schools?
And He has kept his preferences to himself. Or maybe He hasnt. But He hasnt shared them with me .Number of Schools Left: 18 HHHH
Step 7: Eliminate any women-only schools .
I WANT TO HAVE SEX. Is that so wrong? Im not ready to give up and take a four-year lesbian vacation. (Note: I didnt get into the specifics with Paul Parlipiano on this one, lest he think Im homophobic, which Im not.)Number of Schools Left: 14 HHHH
Step 8: Eliminate any school conveniently located for unannounced parental visits . Duh.Number of Schools Left: 11 HHHH
Step 9: Eliminate any school where Id be the dumbest first-year student . This is probably the most surprising eliminator, so Ill explain.
For my first three years of high school, I was obsessed with getting into Harvard or Yale. Then I toured both campuses last spring and discovered I was the only prospective freshman who hadnt won an Academic Decathalon or developed opto-electronic semiconductor het-erostructures in my downtime, you know, for kicks. Im not kidding. PHS hasnt prepared me for cutthroat academics. I am a big, brainy fish in a tiny, toxic wastefilled pond. I dont want to be reminded every day for four years that my SATs can only do so much in the effort to transcend my white-trash roots.
Plus, theres something kind of sick about the over-the-top sense of pride my parents would get from slapping a Harvard or Yale sticker in their back windshields. My mom didnt go to college, but she wants everyone to know that her very own flesh and blood is smart enough to attend one of these super brand-name Ivies. She wants to take credit for my intelligence like a classic parensite, aka any adult who tries to leech a life out of his/her kid. Yikes.Number of Schools Left : 9 HHHH
Step 10: Eliminate any school that could not serve up sweet undergraduate eye candy while I was on the campus tour .
Very shallow, I know. But let me reiterate: I WANT TO HAVE SEX. Remember, its not like my idea of cute is brainless and beefcakey cute. So the built-in intelligence factor counteracts the shallowness of this requirement. Almost. (Of course, I kept these details to myself.)Number of Schools Left: 4 HHHH
Amherst, Piedmont, Swarthmore, and Williams, I repeated, coming to the conclusion of my dissertation. And thats where I stopped.
Four seemed like a manageable number to me. But I could have kept right on cutting. Im sure if I thought hard enough, I could have come up with a deal breaker for every school in the book. I swear, I would thrive in a communist regime. See, when I have too many choices, its my own fault if I make the wrong one. I am much better when decisions have been made for me. It not only gives me the right to complain, but a sense that Ive had to overcome overwhelming odds in the struggle to become the success that I am.
Go ahead and bash my methods all you want, but its not any more or less of a crapshoot than if I had followed the advice of my guidance counselor, my parents, or the Princeton Review. The odds are 1600 to 1 that Ill pick the perfect school. So I might as well go with my own dubious logic.
When I finally finished my spiel, Paul Parlipiano looked at me and said, Youre making a big mistake.
The fact that Paul Parlipiano had formed such a definitive opinion about me and my life was too much for me to handle, and I coughed half a cup of coffee out of my nostrils. Our history made this humiliating hurl all the more so. Need I remind you that this is the same person whose shoes I puked all over at a farewell-to-summer beach party one year ago? After I pledged my undying love? Before I passed out? I shudder at the memory. The fact that he graciously neglected to mention that last regurgitative gift as he mopped up todays mess is proof that Paul Parlipiano is a perfect human beinggay or not. Oh, how I wish he were not.
After I had run out of apologies and lied about a lingering case of bronchitis that
And He has kept his preferences to himself. Or maybe He hasnt. But He hasnt shared them with me .Number of Schools Left: 18 HHHH
Step 7: Eliminate any women-only schools .
I WANT TO HAVE SEX. Is that so wrong? Im not ready to give up and take a four-year lesbian vacation. (Note: I didnt get into the specifics with Paul Parlipiano on this one, lest he think Im homophobic, which Im not.)Number of Schools Left: 14 HHHH
Step 8: Eliminate any school conveniently located for unannounced parental visits . Duh.Number of Schools Left: 11 HHHH
Step 9: Eliminate any school where Id be the dumbest first-year student . This is probably the most surprising eliminator, so Ill explain.
For my first three years of high school, I was obsessed with getting into Harvard or Yale. Then I toured both campuses last spring and discovered I was the only prospective freshman who hadnt won an Academic Decathalon or developed opto-electronic semiconductor het-erostructures in my downtime, you know, for kicks. Im not kidding. PHS hasnt prepared me for cutthroat academics. I am a big, brainy fish in a tiny, toxic wastefilled pond. I dont want to be reminded every day for four years that my SATs can only do so much in the effort to transcend my white-trash roots.
Plus, theres something kind of sick about the over-the-top sense of pride my parents would get from slapping a Harvard or Yale sticker in their back windshields. My mom didnt go to college, but she wants everyone to know that her very own flesh and blood is smart enough to attend one of these super brand-name Ivies. She wants to take credit for my intelligence like a classic parensite, aka any adult who tries to leech a life out of his/her kid. Yikes.Number of Schools Left : 9 HHHH
Step 10: Eliminate any school that could not serve up sweet undergraduate eye candy while I was on the campus tour .
Very shallow, I know. But let me reiterate: I WANT TO HAVE SEX. Remember, its not like my idea of cute is brainless and beefcakey cute. So the built-in intelligence factor counteracts the shallowness of this requirement. Almost. (Of course, I kept these details to myself.)Number of Schools Left: 4 HHHH
Amherst, Piedmont, Swarthmore, and Williams, I repeated, coming to the conclusion of my dissertation. And thats where I stopped.
Four seemed like a manageable number to me. But I could have kept right on cutting. Im sure if I thought hard enough, I could have come up with a deal breaker for every school in the book. I swear, I would thrive in a communist regime. See, when I have too many choices, its my own fault if I make the wrong one. I am much better when decisions have been made for me. It not only gives me the right to complain, but a sense that Ive had to overcome overwhelming odds in the struggle to become the success that I am.
Go ahead and bash my methods all you want, but its not any more or less of a crapshoot than if I had followed the advice of my guidance counselor, my parents, or the Princeton Review. The odds are 1600 to 1 that Ill pick the perfect school. So I might as well go with my own dubious logic.
When I finally finished my spiel, Paul Parlipiano looked at me and said, Youre making a big mistake.
The fact that Paul Parlipiano had formed such a definitive opinion about me and my life was too much for me to handle, and I coughed half a cup of coffee out of my nostrils. Our history made this humiliating hurl all the more so. Need I remind you that this is the same person whose shoes I puked all over at a farewell-to-summer beach party one year ago? After I pledged my undying love? Before I passed out? I shudder at the memory. The fact that he graciously neglected to mention that last regurgitative gift as he mopped up todays mess is proof that Paul Parlipiano is a perfect human beinggay or not. Oh, how I wish he were not.
After I had run out of apologies and lied about a lingering case of bronchitis that
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