Loathe: Paris

            I'm a determined person, that's not a surprising revelation; I've even been likened to a pit bull. Of course the person who said that wore a black eye for the rest of the week, but I digress. Point is I know what I want and I go after it. There's nothing wrong with that. Until I don't get what I want, and I wanted Harvard. But Harvard didn't want me. And I hate that, it makes me livid, I loathe Harvard. And I am good at loathing and holding grudges. Just ask Rory, she can attest to that.

            I loathed her on sight, or okay upon reading her transcript, she was a threat. And I wanted that threat eliminated. And of course she gets in and I don't, talk about ironic. I'm not bitter towards her for getting in; I'm not—really. But I don't understand, why not me? I've worked just as hard, no, I've worked harder, I think my mental breakdown on CSPAN made that perfectly clear, I still cringe whenever I think of that. I still cringe when I hear anyone mention Harvard. I'm not great at making adjustments and not going to Harvard is a BIG adjustment.

            My whole life has been planned towards this goal. And I, Paris Gellar, did not achieve it. Part of my still doesn't believe it. When I set my sights on something I don't let any negative thoughts in, so the thought that I wouldn't get into Harvard never even crossed my mind. Well, maybe it did but only at 3 am, you know when you can't sleep and you stare at the ceiling and every bad thought you could ever possible have passes through your mind, but only then. But it didn't matter cause I failed. And I don't take failure well.

            My mother used to be this huge tennis buff, later I found out she was boffing the tennis instructor so that made sense, but anyway I took up tennis with her. It was something we could do together and I wanted very badly to impress her. But I stunk. I was awful at it and my mother just sent me this pitying looks that turned to frustration because unlike my perfect older sister I wasn't going to be someone she could proudly parade around the country club. So I practiced, and practiced and practiced. I worked until my hands were callused and I was practicing my back swing in my sleep. And I won the junior championship at the club that summer. So I figured that was the formula. Work hard and succeed. It doesn't matter that I hated tennis and that my mother forgot about my win within the week. What matters is I set a goal and I accomplished it.

            And from then on that was my M.O. and it worked. Until Harvard, and I don't get it! I'm smart; I have a 4.0 GPA to prove that. I have done hundreds; yes hundreds, of hours of community service. I'm the President of my senior class and on tons of committees. And I'm a freakin legacy! That's supposed to count too. And yet nope, no Harvard for Paris, and that hurts. It hurts a lot. And after much evaluation I've decided that my losing my virginity had nothing to do with me not getting in. I mean look at Louise and Madeline, they got into their colleges of choice and they haven't been virgins since we were fifteen. So it comes down to one thing, they didn't want me.

            I know I can be a bitch. I can be ruthless when I'm after something I want. But am I honestly that bad of a person? I don't think so…but that doesn't change the fact that I loathe Harvard. And they're going to regret not wanting me because I am going to do great things.