My Last Day

Today was my last day as a student of Strest High. Or, sort of. Because of Strest's fucked up system, no student can receive their transcripts until all of their teachers have signed them out. And the problem is that Beast of Hollowed Hoods requires you to have your transcripts to be fully enrolled. So I couldn't get my transcripts until today, the day before Thanksgiving Break, since any other time would have made me a truant.

The day, in itself, was good. My English class had a subsitute, someone whom I recognized almost instantly. My English substitute was none other than Jon's nephew Jiro. This is why I love that my blog-hero lives in my city. Every time I go out, I cross my fingers that I'll catch Heather B. Armstrong [and this is her website] in action. So you can imagine my panty-wetting joy when I found that the same man who clinked glasses with The Dooce was going to teach me about Ayn Rand. And teach did he ever! Mr. Jiro gave us definitions of such words as Capitolism, Communism, Conformity, and Individuality. He referred to the Great Wii as part of our Anthem discussion. [Get it? As in... The Great We? Get it?] He was so good of a teacher that I actually took notes. Which I hardly ever do. Ever. He knew more about the subject he was teaching than I had ever seen in one bit of a substitute's mind. Ever since coming to High School, I've discovered that substitutes are merely there to babysit.

My Art teacher told me to get myself expelled from The New School. He said that I should "aim high to aim low," all so I could come back in the form of a junior and take the AP Drawing class. For a few minutes, I almost considered it. I was rape-hugged by Henry and Keenan at lunchtime. As I clutched my Jamie Wall Pie to my breast, my mouth gaping, I was sandwiched forcefully between two very skinny, very blonde, ska-band-boys. My Jamie Wall Pie. I have a backpack buddy. Her name is Jamie. And she makes delicious pie. Trust me, if you ever get a chance to eat Jamie Wall Pie, you eat that pie straight out of the tin. Because you can. Jamie Wall [which might not even be her real name] baked me an apple pie and bought me a 2-Liter of Diet Coke, and I could not be more grateful. There's a scrap left of my Jamie Wall Pie, and I think I might put in the freezer, to have it forever. I'm going to save my Jamie Wall Pie like you save the first snowball of Winter.

And though it sounds as if I'm already nostalgic for Strest High School, that's simply not true. I'm honestly looking forward to The Transfer and The New School, hoping that things really are easier there, and wishing I hadn't burned my bridges with The Ass, seeing as he plays that school like a violin. Speaking of whom:

I went to Open Mic last night, The Ass working and all, right after he'd sent the fated MySpace messages calling me immature and telling me I was "one of those obsessive girls guys always complain about." Um, hello? So now I have no right to emotions? Alright, sorry I broke the rule. Anyway. I went to Open Mic with five dollars to buy coffee, to buy it from him, because I genuinely like Marmalade's coffee, and I was damn tired. But alas. I couldn't bring myself to go up there, stand in line, and face him. So I sent Dolan with my money. I told him, "Tell him I would like the second item on the menu. It'll make him sweat." It didn't make The Ass sweat. It made him completely disregard us. He next-please'd us.

I plan on telling his boss, Kim, about this the next time I see her.

A million thanks to everyone at Strest. To Lema and Anna Biotic. To NUHUUH NI'MAURR and his lame hair. To Keenan and Henry, for loving my art. To Ginjabitch and 'Ay! Mike!, to Emo Kid Ronnie and Emo Kid Michael, to Ilana and Meghan and Morgan. To everyone who sat with me on the cold grass and laughed at my jokes. To Kate! for coming to the bathroom with me nearly every lunch. To Lalo, for being everything he is. To Jesus for playing along. To the teachers for being nice to me. To Strest High, though your academia tried to rub my face in dog shit and sandpaper, it may well be true what they say about you. "Once a Panther, always a Panther."