WARNING: Post contains giant, run-on sentences (to the point where incorrect punctuation was used to ensure that the reader's comprehension wouldn't be too severely jeopardized), incoherency in levels of extreme verboseness, and happens to be based off my experience at a local grocery store running into a girl from my grade school, wherein the author was once again, forced to cover up the truth of her past misdeeds to avoid a long lineup in the check out and an earned reputation as a "dumb, crazy, bitch." Just let it be known that I find the former to be inaccurately offensive. This post may contain information that could be used to defame the author's character but tell me your socks don't stink and I'll call you a filthy great snake.
In the post-school world, I'm beginning to realize that there are very specific and annoying things that come with being of an age where it is typical if not assumed that I would be graduated, handed my nifty diploma, and sent off to a University where I'd be surrounded by the other thousands of recent graduates my age preparing to study Kin (kinesiology), Poly Sci, Psych, or to really aim for indecisive mediocrity, Sociology.
--That is what I had planned on studying btw. Virtual snaps to all in Soc.--
Such annoying moments include denouncing Facebook and all its social media imposters in order to avoid the lengthy and repetitive discussions revolving around plans for September University frat parties, college beer nights, profs, class schedules, 'HAWT UNI GUYZ' (which either sounds like some sort of inner sushi confection or an advert for unibrow porn) or Rez* next to which my own experiences fall to the bottom of the 'totem pole of exciting shit.'
*Rez: noun, colloq. Residence [rez-eh-dance] A colloquial term for dormitories or buildings housing buttloads of young adults who are hormonal, armed with as much money that they could possibly squeeze out of OSAP, and usually have escaped the protective armpit of their parents for the very first time and as such, make up for lost time by getting wasted, denouncing basic hygiene rituals, breaking beds, and trying to live up to full hooligan potential.
I've realized though, that unlike prom where dress and date debacles addressed ad nauseum could just be shut off with my computer and avoided, [because I wasn't going and I would go on to have an anti-prom (the beginning of my epic-clubbing-experiences) where I would proceed to drown my sorrows in alcohol and then forget them entirely with coke (and not the kind that pimps Pepsi) and the following two weeks I was too busy riding the tail end of that lethal-and-stupid-but what-the-fuck-you're-only-young-and-acceptably-dumb-once, fun as hell experience to give a shit] running into people you went to high/middle/grade school with was not only unavoidable and awkward as fuck, but seems to be an essential part of entering adulthood.
From the number of people asking me about my academic progress on a regular basis, I guess I better start getting cracking and get my life up and running. I mean, personally, I don't plan on straddling two jobs and sweating to get my diploma forever, but try to explain delaying two-plus years of jumping on the post-secondary bandwagon when you run into old classmates on a regular basis who are getting on with their lives and give you the obligatory update on their current schooling and majors and then while their talking, realizing that the street goes both ways and eventually it will be my turn to stumble on about what I've been doing since high school to this person whom I've probably said an accumulative ten words to the entire four years of high school and then I start to sweat because my schooling took the back seat while real life hit me in the face and this person is in front of you and being annoyingly friendly and asking about what I've been up to and where the hell do I even start?
I mean, I could tell them that I blew grade 12 entirely when my mom left (and they should know that--but wouldn't because we didn't talk all that much anyways because I vanished by the time second semester rolled around) and spent it working and trying and failing to get my grade 12 English credit online. That what I wanted to be my '5 Months of Recuperation' ended up resembling World War 2 due to the sheer scale of verbal gunfights between my grandmother and I; leaving us with quite a few emotional scars, a fractured relationship and me with the adage: Blood is thicker than Shit. That resulted in me jumping wings to Africa. Yes, Africa. And no, I didn't ride a rhinoceros there, you dipshit. I have now mentally left this conversation with a hypothetical, blog-generated person. Because. Ignorance of that magnitude is unacceptable.
| I would cover your orfices. |
Or I could tell them about the year I lived with my best friend and proceeded to put myself on the hate list of her entire immediate family. Or basically, everyone who lived in the house. Let's put it down to different values, my opposition to all things related to school, the pitiful excuse for an education system at {censored}Collegiate, and the month of March wherein it finally dawned on me that I was nineteen (Note to self: my birthday's in January) and a multitude of insane things occurred: I gained a stalker, became a night owl and developed an almost vampiric avoidance of daytime, and fell into a deep passionate love affair with fruity wine, followed by the occasional round of adulterous, earth shattering sex with tequila which was responsible for That One Night where my head made the acquaintance of the wall at the bottom of the stairs and they skipped the frivolities and had a child: a head-shaped dent which was probably the very first thing on the list of why I am not a household favourite and am in fact a recent addition on the 'Bad Influences For Their Daughter (my best friend) List' right below Penthouse ambassador and visual porn king Hugh Hefner and right above the 'Slap Chop' guy Vince Offer whose now turned to selling glorified lint rollers termed 'Stickies' to which he assures will resolve all of your 'shedding pussy' problems. #1, jsyk, being the entire Taliban led by the late Osama bin Laden and #10 being Oscar the Grouch on Sesame Street.
But after I finished explaining all that I don't think this person would care OR believe that this year (yes, 2012/2013) would be the year for promise and shiny diplomas of pure, encapsulated win for Jade. Yes'siree Bob. This year I will be joining the ranks of the forgotten and behind. I am attending a school of alternative learning, a.k.a. a school where I can fast track and shoot my four credits to smithereens in a mere 6 months and boost my average enough to apply and actually get a letter worth reading from the Universities of my choosing. I would assure this old high school chum that I am, in fact, smarter than my credit counseling summary would lead her to believe, am able to comprehend English and the Social Sciences to a degree that deserves more than a grade in the lowest percentile and despite everyone's doubts and disbelief, I CAN attend class on a daily basis and be on time for things. I just have chosen not to in the past.
And by this point, this person of little acquaintance would be ready to bolt in the other direction. Heading home to enjoy the last few days of a carefree summer, maybe looking forward to purchasing a new cardigan to wear on the first day of the second year of University; perhaps all the while thanking God under her breath that she (because it definitely wouldn't be a he) had refused to smoke that bong in the eleventh grade, ultimately avoiding an identical descent into failure, destitution, debilitating inadequacy, and most likely pregnancy because she's probably now convinced I'm a giant slag too.
That is only IF she hadn't fallen asleep through the entire hour-long spiel.
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