tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69893528048050863452024-03-13T06:08:10.224-07:00Exiled From IndievilleBlog de Chreechreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-18718239620233570632007-05-18T08:55:00.000-07:002007-05-18T08:56:46.334-07:00Bye Bye BonerInhale<br /><br />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?]. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />Quotes of the Day:<br />"Maybe she baths in milk?-Allie<br />“She was so gothic. Her screen name was LokusMinion.”- Allie <br />“I just want to hold him…I want to take away his pain”- Me, wailing with Steph to Mika’s “Happy Ending”.<br />"If when I'm saying goodbye to you and you give me the pat hug, I'm breaking your hand off"-Jess<br />"Does that mean my dreams about David Duchovny mean that I have to further my relationship with him?"-Me<br /><br />Chree: omg bob's sucking his dentures and slapping his sandwich<br />JeSs: ewww<br />Chree: this is my life<br />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. <br /><br />Exhalechreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-3004970056820225912007-05-06T09:30:00.000-07:002007-05-11T16:50:31.291-07:00There'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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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:<br /><br /><br /><strong>THE HUNT LIST</strong><br />ITEMS:<br />POINT VALUE:<br /> <br />1. An “Employees Must Wash Hands” Sign: 50 points<br />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<br />3. Picture of someone wearing lingerie: 50 points <br />4. Five pics with strangers, including: 20 points per picture<br />a. security guard/cop<br />b. a balding man wearing brown shoes<br />c. bar bouncer<br />d. senior citizen<br />e. waitress<br />5. Stolen condoms: 10 points<br />6. A periwinkle crayon: 20 points<br />7. A packet of ketchup from McDonald’s: 10 points<br />8. Picture of team walking through McD’s drive-through and ordering food: 75 points<br />9. A parking ticket: 50 points<br />10. A clip-on earring: 30 points<br />11. Picture of team with Winnie the Pooh: 10 points<br />12. Picture with Mike’s Chinese Cat: 30 points<br />13. Switch clothes with someone not on your team [picture is acceptable]: 50 points<br />14. Stolen garden gnome/Jesus statue: 100 points [200 for both]<br />15. Picture of team member in a stolen shopping cart: 50 points<br />16. Membership card from an adult film store [must be in team member’s name]: 75 points<br />17. Picture of team in a photo booth: 30 points<br />18. Picture of a hickey [cannot be self-sucked, sucking must be in progress in the photo]: 25 points<br />19.Purple shoelaces: 20 points<br />20. Picture of someone getting tattooed: 80 points [180 if it’s a team member]<br />21. Picture of team member with a dog with a doggy biscuit in team member’s mouth: 90 points<br />22. Picture of team member wearing bowling shoes: 40 points<br />23. Picture of senior citizen flipping off team [cannot be team members’ grandparents]: 150 points<br />24. Flintstone vitamins: 30 points<br />25. A bowtie: 20 points<br />26. Picture of team in wigs/toupees: 40 points<br />27. Tube of Preparation H: 20 points<br />28. Ping pong paddle: 10 points<br />29. A dill pickle: 10 points<br />30. Something that says “Made in Canada” on it: 20 points<br />31. A skateboard: 10 points<br />32. An empty KFC bucket: 40 points<br />33. A funnel: 10 points<br />34. A kiwi: 10 points<br />35. A tambourine: 15 points<br />36. Picture of members in front of a bakery: 20 points<br />37. Picture of team with hamster/gerbil: 50 points<br />38. Finished Sudoku puzzle: 50 points<br />39. Picture with a map of Narnia/ Middle Earth: 30 points<br />40. Picture with a Swahili dictionary: 20 points<br />41. Picture of team with a bottle of spermicide: 20 points<br />42. Picture of team member hoolah-hooping: 30 points<br />43. Picture of team with a Twister game set up and ready to play: 100 points<br />44. Picture of team with an actual pitched tent [not, I repeat, not a boner.]: 100 points<br />45. Picture of team member with a bowling trophy: 20 points<br />46. A boomerang: 40 points<br />47. A tape that teaches French [picture is acceptable]: 50 points<br />48. A wooden spoon: 10 points<br />49. A toilet seat: 50 points<br />50. A whoopee cushion: 20 points<br />51. Picture with a Daniel Steel novel with team reenacting the cover: 50 points<br />52. Picture with an 8 ball: 20 points [50 if actual 8 ball is present]<br />53. Picture of team with someone in a cowboy hat: 10 points<br />54. Picture of team with someone with a mullet: 50 points<br />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<br /> <br />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!] <br /><br />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.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-33369448219805731042007-05-06T09:28:00.000-07:002007-05-06T09:44:02.994-07:00The Adventures of Brooklyn Girl in BostonI 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:<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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? <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.].<br /><br />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.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-49401781049007663052007-05-03T13:44:00.000-07:002007-05-03T13:45:29.507-07:00People are StrangeJim Morrison said it best: "If you're strange, people are strange." I am strange, but people are definitely stranger. Evidence:<br /> <br />WEIRD SEARCHES VOLUME I: <br />1. Someone from Alabama searched "Whoopi Goldberg's vagina" and ended up here. You are sick. <br />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. <br />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?<br />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.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-43872653497488520462007-04-30T17:24:00.000-07:002008-12-11T10:40:25.714-08:00The Greatest Love Story Never ToldImmaculate 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. <br /><br />Seriously, can we just take a moment to behold the beauty: <br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RjaLiyKzDzI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/WjD1Dq2lAcc/s1600-h/galeyum.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RjaLiyKzDzI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/WjD1Dq2lAcc/s320/galeyum.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059384661096206130" /></a><br />Guh. <br /> <br />Editor's Note:<br />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.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-23387454234010706832007-04-25T18:19:00.000-07:002007-04-26T08:24:51.576-07:00Got 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.<br /><br />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:<br />Sandy: Hey, listen, you were lucky to be able to hang in there after all that foreplay.<br />Seth: Fore-what-now?<br />Sandy: We Cohens are sexual beings.]<br />which prompted me to roll down the window and take a crack at highway suicide. Gross.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />Quotes of the Day:<br />"I love gay, anorexic raccoons"- Victoria<br /><br />"I never want to be described that way after sex...wet panties and a swollen face."- Jillchreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-52610471657845655422007-04-14T10:36:00.000-07:002008-12-11T10:40:27.651-08:00Go 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: <br /><br />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: <br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEu35V6SgI/AAAAAAAAAI0/WRb9rTSiFWM/s1600-h/z8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEu35V6SgI/AAAAAAAAAI0/WRb9rTSiFWM/s320/z8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053371794706811394" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEu35V6ShI/AAAAAAAAAI8/4hnBprYaRgw/s1600-h/z.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEu35V6ShI/AAAAAAAAAI8/4hnBprYaRgw/s320/z.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053371794706811410" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEu4JV6SiI/AAAAAAAAAJE/apD3U7rYWKA/s1600-h/z2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEu4JV6SiI/AAAAAAAAAJE/apD3U7rYWKA/s320/z2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053371799001778722" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEu4JV6SjI/AAAAAAAAAJM/s-m0yU5rXD8/s1600-h/z7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEu4JV6SjI/AAAAAAAAAJM/s-m0yU5rXD8/s320/z7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053371799001778738" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEu4JV6SkI/AAAAAAAAAJU/d9enhlHA2NI/s1600-h/z1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEu4JV6SkI/AAAAAAAAAJU/d9enhlHA2NI/s320/z1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053371799001778754" /></a> <br /><br /><br />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!]. <br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEvG5V6SlI/AAAAAAAAAJc/dknnuoKQrCs/s1600-h/z10.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEvG5V6SlI/AAAAAAAAAJc/dknnuoKQrCs/s320/z10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053372052404849234" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEvHJV6SmI/AAAAAAAAAJk/o4oKXb_p75A/s1600-h/z4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEvHJV6SmI/AAAAAAAAAJk/o4oKXb_p75A/s320/z4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053372056699816546" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEvHJV6SnI/AAAAAAAAAJs/i6XriVmc2SA/s1600-h/z11.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEvHJV6SnI/AAAAAAAAAJs/i6XriVmc2SA/s320/z11.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053372056699816562" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEvHJV6SoI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/jfhbwHX5Bmc/s1600-h/z5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RiEvHJV6SoI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/jfhbwHX5Bmc/s320/z5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053372056699816578" /></a><br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />Tuesday was the "Perfect Stranger" premiere so I met up with Omar, John the Breathatarian [...no 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. <br /><br />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. <br /> <br /><br /><strong>Quotes of the Day: Ode to Steph</strong><br />“I got my meningitis shot. So now, in fact, I have meningitis"- Steph<br /><br />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<br />Chree: lol<br />Steph: fine out what area 281 is<br />Chree: lmaooo: 281 TX Texas: Houston Metro<br />Steph: lmaoooo greatttttt maybe ana know them<br />Chree: yes, cowboy chree!<br /><br />Steph: my horoscope told me to go tonight read telstra gemini report 90% coming said it would be sentimental<br />Chree: see<br />Steph: jesus is telling me to come<br />Chree: you have no idea how many quotes of the day are from your mouth<br /><br />Steph: chree i dont want to alrm u..but i have rubella<br />Chree: oh god, another one<br />Steph: lmaoo please dont quarantine me... blaim my doc hes the sob that diseased me.. i heard tonic water is good for my issue<br /><br /><strong>SHIA LOVE!:</strong><br />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.<br />Chree: lmao<br />Steph: the best opening bio of anyone <br />Chree: seriously it's so geniuschreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-75441500446661276752007-04-07T12:01:00.000-07:002007-04-07T12:29:26.379-07:00Dashboard ConfessionalFor some strange reason, cab drivers tend to pour their hearts out, let go of their inhibitions, pull a Lifetime-movie and express their feelings. To me. Now, once is odd but can be dealt with. Twice, maybe a coincidence? But three times? Maybe I should shave my head and start making everyone call me Dr. Phil because this is what it’s come down to. This string of dashboard confessionals [Oh, I am so clever. Bask in my cleverness people!] began with a Caribbean car service driver who, during the short drive from Gerritsen to mi casa, proceeded to fill me in, in detail, on his struggling love triangle relationship with his coke fiend girlfriend and her drug dealers [“The triangle is not a friendly shape, okay? It's pointy, it's got sharp edges. Triangles hurt people.”- Cohen (!) I swear, most occurrences in my life can translate back to one of Cohen’s quotes of genius-ness]. As usual, I was buzzed beyond belief and therefore cannot remember or share my brilliant advice and slurs of wisdom. <br /><br />Then, there was the angry Polish driver who was unsatisfied with his present automotive existence and dreamed of being an accountant. Yes, you read that correctly; he dreamed of being an accountant. He aims high. By the time I had paid the fare, I knew how and when he came from Poland to New York, knew the name of his first American girlfriend, and knew about the joy that numbers gave him. Numbers. <br /><br />Then, last night’s cab ride from Manhattan just cinched it. A sweet Muslim man drove me home during which he inquired about the difference between boyfriends and boy friends, and interrogated me about the sexual behaviors and overt promiscuity of young American girls [who, us?], revealing that such, err, openness about premarital sex, condoms, etc. made his distraught and yearn for more spiritual and moral guidance in today’s youth. I don’t know what is it about me that makes people want to rip their hearts off their sleeves and hand them over, but they consistently do it. Whether it’s drunks pouring their hearts out to me while pouring another beer, or cabbies looking for an Oprah of their own, I am always on the receiving end [that wasn’t meant to sound that dirty], always the holder of their secrets, who is now publishing them worldwide on her blog. Good job. Ciao.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-4271845827884227522007-04-06T12:00:00.000-07:002007-04-06T12:02:15.511-07:00Random Bits1. Sneezing with iPod headphones is very awkward. You can't hear if anyone says "God bless you", and therefore cannot say "Thank you" unless you want to look like a tard if no one actually said it. But, if someone did say "God bless you" and you don't say "Thank you" because you didn't hear it in the first place, you look like a bitch. These are the thoughts that wrack through my brain at night. <br />2. What genius decided to make women have their periods all at the same time? Fontbonne almost literally burst in equal parts blood and bitchiness. Fucking Eve and her fucking apple. <br />3. Shopping for a prom dress is worse than Brazilian bikini waxes and your favorite bra's strap snapping combined [Random side note: However, your favorite bra's strap snapping is a close second. You know the bra, the one that lifts and separates and gives you the kind of cleavage that usually means you're not paying for your own drinks that night? There has been many a time when I've tried to salvage a good bra by stapling or duck-taping the straps back on. I'm so classy.] I literally needed a machete to get through all the chiffon. Devil. <br />4. My friend Laura showed me this a while ago and it's the most Blog de Chree-worthy piece of Youtube Love that I've ever seen:<br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BsgE_D7jE8I"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BsgE_D7jE8I" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-88104162546806587932007-04-05T19:19:00.000-07:002007-04-06T07:28:44.458-07:00Raw Foods and Ice CubesSpring Break is officially here. WOOT! Okay, so I’m not on some Caribbean island with a boy attached to my arm and a beer funnel attached to my face as hoards of coeds bond with the rally cry, “Chug!”, but so far, vacation in grey, grungy New York beats a beach bum hump fest any day. Plus, exposure to sunlight transforms me into a 5-foot-three-inch lobster. Shit happens. <br /><br />Saturday after an excruciatingly long day at work [I’m about to quit. I’ve been saying that for the past two years so don’t pay any attention to me.], went to Bay Ridge to hang out with Mike, Justine, Chris, Desiree, Alex, Will, Zain and Gabby for a sober but fun evening. Partook in such dangerous events as car tag [one car is “it” and has to “chase” the other car around the neighborhood…yeah, don’t try it at home], set to an amazing soundtrack of The Transplants and Ricky Martin [Livin La Vida Loca!], hood surfing [Alex and Justine clung to the hood of the Cruiseship while Mike looked for a parking spot. Again, not recommended if you somewhat value your life], and trying to steal jello cups from senior citizens [Do not ask]. Then played the name game for a while, and had a sing-a-long to old school Good Charlotte with Desiree on the way home. <br /><br />Sunday, my parents proved their already established insanity by hosting a Dinner Party Competition in my house. Aunt Carm and Uncle Steve judged as the Usuals divided themselves into five teams and each threw their own dinner party to see whose sucks least. As a direct result of this absurdity and in protection of our own dwindling mental capacities, I, Hootie and Steph escaped the mental asylum to go see a movie. Randomly ran into Mike, Justine, Zain and Gabby so I decided to be a fifth wheel and tag along with them to see the mind-exercising masterpiece, “Blades of Glory”. Um, yeah, if you didn’t realize that that last sentence was drenched in sarcasm, you will have to leave the premises immediately. Just so you understand. <br /><br />Monday was a completely pointless school day; I had four frees and religion. Useless. Tuesday, decided to start vacation early and skipped school so I could do my first on-camera interview for UrGuide. Me, Omar and John the Breathatarian[who is actually just a vegetarian who really enjoys oxygen. Oh well, the name works] went to the Apollo Theater in Harlem for the premiere of “Are We Done Yet?” the sequel to “Are We There Yet?” Me walking through the streets of Harlem is definitely a sight to be believed; they probably thought I was an albino, I’m so melanin-ly challenged. But it was awesome just being on the stage of the Apollo, it’s so historic. I got to interview Ice Cube and Alicia Allen, who were both really nice and took the time to answer all of my questions, even though it was pretty clear that I had no idea what I was doing. <br /><br />We didn’t stay to watch the actual movie because, frankly, the first one sucked harder than a Hoover and history tends to repeat itself. Instead, we met up with John’s friend Marcello, who is a photographer and is hilariously violent; especially towards slow pedestrians [“I WILL hit you! I will go second gear all over you ass!”]. We schlepped over to Chelsea so me and Omar could have our raw-food cherries popped at this all-raw restaurant Bonobos. We gorged ourselves on walnut pâté, sprouts and coconut chai, which, even for this butcher’s daughter, were surprisingly good. Afterwards, we parted so John and Marcello could finish a screenplay they were working on and I and Omar could finish editing UrGuide. <br /><br />Yesterday, skipped school yet again because it was only a mass and apparently missed a very entertaining pony tailed Holy Roller with a guitar tortured the Bonnie congregation with Jesus-lover songs. Damn. I was enjoying my day of pistachio-inhalation and old school Will and Grace episodes [I’m talking old school, like when Karen didn’t have her whiny voice yet], when I realized I had completely forgot that I had planned to see “Curtains” with Winnie and the Broadway Bonnies so I had to cancel my plans with Jess and haul my ass to The Boner to meet up with everyone. I’m glad I did because the play was hilarious; David Hyde Pierce has exquisite comedic timing and the talent of the supporting cast more than made up for the unbearably grotesque woman sitting next to me chomping her gum like a cow and distracting me from the magnificence. Obviously, I highly recommend. Go see it. Now. Today was normal, although the morons at work were way more annoying than usual. Just finished up my way-delayed driving lesson and luckily I’m not that tragic so hopefully I’ll have my license for the summer. I think this is long enough. QAF is coming on and I need my Spunk! Fix. Ciao.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-9883691113055556012007-03-31T12:45:00.000-07:002008-12-11T10:40:27.886-08:00Happy Mika Day!As you can tell from my not-very-cryptic message last post, I got the red envelope, the BIG red envelope. I got in to Boston University, alma mater of fellow remarkable people Martin Luther King, Jr., Faye Dunaway [Mommie Dearest herself- "No more wire hangers!!!"], Howard Stern, Jason Alexander [Costanza!] and a few QAF alumnus [Rosie O'Donnell & Peter Paige- EMMETTLOVE!]. I am officially going to college and Augustana's "Boston" is officially my new anthem. After months of waiting and chasing the poor, terrified mailman down, I finally got in and I am ecstatic. So ecstatic that my initial responsive scream put Abigail Bresnin’s puny “Little Miss Sunshine” yelp to shame; Jody thought I was having a convulsion. <br /><br />Anyhoo, onwards. This week was normal, except for the insane Women’s Day Assembly [which, ironically, made me exceptionally ashamed of my own sex]- during which the Ally McBeal Clone did a spoken-word presentation of “I Am Woman” [HEAR ME ROAR. You know she was itching to go all Christina Aguilera on that one], which then sparked Big D and Mrs. King to belt it out over the loud speaker-and the fact that the male faculty members are publicly challenging each other in a Facial Hair-Off. Fontbonne is a freak show. <br /><br />Obviously last weekend bombed because I was grounded, but so far this weekend is compensating for the former suckiness big time. Yesterday was MIKA DAY, also known as the greatest day ever in all of the history of mankind. For you unhip, uninformed peasants who don’t know who Mika is, simply, he is God. After school, I, Mallory, Michelle and Deidre [a.k.a Sex and the City-for once, Sarcastic Chree is not stuck being Miranda! I get to be Carrie! WOOT] went to Borders in the Time Warner Center to see the one and only MIKA perform and sign CDS for his debut album “Life in Cartoon Motion”. We had to wait a while for him to get there but the stilt-performers, balloon artists and magicians entertained us, plus blogger Perez Hilton was there, who has an awesome blue fauxhawk, a fact which didn’t decrease Mallory’s disappointment [she thought the announcer dude said Paris Hilton]. Then Mika came out [!!!!] He was perfection personified, as was expected from the Mika-loving masses [We are officially a cult. We listen to such high-pitched falsettos that would make dogs and the Bee Gees shriek, bow down to curly-haired skinny homosexuals wearing dangerously tight pants and consume lollipops in bulk]. He performed “Grace Kelly”, “Love Today” and “Billy Brown”, which sparked a crowd dance party and sing-a-long, although he didn’t fulfill the crowd’s desperate cries for “Lollipop” […cult…].<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RhGTOZzZxZI/AAAAAAAAAIs/UUrm1Xm7LOQ/s1600-h/mikaaa.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RhGTOZzZxZI/AAAAAAAAAIs/UUrm1Xm7LOQ/s320/mikaaa.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048978532912973202" /></a><br />Note the "To Chree,<strong> LOVE</strong> Mika". L-O-V-E, people. <br /><br />After the performance [during which Michelle screamed out quite possibly the most genius thing I’ve ever heard, “YOU HAVE GORGEOUS LOCKS OF…GORGEOUS!”, to the amusement of the entire crowd], we had to wait on line for three hours during the meet-and-greet to get our CDS signed. To amuse ourselves, we made friends with a bunch of people, including a duo of sweet gay boys, an Asian chick and a large pink-haired lady with about eight breasts and a mustache. The boys were Anthony, who we were all jealous and in awe of because he was uber-skinny, had a Mika-esque mop top, got the sexier imported version of the debut, and had an awesome job selling Wicked merchandise at the Gershwin, and Roger, who was a choreographer, a fellow burlesque gogo fan, was our quasi-photographer for the night and exchanged his info with us because he recognized our foursome’s blatant awesomeness. The Asian chick, whose name wasn’t important enough for me to remember, was useless except for pointing me and Deidre in the direction of food and inspiring a sex sermon, and the fat-bottomed girl was Alessandra who kept creeping into our conversations only to brag about meeting Mika the night before and singing loudly off pitch, which resulted in a temporary diversion from our newfound gay idols which made me hate her more. <br /><br />Our lively conversation ranged from such gripping topics as Mika’s sexual preference [“He’s straight as a lightening bolt”-Roger. “Yup, gay as Christmas”- Me], prom, best canceled sitcoms [ZOOM!], etc, and involved book readings including but not limited to “Why Do Men Have Nipples?” and “How to Raise a One-Year Old”. To our faghag dismay, Anthony had to leave the line before getting Mika’s autograph because he was so late for work, which prompted our desperate pleas for him to call in sick [“Say Mika’s part of your religion”-genius Moi] but alas, we had to say goodbye. After a while the line started moving and we eventually made our way to Mika heaven to take pictures and get our CDs signed. He was adorable and British and charming and amazing and I was so awkward. I just said “You’re awesome!” and grinned at him like a complete lunatic. My eye was probably twitching from excitement. I am so attractive. <br /><br />After, Roger taught us how to effectively do a squish photoshoot, then we parted and tried to steal Mika balloons but we were caught by security. Poop [we had also planned on stealing a Mika lollipop from the front pocket of Bald Man in front of us but we decided it was too risky]. Went to Mc’Ds [510 calorie burgers!] and was going to stuff our faces at Serendipity but Michelle had to get home so we took subway back to Bay Ridge, on which we performed a loud vocalized rendition of selections from Rent and Chicago to the annoyance of the fellow passengers. Met up with Mike and Justine for a little bit, then went home, where Glenn thought I was drunk [I was high off Mika love!]; rightly so, as I probably looked more drunk in trying to prove my sobriety. Now I am getting tortured at work once again. Seriously, how do they not notice my glares of sheer disgust and utter contempt? I am amazed by their oblivion. Must go. Ciao. <br /><br />Quote of Yesterday:<br />“Leiberwurst spielen!”<br />Translation: Insulted lip protrusion!<br /><br />P.S. This is why I adore him:<br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/E3AEcFUtXAw"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/E3AEcFUtXAw" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><br />At the very end, you can hear Obnoxious Me scream "Lollipop!!!" like a mental patient.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-80452146288603453252007-03-26T14:35:00.000-07:002007-03-26T14:36:35.757-07:00Three Small WordsI. Got. In.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-49008673458939993602007-03-24T13:11:00.000-07:002007-03-24T13:15:01.509-07:00All Hail The TimberlakeWednesday night was The Timberlake concert, which judging from the state of Wednesday's panties, was all sorts of hotness [see the February 13th post for my first religion experience with JT]. Me and Janine [a.k.a Weiner] went home after school to primp ourselves to gorgeousness, then our day-long adventure began. We had to take the subway to Penn Station, where we hopped on the LIRR to Hempstead, then had to run to the Hempstead Bus Station where, in true Chree-&-Weiner fashion, we tried to use our New York City school Metrocards to get onto a Long Island bus [The Timberlake is lucky he's a succulent piece of man steak or else we really wouldn't have gone through all that trouble]. Of course, as most sane-minded people know, that did not work but thankfully, two fellow Timberlake fanatics that we met on the line at the bus station [Seriously, you can point us out. We have a crazed glow emanating from our pores] lent us their Metrocards. Without them, we seriously would've been stuck in freaking Hempstead crying over the lack of Sexyback. They're my saviors. We met more concert goers, including a French couple and some Hassidic Jews [The Timberlake brings the world together!] on the way to Nassau Coliseum, making us a very odd but uber-excited group. <br /><br />When we got there, me and Weiner got into a little pickle. Cameras weren't allowed but of course we needed them to document The Timberlake's prettiness so I came up with the brilliant idea of hiding them in the hoods of our hoodies. I got through the security scanners problem-free and Weiner was almost in the clear when the guard's security stick hit against the camera in her hood. He wouldn't let her through and sent her to the security station which we both ran like fiends to [this would've been insanely awesome if "Chariots of Fire" was playing in the background]. Thankfully, they let her in, with the camera no less. Morons. We got down to the floor just as Pink [bow down bitches] started her set. Again, she's my new hero. You really don't expect her to be that good live but she really is. <br /><br />The Timberlake= no words can do him justice. He even makes a keytar look sexy. A keytar people. That's talent. Because I already knew the concert format, I was the tard who kept screaming about five minutes before each song came on. Awkward. We got really close and the floor was really fun, except for a few minor nusiances:<br />1. The abundance of Amazonian giants. As a girl who falls in the petite category, I fully support the idea that venues sell floor tickets in height order- Oompa Loompas in front and Chewbaccas in back. Tall people don't like it? I have to wear heels just to get on a rollercoaster. It's only fair. <br />2. The gyrating twelve-year-olds who kept bump-n-grinding into us, one of whom even had the audacity to touch my shoulder to ask me about "Dick in a Box", which prompted me to scrub my skin to the point of severe shedding and seriously consider scheduling an HIV test or something. They looked like they were auditioning for Girls Gone Wild: The Preteen Years. Gag. <br />3. The brutal but entertaining cat fight that broke out in the midst of The Timberlake's set [Blasphemy! You do not claw out hair during "Lovestoned"!]. My theory: they couldn't agree which was hotter- Jew Fro Justin or G.I. Joe Justin.<br />Special Mention: The girl with the annoying Pebbles Flinstone messy bun in front of us, whose fly-aways kept jabbing me in the cornea when she shimmied and shaked. Asstard. <br /><br />After the concert ended, went to meet up with my cousin Steph while Janine got paid ten bucks to teach some Russian girls how to use the telephone. We waited for Uncle Steve to pick us up, during which I fell in lust with a cute animal rights activist [I literally took like five pamphlets on pig abuse because he had long eyelashes and a dimple. I'm a desperate mess] and got attacked by a pack of large horses [Explanation: While waiting outside, a huge slate of ice fell off the roof of the Coliseum, scaring the police horses, who then proceeded to chase me, Janine and Steph. Steph stood there body frozen and mouth agape, Janine flung me into a steel sign out of sheer terror and I ended up crippled with hysteria and a bruised wenus. This is why my life is mine]. Went back to Uncle Steve's where I threw up [from migraine, not from sudden Timberlake separation or the wounded wenus] and got embarrassed by my entire family [ex: Drunk Joey driving us home, Grandpa screaming about pork chops, Aunt Annie shamelessly commenting about my plethora of exposed breast, etc.] Got home at 1, slept for 1.2 seconds and was off to school the next morning. We're the definition of troopers. <br /><br />Other than that, the week was normal. Stayed home on Monday because it was supposed to be Senior Cut Day but apparently I didn't get the memo that I was the only senior cutting. Sick. Thursday and Friday, had a mental breakdown caused by the apparent lack of brain activity of one certain large-nostril'ed nun who decided to seat me in the corner next to her like a disobedient kindergartner rather than a college-bound senior, and who then proceeded to tell me I looked like a nervous wreck. Suck my hole and suck it hard sister. Hope you choke to death on some holy water. I took out my angst on B's chalkboard for forty minutes, which turned into one of the best pieces I've ever done. Home hasn't been much better. I have been grounded the entire weekend because of the St. Patty's ordeal [see March 18th's Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced post]. I've tried to quicken my imprisonment by sleeping an obscene amount of hours a day [although Thursday night I did wake up at record time, approximately 8:01, just in time for Ugly Betty. Jesus, even my subconscious is ruled by television], which has also helped the diet seeing as how my mouth is preoccupied with snoring. Speaking of which, I am very proud to say that for the past week, I have actually exercised. Yes, people, Chree said, er typed the word exercise. I became acquainted with the Elliptical and we've begun a very casual but promising relationship. Till now, my only weight loss attempt other than Weight Watchers was switching to light beer. I am currently at work, wasting the day with Japanese Figure Skating and a Saturday afternoon movie with Russell Crowe in a furry squirrel hat. I'm done. Ciao. <br /><br />Edit: Pictures of The Timberlake will hopefully be up soon.<br />Random Thought: Whatever happened to Jonathan Taylor Thomas?chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-84499812170762145342007-03-20T16:00:00.000-07:002007-03-20T16:03:02.451-07:00Word VomitI hate work mornings. Not because, as I'm not a morning person, I have to wake up early, most likely after a night of liver deterioration, or the fact that I'm forced to be in the same vicinity as a pack of grotesquely annoying beasts. It's because I can't watch my cartoons. Seriously. Before tax season began, I used to have the morning to myself, and therefore could enjoy CBS's block of Saturday morning cartoons [Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Dance Revolution (ghetto prepubescent DDR) Horse Land (worst name ever), Trollz and Cake] peacefully and sans any embarrassment. But now that Bob the Denture Sucker and Hairy Harold [who actually wore a gold medallion in his exposed chest hair *insert internal bleeding here* the other day. I think that calls for a Jimmy Fallon-and-The Timberlake- induced pause: <object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1RUvW9ZVxKY"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1RUvW9ZVxKY" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>] come in early, I can no longer watch the cracked-out animated gems without looking like a sick creep. And the absolute worst part about the extraction isn't even the lack of awesome shows. It's the lack of the amazing commercials and in-between banter that comes with the awesome shows. The hosts of the show, called KOL's Secret Slumber Party, are five girls [one of whom looks like she's on the Swiss Miss box yet speaks with a horrendous Puerto Rican accent] who together look like a Benneton ad, are obviously way older than their preteen archetypes and obviously despise each other off camera. They do little bits involving hand games, nail polish and fruit in between shows, but the best part is right before they go to commercial, they say obscene things like "BRB, LOL" and "G2G, TTYL". Like, actually say it out loud. It is insanely brilliant. However, I do hope they're getting paid a lot to spout out such unhip word vomit. You must see it, it will literally make your life. Saturday mornings. CBS. Be there. Ciao. <br /><br />Random Nuisance:<br />I hate the way Tyra Banks says "Who" during her "Who will be America's Next Top Model?" intro. She goes up like an octave when she says it, then returns to her normal manly voice. Blech. <br /><br />Quotes of the Day:<br />"My hamster had a seizure yesterday. It was so cute"- Gia<br /><br />"I can't believe you told Sister E that I had a thirteen-year-old lesbian cousin who's pregnant and having an abortion!"- Moi, in note to Brenna*<br /><br />*Explanation: As usual, the Psych class tried to distract Sister E from "teaching" with our usual method: screaming out controversial words such as "Homosexuality" or "Premarital Sex" until one issue sticks and she begins her rant-n-rave session. Today, the lucky word was "Abortion" and she was rambling as usual until Brenna, the genius that she is, decided to tell her that my so-called thirteen year old lesbian fruzin, or friend who is like a cousin, [although I do not know if she absorbed the lesbian part, as her brain did not explode into tiny fleshy fragments] was pregnant and considering having an abortion. So, of course, the holy roller starts interrogating me, even to the point where she pulled me over at the end of class to tell me that I should go with said fruzin to the Mercy Home. I swear to Jebus, she's going to kidnap my entire family and perform a group exorcism or something. I'm locking my doors.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-43547388919785776622007-03-18T19:28:00.000-07:002008-12-11T10:40:28.314-08:00Kiss me, I'm ShitfacedI smoked pot for the first time last night. And that's not even the worst of it. I enjoyed it. A lot. I am going to become a junkie, a drug-addicted Gremlin losing my money, friends and dignity in my quest for highness. I am going to end up one of those shaking fiends on the subway with a long beard [I don't know why or how I would grow a beard, it just fits the vision] and a cardboard box singing "Free Bird" for pot money. I'm going to have HBO follow me around documenting my addiction. I'm going to be Ewan McGregor in "Trainspotting". I don't even get to be Jonny Lee Miller, who was hot and stylish in his addiction, and also had a way better Scottish accent. No, I have to be Ewan McGregor. See, the ganja have caused paranoia to fill my brain. <br /><br />I guess an explanation is needed, but first backtracking is in order. Friday was the last Rainbow School class. I'm going to miss it a lot. I didn't ball but I did have a Sinead-single tear moment when the kids were hugging us goodbye [Goodbye, goodbye, it's time to say goodbye, goodbye to all of you. WAHHHH!]. Now, I know that parents aren't supposed to have a favorite among their kids, but I'm no one's parent so I do have favorites:<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/Rf31vwtwXvI/AAAAAAAAAIc/CSNUOzbXmc0/s1600-h/Multimed.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/Rf31vwtwXvI/AAAAAAAAAIc/CSNUOzbXmc0/s320/Multimed.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043457358604295922" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/Rf31wAtwXwI/AAAAAAAAAIk/YsiLnI42GMA/s1600-h/file000.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/Rf31wAtwXwI/AAAAAAAAAIk/YsiLnI42GMA/s320/file000.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043457362899263234" /></a><br /><br />1. Ian- He unfortunately wasn't there yesterday so I don't have a picture of him for you to enjoy but hopefully the description will be enough. He's a pint-sized Jack McFarland. He is perfectly groomed, is catty and loves gossip, carries around a sequenced purse, has his very own loyal fag hag [Lauren, who is rather scary but is a fellow lover of gay men, which puts her on my love list] throws a killer tea party and single-handedly transformed a toy castle into a very successful bed-and-breakfast. One time, when I had to ditch playing house with him to help out another child, he threw death glares at me from across the room and whispered the word "chocolate pudding". Never in my life has a yummy snack ever invoked so much fear in me. <br />2. Christopher- Adorable, funny and completely obsessive compulsive. He'd leave story time to fung shui the playroom, always moving furniture around to fit his chi. He shuffle around the room squeeing all the time.<br />3. Isabella Goldberg- She wasn't there either yesterday which is a shame because I love her. She looks exactly like the little be speckled allergic tarantella girl from Daddy Day Care ["I had a tarantella, but I don't know where I put it"]. I accidentally almost suffocated her when trying to pry a Cinderella costume from her head, but she quickly forgave me and made me a cake out of playdoh. That's love people. <br />4. The Irish Foursome: Thomas/ Aiden/ Sean/ Colin- Bestill my heart. I love my little Irish boys. Thomas was a redhead who adored me, therefore resulting in my own adoration of him. We had a nice relationship, building train tracks together, but he got a little needy and always had a runny nose, which resulted in a short separation, but we got back together in the end. Aiden was like a little bulldog, so cute but always really angry when he came to Rainbow School. Sean and Colin are adorable and will definitely grow up to be beer-loving firemen, my favorite kind of men. <br />5. Jake & Luca- Jake, because he sort of looks like a cuter Haley Joel Osmont and has a killer mushroom cut. Luca, because he's Mr. Bono and has adorably big Cabbage Patch Kids eyes. <br />Special Mention: Abraheim, Luke [even though he most definitely farted on me on Friday], Tiffany, Lauren [for sheerly the fag hag purposes, because she is quite a frightening creature], Isabella F., Maxwell, etc. <br /><br />Friday night, me, Gen, Val, Joey, Gabby, Nicole, etc. went out to celebrate Jess's 18th birthday. Met up with them at the diner, then took subway and walked [Through the freaking tundra. In flats. And yes, strange passerby lady who unnecessarily had to make a comment, my feet were cold. Happy?] to Tinga Tinga for karaoke. [Random side note: One of the best moments of the night- I was waiting at the bathroom and the party next door was singing "That Thing You Do!", which made me ecstatic because that movie is in my top five of Best Movies EVER! and it's good to know that I'm not the only loser who not only has the soundtrack but knows all of the words to The Wonder's fake songs. Seriously rent it people, you're missing out]Had to drink Corona Light [Not my choice, do not make fun of me] which morphed me back into freshman year and screamed along to "Wannabe" and "I Turn to You". Then the drama happened. Jess got scary drunk because she mixed Southern Comfort, Malibu and Coronas, a lethal combo especially if not drunk in specific order [Liquor before beer, you're in the clear...]. We had to carry her outside, where she proceeded to lie coatless in the middle of the snowy sidewalk. We had strangers coming up, watching us shove snow onto her face to stop her from blacking out. Five of us practically carried her to the subway, followed by a paddywagon of course because our luck isn't that good, where she proceeded to barf on the train, black out, then curse out the people who watched her puke every time she woke up [Thanks to the random nice girl who gave us her water to help.] We couldn't take her home to her parents because they'd rip her a new asshole so big you could fit a cannonball up there, so me and Gen took her back to Gen's where she passed out in her bed. <br /><br />The next morning, was supposed to go to the St. Patrick's Day Parade but did not want to part with my fuzzy warm pajama pants so I opted to spend a long, lazy morning of Youtube watch. Met up with Brenna and migrated over to Amanda's house for a St. Patty's Tacofest with Gia, Sarah, Bridget, Tekla, Kristen, Daniella, Elena, Jackie, and the sole burrito, Jackie's boyfriend. The Irish were outnumbered by quite a few but we tried to spread the "Viva Le Ireland" love with shamrock stickers, beer and the Dropkick Murphys. There was muff-diving, yet another Dance Party Revival, and, yes, the marijuana [It must be pronounced mari-ja-wanna, there really is no other way]. Surprising, yes, but I've stayed away from temptation for quite sometime but I figured, it's my last St. Patty's Day with my friends so why not not remember the night with them? I left around 1ish, went from blacking out in car service to breaking out in "La Vie Boheme" [in such a high-pitched delivery that I don't think even Mariah can hit] to entertain the driver, then went creeping around the house looking for an open door when Jody came out and busted me. I had Weed Hair, my mascara had seeped down to my cheeks, my eyes were bloodshot [which does transform them into a very nice blue] and my breath smelled like the bottom of a beer can. Went to bed with my jeans and sneakers still on, as only an Irish girl on St. Patty's should. I am now at work, slightly queasy but surprisingly hangover-free, with punishment looming over my head. Granted, by next weekend they'll probably forget this whole incident [Jody was still going to let me cut school tomorrow for Senior Cut Day] as they always do. Had worked today, where I resisted the urge to feast on the office donuts [Entemann's Crumb Donut, seen here: <br /><center><img src="http://entenmanns.gwbakeries.com/images/products/e_crumb_donut.gif"></center> <br />is my weakness. I will spend hours trying to inhale those extra little crumbles stuck in the side of the box, rather than just eating one of the donuts like a regular human being] and not strangle my coworkers. The parentals picked me up from there to go to Long Island for Lisa's 20th birthday party, which was basically Pride Parade 2007. Watched scary Youtube clips [Search: Rat Monster, Salad Fingers, Daxflame and Fat Kid on a Rollercoaster. It's worth it] with Joe [who has sand-colored Uggs and is proud of it, and does a mean imitation of Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend" video] and Erik [who has newly-shaven Peacock hair and spent the evening giving me tanning tips, ironic seeing as how his neck was eight separate shades of taupe], watched an extemporized outdoor reenactment of a horror movie scene, performed with great bravado by Hootie herself, had a tearfest to "Titanic" and "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" [worst emotional combination ever] and am now regretting all the rice and beans I engulfed. I'm out. Ciao. <br /><br />Drunken Quotes of the Weekend:<br />"What is the capital of New Jersey?"-Moi<br />"Malibu"-Jessica<br /><br />"Yeah this kid James..."-Val<br />"James Brolin!?!? That's Barbra Streisand's husband!"-Diana<br /><br />Chree: jack i was wayyyy fucked up last night<br />Hootie: chree i threw a dog <br />Chree: i serenaded the car service guy with songs from rent<br />Chree: in a very high pitched voice<br />Hootie: victoria cann said i picked up susan's dog nd threw it across the room <br />Chree: i got dry-humped by a blind dog<br /><br />Sudden Realization: Screw Ewan McGregor, I can be GANJA COHEN!!!!!!!!!!chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-32915388146911914622007-03-15T11:03:00.000-07:002008-12-11T10:40:32.517-08:00Skit is the Shit<strong>Alcohol Units:</strong> I stopped counting after ten…. make that I stopped being able to count after ten. <br /><strong>Cigarette Units:</strong> Two packs have inexplicably vanished. <br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoKJUkclI/AAAAAAAAAGM/RScf3QmFBaE/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019024_7243.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoKJUkclI/AAAAAAAAAGM/RScf3QmFBaE/s320/n1353600081_30019024_7243.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246150072332882" /></a><br /><center>Skit is the Shit</center><br /><br />We lost Sports Night to the Juniors. Again. The morning performance for skit was immaculate; [except for the fact that the stockings I wore on my head for my robber costume got stuck on the mat’s Velcro during my James Bond-esque tumbling move and wrapped around my neck in a deathly chokehold, therefore resulting in my life flashing before my eyes. I am the definition of graceful] our timing was sharp; the crowd was drooling at our wit and amusingness. The afternoon performance, we got too cocky and bombed harder than Pearl Harbor. Thankfully, the three younger years sucked way more so we got first place for skit [Skit is the shit!]. We came in first in dance, but second in tumbling [when Sister D showed the scores for tumbling, which we thought we had in the bag, half the girls literally flew in a glazed-over rage at her, clawing at her neck like Hitchcock’s “The Birds”, while the other half stormed out in a mini-protest], mural, volleyball, costumes and props, etc., granting us our second-best status. I kind of knew we weren’t going to win overall but, while I was really ticked off, I didn’t cry, a fact I’m proud of seeing as how Rice Krispies’ commercials make me sob. I’m sad because it was our last Sports Night ever, but I won’t pull a Britney Spears and shave my head and get a tacky tattoo or anything. <br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoVJUkcpI/AAAAAAAAAGs/hKEzV774JM0/s1600-h/n1353600123_30019104_2546.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoVJUkcpI/AAAAAAAAAGs/hKEzV774JM0/s320/n1353600123_30019104_2546.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246339050893970" /></a><br /><center>Sports Night Pit</center><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoJpUkcjI/AAAAAAAAAF8/ppaM9CYy-xQ/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019008_2218.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoJpUkcjI/AAAAAAAAAF8/ppaM9CYy-xQ/s320/n1353600081_30019008_2218.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246141482398258" /></a><br /><center>The Lardy Boys</center><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoJ5UkckI/AAAAAAAAAGE/UMZoifYBgJ0/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019015_4401.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoJ5UkckI/AAAAAAAAAGE/UMZoifYBgJ0/s320/n1353600081_30019015_4401.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246145777365570" /></a><br /><center>Only Sports Night could turn Liz Lang into a black woman</center><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoKZUkcmI/AAAAAAAAAGU/lzXgufcYSMQ/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019023_6924.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoKZUkcmI/AAAAAAAAAGU/lzXgufcYSMQ/s320/n1353600081_30019023_6924.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246154367300194" /></a><br /><center>Skit is life</center><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoKpUkcnI/AAAAAAAAAGc/TiqLkG0Bzrg/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019016_4713.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoKpUkcnI/AAAAAAAAAGc/TiqLkG0Bzrg/s320/n1353600081_30019016_4713.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246158662267506" /></a><br /><center>Wouldn't you be scared of this?</center><br /><br />Enough sentimentality. While the outcome of the day redefined crappy, it was actually a fun day. Tara tortured unsuspecting pedestrians by smashing her painted black face and pigtails against windows, skit reenacted our Thrust-In-Thrust-Out bit, plus there was a shitload of cupcakes, which always makes for a good time. After, to celebrate the fact that we are losers, Bridget threw a little Bonnie Beerathon. Me, Brenna, Steph, Gia, Sarah, Jamie, Jackie, Amanda, Daniella, Kristen, Tekla, Jill, Gabby, etc., crammed into her basement for a Sports Night Sucks party. I got attacked by a very large bulldog, drank enough beer to do some brutal liver damage, participated in a Hellogoodbye Dance Party revival, drunk Dr. Phil’ed all over Jill [I tend to morph into the lack-of-hair-apist when alcohol is involved and use words like “self-hate” and “emotional shields”. Maybe I should stop watching Oprah so much? Plus, it seems people like to spill their guts to someone when they know the second party won’t remember that you told them you were gay, secretly loved so-and-so, into bestiality, etc. in the morning], etc. <br /><strong>Fave. Drunk of the Night:</strong><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmojpUkctI/AAAAAAAAAHM/9-UoQQ9VOQY/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019035_9580.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmojpUkctI/AAAAAAAAAHM/9-UoQQ9VOQY/s320/n1353600081_30019035_9580.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246588158997202" /></a><br /><center></center><br />Winner: Jamie. Why: Because she harassed Bridget’s pet parrot for almost two hours as only a drunk Fontbonne girl can [“Perch the parrot. Come on, perch the motherfucking parrot!”] and she slurped spilled beer off the table because rule #1: we do NOT waste beer!<br />Special Mention: The Two-Beer Queers [Steph & Elena] & the Blackout Babes [Daniella & Gabby].<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmouJUkc0I/AAAAAAAAAIE/gJJGO4U7pyc/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019051_6522.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmouJUkc0I/AAAAAAAAAIE/gJJGO4U7pyc/s320/n1353600081_30019051_6522.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246768547623746" /></a><br /><center>Izzo Sandwich</center><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmouZUkc2I/AAAAAAAAAIU/Z0mifRCUdOE/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019049_5624.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmouZUkc2I/AAAAAAAAAIU/Z0mifRCUdOE/s320/n1353600081_30019049_5624.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246772842591074" /></a><br /><center>Me, Daniella & Brenna</center><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmojpUkcuI/AAAAAAAAAHU/s-V5BqjbfYU/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019034_9229.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmojpUkcuI/AAAAAAAAAHU/s-V5BqjbfYU/s320/n1353600081_30019034_9229.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246588158997218" /></a><br /><center>Definition of Sexy [Note Jamie's Tongue. Gene Simmons would be impressed]</center><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/Rfmoj5UkcvI/AAAAAAAAAHc/eQEMPClmoe8/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019032_8458.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/Rfmoj5UkcvI/AAAAAAAAAHc/eQEMPClmoe8/s320/n1353600081_30019032_8458.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246592453964530" /></a><br /><center>Blonnies</center><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/Rfmot5UkcyI/AAAAAAAAAH0/jFvvEoNfflE/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019042_2324.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/Rfmot5UkcyI/AAAAAAAAAH0/jFvvEoNfflE/s320/n1353600081_30019042_2324.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246764252656418" /></a><br /><center>Captain Jack will get you high tonight</center><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/Rfmoj5UkcwI/AAAAAAAAAHk/VzN2ZMz6Miw/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019038_684.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/Rfmoj5UkcwI/AAAAAAAAAHk/VzN2ZMz6Miw/s320/n1353600081_30019038_684.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246592453964546" /></a><br /><center>Yes, that is a penis crown on Gia's head</center><br />Got home fairly early, just in time for Logo’s late-night Qaf reruns but didn’t even stay conscious for the opening credits [Spunk!]. Sports Night mania wracked through the halls of The Boner the entire week and, consequently, a migraine wracked through the walls of my brain the entire week. Pulled quite a few all-nighters as all my Major Art and Photography work was due this week, probably adding to my already numbed brain. This weekend seems like it’s going to make up for the shitty week. Tomorrow is my last Social Awareness at Rainbow School. I will be an absolute wreck [times the Rice Krispies’ commercial-induced sobbing by a million]. Friday night we’re celebrating Jess’s 18th Birthday with karaoke and a large amount of alcohol, which will hopefully lift my mood. Saturday is St. Patty’s Day, the one day when the Irish and drunkards are actually proud [I guess that makes me doubly proud?] I took off work so I could go to the parade in the city [I am seriously winning Employee of the Month]. Saturday night I might go to a Bonnie House Party [hosted by an Italian. Blasphemous I know, but there will be beer]. Sunday I have work but Monday is Senior Cut Day, which makes Sunday night available for some Sabbath acknowledgement [replace wine and bread with beer and pizza]. Plus, Wednesday is The Timberlake concert [!!!] with Weiner, which obviously is the highlight of my life. Hopefully, things will stay this awesome. My fingers are about to dislodge from my hands. I’m done. Ciao.<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoVZUkcqI/AAAAAAAAAG0/lukORpX0D4w/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019063_1736.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoVZUkcqI/AAAAAAAAAG0/lukORpX0D4w/s320/n1353600081_30019063_1736.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246343345861282" /></a><br /><center>See, Gia knows the rule: No Wasting Beer!</center><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmokJUkcxI/AAAAAAAAAHs/IEvmRdDzQxg/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019048_5176.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmokJUkcxI/AAAAAAAAAHs/IEvmRdDzQxg/s320/n1353600081_30019048_5176.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246596748931858" /></a><br /><center>Me, Brenna, Tekla, Daniella & Kristen</center><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoVJUkcoI/AAAAAAAAAGk/ZjD--FV-DJA/s1600-h/n1353600123_30019107_3666.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoVJUkcoI/AAAAAAAAAGk/ZjD--FV-DJA/s320/n1353600123_30019107_3666.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246339050893954" /></a><br /><center>Me & Kristen</center><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmouJUkc1I/AAAAAAAAAIM/1_tTegJ5Xbs/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019056_8783.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmouJUkc1I/AAAAAAAAAIM/1_tTegJ5Xbs/s320/n1353600081_30019056_8783.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246768547623762" /></a><br /><center>Steph thinking "Should I let Chree & Brenna molest me?"</center><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoVpUkcrI/AAAAAAAAAG8/as1rIZO32w8/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019058_9711.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoVpUkcrI/AAAAAAAAAG8/as1rIZO32w8/s320/n1353600081_30019058_9711.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246347640828594" /></a><br /><center>"Yes I shall!"</center><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoVpUkcsI/AAAAAAAAAHE/_nTHMc1Ze1g/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019057_9244.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfmoVpUkcsI/AAAAAAAAAHE/_nTHMc1Ze1g/s320/n1353600081_30019057_9244.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246347640828610" /></a><br /><center>Me, Amanda & Brenna</center><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/Rfmot5UkczI/AAAAAAAAAH8/6RiuWor_LJw/s1600-h/n1353600081_30019050_6091.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/Rfmot5UkczI/AAAAAAAAAH8/6RiuWor_LJw/s320/n1353600081_30019050_6091.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042246764252656434" /></a><br /><center>Love these Girls</center>chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-56066901485320042462007-03-14T16:59:00.000-07:002008-12-11T10:40:32.712-08:00What if Nathan Lane & ET had a baby?<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfiMYZUkcKI/AAAAAAAAAC0/IYaWp4IfPtk/s1600-h/sistereileen1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfiMYZUkcKI/AAAAAAAAAC0/IYaWp4IfPtk/s320/sistereileen1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5041934133583179938" /></a><br />This is a surprisingly accurate portrait I drew of Sister Eileen, a.k.a the hybrid of Nathan Lane & ET: Extraterrestrial, during Government class. Enjoy.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-86720830212147831982007-03-14T15:48:00.000-07:002007-03-14T15:49:07.906-07:00I Loathe My JobOverheard in the Office:<br />"I dreamt I was at a penis auction"- Bob<br /><br />This statement almost made me choke to death on my sandwich a la Mama Cass. I need a new job.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-75538713948170120702007-03-13T13:35:00.000-07:002007-03-13T13:38:07.838-07:00How Does a Yamacha Stay On?The extraordinariness of my life is summed up in this simple fact:<br />Someone from Missouri searched Ask.com with "How does a yamaka stay on?" and the very first source to pop up was Blog de Chree. Go ahead, search it. I know you want to. Ciao.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-14859973885178247352007-03-10T18:33:00.000-08:002008-12-11T10:40:36.061-08:00I am Boy George<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNrAZUkb1I/AAAAAAAAAAM/z3r4kZZHK0A/s1600-h/moi.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNrAZUkb1I/AAAAAAAAAAM/z3r4kZZHK0A/s320/moi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040490062499049298" /></a><br />Tomorrow is Sports Night. My last Sports Night ever at The Boner. For those of you normal people who's lives aren't based around such an insane event, Sports Night is a competition between the four years that doesn't really involve sports and doesn't take place at night. It involves skit, dance, tumbling, mural, song, costumes & props, relay, and volleyball. Sounds like fun? It's not. It's highly competitive and has been the make or break of many a year. There are legends and curses and traditions and mania and it's completely absurd, but it's Fontbonne and it's my last one. I will not get teary-eyed now. I will save my sorrow for tomorrow [that really wasn't meant to rhyme.] <br /> <br />Onto happier things. Last Saturday was the Chrenna-hosted extravaganza The 1989 Party, which doubled as an early birthday bash for Gia. Me, Brenna, Steph, Janine, Gia, Sarah, Gabe, Pam, Dell, Deirdre, Stephen, Jamie and Spam had a night full of leg warmers, Paula Abdul and the B52's [LOVE SHACK!], 80's trivia ["What 'icy' war ended during this year?" "VANILLA ICE!?!?!"], beer [Top Two Drunken Moments of the Night: 1. Dell spewing pizza sauce all over Gabe & 2. Brenna lighting the wrong side of her cigarette and wondering why the air smelled like burnt paper], 80's awards [I won Best Big Hair and was awarded a heinous scrunchie and a bottle of Aquanet], and a crapload of Domino's pizza [Seriously, best drunk food ever. Me and Janine actually went through garbage on a Chinese couple's lawn just to retrieve leftovers]. 'Twas a success so Chrenna is conjuring up another year party, possibly 1967. If you're lucky, you'll be invited. <br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNr9JUkb7I/AAAAAAAAAA8/r5r8jvFF0SY/s1600-h/myspace.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNr9JUkb7I/AAAAAAAAAA8/r5r8jvFF0SY/s320/myspace.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491106176102322" /></a><br /><center>Party Like it's 1989</center><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNr9JUkb8I/AAAAAAAAABE/MtXjtXSFNOE/s1600-h/80s1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNr9JUkb8I/AAAAAAAAABE/MtXjtXSFNOE/s320/80s1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491106176102338" /></a><br /><center>Moi, Janine, Brenna & Steph</center><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNr9JUkb9I/AAAAAAAAABM/d385kJKiOGY/s1600-h/19897.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNr9JUkb9I/AAAAAAAAABM/d385kJKiOGY/s320/19897.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491106176102354" /></a><br /><center>Side Ponytails</center><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNr9ZUkb-I/AAAAAAAAABU/1O-PuN8atlo/s1600-h/19894.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNr9ZUkb-I/AAAAAAAAABU/1O-PuN8atlo/s320/19894.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491110471069666" /></a><br /><center>Um yeah, Steph is a species all her own</center><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNr9ZUkb_I/AAAAAAAAABc/Hbsc4Rj6uPk/s1600-h/1989.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNr9ZUkb_I/AAAAAAAAABc/Hbsc4Rj6uPk/s320/1989.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491110471069682" /></a><br /><center>Dell trying to clean up his pizza spew from Gabe's shirt. Nice</center><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsQZUkcAI/AAAAAAAAABk/WqkY8kuxrkY/s1600-h/19890.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsQZUkcAI/AAAAAAAAABk/WqkY8kuxrkY/s320/19890.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491436888584194" /></a><br /><center>Mr. & Mrs. 1989 with their prize: Neon Condoms!</center><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsQZUkcBI/AAAAAAAAABs/Wa4S9icMGbg/s1600-h/sarahcake.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsQZUkcBI/AAAAAAAAABs/Wa4S9icMGbg/s320/sarahcake.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491436888584210" /></a><br /><center>Who knew cake could bring someone so much joy?</center><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsQpUkcCI/AAAAAAAAAB0/JopqfeweILM/s1600-h/blonnies.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsQpUkcCI/AAAAAAAAAB0/JopqfeweILM/s320/blonnies.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491441183551522" /></a><br /><center>Blonnies Love the 80s: 1989</center><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsQpUkcDI/AAAAAAAAAB8/txkq8pxU7Xo/s1600-h/19895.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsQpUkcDI/AAAAAAAAAB8/txkq8pxU7Xo/s320/19895.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491441183551538" /></a><br /><center></center><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsQpUkcEI/AAAAAAAAACE/K-gDRPqLbGU/s1600-h/steph.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsQpUkcEI/AAAAAAAAACE/K-gDRPqLbGU/s320/steph.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491441183551554" /></a><br /><center>Steph the Two Beer Queer</center><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsY5UkcFI/AAAAAAAAACM/QN72K3NWHOg/s1600-h/yum.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsY5UkcFI/AAAAAAAAACM/QN72K3NWHOg/s320/yum.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491582917472338" /></a><br /><center>The Extraordinary Party-Planning Duo: Chrenna!</center><br /><br />The week was relatively normal, especially for Spirit Week. Although, everything is killing me. Work is killing my diet because they've refilled the candy dispenser, replacing the gross Mike-n-Ike's with cashews, which I've been gorging on by the 25-cent handful. School is killing my brain because Sister Eileen said the word sex a record 13 puke-worthy times in one class and even managed to throw a "gyrations" in there. My parents are killing me because, if they say the words "financial aid" one more time, my brain is going to explode into tiny meaty pieces. So everywhere I go, I'm dying. Good times. For these reasons, I've cocooned myself in my house for the weekend, slaving away at the obscene amount of art homework I have due next week. Tonight, thank Margaret Cho [who is my semi-lesbian idol. Watch the video to see why], I have the house to my self, which means a night full of cigarettes, a Tivo'd Qaf episode marathon and guiltless carb consumption. Praise the Cho. Ciao. <br /><center>Spirit Day: Seniors '07:</center><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsj5UkcGI/AAAAAAAAACU/7X5XcWwbtCg/s1600-h/sportsnight1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNsj5UkcGI/AAAAAAAAACU/7X5XcWwbtCg/s320/sportsnight1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491771896033378" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNskJUkcHI/AAAAAAAAACc/Ld_29j9wxHg/s1600-h/spiritday.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNskJUkcHI/AAAAAAAAACc/Ld_29j9wxHg/s320/spiritday.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491776191000690" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNskJUkcII/AAAAAAAAACk/eoCF78QNjFg/s1600-h/sportsnight.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNskJUkcII/AAAAAAAAACk/eoCF78QNjFg/s320/sportsnight.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491776191000706" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNskJUkcJI/AAAAAAAAACs/tiF4xg5sg9M/s1600-h/sports+night.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_U7lasQD_cB8/RfNskJUkcJI/AAAAAAAAACs/tiF4xg5sg9M/s320/sports+night.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040491776191000722" /></a><br /><br />And last but not least, my idol:<br /><center><br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uryHQarMMMk"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uryHQarMMMk" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object></center>chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-41884897577040264762007-03-09T14:06:00.000-08:002007-03-10T18:59:44.113-08:00Rat Monster is Life<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fCl_ZXsgAxI"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fCl_ZXsgAxI" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><br /><br />"Do you need help little man?" Yeah, quite possibly one of the funniest, scariest things I've ever seen. Gotta love Youtube.chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989352804805086345.post-4939079789412660122007-03-07T17:35:00.000-08:002007-03-07T17:37:53.515-08:00Blogger Virgin<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">For the past three years, I have been in a committed relationship to my dear Xanga. Faithful and true, I shunned the temptations of Livejournal, etc. But now, I can resist temptation no longer. I am starting an adulterous affair with Blogger *gasp!* Me and Xanga will remain friends and we'll meet up for friendly lunch from time to time, making unnecessary small conversation like "How's your mom?" and "Did you try that new taco place on the corner?" to fill the awkward silences. Blogger is cuter and more fun therefore explaining my need to dump Xanga. We've had good times Xanga, but now I must pop my Blogger cherry. I'm taking you off speed dial, get your Dave Matthews cds out of my house. Ciao.</span>chreeyolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04616813474877380788noreply@blogger.com