebrities on the red carpet. We talked to American Idol's Kimberly Locke who is such a sweetheart, Daniella Van Graas who is beyond pretty, the director James Foley who was in dire need of a moist toilette [he had this gross white stuff on his mouth during the entire interview, Paula Miranda who was dangerously close to having a Janet-Jackson-exposed-moment, and, me and Catrina's favorite, Giovanni Ribisi [Phoebe's brother from Friends. I love how every actor I meet is somehow connected to the freaking show], who I could just eat with a spoon and who I laughed way too loudly at [he must think I'm insane] when Catrina asked him about "The Other Sister" [a movie he made about a decade ago. Great journalism Catrina, almost as good as when you asked Steve Martin about pedicures :) ]. Saw Christy Turlington, Martina McBride, Tim Robbins [who's son is surprisingly hot] and Pat Sajak [yes, you read that correctly]. Julia Stiles, Adrianna Lima and Ed Burns [hot!] all ran away from the press, and we only got one question each with the two main star, Halle Berry and Bruce Willis. Halle Berry is astonishingly tiny but isn't as breathtaking as rumored; I mean she's still gorgeous but I didn't pass out or anything. Bruce Willis is spoosed and wouldn't directly answer any interviewers' questions. Afterwards, we were going to check out a Mya concert in a club in the Meat-Packing District but Omar could only sneak in one underage blonde so I opted to head home early.

Wednesday and Thursday were much-needed snooze days after the hectic-ness of the premiere. Wednesday was just work and driving lessons, and Thursday I said no to interview Julianne Moore [I know, I'm a moron] for day of piano, exercise and more driving, during which I freaked out Scotty the Instructor with my fondness for Jesus statues and my diabolical plans involving midgets and tree stumps. Yesterday, met up with Jess early to get my nails done and celebrate Magazine Day, the best day ever. Talked Jess into skipping work to go see "Disturbia" [see SHIA LOVE! after the Ciao] with me, Gen and Steph, which was awesome. Journalistic tendencies are brewing so I'll write up a review of "Disturbia" in a bit. Tonight, so far plans are to head over to Bridget's for a Spring Break finale, then sleep away my, hopefully, drunkenness tomorrow all day long. Sounds ah-mazing. Ciao.

Quotes of the Day: Ode to Steph
“I got my meningitis shot. So now, in fact, I have meningitis"- Steph

Steph: so i texted u not realizing u still dont have ur phone and some random chree with a 281 area code answered me lmao.. i wonder who else
Chree: lol
Steph: fine out what area 281 is
Chree: lmaooo: 281 TX Texas: Houston Metro
Steph: lmaoooo greatttttt maybe ana know them
Chree: yes, cowboy chree!

Steph: my horoscope told me to go tonight read telstra gemini report 90% coming said it would be sentimental
Chree: see
Steph: jesus is telling me to come
Chree: you have no idea how many quotes of the day are from your mouth

Steph: chree i dont want to alrm u..but i have rubella
Chree: oh god, another one
Steph: lmaoo please dont quarantine me... blaim my doc hes the sob that diseased me.. i heard tonic water is good for my issue

Steph: Shia Saide LaBeouf was born June 11, 1986 in Los Angeles, California to Jeffrey LaBeouf, a Cajun circus clown, and Shayna Saide, a Jewish American ballerina.
Chree: lmao
Steph: the best opening bio of anyone
Chree: seriously it's so genius