This is Not Junior High.
No, not another post in reference to grad school drama and hysterically dramatic grad school people.
Rather, a personal message by my Real Life Alter-Ego, to Anonymous Bastard:
Stop prank-calling my home phone in the early hours of the morning, in the random hours of the day, and after midnight. Actually, just stop calling.
It is not amusing, it is not really even terrifying, and you are so not demonstrating any power over me. You annoy me. But you can't make me fear you. Why? Because I am smarter than you. And there can be no fear where there is pity. And I pity you, you sorry, sad sack of failed hopes and frustrated testosterone.
Yes, it is freakin' obvious the minute I pick up my phone, because of either your pseudo-sexual heavy breathing (please, you sound like you have asthma, a legitimate medical affliction suffered by many noble people whose conditions you demean with your attempts at imagining what post-coital breathing or the triumphant breaths of the victor of a marathon must sound like--in any case you just sound like a loser) or your strange, halting attempts to obtain my name and whether or not you called the right extension. Dude, please. I'm not telling you my name, address, or what shoes I am wearing. I don't think I went through three years of law school to get a degree in idiocy.
I know that there are logistical things I can do like blocking your number from my line, which may make you creative and just call me from different phone numbers or else escalate. Seriously, don't start with me.
So, for the sake of all interested parties, namely, me, my friends to whom I bitch about and imitate your sad, sorry pulmonary convulvsions and pathetic freak-out attempts, and the entire blogosphere, stop calling.
We're not in junior high school anymore, and I'm sorry you still think you are.
Actually, I just think you're sorry.
End of message.