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
Showing posts with label Cheer Up Emo Kid. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cheer Up Emo Kid. Show all posts
Friday, May 18, 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, April 7, 2007
Dashboard Confessional
For 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Kiss me, I'm Shitfaced
I 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.
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:
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
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.
Drunken Quotes of the Weekend:
"What is the capital of New Jersey?"-Moi
"Malibu"-Jessica
"Yeah this kid James..."-Val
"James Brolin!?!? That's Barbra Streisand's husband!"-Diana
Chree: jack i was wayyyy fucked up last night
Hootie: chree i threw a dog
Chree: i serenaded the car service guy with songs from rent
Chree: in a very high pitched voice
Hootie: victoria cann said i picked up susan's dog nd threw it across the room
Chree: i got dry-humped by a blind dog
Sudden Realization: Screw Ewan McGregor, I can be GANJA COHEN!!!!!!!!!!
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:
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
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.
Drunken Quotes of the Weekend:
"What is the capital of New Jersey?"-Moi
"Malibu"-Jessica
"Yeah this kid James..."-Val
"James Brolin!?!? That's Barbra Streisand's husband!"-Diana
Chree: jack i was wayyyy fucked up last night
Hootie: chree i threw a dog
Chree: i serenaded the car service guy with songs from rent
Chree: in a very high pitched voice
Hootie: victoria cann said i picked up susan's dog nd threw it across the room
Chree: i got dry-humped by a blind dog
Sudden Realization: Screw Ewan McGregor, I can be GANJA COHEN!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Skit is the Shit
Alcohol Units: I stopped counting after ten…. make that I stopped being able to count after ten.
Cigarette Units: Two packs have inexplicably vanished.
Skit is the Shit
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.
Sports Night Pit
The Lardy Boys
Only Sports Night could turn Liz Lang into a black woman
Skit is life
Wouldn't you be scared of this?
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.
Fave. Drunk of the Night:
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!
Special Mention: The Two-Beer Queers [Steph & Elena] & the Blackout Babes [Daniella & Gabby].
Izzo Sandwich
Me, Daniella & Brenna
Definition of Sexy [Note Jamie's Tongue. Gene Simmons would be impressed]
Blonnies
Captain Jack will get you high tonight
Yes, that is a penis crown on Gia's head
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.
See, Gia knows the rule: No Wasting Beer!
Me, Brenna, Tekla, Daniella & Kristen
Me & Kristen
Steph thinking "Should I let Chree & Brenna molest me?"
"Yes I shall!"
Me, Amanda & Brenna
Love these Girls
Cigarette Units: Two packs have inexplicably vanished.
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.
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.
Fave. Drunk of the Night:
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!
Special Mention: The Two-Beer Queers [Steph & Elena] & the Blackout Babes [Daniella & Gabby].
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.
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