the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
4.19.2004
Oh, Fuck Me.
Fuck. I'm so fucking screwed.
School is this ever-present monkey on my back, periodically swiping with its long, sharp, dirty monkey nails at my soft, vulnerable ass cheeks.
NYU is a fucking shithole when it comes to academic leeway, especially considering the fact that they (the all-encompassing "they") want you to know what you're going to study (i.e. major/minor in) so soon, and also, the $41,000/year tuition costs (not to mention the 2k raise in fees, making it a total of $43,000/year) makes it all the more reason to take the courses you need (and I mean need, like heroin or crack cocaine) and not piddlefuck around in the world of liberal arts (like Underwater Basketweaving or 19th Century Philosophy of a Horse's Ass).
Motherfuckers. Fucking motherfuckers!!!
From the looks of things, my schedule for next year is going to be fucking ridiculous. All of my classes have additional recitations or labs, and to make things worse, are at ridiculous hours, i.e. 8:00 in the morning.
Also, I missed a recitation two weeks ago for my bullshit Intro to Sociology class, where apparently my retarded TA who can't speak English assigned some group project that's due this Thursday. I guess it was my fault for missing the class, as well as for not emailing any of the bastards until just 20 minutes ago, but what is especially frustrating is that I know for a fact that none of these motherfuckers are going to get back to me about this fucking project.
Which leaves me with basically two options -- to either (#1) do some bullshit project by myself, or (#2) beg and grovel and cry hoping for the possibility that someone will feel enough semblance of pity to let me into their group and have the entire class look at me like I'm the desperate, pitiful, pathetic straggler that I am.
Though I'm leaning heavily on #2 right now (I already emailed the class twice, frantically and desperately), I'm probably going to be up at an ungodly hour Wednesday night/Thursday morning, typing as fast as I can to get this shit done.
Fuck you motherfucking bastards!!!!!!
To make matters worse, when I went home to visit my awesome, not-crazy family this weekend (and by "awesome, not-crazy family," I mean "horrible, crazy family") -- to spare you guys of a moderately long and excessively shameful story, my face is fucking burned. It's pretty bad.
Check this nasty-ass shit out. It's horrible.
I feel like the goddamn Elephant Man or something.
To make matters worse, I have to cover this shit up with like three inches of makeup spackled on my face. Just when the weather gets nice -- today it's supposed to get up to 81 degrees -- I have to smear this shit all over my face. Wonderful.
I'm going to look like fucking Ronald McDonald if he were to fall into a french fry fryer.
Here's part of something written by a bitter, old, drunk man who loved whores, Charles Bukowski, about his adolescence when his face was covered in huge boils:
I rode the streetcar back and forth to the charity ward. Children on the streetcars would stare and ask their mothers, "What's wrong with that man? Mother, what's wrong with that man's face?" and the mother would SHUUSSSHHH!!! That shuussshhhh was the worst condemnation, and then they'd continue to let the little bastards and bastardesses stare from over the backs of their seats and I'd look out the window and watch the buildings go by, and I'd be drowning, slugged and drowning, nothing to do.
Okay, so maybe I don't have it as bad as Bukowski and his Acne Vulgaris, but I still think my face went from looking mildly inoffensive to looking like fucking shit. Moreso than usual, yes, whatever. I hate you all.
Life is unfair. Wah wah wah. I'm sure you've heard this all before, but I'm going to say it again, because I have too much work backed up and have fucking burnt skin clinging to my face, so I'm fucking allowed to.
Life is unfair.
[Peek-a-Foo]
