Home, It's Cold Here

This week, my short temper and jittery nerves can be attributed to the fact that I got a fucking B in fucking Architecture History. I try to rationalize my B by telling myself that the class was lame and the professor was awful. But an idiot I know got an A- and it makes me feel like I've been impaled by an impala. My GPA sucks balls and I'm never going to get into grad school and I'm never going to get a job and I'm never going to lure attractive men into my bed with bundles of money hidden in the sheets. But one girl, who I thought was really smart, who I thought was going to be my competition for getting into the studio sequence, who I thought would surely do well, got a D. Her failure makes me feel a little better about myself. I am horrible.

But now school is over and I am at home. Hence, a new set of problems arises. First, mommy and daddy can't go 15 minutes without asking me how finals went. Really, they want to know what grades I got and if it's going to affect my GPA/future expendable income, which they want 30% of. But they don't need to worry because gays have most expendable income of any group. Second, mommy and daddy are hell bent on me getting a job over break. The fact that they want me to get a job isn't the issue but they want me to work at our family friend's table tennis merchandise outlet or perhaps tutor a Japanese immigrant. That's not exactly what I had in mind. I kinda wanted to work as a go-go dancer at Apex or perhaps at Panera. And the trend is that all my problems can be traced back to my parents. And that doesn't surprise me. During finals week I always cry and beg for mommy. But it's just because I forget how frustrating she is, which I am reminded of about 1 hour after being home. Almost makes me want to go back to school.

Actually, no.