My brother drunk-IMed me after midnight last night:

I hate it when I can't think of a title.

I dropped my creative writing class yesterday because I realized that there's no point stressing over it when I decided to take it for fun in the first place. I don't think studying for a midterm and then a final on anthologized short stories that I've read several times already is fun. And since my professor is giving subjective grades on short, crappy sketches of fiction, I can see myself taking offense at receiving grades on my actual stories. And it took a lot of effort to read the first batch of student stories, as most of my comments and corrections were focused on grammar. (Seriously, who doesn't understand how to use commas? Or the correct way to punctuate quotations? You're in college now. This is your major.) (Note: This did not apply to you, Brittany. Your knowledge of correct punctuation was refreshing.)

Anyway, I'm not taking any more English courses here, as I have learned my lesson for the fourth time. If for any reason I do get a better job here and the free tuition tempts me again, I shall just get a MBA instead.

And now, something truly amazing:


Also, I watched Death Proof last night, and it was fantastic.

I do not like my creative writing class.

First of all, we're reading a lot of stories, which is dumb, but whatever. Personally, I think it'd be more constructive to do in-class writing, especially since our professor is giving us grades on rough drafts. (I got a C+ on a sketch I turned in last week. Granted, I wrote it that day at work and it was C+ material, but I don't really see how you can give someone a grade on a creative piece, especially when it's just the first draft. But whatevs.) We had to read "The Dead" last night, which is a good story, even though it's hard to read Joyce for a creative writing class when you can't really write like Joyce for a creative writing class (which my professor even stated: "If someone wrote this passage in here, we'd tear it apart!"). Anyway, after about an hour spent on Joyce, someone in the class finally said, "I don't understand why we're reading this. It's boring." Then we had to sit through an explanation of why people study Joyce as an author.

Also, I took offense to my professor calling one of my story ideas "Harry Potter-like," because, um, it didn't involve magic or children or British people. It wasn't even a fantasy story. I don't understand where "Harry Potter-like" came from. And he commented that the story idea that I submitted, which is the story that I'm turning in next week, was "an oddity," but I'm going to finish writing it anyway.

He told us to write about bad jobs. But that's what this is for, duh.

This was supposed to be for fun.

I'm glad they read Cosmo so I don't have to.

Jezebel just posted an item about the furor over an article in Cosmo about "gray rape," which is the term for a non-consensual, yet nonviolent rape. I obviously don't have a personal gray rape story because I'm a dude, it did make me think of this gem that a friend told me about an acquaintance. I'll write it in first-person, just for effect.

So, this one night me and my best guy-friend were drinking and stuff and his penis kind of slipped in me, but it wasn't rape or anything.

Okay, I know that's not even like, a story, but seriously, if you heard that first-hand, wouldn't you die? Like die a thousand deaths because it's both hilarious and tragic at the same time? I mean, in what situation would that be not-rape? I feel like if wasn't rape, there must be something missing from that sentence, like, "So, this one night me and my best guy friend were drinking and lubed up and in a naked heap of people and his penis kind of slipped in me, but it wasn't rape or anything." Because that's understandable. But if it's just the two of you drinking and stuff - which inevitably means rolling around on an extra-long twin-sized bed - I think any penis-slippage should be fully consensual and defined.


Related:
Cosmo Wonders: Is It Rape If You Had Too Many Jaeger Shots To Remember It Anyway? [Jezebel]

Gray hairs or urine stains?

Today is my brother's 18th birthday, which I'm going to turn into my own neurotic event as I am wont to do.

Last night I was talking to a friend on GChat and he was complaining about noticing a lot more gray hairs when he was in the Gap fitting room, and how that added to his obsession with getting older. I told him to calm down because he's only 25 and, really, that's young.

And then this morning I was doing my weekly shave (I have another interview today) under the bright lights in my bathroom, and I noticed a lot of gray hairs. Like, a lot more than the two I've had in my bangs for a year. There were a lot of them. A lot a lot.

Oh god, my little brother is 18 and in college and I'm turning 24 in less than a month fuck fuck fuck.

Turning 24 wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't one of those pointless birthdays. It's like 23 but worse, obviously, because you start to notice those gray hairs and that you've finally started to look like you're older than 21 because of those years spent getting drunk two nights in a row and smoking entire packs of cigarettes. (At least at 25 you can rent a car without spending extra money on insurance.)

Anyway, as I also talked to my brother last night on GChat, I felt pretty old. It was six years ago that I went to college and was dealing with the stuff he's going through (although my roommate never got drunk and pissed on the carpet; I think my freshman roommate, Fuckhead Dickens ("Yeah, I think I'm related to that writer guy."), stayed in on the first day of classes). I remember also being overwhelmed by all the drinking and the pot-smoking, and it took me quite a while to get comfortable at college. And I'm really glad I don't have to go through all of that again, especially since I feel like I'm finally getting comfortable after college.

I guess my point here is that someday, David, your gray hairs are going to be more stressful than your roommate peeing on your stuff.

My little brother is becoming my little adult.

My brother is at college, which is WEIRD because he's my LITTLE BROTHER and he's at COLLEGE where he will make HUGE MISTAKES but also HAVE THE BEST YEARS OF HIS LIFE.

I called my mom on Saturday to see how Empty Nest 2.0 was coming along, and she seemed fine. In fact, she was sassy with me when I told her that I really just called to tell her what I wanted for my birthday ("Thanks, Tyler. I've been thinking about that all day."), and I have the feeling that she and my dad are absolutely fine and are enjoying the house to themselves for once by eating the good food, drinking wine, watching movies, and not having sex because eww they don't do that.

And my mom only had one crazy thing to say about David's roommate, which was: "He seems nice. He's from Pennsylvania and only has three piercings. Who knows how many others he has hidden."

I talked to David this morning about his first impressions, and I'm glad to know college is exactly the same as when I entered six years ago!


Tomorrow is David's birthday. I think I'll buy him this poster: