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 The Boner. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Boner. Show all posts
Friday, May 18, 2007
Sunday, May 6, 2007
There's No Place Like Gnome.
I have a garden gnome living in an empty KFC bucket in my room. How MTV cameras aren't following me around yet, I don't know. Recap of the week and then explanation as usual.
Monday was the waste-of-time Walk-a-thon. The Boner forced us to “donate” $75 to literally walk around the neighborhood for half an hour, during which me and Steph vandalized public property with advertisements for prostitutes [“I’am a hoe. For some fun, call SUGARBUSH at *insert Brenna’s cell number here*"]. After we went to Paneantico’s to fill my prosciutto and pretension quota for the month. Then we went to buy Steph a car; a silver [oh wait, sorry, “crystalline grey”] Subaru that I named The Raven because of its wing-like Spoiler. The rest of the school week was fairly ordinary. Now that there are only nine [eight?] school days left and all thoughts of education have vanished from student and faculty minds alike, we're in heavy movie mode, all of which enigmatically feature John Malkovich. Senioritis [Actually it’s gone beyond pedestrian senioritis. It’s like a dull impatience I just can't shake] is at an all time high and I am rebelling from doing anything that remotely resembles work for the remainder of the year.
Thankfully, Friday we had off because of our “kind work” from the Walk-a-thon, so I decided to host a little scavenger hunt. And by scavenger hunt, I mean a highly-competitive teamed car race throughout all of Brooklyn in pursuit of eternal glory and the following eccentric items:
THE HUNT LIST
ITEMS:
POINT VALUE:
1. An “Employees Must Wash Hands” Sign: 50 points
2. Teams must tag a bench on Shore between 79th and 85th, the find another Team’s tag and take a pic with it: 50 points
3. Picture of someone wearing lingerie: 50 points
4. Five pics with strangers, including: 20 points per picture
a. security guard/cop
b. a balding man wearing brown shoes
c. bar bouncer
d. senior citizen
e. waitress
5. Stolen condoms: 10 points
6. A periwinkle crayon: 20 points
7. A packet of ketchup from McDonald’s: 10 points
8. Picture of team walking through McD’s drive-through and ordering food: 75 points
9. A parking ticket: 50 points
10. A clip-on earring: 30 points
11. Picture of team with Winnie the Pooh: 10 points
12. Picture with Mike’s Chinese Cat: 30 points
13. Switch clothes with someone not on your team [picture is acceptable]: 50 points
14. Stolen garden gnome/Jesus statue: 100 points [200 for both]
15. Picture of team member in a stolen shopping cart: 50 points
16. Membership card from an adult film store [must be in team member’s name]: 75 points
17. Picture of team in a photo booth: 30 points
18. Picture of a hickey [cannot be self-sucked, sucking must be in progress in the photo]: 25 points
19.Purple shoelaces: 20 points
20. Picture of someone getting tattooed: 80 points [180 if it’s a team member]
21. Picture of team member with a dog with a doggy biscuit in team member’s mouth: 90 points
22. Picture of team member wearing bowling shoes: 40 points
23. Picture of senior citizen flipping off team [cannot be team members’ grandparents]: 150 points
24. Flintstone vitamins: 30 points
25. A bowtie: 20 points
26. Picture of team in wigs/toupees: 40 points
27. Tube of Preparation H: 20 points
28. Ping pong paddle: 10 points
29. A dill pickle: 10 points
30. Something that says “Made in Canada” on it: 20 points
31. A skateboard: 10 points
32. An empty KFC bucket: 40 points
33. A funnel: 10 points
34. A kiwi: 10 points
35. A tambourine: 15 points
36. Picture of members in front of a bakery: 20 points
37. Picture of team with hamster/gerbil: 50 points
38. Finished Sudoku puzzle: 50 points
39. Picture with a map of Narnia/ Middle Earth: 30 points
40. Picture with a Swahili dictionary: 20 points
41. Picture of team with a bottle of spermicide: 20 points
42. Picture of team member hoolah-hooping: 30 points
43. Picture of team with a Twister game set up and ready to play: 100 points
44. Picture of team with an actual pitched tent [not, I repeat, not a boner.]: 100 points
45. Picture of team member with a bowling trophy: 20 points
46. A boomerang: 40 points
47. A tape that teaches French [picture is acceptable]: 50 points
48. A wooden spoon: 10 points
49. A toilet seat: 50 points
50. A whoopee cushion: 20 points
51. Picture with a Daniel Steel novel with team reenacting the cover: 50 points
52. Picture with an 8 ball: 20 points [50 if actual 8 ball is present]
53. Picture of team with someone in a cowboy hat: 10 points
54. Picture of team with someone with a mullet: 50 points
55. A bible [bible must be present in every picture taken by the team. Oops, guess you should have read through the whole list first huh?]: 100 points
There were three teams, three cars and three hours to complete the fifty-five tasks. Team Cruiseship was me, Dre, Mike, Chris and Angie; Team Whistler was Jackie, Jamie, Amanda and Jesse; and Team No-Name was Ana and her boys. Team Cruiseship did pretty well; obviously we got the garden gnome [who is in my possession and has been named Nigel the Fabulous], we walked through McD’s drive through, got an old fart to flip us off, found a toilet seat, stole Preparation H, the periwinkle crayon, Sudoku, spermicide, Flintstone vitamins and condoms from various pharmacies, etc. At one point we were literally in the ghetto looking for a tattoo place so that Angie could get a smiley face and put us in first place for eternal glory but tattoos aren't cheap and an army of giant rats stole Deirdre’s salad so we had to escape. In the end, Team Whistler won with their enthusiasm and amazing-ness, but Team Cruiseship came in second with a respectable 1000 points [Woot!]
However, our party was cut short, in what Mike correctly described as a “dog pissing on your Carvel”, when Team Whistler got in a car accident during their victory lap. They sped right into a mint-condition Mustang at a red light, though, thank Coco Peru times two, nobody was seriously hurt. It did shake everyone up though but I'm so happy Yesterday was Cinco de Mayo and Glenn’s birthday [the golden oldie is the big 4-5] so I had to choose to celebrate one or the other. Luckily, Jody’s was taking Glenn out so I was going to go hang out with Jessica and get wrecked. But of course, excrutiating physical pain took over [due to over-exertion from exercising (when your abs hurt when you sneeze, you know you're in bad shape) and severe nausea from ancient homemade pizza crust] so I spent the night in with my Tivo. Today, Jody is throwing another insane Dinner Party competition [although I really shouldn't talk because my hunt-making abilities are definitely inherited from her side of the family] so me, Hootie, Steph and maybe Mel and Manda will probably go out for dinner and a movie. I have to go clean up the war zone that it is my room. Ciao.
Monday was the waste-of-time Walk-a-thon. The Boner forced us to “donate” $75 to literally walk around the neighborhood for half an hour, during which me and Steph vandalized public property with advertisements for prostitutes [“I’am a hoe. For some fun, call SUGARBUSH at *insert Brenna’s cell number here*"]. After we went to Paneantico’s to fill my prosciutto and pretension quota for the month. Then we went to buy Steph a car; a silver [oh wait, sorry, “crystalline grey”] Subaru that I named The Raven because of its wing-like Spoiler. The rest of the school week was fairly ordinary. Now that there are only nine [eight?] school days left and all thoughts of education have vanished from student and faculty minds alike, we're in heavy movie mode, all of which enigmatically feature John Malkovich. Senioritis [Actually it’s gone beyond pedestrian senioritis. It’s like a dull impatience I just can't shake] is at an all time high and I am rebelling from doing anything that remotely resembles work for the remainder of the year.
Thankfully, Friday we had off because of our “kind work” from the Walk-a-thon, so I decided to host a little scavenger hunt. And by scavenger hunt, I mean a highly-competitive teamed car race throughout all of Brooklyn in pursuit of eternal glory and the following eccentric items:
THE HUNT LIST
ITEMS:
POINT VALUE:
1. An “Employees Must Wash Hands” Sign: 50 points
2. Teams must tag a bench on Shore between 79th and 85th, the find another Team’s tag and take a pic with it: 50 points
3. Picture of someone wearing lingerie: 50 points
4. Five pics with strangers, including: 20 points per picture
a. security guard/cop
b. a balding man wearing brown shoes
c. bar bouncer
d. senior citizen
e. waitress
5. Stolen condoms: 10 points
6. A periwinkle crayon: 20 points
7. A packet of ketchup from McDonald’s: 10 points
8. Picture of team walking through McD’s drive-through and ordering food: 75 points
9. A parking ticket: 50 points
10. A clip-on earring: 30 points
11. Picture of team with Winnie the Pooh: 10 points
12. Picture with Mike’s Chinese Cat: 30 points
13. Switch clothes with someone not on your team [picture is acceptable]: 50 points
14. Stolen garden gnome/Jesus statue: 100 points [200 for both]
15. Picture of team member in a stolen shopping cart: 50 points
16. Membership card from an adult film store [must be in team member’s name]: 75 points
17. Picture of team in a photo booth: 30 points
18. Picture of a hickey [cannot be self-sucked, sucking must be in progress in the photo]: 25 points
19.Purple shoelaces: 20 points
20. Picture of someone getting tattooed: 80 points [180 if it’s a team member]
21. Picture of team member with a dog with a doggy biscuit in team member’s mouth: 90 points
22. Picture of team member wearing bowling shoes: 40 points
23. Picture of senior citizen flipping off team [cannot be team members’ grandparents]: 150 points
24. Flintstone vitamins: 30 points
25. A bowtie: 20 points
26. Picture of team in wigs/toupees: 40 points
27. Tube of Preparation H: 20 points
28. Ping pong paddle: 10 points
29. A dill pickle: 10 points
30. Something that says “Made in Canada” on it: 20 points
31. A skateboard: 10 points
32. An empty KFC bucket: 40 points
33. A funnel: 10 points
34. A kiwi: 10 points
35. A tambourine: 15 points
36. Picture of members in front of a bakery: 20 points
37. Picture of team with hamster/gerbil: 50 points
38. Finished Sudoku puzzle: 50 points
39. Picture with a map of Narnia/ Middle Earth: 30 points
40. Picture with a Swahili dictionary: 20 points
41. Picture of team with a bottle of spermicide: 20 points
42. Picture of team member hoolah-hooping: 30 points
43. Picture of team with a Twister game set up and ready to play: 100 points
44. Picture of team with an actual pitched tent [not, I repeat, not a boner.]: 100 points
45. Picture of team member with a bowling trophy: 20 points
46. A boomerang: 40 points
47. A tape that teaches French [picture is acceptable]: 50 points
48. A wooden spoon: 10 points
49. A toilet seat: 50 points
50. A whoopee cushion: 20 points
51. Picture with a Daniel Steel novel with team reenacting the cover: 50 points
52. Picture with an 8 ball: 20 points [50 if actual 8 ball is present]
53. Picture of team with someone in a cowboy hat: 10 points
54. Picture of team with someone with a mullet: 50 points
55. A bible [bible must be present in every picture taken by the team. Oops, guess you should have read through the whole list first huh?]: 100 points
There were three teams, three cars and three hours to complete the fifty-five tasks. Team Cruiseship was me, Dre, Mike, Chris and Angie; Team Whistler was Jackie, Jamie, Amanda and Jesse; and Team No-Name was Ana and her boys. Team Cruiseship did pretty well; obviously we got the garden gnome [who is in my possession and has been named Nigel the Fabulous], we walked through McD’s drive through, got an old fart to flip us off, found a toilet seat, stole Preparation H, the periwinkle crayon, Sudoku, spermicide, Flintstone vitamins and condoms from various pharmacies, etc. At one point we were literally in the ghetto looking for a tattoo place so that Angie could get a smiley face and put us in first place for eternal glory but tattoos aren't cheap and an army of giant rats stole Deirdre’s salad so we had to escape. In the end, Team Whistler won with their enthusiasm and amazing-ness, but Team Cruiseship came in second with a respectable 1000 points [Woot!]
However, our party was cut short, in what Mike correctly described as a “dog pissing on your Carvel”, when Team Whistler got in a car accident during their victory lap. They sped right into a mint-condition Mustang at a red light, though, thank Coco Peru times two, nobody was seriously hurt. It did shake everyone up though but I'm so happy Yesterday was Cinco de Mayo and Glenn’s birthday [the golden oldie is the big 4-5] so I had to choose to celebrate one or the other. Luckily, Jody’s was taking Glenn out so I was going to go hang out with Jessica and get wrecked. But of course, excrutiating physical pain took over [due to over-exertion from exercising (when your abs hurt when you sneeze, you know you're in bad shape) and severe nausea from ancient homemade pizza crust] so I spent the night in with my Tivo. Today, Jody is throwing another insane Dinner Party competition [although I really shouldn't talk because my hunt-making abilities are definitely inherited from her side of the family] so me, Hootie, Steph and maybe Mel and Manda will probably go out for dinner and a movie. I have to go clean up the war zone that it is my room. Ciao.
The Adventures of Brooklyn Girl in Boston
I have literally had this post festering in my email box for a week now and have just discovered it. This will be long so I recommend you stretch beforehand. Anyhoo, here it is, better late than never:
I'm writing this in Pre-Cal and Sister Helen keeps interrupting my writing spree with her teaching. What does she think this is? school? Preposterous. Anyhoo, got back last Saturday from Boston, which was a lot of fun even though the weather did not parallel the good mood. Me, Deidre and her parents left Thursday after school for Boston, hit shitloads of explicable traffic in Connecticut [apparently the rest of the world has caught on that Connecticut bites the big one and wanted to get out of there as fast as they could] but still managed to make it to Massachusetts at a decent hour. We stayed at a nice hotel, which though didn't have a Neutrogena bathroom cosmetic line for me to steal, did have beds of bliss, mini-muffins and "Pride and Prejudice" on demand, all three of which are key factors to my existence.
The next morning, me and Deidre went to BU's [or The Boo as to it will now be referred] open house while her parents moved out her sister from Northeastern. We got there late, right in the middle of the Dean's Welcome, plus we were parentless and New Yorkers [They can smell the subway on us. They're like enraged wolves], so we really started off on the right foot. After a few presentations, we got to eat lunch at one of the cafeterias. The pasta was horrid but it did have pretty good coffee [Wow, a stretch for Beantown] and even a goldfish dispenser. A goldfish dispenser! That, coupled with the red plastic cups and "Baba O'Riley" [see October 9th post], have assured me that The Boo is indeed home.
However, once the cheese-coated high of the dispenser wore off, we realized that a lot of students were eating alone during lunch, which, aside from Paris Hilton trying to write a book, is the saddest thing I've ever seen. Eating is such a communal process to me, like the amount of calories you're lining your esophagus with is meaningless when you have a bunch of friends around you doing the same so that you'll all die together with high cholesterol. If I have no one to sit with at lunch next year, I will literally hide in my dorm in shame, gnawing on a year-old rice cake.
Anyway, after stalking other open housers for an hour to make sure we didn't get left behind, we were taken on a dorm tour by Chow, one of the Benetton-Ad-looking tour guides that were obnoxiously cheery [like Happy Girl cheery] and most likely on something. The hallways of the freshmen dorms look like something out of "Hostel" but the actual rooms are nice-sized and pretty tolerable. However, said tolerability may not correlate to the subject of roommates. Think about it: you are practically encaged with a stranger in a two-by-four for an entire year. What if I have an obsessive compulsive cleaner who will be revolted by my slob lifestyle and will douse me with Windex in my sleep as punishment for my messiness? Or what if I have a roommate who performs routine animal sacrifices involving ferrets in the middle of the night? Or, God forbid, someone who chews with their mouth open when they eat. THE HORROR! THE HORROR! Or, worst of all, what if my roommate isn't the strange one? What if I am?
Enough anxiety. After, all of the accepted students had a Q&A with actual students of The Boo. It was all major and minor mumbo-jumbo until finally a Jeri-curled Jew asked about partying and fake ID's, and the real shit came out. Afro boy is my kind of people. We took a campus tour, during which me and Deidre tortured the poor guide girl with our incessant pestering about the student store [which has its own Jamba Juice and Starbucks. I am going to be the most caffeinated girl on campus], which we raided. After that, because, again, apparently the scent of Brooklyn is specifically putrid in the nasal canals of Boston cabbies and therefore they ignored our frantic waving hands and left us stranded in the rain, we had to trek a mile in our matching The Boo hoodies to Northeastern. It appears that walking in Northeastern territory in The Boo hoodies is like Don Imus walking through Harlem- it’s a guaranteed death act.
While we did almost get hit by a train and had the fury of Northeasterners burned into our retinas, we managed to get there in one piece. We helped her sister move out of her apartment, which was inexplicably covered in feathers and thumbtacks, stated ourselves on Au Bon Pain and started the long drive home, salvaged by “The Devil Wears Prada”. We got home late, I went to bed later and geniusly took off work on Saturday so that I could catch up on sleep and Tivo love [sidenote: My Tivo officially knows I’m a notorious faghag. It records anything with the word “gay” in the title or description. It’s bad when a nonhuman digital recording device knows me better than some of the actual human specimens I know.].
Saturday night didn’t go out because my brain was still on snooze mode, so instead had lively conversations about marijuana and multiplication tables with intoxicated fifteen-year-olds over wine and cigarettes. Sunday, I couldn’t skip work again so I had to spend a day at the office, though, thankfully, I was left alone most of the day. Okay, so that’s it for this post. I’ll save the rest for the next one. Ciao.
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.
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
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Raw Foods and Ice Cubes
Spring Break is officially here. WOOT! Okay, so I’m not on some Caribbean island with a boy attached to my arm and a beer funnel attached to my face as hoards of coeds bond with the rally cry, “Chug!”, but so far, vacation in grey, grungy New York beats a beach bum hump fest any day. Plus, exposure to sunlight transforms me into a 5-foot-three-inch lobster. Shit happens.
Saturday after an excruciatingly long day at work [I’m about to quit. I’ve been saying that for the past two years so don’t pay any attention to me.], went to Bay Ridge to hang out with Mike, Justine, Chris, Desiree, Alex, Will, Zain and Gabby for a sober but fun evening. Partook in such dangerous events as car tag [one car is “it” and has to “chase” the other car around the neighborhood…yeah, don’t try it at home], set to an amazing soundtrack of The Transplants and Ricky Martin [Livin La Vida Loca!], hood surfing [Alex and Justine clung to the hood of the Cruiseship while Mike looked for a parking spot. Again, not recommended if you somewhat value your life], and trying to steal jello cups from senior citizens [Do not ask]. Then played the name game for a while, and had a sing-a-long to old school Good Charlotte with Desiree on the way home.
Sunday, my parents proved their already established insanity by hosting a Dinner Party Competition in my house. Aunt Carm and Uncle Steve judged as the Usuals divided themselves into five teams and each threw their own dinner party to see whose sucks least. As a direct result of this absurdity and in protection of our own dwindling mental capacities, I, Hootie and Steph escaped the mental asylum to go see a movie. Randomly ran into Mike, Justine, Zain and Gabby so I decided to be a fifth wheel and tag along with them to see the mind-exercising masterpiece, “Blades of Glory”. Um, yeah, if you didn’t realize that that last sentence was drenched in sarcasm, you will have to leave the premises immediately. Just so you understand.
Monday was a completely pointless school day; I had four frees and religion. Useless. Tuesday, decided to start vacation early and skipped school so I could do my first on-camera interview for UrGuide. Me, Omar and John the Breathatarian[who is actually just a vegetarian who really enjoys oxygen. Oh well, the name works] went to the Apollo Theater in Harlem for the premiere of “Are We Done Yet?” the sequel to “Are We There Yet?” Me walking through the streets of Harlem is definitely a sight to be believed; they probably thought I was an albino, I’m so melanin-ly challenged. But it was awesome just being on the stage of the Apollo, it’s so historic. I got to interview Ice Cube and Alicia Allen, who were both really nice and took the time to answer all of my questions, even though it was pretty clear that I had no idea what I was doing.
We didn’t stay to watch the actual movie because, frankly, the first one sucked harder than a Hoover and history tends to repeat itself. Instead, we met up with John’s friend Marcello, who is a photographer and is hilariously violent; especially towards slow pedestrians [“I WILL hit you! I will go second gear all over you ass!”]. We schlepped over to Chelsea so me and Omar could have our raw-food cherries popped at this all-raw restaurant Bonobos. We gorged ourselves on walnut pâté, sprouts and coconut chai, which, even for this butcher’s daughter, were surprisingly good. Afterwards, we parted so John and Marcello could finish a screenplay they were working on and I and Omar could finish editing UrGuide.
Yesterday, skipped school yet again because it was only a mass and apparently missed a very entertaining pony tailed Holy Roller with a guitar tortured the Bonnie congregation with Jesus-lover songs. Damn. I was enjoying my day of pistachio-inhalation and old school Will and Grace episodes [I’m talking old school, like when Karen didn’t have her whiny voice yet], when I realized I had completely forgot that I had planned to see “Curtains” with Winnie and the Broadway Bonnies so I had to cancel my plans with Jess and haul my ass to The Boner to meet up with everyone. I’m glad I did because the play was hilarious; David Hyde Pierce has exquisite comedic timing and the talent of the supporting cast more than made up for the unbearably grotesque woman sitting next to me chomping her gum like a cow and distracting me from the magnificence. Obviously, I highly recommend. Go see it. Now. Today was normal, although the morons at work were way more annoying than usual. Just finished up my way-delayed driving lesson and luckily I’m not that tragic so hopefully I’ll have my license for the summer. I think this is long enough. QAF is coming on and I need my Spunk! Fix. Ciao.
Saturday after an excruciatingly long day at work [I’m about to quit. I’ve been saying that for the past two years so don’t pay any attention to me.], went to Bay Ridge to hang out with Mike, Justine, Chris, Desiree, Alex, Will, Zain and Gabby for a sober but fun evening. Partook in such dangerous events as car tag [one car is “it” and has to “chase” the other car around the neighborhood…yeah, don’t try it at home], set to an amazing soundtrack of The Transplants and Ricky Martin [Livin La Vida Loca!], hood surfing [Alex and Justine clung to the hood of the Cruiseship while Mike looked for a parking spot. Again, not recommended if you somewhat value your life], and trying to steal jello cups from senior citizens [Do not ask]. Then played the name game for a while, and had a sing-a-long to old school Good Charlotte with Desiree on the way home.
Sunday, my parents proved their already established insanity by hosting a Dinner Party Competition in my house. Aunt Carm and Uncle Steve judged as the Usuals divided themselves into five teams and each threw their own dinner party to see whose sucks least. As a direct result of this absurdity and in protection of our own dwindling mental capacities, I, Hootie and Steph escaped the mental asylum to go see a movie. Randomly ran into Mike, Justine, Zain and Gabby so I decided to be a fifth wheel and tag along with them to see the mind-exercising masterpiece, “Blades of Glory”. Um, yeah, if you didn’t realize that that last sentence was drenched in sarcasm, you will have to leave the premises immediately. Just so you understand.
Monday was a completely pointless school day; I had four frees and religion. Useless. Tuesday, decided to start vacation early and skipped school so I could do my first on-camera interview for UrGuide. Me, Omar and John the Breathatarian[who is actually just a vegetarian who really enjoys oxygen. Oh well, the name works] went to the Apollo Theater in Harlem for the premiere of “Are We Done Yet?” the sequel to “Are We There Yet?” Me walking through the streets of Harlem is definitely a sight to be believed; they probably thought I was an albino, I’m so melanin-ly challenged. But it was awesome just being on the stage of the Apollo, it’s so historic. I got to interview Ice Cube and Alicia Allen, who were both really nice and took the time to answer all of my questions, even though it was pretty clear that I had no idea what I was doing.
We didn’t stay to watch the actual movie because, frankly, the first one sucked harder than a Hoover and history tends to repeat itself. Instead, we met up with John’s friend Marcello, who is a photographer and is hilariously violent; especially towards slow pedestrians [“I WILL hit you! I will go second gear all over you ass!”]. We schlepped over to Chelsea so me and Omar could have our raw-food cherries popped at this all-raw restaurant Bonobos. We gorged ourselves on walnut pâté, sprouts and coconut chai, which, even for this butcher’s daughter, were surprisingly good. Afterwards, we parted so John and Marcello could finish a screenplay they were working on and I and Omar could finish editing UrGuide.
Yesterday, skipped school yet again because it was only a mass and apparently missed a very entertaining pony tailed Holy Roller with a guitar tortured the Bonnie congregation with Jesus-lover songs. Damn. I was enjoying my day of pistachio-inhalation and old school Will and Grace episodes [I’m talking old school, like when Karen didn’t have her whiny voice yet], when I realized I had completely forgot that I had planned to see “Curtains” with Winnie and the Broadway Bonnies so I had to cancel my plans with Jess and haul my ass to The Boner to meet up with everyone. I’m glad I did because the play was hilarious; David Hyde Pierce has exquisite comedic timing and the talent of the supporting cast more than made up for the unbearably grotesque woman sitting next to me chomping her gum like a cow and distracting me from the magnificence. Obviously, I highly recommend. Go see it. Now. Today was normal, although the morons at work were way more annoying than usual. Just finished up my way-delayed driving lesson and luckily I’m not that tragic so hopefully I’ll have my license for the summer. I think this is long enough. QAF is coming on and I need my Spunk! Fix. Ciao.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
All Hail The Timberlake
Wednesday night was The Timberlake concert, which judging from the state of Wednesday's panties, was all sorts of hotness [see the February 13th post for my first religion experience with JT]. Me and Janine [a.k.a Weiner] went home after school to primp ourselves to gorgeousness, then our day-long adventure began. We had to take the subway to Penn Station, where we hopped on the LIRR to Hempstead, then had to run to the Hempstead Bus Station where, in true Chree-&-Weiner fashion, we tried to use our New York City school Metrocards to get onto a Long Island bus [The Timberlake is lucky he's a succulent piece of man steak or else we really wouldn't have gone through all that trouble]. Of course, as most sane-minded people know, that did not work but thankfully, two fellow Timberlake fanatics that we met on the line at the bus station [Seriously, you can point us out. We have a crazed glow emanating from our pores] lent us their Metrocards. Without them, we seriously would've been stuck in freaking Hempstead crying over the lack of Sexyback. They're my saviors. We met more concert goers, including a French couple and some Hassidic Jews [The Timberlake brings the world together!] on the way to Nassau Coliseum, making us a very odd but uber-excited group.
When we got there, me and Weiner got into a little pickle. Cameras weren't allowed but of course we needed them to document The Timberlake's prettiness so I came up with the brilliant idea of hiding them in the hoods of our hoodies. I got through the security scanners problem-free and Weiner was almost in the clear when the guard's security stick hit against the camera in her hood. He wouldn't let her through and sent her to the security station which we both ran like fiends to [this would've been insanely awesome if "Chariots of Fire" was playing in the background]. Thankfully, they let her in, with the camera no less. Morons. We got down to the floor just as Pink [bow down bitches] started her set. Again, she's my new hero. You really don't expect her to be that good live but she really is.
The Timberlake= no words can do him justice. He even makes a keytar look sexy. A keytar people. That's talent. Because I already knew the concert format, I was the tard who kept screaming about five minutes before each song came on. Awkward. We got really close and the floor was really fun, except for a few minor nusiances:
1. The abundance of Amazonian giants. As a girl who falls in the petite category, I fully support the idea that venues sell floor tickets in height order- Oompa Loompas in front and Chewbaccas in back. Tall people don't like it? I have to wear heels just to get on a rollercoaster. It's only fair.
2. The gyrating twelve-year-olds who kept bump-n-grinding into us, one of whom even had the audacity to touch my shoulder to ask me about "Dick in a Box", which prompted me to scrub my skin to the point of severe shedding and seriously consider scheduling an HIV test or something. They looked like they were auditioning for Girls Gone Wild: The Preteen Years. Gag.
3. The brutal but entertaining cat fight that broke out in the midst of The Timberlake's set [Blasphemy! You do not claw out hair during "Lovestoned"!]. My theory: they couldn't agree which was hotter- Jew Fro Justin or G.I. Joe Justin.
Special Mention: The girl with the annoying Pebbles Flinstone messy bun in front of us, whose fly-aways kept jabbing me in the cornea when she shimmied and shaked. Asstard.
After the concert ended, went to meet up with my cousin Steph while Janine got paid ten bucks to teach some Russian girls how to use the telephone. We waited for Uncle Steve to pick us up, during which I fell in lust with a cute animal rights activist [I literally took like five pamphlets on pig abuse because he had long eyelashes and a dimple. I'm a desperate mess] and got attacked by a pack of large horses [Explanation: While waiting outside, a huge slate of ice fell off the roof of the Coliseum, scaring the police horses, who then proceeded to chase me, Janine and Steph. Steph stood there body frozen and mouth agape, Janine flung me into a steel sign out of sheer terror and I ended up crippled with hysteria and a bruised wenus. This is why my life is mine]. Went back to Uncle Steve's where I threw up [from migraine, not from sudden Timberlake separation or the wounded wenus] and got embarrassed by my entire family [ex: Drunk Joey driving us home, Grandpa screaming about pork chops, Aunt Annie shamelessly commenting about my plethora of exposed breast, etc.] Got home at 1, slept for 1.2 seconds and was off to school the next morning. We're the definition of troopers.
Other than that, the week was normal. Stayed home on Monday because it was supposed to be Senior Cut Day but apparently I didn't get the memo that I was the only senior cutting. Sick. Thursday and Friday, had a mental breakdown caused by the apparent lack of brain activity of one certain large-nostril'ed nun who decided to seat me in the corner next to her like a disobedient kindergartner rather than a college-bound senior, and who then proceeded to tell me I looked like a nervous wreck. Suck my hole and suck it hard sister. Hope you choke to death on some holy water. I took out my angst on B's chalkboard for forty minutes, which turned into one of the best pieces I've ever done. Home hasn't been much better. I have been grounded the entire weekend because of the St. Patty's ordeal [see March 18th's Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced post]. I've tried to quicken my imprisonment by sleeping an obscene amount of hours a day [although Thursday night I did wake up at record time, approximately 8:01, just in time for Ugly Betty. Jesus, even my subconscious is ruled by television], which has also helped the diet seeing as how my mouth is preoccupied with snoring. Speaking of which, I am very proud to say that for the past week, I have actually exercised. Yes, people, Chree said, er typed the word exercise. I became acquainted with the Elliptical and we've begun a very casual but promising relationship. Till now, my only weight loss attempt other than Weight Watchers was switching to light beer. I am currently at work, wasting the day with Japanese Figure Skating and a Saturday afternoon movie with Russell Crowe in a furry squirrel hat. I'm done. Ciao.
Edit: Pictures of The Timberlake will hopefully be up soon.
Random Thought: Whatever happened to Jonathan Taylor Thomas?
When we got there, me and Weiner got into a little pickle. Cameras weren't allowed but of course we needed them to document The Timberlake's prettiness so I came up with the brilliant idea of hiding them in the hoods of our hoodies. I got through the security scanners problem-free and Weiner was almost in the clear when the guard's security stick hit against the camera in her hood. He wouldn't let her through and sent her to the security station which we both ran like fiends to [this would've been insanely awesome if "Chariots of Fire" was playing in the background]. Thankfully, they let her in, with the camera no less. Morons. We got down to the floor just as Pink [bow down bitches] started her set. Again, she's my new hero. You really don't expect her to be that good live but she really is.
The Timberlake= no words can do him justice. He even makes a keytar look sexy. A keytar people. That's talent. Because I already knew the concert format, I was the tard who kept screaming about five minutes before each song came on. Awkward. We got really close and the floor was really fun, except for a few minor nusiances:
1. The abundance of Amazonian giants. As a girl who falls in the petite category, I fully support the idea that venues sell floor tickets in height order- Oompa Loompas in front and Chewbaccas in back. Tall people don't like it? I have to wear heels just to get on a rollercoaster. It's only fair.
2. The gyrating twelve-year-olds who kept bump-n-grinding into us, one of whom even had the audacity to touch my shoulder to ask me about "Dick in a Box", which prompted me to scrub my skin to the point of severe shedding and seriously consider scheduling an HIV test or something. They looked like they were auditioning for Girls Gone Wild: The Preteen Years. Gag.
3. The brutal but entertaining cat fight that broke out in the midst of The Timberlake's set [Blasphemy! You do not claw out hair during "Lovestoned"!]. My theory: they couldn't agree which was hotter- Jew Fro Justin or G.I. Joe Justin.
Special Mention: The girl with the annoying Pebbles Flinstone messy bun in front of us, whose fly-aways kept jabbing me in the cornea when she shimmied and shaked. Asstard.
After the concert ended, went to meet up with my cousin Steph while Janine got paid ten bucks to teach some Russian girls how to use the telephone. We waited for Uncle Steve to pick us up, during which I fell in lust with a cute animal rights activist [I literally took like five pamphlets on pig abuse because he had long eyelashes and a dimple. I'm a desperate mess] and got attacked by a pack of large horses [Explanation: While waiting outside, a huge slate of ice fell off the roof of the Coliseum, scaring the police horses, who then proceeded to chase me, Janine and Steph. Steph stood there body frozen and mouth agape, Janine flung me into a steel sign out of sheer terror and I ended up crippled with hysteria and a bruised wenus. This is why my life is mine]. Went back to Uncle Steve's where I threw up [from migraine, not from sudden Timberlake separation or the wounded wenus] and got embarrassed by my entire family [ex: Drunk Joey driving us home, Grandpa screaming about pork chops, Aunt Annie shamelessly commenting about my plethora of exposed breast, etc.] Got home at 1, slept for 1.2 seconds and was off to school the next morning. We're the definition of troopers.
Other than that, the week was normal. Stayed home on Monday because it was supposed to be Senior Cut Day but apparently I didn't get the memo that I was the only senior cutting. Sick. Thursday and Friday, had a mental breakdown caused by the apparent lack of brain activity of one certain large-nostril'ed nun who decided to seat me in the corner next to her like a disobedient kindergartner rather than a college-bound senior, and who then proceeded to tell me I looked like a nervous wreck. Suck my hole and suck it hard sister. Hope you choke to death on some holy water. I took out my angst on B's chalkboard for forty minutes, which turned into one of the best pieces I've ever done. Home hasn't been much better. I have been grounded the entire weekend because of the St. Patty's ordeal [see March 18th's Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced post]. I've tried to quicken my imprisonment by sleeping an obscene amount of hours a day [although Thursday night I did wake up at record time, approximately 8:01, just in time for Ugly Betty. Jesus, even my subconscious is ruled by television], which has also helped the diet seeing as how my mouth is preoccupied with snoring. Speaking of which, I am very proud to say that for the past week, I have actually exercised. Yes, people, Chree said, er typed the word exercise. I became acquainted with the Elliptical and we've begun a very casual but promising relationship. Till now, my only weight loss attempt other than Weight Watchers was switching to light beer. I am currently at work, wasting the day with Japanese Figure Skating and a Saturday afternoon movie with Russell Crowe in a furry squirrel hat. I'm done. Ciao.
Edit: Pictures of The Timberlake will hopefully be up soon.
Random Thought: Whatever happened to Jonathan Taylor Thomas?
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Word Vomit
I hate work mornings. Not because, as I'm not a morning person, I have to wake up early, most likely after a night of liver deterioration, or the fact that I'm forced to be in the same vicinity as a pack of grotesquely annoying beasts. It's because I can't watch my cartoons. Seriously. Before tax season began, I used to have the morning to myself, and therefore could enjoy CBS's block of Saturday morning cartoons [Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Dance Revolution (ghetto prepubescent DDR) Horse Land (worst name ever), Trollz and Cake] peacefully and sans any embarrassment. But now that Bob the Denture Sucker and Hairy Harold [who actually wore a gold medallion in his exposed chest hair *insert internal bleeding here* the other day. I think that calls for a Jimmy Fallon-and-The Timberlake- induced pause: ] come in early, I can no longer watch the cracked-out animated gems without looking like a sick creep. And the absolute worst part about the extraction isn't even the lack of awesome shows. It's the lack of the amazing commercials and in-between banter that comes with the awesome shows. The hosts of the show, called KOL's Secret Slumber Party, are five girls [one of whom looks like she's on the Swiss Miss box yet speaks with a horrendous Puerto Rican accent] who together look like a Benneton ad, are obviously way older than their preteen archetypes and obviously despise each other off camera. They do little bits involving hand games, nail polish and fruit in between shows, but the best part is right before they go to commercial, they say obscene things like "BRB, LOL" and "G2G, TTYL". Like, actually say it out loud. It is insanely brilliant. However, I do hope they're getting paid a lot to spout out such unhip word vomit. You must see it, it will literally make your life. Saturday mornings. CBS. Be there. Ciao.
Random Nuisance:
I hate the way Tyra Banks says "Who" during her "Who will be America's Next Top Model?" intro. She goes up like an octave when she says it, then returns to her normal manly voice. Blech.
Quotes of the Day:
"My hamster had a seizure yesterday. It was so cute"- Gia
"I can't believe you told Sister E that I had a thirteen-year-old lesbian cousin who's pregnant and having an abortion!"- Moi, in note to Brenna*
*Explanation: As usual, the Psych class tried to distract Sister E from "teaching" with our usual method: screaming out controversial words such as "Homosexuality" or "Premarital Sex" until one issue sticks and she begins her rant-n-rave session. Today, the lucky word was "Abortion" and she was rambling as usual until Brenna, the genius that she is, decided to tell her that my so-called thirteen year old lesbian fruzin, or friend who is like a cousin, [although I do not know if she absorbed the lesbian part, as her brain did not explode into tiny fleshy fragments] was pregnant and considering having an abortion. So, of course, the holy roller starts interrogating me, even to the point where she pulled me over at the end of class to tell me that I should go with said fruzin to the Mercy Home. I swear to Jebus, she's going to kidnap my entire family and perform a group exorcism or something. I'm locking my doors.
Random Nuisance:
I hate the way Tyra Banks says "Who" during her "Who will be America's Next Top Model?" intro. She goes up like an octave when she says it, then returns to her normal manly voice. Blech.
Quotes of the Day:
"My hamster had a seizure yesterday. It was so cute"- Gia
"I can't believe you told Sister E that I had a thirteen-year-old lesbian cousin who's pregnant and having an abortion!"- Moi, in note to Brenna*
*Explanation: As usual, the Psych class tried to distract Sister E from "teaching" with our usual method: screaming out controversial words such as "Homosexuality" or "Premarital Sex" until one issue sticks and she begins her rant-n-rave session. Today, the lucky word was "Abortion" and she was rambling as usual until Brenna, the genius that she is, decided to tell her that my so-called thirteen year old lesbian fruzin, or friend who is like a cousin, [although I do not know if she absorbed the lesbian part, as her brain did not explode into tiny fleshy fragments] was pregnant and considering having an abortion. So, of course, the holy roller starts interrogating me, even to the point where she pulled me over at the end of class to tell me that I should go with said fruzin to the Mercy Home. I swear to Jebus, she's going to kidnap my entire family and perform a group exorcism or something. I'm locking my doors.
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.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
What if Nathan Lane & ET had a baby?
This is a surprisingly accurate portrait I drew of Sister Eileen, a.k.a the hybrid of Nathan Lane & ET: Extraterrestrial, during Government class. Enjoy.
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)
