I fcking hate Stanford

So that complication I mentioned last week came and bite me in the ass...and hard.

I won't be able to return to Stanford this quarter. Thanks for letting me know the day I got back to campus, you fugly bureaucratic shitheads.

In all fairness, much of it is my fault. All of it stemming from my denial of the machinations of the real world for the past 5 years, but Stanford, I've been in touch with you for the past SIX MONTHS trying to ensure that my return this Spring was feasible. I was told that my return was all clear, and the day, the fucking day I get here is the day that this "complication" is noted. Next time I want my reinstatment in writing, motherfkcers, and I want it in the blood of a freshman prodigy.

People in Academia dont live in the real world either. You don't seem to note deadlines or get anything done. I may have been in a k-hole for the past three years, but at least that's an excuse for my flakiness- I was TOO HIGH to get my shit together. What the fuck is your deal?
It took someone in the Degree Progress office about two weeks to walk to her fax in her office to fax me a form. Two weeks! 10 working days of me calling you daily to remind you that I needed the form. At one point, I had to remind you that I needed the form ASAP to make a deadline, and like every other day you assured me that you would do it that day.
Well bitch, it still took you two more days. I want an audit of what you do at work. Give me a daily schedule because I'd like to see how overworked you are.
So overworked that you can't possibly fax me important paperwork?! And you weren't doing me a favor, you were supposed to be doing your job. Your job= fax me form= easy task= too fucking hard to get done in under two weeks. Maybe if I put a krispy kreme next to the fax machine next time, you'll waddle your way over there faster.

So what now? Take the PR/Event Planning Job in LA or return to NYC? I CANNOT work in a bar or restaurant again. Serving people goes against the very fabric of my being. I don't like having to be sweet and merry to people who I find tacky and annoying- which is about 90% of the world's population especially when we're talking about gay men. Gay men in imitation Ted Baker stripped dress shirts and Kenneth Cole shoes. Gay men with fat fag hags in demin skirts with thick ankles.

And yes I HATE fag hags. They're just cock blocks, and if you're a gay man with tons of hags, you're either young and still in school, or you're a ugly gay man. PERIOD. Hot gay guys don't need fag hags because they only get in the way of getting laid, and they're way too high mantience to be good drinking buddies.

I do have female friends, but they're not fag hags in the least. They don't want to go to gay bars because they want to flirt with cute straight guys. In other words, they have their own GAME. They're all playas! I'll meet with my pussy posse on Sunday to hear their stories of conquest over bloody marys. That's a real friendship. Not some sick twisted dynamic where my fat friend Bernice secretly wants to make out with me the minute I black out from drinking shitty cosmos.

Well anyway, I've digressed enough. I'll stay in SF till the end of the month and then I'lll.....uh.... FUCK IF I KNOW.
Dear God, what the fuck am I going to do?