It's 2:40 AM. Here are all of the things I should be doing:
Studying for my "mid-term" in Natural Science tomorrow.
Dreaming about Natural Science facts (Biomes are too large to study, hence ECOSYSTEMS! I'm a film major, btw)
Sleeping to wake up early to study for my "mid-term" in Natty Sci tomorrow.
Instead, I am here, updating this blog, simply because it's a great way to kill time that I could be using being productive. It will also be read by people who see this as a great way to kill time that they could be using being productive. This thing causes a vicious cycle of worthlessness. I apologize in advance.
I was recently reminded of the time that I was almost borderline retarded. Yes, you read that right. In third grade I was first stung by the annoying (but useful for getting into college!) process of standardized testing. The CATs, which stands for...words, were given to see if children were keeping up with what professionals consider "healthy learning." They had a math and an english section, because no one gives a fuck about science or history in this country (not that I really mind that...except the history part...which just means that I hate science, I guess).
I dutifully took my exam, which was a test booklet that you wrote on--filling in bubbles inside the lines was far too advanced for my age. The test results came back some months later and then decided your fate for three years until you can take another test to try and pry your ass out of special help. In my case, I should have been one of those kids. It seems as though I failed the english section. I didn't just miss a few; no, I categorically failed answering no answer properly. My teacher was surprised by this, as I did speak English and didn't drool out of my mouth and scream "BANANA SANDWICHES!" in inopportune moments (the real question is, when is it opportune?).
My teacher called my mom in and told her the results of the tests. Instantly, she said something along the lines of "get the fuck outta here!" because she is a potty mouthed New Yorker. It seems as though the test was right, and that I did indeed get them all wrong. What happened was that I failed to read the directions of the test which said to underline the noun, then double underline the verb. I don't remember if I read that and said, "who double underlines? This must be wrong!" Or, if I just completely ignored them (I'd assume this option, cause it wasn't the first time, and surely not the last). I circled the nouns and underlined, only once, the verbs.
The moral of the story? Stupid instructions could doom children forever. I guess.
To wrap things up, I was talking to possible reader Erin Grande today and we were discussing relationships. Because I'm an ass, I came up with an analogy for good relationships using cereal and prizes. I think it actually makes sense, too. Here goes....
A good relationship doesn't put sex up front as the main attraction. Instead, sex is to be taken as a bonus part that compliments the relationship itself. If you put the sex up front, then you probably have nothing in common and just wanna fuck. That works for hook ups and the like, but not for relationships. Therefore, a good relationship is like a box of cereal you really like that has a prize at the bottom of the box. You eat and eat your cereal every day and at the end you get a prize! Sometimes that prize is crappy, sometimes it's awesome, but it's usually just cool to do something you like while getting a prize in the process.
Then there are times where you get really crappy cereal you don't like just to get the prize. You labor through the cereal day after day as you keep looking at that awesome looking prize on the box. Then, after suffering through all of that awful bran, you get the prize...and it's definitely not what it looks like on the box. It's either a sticker that fits only over a Lego guy's face or a plastic "action figure" which is dwarfed by larger ants. After all of that work all you got was a toy that you didn't really enjoy in the first place.
Another thing you can do is flip the box over, open the bottom first, and get your prize without laboring through the ordeal of eating all of that shit that you don't want to. This is either a one night stand or rape. I guess either or, really. There is also the smart cereal that puts the prize in the middle, so no matter how you open the box, you have to eat some. I think that's a rebound, since you throw out the other half anyway.
So what have we learned? I equate sex with eating cereal as a kid. I guess.