I have literally had this post festering in my email box for a week now and have just discovered it. This will be long so I recommend you stretch beforehand. Anyhoo, here it is, better late than never:
I'm writing this in Pre-Cal and Sister Helen keeps interrupting my writing spree with her teaching. What does she think this is? school? Preposterous. Anyhoo, got back last Saturday from Boston, which was a lot of fun even though the weather did not parallel the good mood. Me, Deidre and her parents left Thursday after school for Boston, hit shitloads of explicable traffic in Connecticut [apparently the rest of the world has caught on that Connecticut bites the big one and wanted to get out of there as fast as they could] but still managed to make it to Massachusetts at a decent hour. We stayed at a nice hotel, which though didn't have a Neutrogena bathroom cosmetic line for me to steal, did have beds of bliss, mini-muffins and "Pride and Prejudice" on demand, all three of which are key factors to my existence.
The next morning, me and Deidre went to BU's [or The Boo as to it will now be referred] open house while her parents moved out her sister from Northeastern. We got there late, right in the middle of the Dean's Welcome, plus we were parentless and New Yorkers [They can smell the subway on us. They're like enraged wolves], so we really started off on the right foot. After a few presentations, we got to eat lunch at one of the cafeterias. The pasta was horrid but it did have pretty good coffee [Wow, a stretch for Beantown] and even a goldfish dispenser. A goldfish dispenser! That, coupled with the red plastic cups and "Baba O'Riley" [see October 9th post], have assured me that The Boo is indeed home.
However, once the cheese-coated high of the dispenser wore off, we realized that a lot of students were eating alone during lunch, which, aside from Paris Hilton trying to write a book, is the saddest thing I've ever seen. Eating is such a communal process to me, like the amount of calories you're lining your esophagus with is meaningless when you have a bunch of friends around you doing the same so that you'll all die together with high cholesterol. If I have no one to sit with at lunch next year, I will literally hide in my dorm in shame, gnawing on a year-old rice cake.
Anyway, after stalking other open housers for an hour to make sure we didn't get left behind, we were taken on a dorm tour by Chow, one of the Benetton-Ad-looking tour guides that were obnoxiously cheery [like Happy Girl cheery] and most likely on something. The hallways of the freshmen dorms look like something out of "Hostel" but the actual rooms are nice-sized and pretty tolerable. However, said tolerability may not correlate to the subject of roommates. Think about it: you are practically encaged with a stranger in a two-by-four for an entire year. What if I have an obsessive compulsive cleaner who will be revolted by my slob lifestyle and will douse me with Windex in my sleep as punishment for my messiness? Or what if I have a roommate who performs routine animal sacrifices involving ferrets in the middle of the night? Or, God forbid, someone who chews with their mouth open when they eat. THE HORROR! THE HORROR! Or, worst of all, what if my roommate isn't the strange one? What if I am?
Enough anxiety. After, all of the accepted students had a Q&A with actual students of The Boo. It was all major and minor mumbo-jumbo until finally a Jeri-curled Jew asked about partying and fake ID's, and the real shit came out. Afro boy is my kind of people. We took a campus tour, during which me and Deidre tortured the poor guide girl with our incessant pestering about the student store [which has its own Jamba Juice and Starbucks. I am going to be the most caffeinated girl on campus], which we raided. After that, because, again, apparently the scent of Brooklyn is specifically putrid in the nasal canals of Boston cabbies and therefore they ignored our frantic waving hands and left us stranded in the rain, we had to trek a mile in our matching The Boo hoodies to Northeastern. It appears that walking in Northeastern territory in The Boo hoodies is like Don Imus walking through Harlem- it’s a guaranteed death act.
While we did almost get hit by a train and had the fury of Northeasterners burned into our retinas, we managed to get there in one piece. We helped her sister move out of her apartment, which was inexplicably covered in feathers and thumbtacks, stated ourselves on Au Bon Pain and started the long drive home, salvaged by “The Devil Wears Prada”. We got home late, I went to bed later and geniusly took off work on Saturday so that I could catch up on sleep and Tivo love [sidenote: My Tivo officially knows I’m a notorious faghag. It records anything with the word “gay” in the title or description. It’s bad when a nonhuman digital recording device knows me better than some of the actual human specimens I know.].
Saturday night didn’t go out because my brain was still on snooze mode, so instead had lively conversations about marijuana and multiplication tables with intoxicated fifteen-year-olds over wine and cigarettes. Sunday, I couldn’t skip work again so I had to spend a day at the office, though, thankfully, I was left alone most of the day. Okay, so that’s it for this post. I’ll save the rest for the next one. Ciao.
Showing posts with label Carb Consumption. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Carb Consumption. Show all posts
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Got High?
My yogurt just ejaculated on me and there is a bunny scarecrow in the corner of the office. I am not clever enough to make this crap up. As you can tell, life is great. My coworkers are the most vile beasts the free world have ever seen. Bob the Denture Sucker and Hairy Harold are facing off in a Gross-Out Contest and so far they're at a dead tie. As a result of this competition, I can no longer consume egg drop soup or sugarfree Jell-O without activating my gag reflex. Thanks guys.
Anyhoo, apparently someone has decided to segue my glorious Spring Break with a complete and utter suckfest. This weekend was a bust. The week was okay, although work was uncommonly shitty, as you can tell by my aforementioned anecdotes. Thursday, Jody let me take a mental health day from school to go prom dress shopping [I love my mother] in Hicksville Long Island ["You know your town's bogus when the coolest thing in it's a water tower"], which, surprisingly wasn't as traumatic as last year's experience. After trying on a million and one prom dresses, I finally picked my perfect one. It's lipstick red and slinky and I love it. On the way home, Jody ridded me of my giddiness when she attempted to initiate a sex talk [not as genius as The Cohens' sex talk though. Evidence:
Sandy: Hey, listen, you were lucky to be able to hang in there after all that foreplay.
Seth: Fore-what-now?
Sandy: We Cohens are sexual beings.]
which prompted me to roll down the window and take a crack at highway suicide. Gross.
Friday was 420 so after school I migrated to Bay Ridge to celebrate the stoner festivities with Janine, Brenna and Laura. We pregamed at Casa de Other Izzo, where I discovered that pasta makes a really good shot chaser, then went to Fanning's where me and Brenna couldn't even drink because we were ID-less. Then went to Peggy's where we paid $20 cover charge for approximately fifteen minutes at the bar [where I may or may not have been called a "troll"]. The bar tender, who initially foiled our plans with her preposterous "one drink per ID[It is so hard to drink illegally in this damn country], recognized the girl on Laura's fake so she kicked her out and, being the good friends we are, we willingly followed. Pouted on a bench for twenty minutes with Mike & co., passed out in car service, threw up the six shots I'd inhaled and was out like a light off before 2. Wow, great 420 guys.
I was hoping Saturday would alleviate the overall shittiness but instead it actually intensified it. Work was, as you can tell, a suckathon, although, now that tax season is over, Bob the Denture Sucker leaves early and I do get an hour of freedom at the end of my shift. Saturday night, was supposed to go to karaoke with everyone for Mike's birthday but, due to severe migraine, exhaustion and mere crappiness of life, I stayed home with the new issue of Vogue and reruns of the GLAAD awards ["Chree, you've got to stop watching LOGO!!!"- Michelle. She's probably right; when you start identifying more with homosexual males than you do straight women, you know it's time to turn off the gay cable], which I cried hysterically to [out of awe of all the gay men of course]. Thankfully, Sunday was a much-needed snoozefest, although it was halted momentarily by my dog attacking the 'gina in my sleep. I believe she's a lesbian.
The school week was, again, relatively normal. Monday, an acting group from NYU came to The Boner to perform Shakespeare [I was sleeping, therefore I have no idea which play it was. It was the very definition of zzzz], whose only interesting occurence was when me and Ana discovered Mike's long lost twin from Oklahoma. Tuesday, me and The Apes got to ditch school to see "Jane Eyre" performed at Baruch College, which was Tony-worthy compared to the NYU play-o-crap, especially as a result of the adorable dogboy and all the molestation [I really wouldn't ask]. Today was the usual, except for the penis-covered period pads, the sex sermon and the catfights during Art History. Tomorrow I'm going to Boston with Deidre for BU's accepted student open house, which hopefully will get me out of this slup. Now I'm going to go back to my cashew consumption [I've literally eaten the entire cashew compartment of the candy machine. Like the entire thing, singlehandedly. That's talent] and Youtube stalking. Ciao.
Quotes of the Day:
"I love gay, anorexic raccoons"- Victoria
"I never want to be described that way after sex...wet panties and a swollen face."- Jill
Anyhoo, apparently someone has decided to segue my glorious Spring Break with a complete and utter suckfest. This weekend was a bust. The week was okay, although work was uncommonly shitty, as you can tell by my aforementioned anecdotes. Thursday, Jody let me take a mental health day from school to go prom dress shopping [I love my mother] in Hicksville Long Island ["You know your town's bogus when the coolest thing in it's a water tower"], which, surprisingly wasn't as traumatic as last year's experience. After trying on a million and one prom dresses, I finally picked my perfect one. It's lipstick red and slinky and I love it. On the way home, Jody ridded me of my giddiness when she attempted to initiate a sex talk [not as genius as The Cohens' sex talk though. Evidence:
Sandy: Hey, listen, you were lucky to be able to hang in there after all that foreplay.
Seth: Fore-what-now?
Sandy: We Cohens are sexual beings.]
which prompted me to roll down the window and take a crack at highway suicide. Gross.
Friday was 420 so after school I migrated to Bay Ridge to celebrate the stoner festivities with Janine, Brenna and Laura. We pregamed at Casa de Other Izzo, where I discovered that pasta makes a really good shot chaser, then went to Fanning's where me and Brenna couldn't even drink because we were ID-less. Then went to Peggy's where we paid $20 cover charge for approximately fifteen minutes at the bar [where I may or may not have been called a "troll"]. The bar tender, who initially foiled our plans with her preposterous "one drink per ID[It is so hard to drink illegally in this damn country], recognized the girl on Laura's fake so she kicked her out and, being the good friends we are, we willingly followed. Pouted on a bench for twenty minutes with Mike & co., passed out in car service, threw up the six shots I'd inhaled and was out like a light off before 2. Wow, great 420 guys.
I was hoping Saturday would alleviate the overall shittiness but instead it actually intensified it. Work was, as you can tell, a suckathon, although, now that tax season is over, Bob the Denture Sucker leaves early and I do get an hour of freedom at the end of my shift. Saturday night, was supposed to go to karaoke with everyone for Mike's birthday but, due to severe migraine, exhaustion and mere crappiness of life, I stayed home with the new issue of Vogue and reruns of the GLAAD awards ["Chree, you've got to stop watching LOGO!!!"- Michelle. She's probably right; when you start identifying more with homosexual males than you do straight women, you know it's time to turn off the gay cable], which I cried hysterically to [out of awe of all the gay men of course]. Thankfully, Sunday was a much-needed snoozefest, although it was halted momentarily by my dog attacking the 'gina in my sleep. I believe she's a lesbian.
The school week was, again, relatively normal. Monday, an acting group from NYU came to The Boner to perform Shakespeare [I was sleeping, therefore I have no idea which play it was. It was the very definition of zzzz], whose only interesting occurence was when me and Ana discovered Mike's long lost twin from Oklahoma. Tuesday, me and The Apes got to ditch school to see "Jane Eyre" performed at Baruch College, which was Tony-worthy compared to the NYU play-o-crap, especially as a result of the adorable dogboy and all the molestation [I really wouldn't ask]. Today was the usual, except for the penis-covered period pads, the sex sermon and the catfights during Art History. Tomorrow I'm going to Boston with Deidre for BU's accepted student open house, which hopefully will get me out of this slup. Now I'm going to go back to my cashew consumption [I've literally eaten the entire cashew compartment of the candy machine. Like the entire thing, singlehandedly. That's talent] and Youtube stalking. Ciao.
Quotes of the Day:
"I love gay, anorexic raccoons"- Victoria
"I never want to be described that way after sex...wet panties and a swollen face."- Jill
Saturday, March 31, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
I am Boy George
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.]
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.
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.
And last but not least, my idol:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
