Story of the Week

Now again, boys and girls and everyone else, it is time for the dreaded part of the semester we college students lovingly refer to as "FINALS WEEK." It is the time of semester when those of us who regularly patronize coffee shops and libraries find ourselves unceremoniously booted out by girls with bad dye jobs and Uggs, or guys who took our favourite reading chair on the fourth floor of the library. And they all have MACBOOKS.

I can't decide if this is a rant or not.

Heeeeere's the thing. Maybe Sally Sororiwhore and Freddy Fratboy got to my study haunts - the libraries, the lounges - before I did. I don't get up at 6 a.m. They're there first. Okay. Good. Just don't fucking glare at me when I open the door - it is not my fault that the door squeaks and eventually slams shut. If my computer makes a startup noise, don't shush me. Goddammit. I mean you're over there chomping on your gum and texting and OH DEAR GOD PLEASE stop being a hypocrite.

This goes for my neighbors as well. Last week, there was one night when maybe my friend an I were being a little loud in my room. However, it does NO GOOD, AT ALL to write on my white board, "BE QUIET AT NIGHT" ...the next day. Or pound on the wall. Pounding and commands just piss me off, and they'd piss you off too. Golden rule, buttfaces. Fun Fact: I'm a really nice person. Seriously. If I'm bothering you enough that you want to take action, don't pound. Walk the few yards down the hall, knock on my door, and ask me nicely to keep it down. Then it's guaranteed I will, because I'll feel bad. (And whatever you do, DON'T be obnoxious in the shower room or in the hallway. Bloody hypocrite morons.)

I hate that. I hate passive-aggressive people. I know I can be quite passive-aggressive, but I own up to it. Besides, I typically only think passive-aggressive things, not act on them. Honestly.

...wow. This post started out being about how I don't know what to do with myself and turned into a totally unrelated rant.

I've decided I'm letting lots of things go today. So what if my ex-boyfriend is an ass. So what if the girls on my floor are gnarly bitches. It'll all pass, man. I have Victor Hugo, Philip Roth, and Kurt Vonnegut to keep me entertained. In the end, does it matter? No. Not really. Not at all.

@sebhar chill the f*** out, chica.