Saturday, May 22, 2010

Hello Summer, Nice To Meet You

The night before my advanced accounting exam, I pace back and forth in the study lounge. I am unprepared. As I read about double entry book-keeping, I think about how much more I would prefer some double entry ass-fucking. Tears well up in my eyes and I feel like I am going to throw up. I have hit the bottom. My former roommate who I used to hook up with before we ended things on bad terms walks by outside and sees me through the window. He knocks on the glass and waves. It is 5:00 am and this is a new, unfamiliar low.

At 7:00 am, the anxiety gives way to feelings of calm resignation. I pack my things up and walk upstairs to my room where I plan to crawl under the sheets and suffocate myself on a tube sock. Failure in advanced accounting is inevitable. And then we die. And then we are reborn as impala on the African plains. It is the circle of life.

At 8:00 am, the exam begins and I don't know how to answer the first question. Instead, I daydream about the season finale of Desperate Housewives. I can't believe Paul Young is back. Angie was so smart to put the bomb IN THE DETONATOR.

At 10:00 am, I text my bf, "Yay over."

For the next four days I complain very publicly about how badly I did and how I'm going to get my first B and that my life is over. But grades came out yesterday and I got on A. Yay.

When I come home from school, I want to tell my mother the good news. It feels strange that I want to do this because she has always criticized everything I've ever done and for years I've tried to convince myself that I don't need her approval. I realize I do this because deep down I still want to make her proud and redeem myself for my consummate failure: being a gay son.

Before I can get a word out she looks at me and says, "You look too fat." This would have been fine if she hadn't said "too." Because "too" implies that I am fat in both absolute and relative terms. I lie to her about having eaten lunch already. Today I've had one cup of diet coke and two cough drops. She knows nothing about the A.

I am going to the beach tomorrow with my bf. I don't know what he's said to his parents about the trip but I am lying and telling my parents that I am going with four guys. Four guys in one hotel room with one king size bed doesn't arouse as much suspicion as two guys in the same situation. He will probably make me watch the Lost finale. Maybe after that we can sell beer to teenagers and have gay sex in the sand. We are a couple of renegade summer tourists.

I am probably too fat for the beach. I have a crippling fear of little children mistaking me for a beached whale and trying to haul me off to sea. I am probably going to sit, fully-clothed, under an umbrella and read Laura Bush's autobiography.

11 comments:

dccised said...

Nobody cares.

tall blonde alcoholic said...

I care. So, whas the hell's wrong with with watching the Lost finale?

Kevin said...

I care.

Dude, some of your readers also started summer vacation. Give 'em some time.

And, to quote Mean Girls, "I don't hate you because you're fat. You're fat because I hate you."

Toodle-oo.

In Search Of said...

I care.

dccised said...

tall blonde alcoholic: impostor.

Random Thinker said...

don't forget to tell us how the Laura Bush autobiography turns out! Her 8 years at 1600 were more confusing than Lost.

Mike said...

Kid on the beach "Greenpeace!"

I don't care. I only care when it benefits me!

tall blonde alcoholic said...

I still care, even if you deny me.

Mike said...

Slightly better if it was written...

"Greenpeace" the kid on the beach screamed!

....no? Hey, there some much other rubbish on the beach, who cares if there's a whale....these days it's all about the networth!!

Mike said...

some = soooo

And probably it's better written...

"Greenpeace" screamed the kid on the beach.

...or not. I really need to stop drinking...life sucks, or not.

Straight Guy From NYC said...

I care.

And common. Don't tell me you don't know this about Asian mothers. It is their belief that constantly criticizing their kids is as important to their upbringing as milk.