the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
4.27.2004
Fuck Off, Riceboy.
If you know me at all, you'll know very, very well, that if there's anything I hate, it's Asian people.
It's been my personal experience that Asian men are the most desperate, sneaky, self-absorbed bastards in the world who are constantly on the lookout for young chinky poontang and will do anything to get it.
I'm on some retarded networking site that has given me a lot of grief, and since I'm too dumb to figure out if can just delete my account or not, I instead put up a profile that is headlined "SHOO!! GO AWAY!" and called all the asian men and all the white men who have a hard-on for female asian tail such as myself "lousy degenerates," "morons," and so forth.
So of course, I get two times more mail than usual.
A few of my favorites involved more emails from the fat white man whom I describe on 03/24/04, a few messages from a 48 year old "kung fu master" who also claimed to be a huge movie star (a few words for him: bald, lumpy, old, hairy, bitch-titties), but at some point, I got so fed up with it that I finally messaged one of them back:
Subject: Wow, you have issues =) --- patrick78 wrote:
Don't be so judgmental, you'll live longer.
Subject: Re: Wow, you have issues =) --- patreesha wrote:
Don't be a smartass, you won't get your face kicked in.=)
Subject: Re: Re: Wow, you have issues =) --- patrick78 wrote:
Ouch! Such violent tendancies...I'll be cowering in my corner if you need somebody to buy you beer =)
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Wow, you have issues =) --- patreesha wrote:
You mean, you'll buy me beer so I can grab a six pack and smash your face in with it? Buzz off, you prepube loser, and grow some balls. I HATE THIS FUCKING SITE.
Then later tonight I got a barrage of IM's from a retarded high school kid who thought I would be the ideal person to talk to at 2:00 in the morning.
With better, more important things to do than talk to some random needy, clingy kid who unluckily found my screenname, I've been ignoring him for the past few months or so, but lately he's become this little asshole and always IMs me with:
"I CAN SEE YOU'RE NOT GOING IDLE!!!! WHY THE FUCK WON'T YOU TALK TO ME?!?!?! HELLO?!?! YOU'RE NOT IDLE!! YOU'RE ONLINE AND NOT TALKING TO ME!!!! I KNOW YOU'RE THERE BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T GONE IDLE!!!!"
Take a fucking HINT.
I finally threw my last shred of "giving-a-shit-about-whether-or-not-people-I-don't-know-think-I'm-a-bitch" in the crapper when he continued to IM me frantically with numerous exclamation points and question marks and CHRONIC CARPAL CAPS LOCK SYNDROME and blocked his sorry ass.
Exactly 7 seconds later, I get another IM from the same kid on an equally unclever screenname with:
"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?! WHY WON'T YOU TALK TO MEE?!?! TALK TO ME!!! PUT AN AWAY MESSAGE UP OR SOMETHING, I KNOW YOU'RE THERE!! YOU'RE NOT IDLE!!!!"
and then proceeded to call me a bitch for not putting up an away message or saying in my profile that I'm busy to politely and effectively inform worthless, annoying fuckwads like him that I'm too busy to talk to them.
School is this ever-present monkey on my back, periodically swiping with its long, sharp, dirty monkey nails at my soft, vulnerable ass cheeks.
NYU is a fucking shithole when it comes to academic leeway, especially considering the fact that they (the all-encompassing "they") want you to know what you're going to study (i.e. major/minor in) so soon, and also, the $41,000/year tuition costs (not to mention the 2k raise in fees, making it a total of $43,000/year) makes it all the more reason to take the courses you need (and I mean need, like heroin or crack cocaine) and not piddlefuck around in the world of liberal arts (like Underwater Basketweaving or 19th Century Philosophy of a Horse's Ass).
Motherfuckers. Fucking motherfuckers!!!
From the looks of things, my schedule for next year is going to be fucking ridiculous. All of my classes have additional recitations or labs, and to make things worse, are at ridiculous hours, i.e. 8:00 in the morning.
Also, I missed a recitation two weeks ago for my bullshit Intro to Sociology class, where apparently my retarded TA who can't speak English assigned some group project that's due this Thursday. I guess it was my fault for missing the class, as well as for not emailing any of the bastards until just 20 minutes ago, but what is especially frustrating is that I know for a fact that none of these motherfuckers are going to get back to me about this fucking project.
Which leaves me with basically two options -- to either (#1) do some bullshit project by myself, or (#2) beg and grovel and cry hoping for the possibility that someone will feel enough semblance of pity to let me into their group and have the entire class look at me like I'm the desperate, pitiful, pathetic straggler that I am.
Though I'm leaning heavily on #2 right now (I already emailed the class twice, frantically and desperately), I'm probably going to be up at an ungodly hour Wednesday night/Thursday morning, typing as fast as I can to get this shit done.
Fuck you motherfucking bastards!!!!!!
To make matters worse, when I went home to visit my awesome, not-crazy family this weekend (and by "awesome, not-crazy family," I mean "horrible, crazy family") -- to spare you guys of a moderately long and excessively shameful story, my face is fucking burned. It's pretty bad.
Check this nasty-ass shit out. It's horrible.
I feel like the goddamn Elephant Man or something.
To make matters worse, I have to cover this shit up with like three inches of makeup spackled on my face. Just when the weather gets nice -- today it's supposed to get up to 81 degrees -- I have to smear this shit all over my face. Wonderful.
I'm going to look like fucking Ronald McDonald if he were to fall into a french fry fryer.
Here's part of something written by a bitter, old, drunk man who loved whores, Charles Bukowski, about his adolescence when his face was covered in huge boils:
I rode the streetcar back and forth to the charity ward. Children on the streetcars would stare and ask their mothers, "What's wrong with that man? Mother, what's wrong with that man's face?" and the mother would SHUUSSSHHH!!! That shuussshhhh was the worst condemnation, and then they'd continue to let the little bastards and bastardesses stare from over the backs of their seats and I'd look out the window and watch the buildings go by, and I'd be drowning, slugged and drowning, nothing to do.
Okay, so maybe I don't have it as bad as Bukowski and his Acne Vulgaris, but I still think my face went from looking mildly inoffensive to looking like fucking shit. Moreso than usual, yes, whatever. I hate you all.
Life is unfair. Wah wah wah. I'm sure you've heard this all before, but I'm going to say it again, because I have too much work backed up and have fucking burnt skin clinging to my face, so I'm fucking allowed to.
Life is unfair.
At 4:56 AM, right this moment, I've finally emerged from the cave I've been living in for the past few days/weeks.
Up until I finished some bullshit midterm earlier today, I had been badly in need of mass quantities of food, sleep, and most urgently, a shower. This has all been taken care of.
However, I realize, as I sit here, hunched over my laptop computer at 4:57 AM, that I have a few things to iron out on this godforesaken website. Mainly the archives and the... um, incompatibility of the layout on a few browsers. Nothing too important.
Nothing very interesting has happened, except at Duane Reade (New York's equivalent to New Jersey's CVS), while I stood in line at the cash register, clutching onto my bag of cotton balls, the security guard hovered over me, shaking a big plastic tube filled with Easter candy with a little battery powered fan spinning frantically on the end of it, saying over, and over, and over again,
"I like ma aigs SCRAMMELED!
I like ma aigs SCRAMMELED!
I like ma aigs SCRAMMELED!"
which I eventually realized meant "I like my eggs scrambled."
Also, my wonderful friend Phyllis got me a tiny red Hello Kitty umbrella that I love with almost all of my being, ("almost," due to the fact that a small fraction of my being has been reserved for loving Phyllis, not encompassing the tiny red Hello Kitty umbrella).
That is all.
Thank goodness the weekend is almost here.
I think I almost didn't make it.
[Peek-a-Foo]
