Bye Bye Boner

Inhale

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exhale

Go Shia Go!

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

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







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





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

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

Tuesday was the "Perfect Stranger" premiere so I met up with Omar, John the Breathatarian [...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.

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


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

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

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

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

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

Happy 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.

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.

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…].


Note the "To Chree, LOVE Mika". L-O-V-E, people.

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.

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.

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.

Quote of Yesterday:
“Leiberwurst spielen!”
Translation: Insulted lip protrusion!

P.S. This is why I adore him:

At the very end, you can hear Obnoxious Me scream "Lollipop!!!" like a mental patient.

Three Small Words

I. Got. In.