Happy Mika Day!

As you can tell from my not-very-cryptic message last post, I got the red envelope, the BIG red envelope. I got in to Boston University, alma mater of fellow remarkable people Martin Luther King, Jr., Faye Dunaway [Mommie Dearest herself- "No more wire hangers!!!"], Howard Stern, Jason Alexander [Costanza!] and a few QAF alumnus [Rosie O'Donnell & Peter Paige- EMMETTLOVE!]. I am officially going to college and Augustana's "Boston" is officially my new anthem. After months of waiting and chasing the poor, terrified mailman down, I finally got in and I am ecstatic. So ecstatic that my initial responsive scream put Abigail Bresnin’s puny “Little Miss Sunshine” yelp to shame; Jody thought I was having a convulsion.

Anyhoo, onwards. This week was normal, except for the insane Women’s Day Assembly [which, ironically, made me exceptionally ashamed of my own sex]- during which the Ally McBeal Clone did a spoken-word presentation of “I Am Woman” [HEAR ME ROAR. You know she was itching to go all Christina Aguilera on that one], which then sparked Big D and Mrs. King to belt it out over the loud speaker-and the fact that the male faculty members are publicly challenging each other in a Facial Hair-Off. Fontbonne is a freak show.

Obviously last weekend bombed because I was grounded, but so far this weekend is compensating for the former suckiness big time. Yesterday was MIKA DAY, also known as the greatest day ever in all of the history of mankind. For you unhip, uninformed peasants who don’t know who Mika is, simply, he is God. After school, I, Mallory, Michelle and Deidre [a.k.a Sex and the City-for once, Sarcastic Chree is not stuck being Miranda! I get to be Carrie! WOOT] went to Borders in the Time Warner Center to see the one and only MIKA perform and sign CDS for his debut album “Life in Cartoon Motion”. We had to wait a while for him to get there but the stilt-performers, balloon artists and magicians entertained us, plus blogger Perez Hilton was there, who has an awesome blue fauxhawk, a fact which didn’t decrease Mallory’s disappointment [she thought the announcer dude said Paris Hilton]. Then Mika came out [!!!!] He was perfection personified, as was expected from the Mika-loving masses [We are officially a cult. We listen to such high-pitched falsettos that would make dogs and the Bee Gees shriek, bow down to curly-haired skinny homosexuals wearing dangerously tight pants and consume lollipops in bulk]. He performed “Grace Kelly”, “Love Today” and “Billy Brown”, which sparked a crowd dance party and sing-a-long, although he didn’t fulfill the crowd’s desperate cries for “Lollipop” […cult…].


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

After the performance [during which Michelle screamed out quite possibly the most genius thing I’ve ever heard, “YOU HAVE GORGEOUS LOCKS OF…GORGEOUS!”, to the amusement of the entire crowd], we had to wait on line for three hours during the meet-and-greet to get our CDS signed. To amuse ourselves, we made friends with a bunch of people, including a duo of sweet gay boys, an Asian chick and a large pink-haired lady with about eight breasts and a mustache. The boys were Anthony, who we were all jealous and in awe of because he was uber-skinny, had a Mika-esque mop top, got the sexier imported version of the debut, and had an awesome job selling Wicked merchandise at the Gershwin, and Roger, who was a choreographer, a fellow burlesque gogo fan, was our quasi-photographer for the night and exchanged his info with us because he recognized our foursome’s blatant awesomeness. The Asian chick, whose name wasn’t important enough for me to remember, was useless except for pointing me and Deidre in the direction of food and inspiring a sex sermon, and the fat-bottomed girl was Alessandra who kept creeping into our conversations only to brag about meeting Mika the night before and singing loudly off pitch, which resulted in a temporary diversion from our newfound gay idols which made me hate her more.

Our lively conversation ranged from such gripping topics as Mika’s sexual preference [“He’s straight as a lightening bolt”-Roger. “Yup, gay as Christmas”- Me], prom, best canceled sitcoms [ZOOM!], etc, and involved book readings including but not limited to “Why Do Men Have Nipples?” and “How to Raise a One-Year Old”. To our faghag dismay, Anthony had to leave the line before getting Mika’s autograph because he was so late for work, which prompted our desperate pleas for him to call in sick [“Say Mika’s part of your religion”-genius Moi] but alas, we had to say goodbye. After a while the line started moving and we eventually made our way to Mika heaven to take pictures and get our CDs signed. He was adorable and British and charming and amazing and I was so awkward. I just said “You’re awesome!” and grinned at him like a complete lunatic. My eye was probably twitching from excitement. I am so attractive.

After, Roger taught us how to effectively do a squish photoshoot, then we parted and tried to steal Mika balloons but we were caught by security. Poop [we had also planned on stealing a Mika lollipop from the front pocket of Bald Man in front of us but we decided it was too risky]. Went to Mc’Ds [510 calorie burgers!] and was going to stuff our faces at Serendipity but Michelle had to get home so we took subway back to Bay Ridge, on which we performed a loud vocalized rendition of selections from Rent and Chicago to the annoyance of the fellow passengers. Met up with Mike and Justine for a little bit, then went home, where Glenn thought I was drunk [I was high off Mika love!]; rightly so, as I probably looked more drunk in trying to prove my sobriety. Now I am getting tortured at work once again. Seriously, how do they not notice my glares of sheer disgust and utter contempt? I am amazed by their oblivion. Must go. Ciao.

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

P.S. This is why I adore him:

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

Three Small Words

I. Got. In.

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?

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.

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!!!!!!!!!!

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

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.