No online Spanish homework, a stupid exam that I stressed out about for no reason, a woeful presentation in Social Psych, and a group assignment that I did basically all the fucking work for completely justifies drinking gin and prancing about to Lady Gaga with the roomies on a Tuesday, don’t you agree?
Pah-pah-pah-poker face, pah-pah poker face!
The semester came and went basically in the blink of an eye. I have one more term at the Downtown School for People Who Aren’t Going to Actual College, and then I have to transfer to Actual College. Good gracious! How the heck did that happen? Seems like it was just two minutes ago that I was watching way too much “Wifeswap” and bemoaning the lack of direction in my life.
According to the toad-like transfer advisor, I can go to whatever gosh-darn school I like because with my shiny, shiny grades and ability to barf out a decent admissions essay, any school in these United States would be glad to have me. I love her optimism. I do not love her glaring stupidity, demonstrated through questions like “You have a 4.0? How did you DO that?”
Bitch, how the fuck you think I did it? Banged each and every one of my professors? Hatched an elaborate scheme to hack into the DSFPWAGTAC computer system and change all my grades to A’s? Promised my immortal soul to the Dark Lord in exchange for good scores? Come on. I studied my ass off, did all the reading, made sure I went to class as much as I could, and did what any fucking student would do if they wanted to do well. I FUCKING WORKED, is what I did.
Nan, yer a window-shopper, takin’ a look but ya neh-vah buy…
We switched to Lily Allen. Why did she retire? She was so good, and so British! Also, why did she let that rapper dude sample “Who’d Have Known”? That song sucks big hairy balls.
I’m still dating Ten Hut. We went to the People Who Kill Other People For the Good of the Nation Ball about a month ago. It was all very formal and had a great many foolish ceremonies involving marching and parading about and cutting a cake with a sword and stuff. I had a hard time not giggling, and an even harder time walking in my ridiculous heels. Despite this, in our drunken state (we did some heavy pre-gaming) we actually said some things to do with actually enjoying the time we spent together (albeit time that mostly involved sitting on the couch watching “Mad Men” and eating Sour Patch Kids). After that it was kind of game on. I think passing out on the Red Line wearing a formal dress but no shoes and then piggy-backing through Wrigleyville, inadvertently mooning a bunch of Trixies and Chads, brings you closer together.
We went and visited his friends in Iowa for Thanksgiving. We ate ham instead of turkey. We marveled at the lack of anything in Iowa. We played Boggle and I mercilessly kicked everyone’s ass, because I am a bad guest, but I can’t resist showing off when it comes to my quasi-autistic Boggle skills. We played with their kids and I thought, he’s hilariously clueless about how kids work, but he isn’t scared of them, that’s interesting. We drank way too much Ketel One and Diet Mountain Dew. We did a road trip that was six hours each way and came out of it not hating each other. We did terrible, questionable things in our gracious hosts’ guest bedroom. We went to the Black Friday sales (Wal-mart, Target, Best Buy, BAM!, and some mall that didn’t have a food court) and made hilarious jokes about how the maternity section has all the good clothes. We ate our weight in nasty-ass gas station food. We went to the world’s largest truck stop and laughed at terrible Christ-promoting t-shirts. We made it back to Chicago alive and he drove me to work the next morning, and I thought, gee, this was unexpected.
Oh, oh dearie me…my little brother’s in his bedroom smoking weed…
I don’t know what to believe in any more. Or maybe I do. I did sixty push-ups today. Thirty regular, thirty girly-style. I believe in that. The soreness in my pecs believes in that. I want to get eight hours of sleep a night so I feel less like a zombie and look less like a sea hag. I believe this is a good plan. I am not as dumb as I thought I was. I believe that. I don’t have any homework for tomorrow. Well, none I can’t do on the train tomorrow morning. I believe I’ll have another drink.
