As I've entered another year of productivity and education among my fellow school-spirited Wildcats, I can't help but notice how much my life doesn't resemble a teen movie.
Since The Breakfast Club and Fast Times at Ridgemont High to Grease and 10 Things I Hate About You, I've been dedicatedly learning, from a surprisingly early age, the portrayed values that would prepare me for the senior high experience. Such as, "Jocks and unconventionally beautiful nerdy kids have underlying sexual tension," "Men being undeniable jerks are acceptable, so long as they buy you things," "Your life will resolve itself at prom, and conclude itself at graduation," "Being stoned makes for wittily humorous one-liners," and my personal favorite, "Become a socially trendy slut an your man will love you."
Now, as things are, I'm getting increasingly closer to my own cap and gown ceremony, and not ONCE have I been part of a poppy dance routine. In fact, I've never even been wooed by the token Hot But Egotistical Jerk only to be rescued by the Possibly Less Hot But Charming Loner when the Jerk shows his true colors. Come to think of it, the last time I was rescued in any manner was probably when my age consisted of one digit and I decided that wandering off alone in a large store was a pretty good idea. Similarly, my mortal enemy has never been vengefully humiliated in front of cheering peers, nor do I have an Obnoxious Blonde Counterpart to fulfill the role of said enemy.
My ratio of actual class/homework/activity time to parties/sex/drunken debauchery time also appears to be way off.
To do:
- Buy a pair of emo glasses, start wearing lots of layers, paint all the time, and eliminate all but one friend to officially define myself in a stereotype.
- Acquire the perfect balance of feminist strength, lack of self confidence, and faux haughty attitude.
- Assign a mortal enemy.
- Rewire intercom to constantly play late 90s pop hits.
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