Spring Break

Sometime this morning, approximately 1 a.m., I was lying in my bed, awake, thinking about future events in my life that are not too far away. The one looming nearest on the horizon is Spring Break. The gang's all heading down to Ocean Isle for the week. Should be a doozy. I plan on not being sober for more than five minutes. But I guess that is expected with what is sure to be the Last Hurrah of high school.

My parents said I couldn't go if I got any grade below a B. I knew that this was not going to happen in AP European History. So I ended up pulling 7 A's and a C in History, very respectable if you ask me. And these grades are pretty much pointless: I got accepted into the Honors-Scholars program at the Dub yesterday.

But the rents still aren't backing down with this ultimatum of gayness. So I sent them a little e-mail. In the past, I have used my cunning to force them to pity me. They caught on to this about five or six years ago. This e-mail contained no begs for mercy. Rather, it stated my plan. I will be going to Spring Break, regardless of whether my parents will let me or not. They can strip me of my car keys, my money, my dignity. I refuse to let this milestone in my high school career pass me by.

I have not yet received a reply by either party to said e-mail, nor has either mentioned it to me face-to-face. I guess they're in shock. That's gotta be a good thing.

Oh, by the way, I went to the J today. Some fat fuck in there was bragging that he had run ten laps on the miniscule indoor track before pulling up with "severe muscle spasms, evidence of my football days." No, man. You're just a bitch.