We hate it when our friends become successful.

Let me start by apologizing for the literal title of this post, and for quoting Morrissey, because I don't want to give the impression that I actually like Morrissey or am a big Smiths fan. You can add them to the list of Really Important Bands that I don't give three shits about. (Another example: Pavement. I will not lost my shit over Pavement, thankyouverymuch, because Who The Fuck Is Stephen Malkmus.) Megan once told me that a friend of hers spent his closeted, rural youth "hanging out in cornfields listening to the Smiths." I responded, "I really liked 'How Soon Is Now' in high school because it was on the soundtrack to The Wedding Singer." I missed out on a lot of music and then, when exposed to it, rejected a lot of it, because I just don't care. So, there you go.

Anyway.

I'm in one of those moods right now where I think about everything that's ever gone wrong in my life, with a focus on everything that's gone wrong in the last two years. And, as always, I called home to talk to my mother about it, which never works out, because "talking to my mom about how much I hate my life" really turns into "yelling at my mother about how much I hate my life and GOD MOM WHY CAN'T YOU FIX EVERYTHING I HATE YOU." It's incredibly mature, I know. I think part of the reason why I call home is because my mom, unlike most of the people I know, at least pretends to give a shit. Another reason is because I'm totally fine with yelling at her; I mean, I want to keep my friends, and they're not as apt to take my verbal abuse as my mother is. (It's a two-way street. Please keep this in mind.) And I love how my mom lives in a fantasy land sometimes, wherein community colleges offer editing classes that will "boost my resume." And why not, since the community classes in Virginia offer classes in real estate and refrigerator repair. This was an actual argument used to back up her assertion that looking at the Chicago City Colleges is a good idea. I told her that I don't want to repair refrigerators. (This was almost as batshit crazy as when she told me that I should really consider sending my "photography" to Getty Images to see if they'll hire me as a photographer. This is in reference to my "cats reading books photography" that my family goes nuts over.)

When I complained about how I'm almost twenty-five, have been out of school for nearly two years, and I have absolutely nothing to show for it save for very minimal office experience and an A in a Southern Literature graduate course, she decided to tell me about how some dude I went to middle school with just got a salaried position after working for his company for a year. Well, terrific. I already didn't like him, so now I dislike him more. Am I supposed to be pleased that he's only now more successful than I am, and the thousands of dollars his parents spent on private high school and university tuition is just now worth it? No. Because he's still better than me, only now in a professional sense. Great.

But this is what I realized this morning: It's worse for me to have to deal with people I like being more successful with me. I don't know how many times I have to admit that I'm a shallow, jealous, bitter human being, but here's just another example of why I suck. It's perfectly fine for people I already consider assholes (read: the majority of everyone I went to high school with, and JMU fraternity members) to be making more money than me, because it's not hurting me any by thinking they suck balls. It's more of a problem when people I like are doing great things with their lives and making money and buying shit that pisses me off, because I don't want to not like them. It's like I'm still this scrawny kid, yelling, "Hey guys, slow down! Wait up! I want to play, too!" And I know I'm a shit for feeling this way, but it's how it is. I admit that I suck.

On a good note, however, I found seven dollars in my pockets this morning. Any of you guys find seven dollars in your khakis? No? That's too bad.