Il Primo Giorno di Scuola

This, dearies, is the uber important post about the uber important first day of school. Like I said, it's uber important. I advise you to take notes because there WILL BE A QUIZ.

Begin.

Let's ignore the tedious morning routine, shall we? We arrive at my brother's school, which is the school I broke up with a few years ago. We had a madcap love affair, but I had to leave because it was oh-so-juvenile. I mean, there comes a time to mature, and middle school was content to just stay stuck as a 13 year old. REGARDLESS, we split amicably and I was able to retour her angular halls, noting that my elementary school librarian was now the middle school librarian, that the blue metal poles had been reinforced with some of those ugly brown bricks, that Merritt had left her door open as per usual without worrying about any weirdo kids sauntering in to greet her royal highness.

Yeah, I walked in. She was off somewhere. So I left.

We showed the kid his classes and flew! Flew! Flew to my school, where I felt like it was just another day... until I reached the gym. I then stood in line between two very smelly dudes and prepared to rejoin another smelly line to fix the glaring problem on my schedule.

Office was full. Totally not worth it.

1st period Thornbury is lulz. She seems nice enough, she says weird words like jozzles or something that I can't remember, and she hates bosoms spilling over desks, thongs on her floor, and cell-phones busting with her class. She would gladly sneak a phone scrambler, whatever the hell that is, over the border from Canada, but it's illegal and she's sure someone would rat her out.

LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY: it's going to be fucking hard, I ain't gonna lie. Good thing she's nice though; practically the only thing keeping me there, besides the prospect of an easy admission to cOlLeGe. (Please imagine the word college is being pronounced with the KTshy face, extremely retardedly. KTHX.)

2nd period: English with Easley. THIS IS MY DOMAIN, BITCH. This is where I rule, where I conquer, where I effing spit. English is my motherfucking kingdom, and I lost the squirmy feeling in my stomach just a tad. Except I wish I was in my last English class - I miss those people.

LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY: I don't care. Last year's kids told me it was easy peasy lemon squeezy, and I mean... it's English. I won't die.

Here's where things get dicey. Dicey like chopped tomatoes. See, psychology was a backup elective, if I didn't get into Journalism. Well, I did. But my Italian III class disappeared and, though it pains me and kills my heart and murders my spleen to do so, if I had to make a choice between Italian and any other elective, Italian would win every time.

3rd period: Psychology w/Jenkins. This is how I wish all my classes were. ALL OF THEM. It's no fair that teachers have to be taking themselves so seriously this year, because if all teachers were like this guy, then there would be NO DOUBT about high school being the best years of your LIFE.

I mean, it's obvious the guy's not a good teacher. He's barely a teacher. But he's so funny it doesn't matter. He's exactly the refreshing burst of mint that my dark and bitter concoction of class needs... DESPERATELY.

He told us he's not even allowed to be around children, for one. Then:
"This is psychology. It means we get to talk about stuff... like SEEEX. That's right, we'll be watching porn in this class."
Something like: "So I was driving down the freeway in my jeep which my wife won't let me use anymore, driving like the Mark 7, and my daughter starts screaming in the back seat and I'm like," mimes wild backward swiping motion, "SHUT UP! So then the car flips over... but I know the police officer who comes, so it doesn't matter. Then we decide to barbecue a rabbit on the side of the freeway. What else where we supposed to do, it was already dead."

He apparently also has tourettes, so we should excuse him any time he blurts out profanity. HE'S A DISEASED MAN, I TELL YOU.

"How many of you are seniors? Ok, you seniors, enjoy this year. It is the last year you will have to be kids. There's nothing to look forward to after highschool. There's your 21st birthday, then marriage (which is a MISTAKE), then retirement and then you DIE. GO TO EVERY DANCE/GAME/WHATEVER."

We read the syllabus and he paused, looking around. "Yeah, isn't that paragraph so cool? Doesn't it sound so smart and professional? Can you believe I wrote that thing at 11 o'clock last night and I wasn't even sober? Man, I'm so proud of myself."

Highlight of my day? Yeah. It definitely was.

LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY: Zero. My kinda class.

4th period: Gutierrez, AP US History. I'd rather have the other teacher, but the people in the class are ok. I know several, which is always a good thing. Multiple choice test was fine, exactly what I expected. One good thing: he had Disneyland themed posters waaay up on top of the cabinets, practically hidden from view. It was the most lively thing in the room and he wasn't even properly showcasing them. Hmmm...

LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY: I have difficulty believing this will be as difficult as Bio or Math, but it definitely has potential to be incredibly hard. Keeping an eye on this one...

Lunch was spent in the counselor's office where I never even made it to my counselor's office. Yippeeeee.

5th Period: Math. Austoddd, as she sorta pronounced it, is cool and real young which makes her even more energized but... she had me thoroughly freaked out. I have no choice though; it's either this, or I screw up my schedule completely, and I would be highly disappointed if some of those people in that class could do it and I couldn't. I'd shank myself in the face, quite frankly.

LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY: HARD. HARD. HARD. AS A HARD HAT. That's basically what she said to us, but she's also thoroughly invested in making sure we understand everything, and I've realized that if a teacher loves what she does and thinks you can do it, you usually can. My last math teacher taught me that.

6th period: A mixed bag. On the one hand, I walked into Martello's room and my heart sobbed upon seeing all the elite It. 3 kids. There I was, standing amongst the group of my peers, my true peers, the kids I'd been hoping to share a class with since It. 1 and I had to exit the room because of Journalism. It's like all the kids who actually understand the language and aren't just there to screw around and get their high school credits. GAWD.

Instead, I left to Journalism, which was nice because Kennedy's cool, and it's journalism. I mean, it sounds perfect, right? Not when I can't have It.3.

Worse still: it seems my previous teachers have all been toting me as supah cool to Kennedy because, during roll call, she actually paused and went, "I've heard great things about you," like I was the Boy Who Lived or something.

JESUS CHRIST. After all the effort it took to get a letter of recommendation, and a good one at that; It's like I'm refuting everything they've said about me. It sucked having to tell her that I have to give up her class because it interferes with a plan I've had since before I even walked through the school's doors. "Tell Martello I hate her!" she called out merrily, once I explained I switched out. (45 min. in line. 45 MINUTES.)

LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY OF ITALIAN: If English is my kingdom/domain, then Italian is the Earth held between my hands. On the Earth, when I'm not manipulating the weather conditions, one can glance little old me gazing out of the balcony of the kingdom that is English. Inside, I rule the kingdom, my commands impeded only by the unpredictable weather. Outside, I. AM. GOD.

Basically: Not too hard. Not too hard at all.

I should be hunting for calculator deals. Yes, yes I should.