Thursday, July 13, 2006

I better get myself a magazine rack, 'cause I've got a lot of issues.

I don't know what my problem is.

I'm honestly considering entering myself into some kind of anger-management program. Thank God I haven't lashed out at someone, because if I did I'd probably die. I'd lose a fight in an instant if it wasn't online. I realize that I have the problem. One should not want to jump across classrooms to impale classmates one has not even had a conversation with, but this guy really, really wants to sometimes.

This is why I'm glad my creative writing class is over. Let me explain.

We sit in a large circle. Directly across from me are these two guys. One's a grad student and one just finished his freshman year. And neither are particularly talented writers, and I know that makes me sound like an asshole, especially since I don't think I'm a great writer, but when you're writing poems about drunk girls imitating Shakira, or poems about "the disillusioned" being attracted to nightclubs by "angels of sin", something must be said for your creative mindset.

Now, I only write this because they made me very, very angry. If they didn't behave like high school students, I wouldn't have a problem with them. But about two weeks ago, I happened to look across the room and noticed that they were writing notes to each other and giggling. Then they'd look at me and quickly look back at their notebook, and giggle.

This went on for about an hour.

Now, I fully admit that I'm one conceited son of a bitch. But I'm conceited in a paranoid kind of way. I always say that the reason I haven't tried pot is that I'd get way too paranoid. Because I'm even a paranoid drunk. And like everything else in my life, I blame high school for this. (I think my mother would interject here and say, "Get over it, Tyler," but then I'd just respond with, "At least I'm not blaming everything on you.")

So obviously, I was angry. Even if they weren't making fun of me (which, honestly, is most likely the case, since they really had no material except that maybe commenting that I look like Opie, "that guy from Rent", or Eric Stoltz from Some Kind of Wonderful (but not Eric Stoltz from Mask)), it's still rude.

And, okay, I admit I'm not the nicest person in the world. And yeah, I judge. Everyone does it. But we all learned back in elementary school a rule that I think we should all follow in our adult life: It's perfectly acceptable to make fun of people as long as you don't do it to their faces and try your damnedest to keep from actually hurting their feelings.

So last night, which was our last class meeting, our professor made us do formal readings of our work. And what did the Fuckhead Twins do? Well, the grad student organized his life, I suppose, with his Louis Vuitton day gay-planner. (It's safe to assume, dear readers, that the douche with the Louis Vuitton day-planner was gay, which is perfectly fine with me. But let it be known that no one - straight, homosexual, bisexual, male, or female - should have a Louis Vuitton day-planner). (And while I'm on the subject of high-fashion faux-pas, I regret not telling the very sweet, quiet girl from class that just because Coach makes it doesn't mean it's not a fanny-pack.) His partner in retardation, the freshman who looks sort of like a middle-aged investment banker trapped in a nineteen-year-old's body, completed Sudoku puzzles. Of course he did. And about every two minutes, when their minds reached capacity, they turned to each other and chatted while our classmates and our professor spoke.

And honestly, I wanted to run over there and beat them both in their stupid, stupid faces. They just put me in a miserable mood, which gave me a headache. If Project Runway wasn't on last night, I probably would have had to take an angry-nap to get over it.

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