fuuuuuuuuuuuuck

College. College has a great deal of classes. Class on nearly every subject imaginable-- and therein lies the problem. For every class with clear (if you take it) use like astrophysics or math or English, there's five UNDERWATER BASKET WEAVING 101 classes. Usually you can spot them in the catalog-- the classes that evoke a mighty "who the fuck takes this?" from me.
Well now I know who.
Of course some classes of dubious usefulness fulfill a requirement you need to graduate, and that's why art history is so popular, when let's face it, all that job qualifies you to do is teach.
So what's this person's (woman I assume) schedule?

• Women & Health
• Women's Studies Methodologoes
• Into to Public Policy
• Women & Politics
• Queer Theory

Holy shit. Women and Health I would think would be important but given the context of her whole schedule I'm guessing it's nonsense.
I had a class that combined all of these things into one semester that I can only describe as a wide-awake nightmare.
That class was called Literary Theory.
If anyone wants to kill me instantly, mention that class. It's basically instant stroke out for me.
So what goes on in, say, Queer Theory, exactly? I'll tell you.
Some pretentious asshole decides gay people aren't being treated properly. Whether this is the case or not isn't what's important. Whereas logical people might say "well let's do a study to see if this warrants writing about in the first place" critical theorists write about... Things. That's the only way I can describe it, because unless you've read this shit you have no clue what it's actually like.
Half the time they seemingly aren't talking about anything at all.
Here I have a perfect example:

Thus it has always been thought that the center, which is by definition unique, constituted that very thing within a structure which governs the structure, while escaping structurality. This is why classical thought concerning structure could say that the center is, paradoxically, within the structure and outside it. The center is at the center of the totality, and yet, since the center does not belong to the totality (is not part of the totality), the totality has its center elsewhere. The center is not the center.

I'm not making that up. Of course that isn't queer theory (that's called deconstructionism. What that means I have no fucking clue and I passed that class with an A). But trust me, her entire schedule revolves around shit like this.
Reading shit like this evokes a primitive instinct from me that forces me to be argumentative even if I agree with the principle they're trying laboriously to reach. ANYONE THIS DOUCHEY CANNOT BE CORRECT, RIGHT?

I felt claustrophobic for the first time in my life today. I was sitting in my room with the door closed reading about public policy and the strangest feeling came over me.
I don't know if it was my room, my life or even this province that gave me the feeling, but it was unnerving.

That's because you were reading public policy. What is that, exactly?
So what kind of bore takes classes like public policy?
Someone who also gets their self worth from quotes like this:

The subtext of many reviews is a smirky disdain for anything with its roots in old-fashioned theater, an unspoken belief that musicals and even plays are quaint relics of another era beloved only of octogenarians, nostalgists and the irredeemably unhip.

Octogenarian? By the way, the context of this entire post is that she's proud she attends the theater, which big fucking deal. If it's something you enjoy you shouldn't care what other people think about it, one way or another.

I have these days where it feels like my heart is going to explode - in a good way.

I've been wracking my brain for a near five minutes over this sentence. In what way can one construe an exploding heart as good? Then it finally hit me: it'd happen to her, she'd die, and this blog would cease to be. Bad for her to be sure, but the world ends up a better place.

Where I am so filled with want and hope my stomach flip-flops constantly.

Sounds like a dangerous parasite.

I feel like my soul, or whatever I am, can't be contained in my skin anymore. I guess my heart is soaring.

Jesus Christ this sounds like a serious schizotypal episode.

I bought a new keyboard (with money that I can't afford - thanks visa - to be spending because I am not working enough hours and am making minimum wage. I may not have enough money for tuition. UGH.) and of course, it doesn't work. It might work if I could download the software needed that was with the keyboard, but as my keyboard doesn't work - I can't get into my (administrator) account because I need to type in my password.

Ho ho ho ho quite the conundrum. What kind of crazy ass trendyfag keyboard did you buy? Every keyboard I've had I just plug in and it works.

A list of my most favourite songs ever, that I've collected over the years.

Baba O'Riley - The Who
Pretty Good Year - Tori Amos
Send in the Clowns - Stephen Sondheim
Back to You - Bryan Adams
Your Next Bold Move - Ani DiFranco
Being Alive - Stephen Sondheim

Ha ha what shitty taste in music you have. Tori Amos? Ani DiFranco?
Who is Stephen Sondheim? I don't even want to know, actually. Every time I look this shit up I'm always mortified.

The people I work with are nice, but I get a really boring vibe from them, I feel no charm from them.

Yeah no one can be as cosmopolitan as you, you ATTEND THE THEATER, AFTER ALL! Also you list feminism as one of your great loves in the world-- how enlightened!
This is one of those entries I have trouble writing because the douche vibe I get from this is hard to describe. I can't quite put into words what's wrong with her, but I feel it on the surface of my skin like it might feel when I have the flu or when I fall into an open sewer.
Not that there are open sewers around here, or anything. Just, you know, how I imagine falling into an open sewer might be.
Now she asks the question religious texts have tried to answer since the dawn of time:

What should cheese go on, and what should cheese NOT go on?

Well something like 9/10 religions agree (and that's fucking unprecedented) cheese does NOT go on meat. I think there might be something to that. If primitive barbarians who didn't even have enough sense to wash the feces they're smeared with off had enough sense to say "hey wait I don't think that chicken and cheese casadia is a good idea" then I think we better fucking well listen.
Her answer was:

On: everything. Not on: NOTHING.

Not on nothing, huh? Classy enough to go to the theater and generally be a pretentious cunt but not classy enough to avoid double negatives.

a list of things i love right now:

used bookstores
gingerbread
overcast days
the sky
tab energy drink
the sound of a piano


what are yours?

Overcast days?
The sky? Seriously, who lists that as a like? I LIKE THE SKY DUR HUR DEEP.
Idiot.

I loathe my job. It makes me a cranky mess of a person that I don't want to be. That I shouldn't be.
(ps, old creepy guys - my name is not honey, love or sweetie. thanks)

All right I won't call you honey, love or sweetie. Is pretentious twatmouth okay with you?
Also this is kind of funny in context because this post was made May 25, 2008, the on May 31 (a mere six days later) she has this to say:

The saddest part of leaving my little pink summer home was leaving the awesome co-workers and leaving the free ice cream.

Funny a job you just spent a rather lengthy post complaining about is now described as your "pink summer home". Also she says "saddest" implying an entire list of reasons to be sad. I guess the rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia have already set on yonder face, eh?

I'm back from New York and it was everything I expected. I'm madly in love with the city. I so very much belong there.

Something about the phrasing of "I so very much belong there" really grinds my shit. What are you, in a Victorian novel? MOTHER, I SO VERY MUCH BELONG IN LONDON.

I know tomorrow, on my day off, I will be a mess thinking about how misplaced I am here.

What is this even called? I'm not sure what to call her now. Is this... What is this? Obviously she thinks she's really special and only cool people (like her) go to the cities. Cities are filthy and noisy and crowded and filled with smelly, dumb ugly people.
So I guess you do belong there ha ha ha shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

It also stuck me that this is the basic strife felt by pre-op transgender individuals.

Huuuuuuuuuuuuh? That came as a surprise, honestly.
I guess that would explain all the feminism classes-- since "she" wasn't born with the natural hardware she has to learn all of it from books ha ha ha ha ha.
See what I did there I put "she" in quotes.

Feeling trapped in the wrong body, wanting a transformation to another life...

Oh don't be such a girl about it! Man up and face reality! har har har

I just want to say that I love non-homophobic people.

I'm sure you'd be calling me a homophobe right now but I really just hate the disingenuous, which you are with all your assumed airs and pretentiousness (and I'm not talking about being a tranny).

It encompasses all my disciplines (women's studies being my major and political studies and english being my minors) and theatre makes me so unbelievably happy.

Ho ho ho ho-- okay enough of that. Rereading my entry it is kind of funny I call her a "cunt" so many times when, in fact, that's exactly what she lacks.

I've had severe writers block since September. I've lost all ability to write papers... or anything for that matter.

That must be awful.
Caring that much, that is. I know whenever I get an assignment I do it either right when I get it to avoid worrying about it or the night before if I forget all together and I rarely walk away with less than an A. I attribute it to natural talent and the "don't really give a shit" factor.
I think that's your problem, sir. You care too much. I think you'd feel a lot better if you stopped giving three fucks about four fucks.
If I were you I'd stop worrying so much about being a feminist playwright (sounds doomed to failure in the first place) and just be content with meandering through life. Then maybe you can get a cool blog that makes fun of... Err... Yourself, I guess.
Yes sir, that's just what you need.

I recently started watching Six Feet Under and I have to say: It is one of, if not THE, best shows I have ever seen. (and trust me, I've seen a lot of television, haha.)

You have not seen Dexter, then, sir.

My new black dress and platform sandals - Aw yeah, I'm super hot.

I want to see a picture of you more than I want to see your deviant art account (no doubt filled with furry art).
Unfortunately no such luck. Although... Hmm. Rather unique username. I bet I could do some internet sleuthing.
Nope, didn't work.
Oh well.
I did find one rather manly looking lass that I thought might be she, but it turned out to be some woman on Broadway. Oops.
So I guess that's it then.