This story was written while I was watching The Dark Knight, so I apologize in advance for sloppy writing.

The rest of Thanksgiving break passed rather uneventfully, in my opinion. Well, if you don't count the time when I somehow managed to blow up the baked potatoes in the oven and suffered severe second-degree burns on my left hand and arm when I tried to foolishly clean it up with a rag, which promptly burst into flames because I hadn't waited for the appliance to cool down. Mr. Schiffer fled for the weekend. For all his talk, that man is whipped. I wouldn't be surprised if he spent the last three days of Thanksgiving break living out of his car, or his glass-walled office, eating fast food and packets of crisps from the vending machine.

Returning to college was definitely something of a shock.

A real shock.

For one thing, I had a very disconsolate roommate to comfort. Szayel's week-long trip to Vegas clearly did not go as he had planned. In short, he came back smelling of cinnamon sugar and cheap Black Magnolia Nordstrom-brand perfume, and not like expensive scent or the money he had hoped to earn as a Chippendale's dancer. He definitely didn't return any richer, or any less single. And to top it all off, he didn't even come back with my bow tie and/or cuffs intact. I was pretty angry about that, honestly, because I was going to use those for some other occasion, like...my wedding, or something. Although it's doubtful; the polka-dotted bow tie was my last resort.

At any rate, with the way Szayel was going on, you'd think he was auditioning for a role in a demented Titanic remake, or something like that.

For another, Gin, the RA, appeared to have done quite well over Thanksgiving break, if the nice new Armani suits and Italian loafers were anything to go by. This is just a rumor, but I heard that he got a mistletoe tattooed on his stomach, just in time for Christmas. You can all imagine what he intended to do with that. Another rumor: He took up gardening, and apparently he started a nice little vegetable patch behind the dorms. Heaven help all of us.

On another note, we started reading The Grapes of Wrath. Well, rereading, more like, since I already read this junior year of high school. Honestly, I really hate Steinbeck. Ten pages of nothing but pure description about how dusty it all was, and how angry all the people were, and how the prices were so high, even though loaves of bread only cost 10 cents apiece, or something like that.

Then, I guess, this was during the Great Depression, so I suppose it's reasonable.

No, not really. I mean, 10 cents for a loaf of bread is practically highway robbery.

I wish Thanksgiving break wasn't only a week long. I wish we had two weeks like we did when we were younger. That would definitely have been excellent. Then Mrs. Schiffer would have been able to feed me delicious food for fourteen days instead of just seven. That makes me sound greedy, doesn't it? Always one for free food, I am.

At any rate, I have to go write a paper. No, really I do. I'm not making some kind of excuse to spend time with Ulquiorra. Because what kind of student would I be, then? Really, now. That idea is ludicrous. Get it out of your head right now.

Ulquiorra Insert

Coming back to school after Thanksgiving break was rather interesting, especially after the whole blow-out with Dad and everything. I think Mom said a few harsh words to him, and he relented, as he always does. He's been that way ever since Mom had that stroke two years ago. He doesn't want to upset her or anything; her blood pressure's through the roof as it is. Mom says he's always been that way; strong on the surface and weak inside, like...I don't know, some kind of caramel toffee or whatever. I really don't know.

Anyway, whatever she said to him was enough for him to leave us alone for the rest of the week. He went to live in his car or his office or something. Not like I minded.

Did I tell you? Szayel's got a whole new goal in life, now, especially after Vegas rejected him as a Chippendale's dancer, or a showgirl, which was apparently his second option. Didn't have the body for it, I guess. Midway through pulling out a pig's lower intestines, he happened to inform me that he now wanted to be an Abercrombie model. Muttering something about how he would love a job where he got to see other people half naked, or something like that. I always knew he was a lecherous fool. I didn't have the heart to inform him that I thought it wouldn't work out; Abercrombie has high standards, too...

Grimmjow's dorms' RA started walking around in really expensive suits. And he's taken up gardening. Although upon closer inspection, it looks like he's only managed to grow weeds and dandelions. I don't know what the suits mean. Really, I don't.

Anyway, Grimmjow said he needed help on a Grapes of Wrath paper, so I'll be off to help him with said paper.

And I think he really does need help.

He sounded pretty desperate on the phone...

Oh, excuse me, did I say desperate?

I meant, he sounded clueless. Really clueless.

And since I plan to be a doctor, I might as well start exercising the Hippocratic Oath now. Help all people in need, or some stuff like that. I don't know.

But I can't very well let a bumbling idiot English major fail a paper, can I?