Most Girls Get Candy and Flowers on Valentine's Day... I got a Soap Opera

Valentine's Day. Cupid needs to be shot with his own fucking arrows. It began as a quiet day and I thought it was going to be nice. The Guitar Hero met me for lunch, gave me a rose, and told me to get ready for a surprise. It was nice. The day passed fairly uneventfully minus the occasional girl who was walking with balloons that had a little trouble staying on the ground when the wind picked up.

But then I got back to my room. It was an explosion of red, pink, and white roses. Everywhere. Seriously, I think they were popping out of my dirty laundry hamper. And of course on my sofa was a ridiculously gigantic teddy bear with a note. So of course I think it was from The Guitar Hero because he kept hinting at a Valentine's surprise... but no. It wasn't from The Guitar Hero. It was from The Ex.

I haven't spoken to The Ex since we broke up six months ago... in the middle of a cruise we were on I might add. I'm so frustrated with him. Honestly I wonder what goes on in that head of his... obviously not much. He was the one who so tactfully decided to take me on a cruise and then he decided that that would be an excellent time to tell me that he wanted to see more people and do new things and that I was "in his way" and that all of his friends thought that he could do much better than me. He literally said that. What a fucking douchebag. Who the hell says that? To top it off, no way in hell could he do better than me... not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed and definitely not the hottest chili in salsa. In any case, I didn't really care that much about him, it was getting old towards the end.

And then he basically broke into my room and cuteified it. What kind of message is this supposed to give me? Sure we slept together when he came to visit from State School that is 300 miles away and I helped him with various bio assignments and read over his med school app essays. And now, what, he suddenly realized that he should have appreciated me more?

I'm not even sure HOW he broke into my room! Obviously, he had to have talked to someone in The House. In addition to the fact that I locked my door that morning before heading to class. The one talent he had was that he could sweet talk. Actually, I wouldn't be too surprised if he talked to one of his bros at The Hilltop Frat since two of them are ever so conveniently dating two girls from The House. That and he had the nerve to put his fraternity pin on the disgustingly large teddy bear. That thing could crush a small child. I don't want his fucking pin. Yet this was his way of forcing me to call him. So I did. And of course he insisted on coming over and I insisted that I wouldn't open the door to let him in. And as fate would have it, The Guitar Hero text messaged me saying he was coming over. At the precise time The Ex was heading over.

I wanted to die. Really, I did. I didn't want to see The Ex. I didn't want The Guitar Hero to see The Ex. And I really didn't want to deal with it all. But of course, when I went downstairs to get The Guitar Hero, there was The Ex. And apparently they had already acquainted themselves with who they were. And apparently The Guitar Hero has already decided that we are officially going out. So he introduced himself as The Boyfriend. And The Ex... well he also introduced himself as The Boyfriend because he's an idiotic asshole. And then the fighting ensued. Let me tell you, people all up and down The Row were looking. And I am personally not strong enough to pull two guys larger than myself off of each other. I had to call some of The Guitar Hero's bros to break it up... luckily The Mansion is only a few houses up from ours.

I threw the pin at The Ex and took The Guitar Hero inside for some ice. He was also not happy about my room being broken into and decorated. He didn't bring up our relationship and I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean. We ended up going to dinner and then going back to The Mansion to hang out. And he gave a diamond necklace. The Guitar Hero's family is decently rich... they own a lot of real estate and he has his own trust fund in addition to playing gigs at a local church for some serious cash. His way of solidifying our relationship I guess. I didn't have anything to say and neither did he. He simply said he hoped I liked it and walked me back home. And that was it. Honestly, I almost expected that I would need to put out for that gift. It was extravagant, especially seeing as I didn't really get him anything. But therein is the mystery of The Guitar Hero.

It's been a long last couple of days. The story of the fight between The Ex and The Guitar Hero has been buzzing around The Row. And of course, my name's been thrown around, in both good and bad lights depending on who you talk to. I really didn't need to be sororobrat gossip material this weekend. I skipped all the massive parties on this three day weekend and have basically been holed up in my room. The Guitar Hero hasn't called although I suppose it's technically my move. They say sex is a good cure for tension headaches. Maybe I will give him a call.

What happens when you mix class with bitter girls who didn't get bids...

Bitter girls who go through rush like to spread rumors about sororities they didn’t get into. I wore my sweatshirt with The House letters on it to class yesterday and The Overeager Girl With Bruises on Her Arms during Rush started immediately attacking me so people around me could hear. She told me she’s glad she didn’t get a bid to The House because apparently, being in a sorority is like buying your friends.

Yes, we pay dues to be in a sorority... just like you do for your Emo Poetry Readers Club. We pay dues for social and philanthropy events... what do you pay for again? Oh that's right, razors. For slicing yourself and writing your poems in blood to “fully realize the capacity of human emotion and real pain."

Oh and apparently because we have 100 plus women living in the same house, we just have to be lesbians and prostitutes. What. The Hell. Even the prostitute one makes some sense, following obsolete city laws or whatever. But lesbians!? Does that mean that if you live in an apartment with three other girls that you’re all lesbians? How does the number change that? That doesn’t make any sense and is full of bitterness. And homophobia. Honestly. And even if there were lesbians in The House… so what? As long as they’re not awkward and don’t try to make out with me against my will, I don’t have a problem with that. Look at Portia de Rossi… she’s hot and would make a great sorority girl. Ellen… cute and funny and likes puppies… also great sorority girl potential.

I’m so irritated that she’s in my class. It’s going to be a long semester.

Alumnae events make me want to die

We had an alumnae formal dinner last night. And I swear the whole night I was hoping that some crazed slasher movie serial killer would jump through the window and stab me in the head. Repeatedly.

There are two breeds of alums. The rarest kind is the cool alum. These alums come back every so often to see The House and meet the new girls and actually donate some of their disposable income to us. They have lives and families and are normal. We like them.

Then, there are your crazies. I swear these women were ALL awkward when they were here and since graduation, have done nothing meaningful with their lives. They just want to return to the days when they were in The House and thought they were so cool. Most of the ones that come back on a regular basis, unfortunately, are like this.

The House is usually kind to those who have seniority. We get to be in line first for everything, have the biggest and best rooms, the best parking... everything. Yet for these twisted and sick Stepford torture alum events, it is completely backwards. Those who are higher in rank... are paired with the most pathetic and annoying alums, while the younger members get the one or two cool ones that show up.

I got paired with The Divorced Bipolar Alum With a Bad Boob Job.

I wanted to shove a mini quiche down her throat the entire evening. She decided that she just had to tell me every little detail of her snotty kids and her messy divorce. And her boob job which she had done "for a great bargain price!" in Mexico. While I'm sure there are credible doctors in Mexico, whoever did hers, fail. They were uneven and hard as rocks. And hurt like hell when she threw herself at me periodically for comfort for how pathetic and sucky her life is. I think I have bruises.

And she kept crying one minute and then laughing hysterically the next while telling me she's practically dirt poor right now because of the on-going divorce battle and how she's sleeping with her lawyer but how it was on the "down low" because apparently Mr. Lawyer has a wife and four kids. Great. So not only is she free-loading our food, she's also plotting to make another woman's life miserable.

And then she opened her purse and took out a case of pills. I'm not even kidding. In the middle of a cocktail attire dinner event, this insane alum popped some pills. Like jellybeans. But with mood flavors instead of actual flavors. Honestly. Everyone knows that if you're on happy pills, you pop them in the secrecy of the bathroom or in your bedroom where the police will find you naked and foaming at the mouth when you overdose. That's like the cardinal rule of celebrity/rich people abusing drugs.

When she left she wanted my phone number so she could "keep in touch with me" because I am apparently "SO SWEET". I think that's only that way because she was medicated and didn't pick up on my blatant cynical and snide remarks. In any case, I gave her the number to Dr. Phil. He needs some new crazies to yell at and lecture now anyway.

The 40 Days of Lent are preceded with 14 days of partying

Well, not by most accepted religious standards. Minus the lovely people who celebrate Mardi Gras. Between assorted rush parties and tomorrow's Superbowl barbecues and a few dates with The Guitar Hero, I've likely been out every night for the last two weeks.

I am so tired. And suffering from various bouts of hangover.

Somehow I even got shanghaied into going out with some of The Dancers and members of their newest class. They're alright I guess... the best that can be done with Spring Rush. Except that like eight out of ten of them are beanpoles that practically bound to class in point shoes doing plies and grand jetes. And The Dancer with Awful Triangle Hair tried to practically engulf The Guitar Hero into her hair and drag him away into the night while he was getting me a drink. Honestly. It's one thing if your hair looks like you haven't run a brush through it in days, it's another when it starts prowling for meat. It's a wonder it hasn't cannibalized HER.

Whatever, though. I still haven't decided where this thing with The Guitar Hero is going yet. Which is probably bad, considering The Day of Red and Pink Exploding Hearts, Cards, Flowers, and Assorted Stuffed Animals (aka Valentine's Day) is coming soon. I really wish I could take apart one of those ridiculous smiling gorillas that say "Me go bananas for you" when you push their hand and make it say something that Happy Bunny says instead. Something like "you're ugly and that's sad" or something. And then send it to The Frat Guy with a Liver of Steel.

The Guitar Hero is attractive, attentive and not your run of the mill horny frat boy. And he's decently knight-like. We were at his friend's apartment party and this guy who must not have showered in a week cornered me and tried to grind with me from behind when The Guitar Hero went to say hi to some friends. Not only was he completely disgusting, he was completely off the beat. I honestly didn't know people could be bad at grinding. I bet The Guy Who Hasn't Showered For A Week is horrible at sex. Anyway, the Guitar Hero came over pretty much instantly and got rid of him. And gave me his jacket when he walked me back to The House afterwards because the whole of the state has become a freezer more or less.

I wonder if I could get away with setting up The Dancer with Awful Triangle Hair with The Frat Guy with a Liver of Steel. Although, The Dancers and Tinkerballerina by extension might really hate me for it. Then again, they can't like The Dancer with Awful Triangle Hair too much... they all have sleek straight hair that is easily put into a bun.

Just one more day of partying before a dry spell. God it's just like Lent.