Author's Note: Revamped. Recycled. Redone. Simply because the old version made me cringe.
Disclaimer: Clearly. I don't own it. Duh.
Okay. So, basically, I hate Hollywood. It is because of those pretentious fucks that my life is over. I blame my entire downfall on the motion picture industry. If it hadn't been for the creators of 10 Things I Hate About You, and She's All That, or even freaking 7th Heaven, maybe I would have stood half a chance in high school. Because of those fifty-year-old hacks, writing about teenage life, I went into high school with a smile on my face and a skip in my step.
Want to know how long that lasted? Yeah, try about three seconds.
You see, I'm one of those people who live their lives vicariously. Watching some teen comedy/drama where wacky hijinks ensue, someone loses their virginity, and then at the end, everything is wrapped up in a neat little package, and everyone learns an important lesson was how I got my jollies.
So, naturally, when it came time to actually live my life, I walked through the cold metal doors of Horace Greeley High School expecting many a thing. Segregated cliques. The band geeks, the Goths, the preps, the jocks… you get the gist. I expected clubs, and after school activities. Gross food in the lunchroom, and hairy lunch ladies with facial moles that resembled dead presidents. Drama. I expected lots and lots of drama. Daily battles between good and evil. Right and wrong. SPIT AND SWALLOW.
But, I'm getting too far ahead of myself. Needless to say, high school was a big disappointment, and was nothing like I expected. The end.
Okay. I lied. It's not the end. In fact, it's not even the beginning. But, it is however, an excellent place to start.
We moved to Manhattan the summer before my junior year of high school. Before that, we lived in a small Polish suburb of Connecticut. Which is funny, because we aren't even Polish. But, I lived in the same house my entire life, and I went to private school, which as we all know, is nothing like real schools are.
My parents got divorced when I was in tenth grade. Being an only child, it was really rough, because I didn't really have anyone to turn to when things got bad at home. Anyways. My mom fell in love and decided to remove us from our cushy suburban life, and uproot us to Manhattan, to live with the love of her life, and his two brats. Yes, Man-fucking-hattan. I'd never even been to New York, much less the city. And on top of that, not only was I being thrust into urban warfare, but I was also being forced into a new family. Complete with two younger brothers.
Whoo-fucking-hoo.
So, I had the summer to adjust to this new living situation. The oldest of Mercer's boys was David, who was a year younger than me. He was apparently some sort of genius. Honestly, I didn't see it. What I did see was that the kid needed a good sock to the head every now and again. But, that's just my opinion. Les was nine, and while he had potential for being a cute kid, it was mostly overshadowed by his complete and utter lack of common sense.
The rest of summer I spent holed up in my room, with a vat of Edie's ice cream, and the Lifetime Movie Network for Women and Gay Men too keep me company, while I conveniently forgot about the world around me. Trust me, that didn't last long. All too soon, the school year began, and I was ripped from my cocoon of blankets, and discarded Almond Joy wrappers, and shoved, with exceeding force, I might add, into what is known as "real life."