I don't own Friends! Or Glee!
This chapter is from Quinn's POV, And the Friends are the same age of the Glee kids.
January 3rd, 2011
So I guess I'm starting a journal. My mom bought if for me for Christmas and I think I need to start writing in it. This is a new thing for me; don't expect daily entries of anything and everything that goes on in my life. I guess I just have a lot going on and everyone says it helps to put it down on paper: all my conflicted feelings and all my worries and all my problems and all my thoughts. Sure. Okay. But before we launch headfirst into the unforgiving riptide of my life, let's get one simple, easy fact straight. I hate Chandler Bing. He is the bane of my existence. He is the number one cause of everything bad that happens to me. And he's in love with me.
Where can I start? Let's see, how about Christmas. It started when Glee club had a Christmas party, and that stupid Donkey Voice Monica girl invited him as her plus one. He hung around me all night, making lame conversation and trying to get my number. Didn't work. Then, at school the following Monday, he left a love note at my locker, and he put his own phone number on it and said to text him. I had my father call instead, to threaten him to leave me alone, and my dad ended up loving him, so he invited Chandler's family over for dinner. What a huge mistake. His father, who, by the way, is divorced from his mother, showed up dressed as a woman, a slut no less, and insisted we call him Helena.
His mother, Nora, showed up drunk off her ass and laughing her head off. She also dressed like a slut. We all spent the night in nervous, awkward conversation, and it ended abruptly when Nora threw up all over the table, and then got up and walked over to my father and sat in his lap, stroking his chin, said: "Menstrual pains," and left. 'Helena' followed suit. This whole time, Chandler had his head in his hands, looking ready to crawl under the table and disappear. Who could blame him? He spent the rest of the evening helping clean up his own mother's vomit, despite the fact that my mother insisted he didn't, and making nervous jokes. If his family wasn't so screwed up, and he wasn't so nerdy, I might, just MIGHT, have thought his smile was cute. Maybe. His whole family situation made my parents feel sorry for him, and they absolutely persisted at him to spend a few days over at our house, to get away from all the crazy. And they didn't even ask me first! "He's a nice boy, Quinny, you'll learn to like him," They say. And so now, he's staying in our guest bedroom, and I have a feeling he isn't leaving anytime soon.
Well, journal, I'm so pissed right now I'm ready to rip you to shreds. So I better lock you up and put you away for now.