School Stressor

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So, school starts back up today and I couldn’t be more stressed out. It’s not because I’m starting work on my thesis, or that I am taking four classes. No, I am stressing about the 2 classes which take place in a classroom. And what about, you ask? WHERE AM I GOING TO SIT?

Deciding where to sit on the first day of class, as my fellow collegians know, is a make or break decision. This is the seat you will have to sit for the duration of the semester. Not because it’s assigned by the professor, but because it’s assigned by some mysterious social ghost who will haunt you if, god forbid, you decide midway through the semester you prefer a window seat.

The problem arises very early because A) you don’t know who is in the class and B) you don’t know where the instructor is going to sit. You certainly don’t want to sit next to the instructor, nor the kid who brings in McDonald’s everyday. Fuck.

Is arriving just before class begins a good option? Perhaps. But at that point all the choice seats my be taken. So arrive early. No no no! Then people will lurk toward you, or hover on the outskirts and the whole thing is just awkward.

I really dread being forced into a seat where I can’t keep a low profile. And, that becomes increasingly difficult when you are in grad school classes the size of bowling teams.

As you can see, the levels of stress involved in this situation are beyond comprehension. How did we get to this point as a society, where our seat choices determine how the next 14 weeks will go?

So, save me a seat or wish me luck!

Pet Peeve of the Day: See above

Quote of the Day: “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” –Maya Angelou

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I have recently come to the disheartening conclusion that Saved by the Bell ruined my life. That is, ruined my expectations for life by providing me with false promises. My middle/high school years were nothing like Zack and the gang’s and I now feel cheated:

First of all, I had parents. And they were present. And they asked me questions and made me clean my room and do homework and a million other things I could have gone without ala Zack Morris.

Wrestling wasn’t an option at my school let alone the premiere option. I never got to ogle at the likes of an AC Slater-esque physique in a queer little leotard.

I didn’t hang out at a Max’s after school complete with malteds and an awesome waiter who did magic tricks. I had to hang out at a smoky diner down the street where we sucked on coffee and smoked cigarettes, carefully watching the windows in case a teacher walked by. They did not have ice cream.

Love triangles did not exist. In fact, love did not exist.

The principal as PAL? Highly doubtful. The guy in charge of my high school was a scary black guy who hated all the over-privileged white kids (read: 99% of the student body). Not someone I really wanted to pal up with.

Homeless people weren’t hot friendly people I met in malls and invited home for Christmas. They lurked on every street corner, demanding change and barking various nonsensical orders.

Drugs did not revolve around caffeine pills that incited a sad rendition of “I’m So Excited.” Instead, they were much more hardcore and involved real drug dealers with pagers.

My friends and I didn’t “summer” at a beach resort that gave us all awesome jobs just because we knew Zack Morris.

We weren’t allowed to go near any oil spills, let alone rescue cute little ducks from them.

We did have a rival school, but we certainly did not carry out numerous and intricate pranks on them.

Nobody called anybody “mama.”

So, Saved by the Bell, I want my youth back. And if I can’t have that, can you please explain where the fuck Tori came from?

Pet Peeve of the Day: Orange juice

Quote of the Day: “For last year’s words belong to last year’s language And next year’s words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning.” –T.S. Eliot

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