Out of the Blender, Into the Microwave

Gah. Another wonderful Tuesday on the front lines of high school. Trouble with Ex-Girlfriend, grades, sickness, and blah-blah-blah-please-shoot-me.

Some of you folks at home might be thinking, " Shouldn't this imbecile at least have some of his life together? He's a senior, and by Jove I remember when I was a senior and how easy it was. It was back in nineteen-aught-nine, and the creation of the automobile..."

Hey, Grandpa, shut the hell up. I swear to God if one more person tells me the good ole "If I had half the brains you had when I was your age" story again, I will hijack the special-needs bus and drive it into a preschool.

But anyway, back to ze meat and potatoes, yes?

I just recently got over being bent over and taught a lesson by the common cold, and boy oh boy let me tell you...I still haven't developed the motivational skills for make-up work. I like to procrastinate. It works for me. So how am I supposed to put off something until the last minute when said something was due yesterday? Really, c'mon!

Then there's my home life, which is a pretty accurate example of what would have happened if Pearl Harbor had occurred in my comfy-cozy suburban Ohio neighborhood instead of Hawaii. I've got my lovely parents and their hot mess of a divorce, (God willing I don't die of old age before that little comedy finally ends) with Mom living over on Easy Street, bitching about how she won't be getting a few of her four-hundred-BUHJILLION dollar paychecks and how her new $700 toy poodle/inbred rat can't grasp the concept of shitting outside. Even her intellectually-questionable daughter could figure that little conundrum out.

Meanwhile, Dad and I struggle to make ends meet here in our shack, which Mom somehow finds astounding despite the fact that she has a fucking Masters degree in nursing or health or some other thing and Dad works part-time at the local Home Depot. Yeah, whine about your expenses while me and the old man are flipping furniture searching for enough change to buy a gallon of milk. *rips out hair*

As if all this weren't fun and jovial enough, I get to school today and discover that I'm failing environmental science. Before you write me off as a hopeless moron who will forever spend his life flailing around like a cat trapped behind the refrigerator, let me break that specific class down for you:

Environmental Science: Average Class Schedule

*Get to class
*Pick up clipboard and tree identifier packet (If you don't understand the hilarity behind this little nugget of gold, go here)
*Trek like four and a half miles outside of the school property to look at some trees that we probably have RIGHT OUTSIDE THE BUILDING
*Listen to the teacher stumble around blindly muttering things like "Does it have lobes?" and "Look at the stems...look at the stems..." under her breath like some sort of possessed tree-hugging drug addict.
*Wonder who in the hell thought of making this a full-credit course
*Go back to the school building
*Rinse and repeat every other day for a well-balanced brainwashing regimen.

Yep, that's right. They pay our teacher a REAL paycheck to pretend she can teach. I think this woman is something like twenty-eight or twenty-nine, and she doesn't know her asshole from a hole in the ground. I'm failing a class, FULL-CREDIT mind you, because I didn't know the difference between a southern live oak and a northern live oak. That's the high school I get to go to, Grandpa. *facepalm*

Finally we have the matter of Ex-Girlfriend. Woo-boy, this one's a doozy. Let me enlighten you with a snippet of conversation between her and I.

Ex-Girlfriend: But I do love you!

Me: Why are you with [insert asshole] then?

Ex-Girlfriend: (in strangely parrot-like voice) 'Cuz.

Me: Why?

Ex-Girlfriend: 'Cuz.

Me: ...Why?

Ex-Girlfriend: ...'Cuz.

Me: GAH! CHRIST!

Ex-Girlfriend: 'Cuz? 'Cuz? *commences to pick the bugs out of her feathers*

You can pretty much imagine the rest.

Well, until the next time world...enjoy.