The F-word

With you, friend is a four-letter word.
—"Daria"

You see, the problem with college is that even if you're not a women's studies major, you start seeing concepts like "post-modern disenfranchisement" and "objectification sans agency" all around you in your daily life. Or at least I do, probably because it's easier than simply saying to myself, "Self, nobody thinks I'm important." I think that at least mine isn't a unique situation; we all want some kind of esteem from our peers. Some of you get it; I get passed over for homework or a ringing phone or a fishtank. Please stop wondering why I'm bitter.

I've been worrying since freshman year about my post-graduation social life. Mom and Dad have fewer friends than I have vaginas, and Fanwood's never really been networking central for me. Some people, cough cough Justin Ross arrogant bastard ahem, had a monopoly on the geekwad social scene. Come to college, live in a dorm with four-hundred other eighteen to twenty-two year olds, I honestly thought things would be different, that I'd be joined in a community with all my egghead brethren. While the students matriculating at state school would spend their 3:30's in the afternoon looking like shirtless retards outside the "Total Request Live" studio, I'd be sitting in Columbia's perestroika-infected Illuminati sewing circle talking jazz fusion and Ayn Rand and Harlem gentrification over a glass of sherry. I conceived of the sherry as a nice detail, but I guess it was more important than I thought, cause none of that shit actually happened. Most of my college experience involved using my high-speed internet access to masturbate to cyberporn at two in the morning, then miss my nine a.m. class because I didn't get enough sleep. I can't understand why I didn't make more friends.

But now that all the college work is just about over, let's see what kinds of creative excuses people come up with for leaving me by my lonesome writing in a blog that no one except Rian actually reads. (Thank you, Rian.) Parents coming in for the weekend. Or, what the hell, the whole damn week. Okay, that tops me. Real real busy with work. Yup, higher priority than I am. Phone's ringing. That'll trump just about anything. Gotta fertilize the lawn. I'm farther down on the totem pole than that. Sticking my head in the refrigerator....