My Fatal Mistake

If there is one thing to be learned from the nightmare that is my family and my family's opinions, it's that they can never be changed. I come from a long line of naysayers and stubborn followers. We call it the Murphy Curse, and that curse begats bad luck here, there, and everywhere. Really, there's never a day we look back and say "That was very lucky!" Although I must admit I'm a pretty lucky girl for scoring such a lovely lovely like Jason. That's beyond the point. The point is that my grandmother, who married into the Murphy Curse, will never change her very closed-minded opinion. She has always been conservative, but we're starting to think it's getting worse. That or the world is. Either way. Now she is willing to admit that "The Mexicans" do all of our jobs because we're getting lazy. And she will defend this point with her life, the same way she defends Jesus and her citizenship.

My grandmother also likes to play up the fact that she is "stoo-pit," as she says it. I think it [and all my older friends slash age-appropriate friends forgive me for saying this] is a matter of generation. She was born in a time when mothers taught daughters that boys liked girls who weren't smart, who were perfectly content to let the man be the man and tend to all his manly duties, like budgeting and shoe-tying and draft-drinking. And if the man needed to go out all night with his friends, well Let it Be. So my grandmother never tried hard to be smart, I reason. I don't know. I love her anyway. No matter how totally... wrong she can be sometimes. Well because she never tried to be smart, she jokes about her "stoo-pit"idity, and so does the family.

My uncle sent out an IQ test, one of those internet things, which everyone took except me, though I did take another one only to find out I got a 110. Mother. Fucker. My grandma took this test and said it refused to tell her the results. Such:

"No, it said it'd be back with the results shortly."

"What?"

"Well it just said it'd get back to me."

"Haha, how is that possible?" Asked my uncle.

"It told me I was done."

"Done or dumb?" My aunt said, and then her husband slapped her a high-five to echo throughout the Northern Hemisphere, while the whole table erupted into riotous laughter.

And then, a bit later in the night, I made the fatal mistake of trying to prove my mom wrong on the one issue [besides the fact that DAMMIT WOMAN, I WILL LOVE WHO I WANT TO LOVE AND HE WILL NOT BE FROM UTAH.] she will never bend upon. Hell School. No matter how hard I try, I'm going to have to accept it. I will have to attend at least one quarter at Stressed before transferring to The Beast of Hollow Wood. And that is awful.

But my mom, who is insane, goddammit, has strategies. She brings it upon me to express my concerns in front of the whole family. She will not let me go by unscathed, she must show me all that I am missing and all that I will be given if I do not go through with this college thing. Apparently kids are "dead in the water" unless they go to college. Newsflash, everyone. I don't want to have a regular job, and even if I do, it's not like that's my "passion." Bitches wouldn't know passion if it smacked them in the balls. Passion is the feeling of heartbeats pressed together. Passion is hearing the voice of your savior. Passion is Golden.

My mom basically just four hours ago humiliated me in front of my family. She tied me to the kitchen chair, broke my throne, cut my hair. She removed my title and told me that everything I'd ever fought to believe in or hoped to have is wrong. Apparently she only wants the most opportunities for me. But of course, I could never actually have a say in all this.