Tomorrow, I will be Old

Thirty. I can't believe it. I mean, I'm happy I've made it to 30, the alternative would be worse. I am old. I am closer to 40 than 20. I am not hot. Oh wait, I haven't been hot for at least 6 years.


There are some lists I've seen before about things you're supposed to have done before you reach 30. They were things like skydiving, lesbian sex, paying off your credit cards(haha), and going to the Bahamas. Um, I haven't done any of those.

Whoever made up that list can go fuck themselves.

I think I'm in the wrong class.

I knew it was going to be a bad class. I could tell by your long hair, your bid for attention by asking us (multiple times) to ask you questions about yourself , and your declaration of your divorced and non-custodial parent status. The fact that you directed us to call you "Dr." is just confirming the obvious. You, dysfunctional professor, are in serious need of some therapy. And not in the form of teaching a college child psychology class. There are some glaring errors in your professional standards. One is constantly referring to "poop and pee", and telling us how you like phallic symbols. Today, you told us how your parents were not good role models, and how your mother played "cutthroat" with you and your siblings, thus giving you a complex that you've managed to display in class each and every day. Something about you gives me the impression that you have some kind of pity party mentality happening. Your sullen looks, your nervous laughter, and your relentless fidgeting with your hair makes me want to forge you a prescription for some Paxil/Prozac/Lexapro/Wellbutrin. Take your pick. Or start drinking heavily before class, I don't give a fuck. Where did you say you got your degree? At an online college? Is that why you can't pass your test to be a practicing psychologist? Oh, and thanks for letting us know that the divorce was your fault. Like we couldn't figure that out.