Perky & Blonde
Since I'm still an undergraduate at the University of Utah and don't live with my parents, I work about twenty-four hours a week at a crummy, shitty part-time job to keep my DSL running and my computer empowered. Working while in school has its plusses and minuses. Mostly, I'm happy that I'm working because it's good to have money. Even if it is only a little.This semester I know I've been a definite pain in the ass to be around because I'm taking nineteen credit hours of coursework. Usually I'm either tired and worn out and cranky, or manic and fuzzy-haired. (No, there is no middle ground.) I don't have much time for the sorts of things that keep me sane. And when I do have time, the things that keep me sane are also the things that make me crazy. Like coding a website at two in the morning when the caffeine's kicking in and I'm too wired to notice syntax errors.
But all this is okay, because I'm a workaholic when it comes to school. And so with nineteen credits and A's in all my classes, I'm still happy somewhere inside myself because I know I kick ass and get good grades and will graduate in a year with a stellar academic record. I know that's a somewhat pathetic, hate-inspiring achievement. But tough fucking luck; those are my sentiments.
That sort of devotion to school is what makes me get up in the morning and go to school in the clothes I slept in. When I noticed that I had been sleep-depriving myself and needed to sleep longer, I just started going to bed at night in clothes I knew I could roll out of bed in the morning and go to school wearing. Old Navy Performance Fleece lounge pants rock.
I'm low-maintenance enough that this sort of thing doesn't bother me in the slightest. I don't care that I look like the twelve-year-old androgynous geek that I was eight years ago when I wear my glasses. So what if each dear little Mormon sweetheart that has to sit behind me in each of my classes has to look at the back of my unwashed head? They can feel good about themselves that they have prettier hair than me. I don't give a shit.
So I was absolutely tickled when I got on my bus this morning, looking all bedheady and wrinkly, and ran into one of my co-workers. She's perky, blonde, and a favorite among favorites at work. The managers love her because people love her. They recognized her for providing the most excellent customer service a few months ago. This pissed me off because I know that there are quite a few people that I work with that deserve that award more than she did. But she's cute and probably endearing, which is enough for me not to like her.
She was all friendly and high-pitched with me and did that thing that women do, "chitchatting", which shouldn't be a verb but is, and blazed through the topics of grades, weather, and work without batting an eyelash out of turn. And when we got to school and got off the bus at the same stop together, I somehow felt like I was tagging along with her even though we were going to the same building. (That's what I get for being short and having stubby little legs.)
But all that aside, I got to feel all smug and superior about one thing. She got C's on her midterms. I got A's. Deep down, it shouldn't be something arbitrary like attractiveness that determines one's self-worth. It should totally be something arbitrary like grades.
