The other half

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I got to see how the other half live today.

Phyllis, a very sweet woman I went to school with, invited Joanna and myself to ‘dine’ with her at her Country Club.

Wow. It was incredible.

The people there just oozed money. OOZED. Golf pros. Tennis pros. Gigantic swimming pool. Huge restaurant and patio.

Wow.

And there is Angela, trying hard not to look like the hick she is. Excuse me? Are my overalls showing?

The lunch was lovely. Baby green salad with raspberry dressing, avocado and nectarines. Yuh Me. Dessert? Fresh berries. I’m no longer hungry, but my mouth is watering.

I’m not sure if any of you have ever been to a country club, but there is no money. That is, you don’t pay for your meals/drinks/whatever there. No cash register. No bank machines. It’s all done on ‘tab’. As in: Oh, just put it on my tab.

I felt so dumb. Here I am, waving my Visa at our waitress.

Anyhow, Phyllis treated. So nice of her.

I received a letter today concerning my diploma. Since my graduation was a week before my wedding, and the thought of spending hours in a sweltering auditorium didn’t really appeal to me, I never bothered to pick up that useless piece of paper.

Apparently, UofT only holds them for two years before they get rid of them, and would I please come to pick it up?

I suppose I will. After all, it’s the only thing I have to show for the FORTY THOUSAND DOLLARS I spent on that useless degree. I might as well have it framed and put up on my wall. Maybe it’ll give me more credibility.

Maybe not.

I am going to have to have my name changed on it though. I was a lowely, lowely Smith before, and now I am a proud ROBERGE, (shout it from the rooftops! Halle-freakin-lujah!). It will, of course, cost me $51.00 to have it changed over. The University screwed me for money the four years I was there, and they’re continuing to screw me for money two years later.

Sigh.

Why didn’t I go to college?

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About Angela

My name is Angela. I am a 28 year old psych and criminology graduate, but I'd rather not diagnose you. I am a cuddle-slut. I can recite the entire script of The Princess Bride, (including accents) and believe that the meaning of life is contained within. Polyanna, Snap.com commercials, and Oprah 'reunion shows' make me cry. I can whistle and hum at the same time, but I cannot touch my toes. I am an expert in both listening and talking. I look good in orange. I am a writer. I kick ass in Gin, Hearts, and Cribbage but I don't understand Canasta or Bridge. I can be heard singing Broadway numbers from my shower, and have dressed up as a viking princess, (complete with aluminum foil breast plate) The Phantom of the Opera, and a Ghostbuster for Hallowe'en. I have a bird named Bean. I have a brother named Adam. They are not related. I like vanilla body lotion, peanut butter, saunas, Jim Carrey, broccoli, pets, TheOnion.com, Muppets, Kevin Smith, Corelle dishes, dry erase white-boards, Barenaked Ladies, Philosophy, the letter J, Harry Potter, picture frames, swimming, quilting, Michael Moore, genealogy, Raggedy Anne, tacky 50's tchotchke, 'Idiot's Complete Guide To' books, tweezers, feather pillows, polar dips, aquariums, Martin Luther King Jr., and Dr. Pepper. I don't like meat, gossips, cooked carrots, American Idol, mosquitoes, sweating, politics, public washrooms, tardiness, tuition, hunting, pat answers, pick up lines, brown bananas, cliches, pine scented air freshener, Kevin Costner, bacon, candied apples, pro-wrestling, humidity, and hypocrisy. Books I've read recently The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, The Dark Tower, When Nietzsche Wept, What's So Amazing About Grace?, Catcher in the Rye, Not Wanted On the Voyage, The Red Tent, The Little Prince, The Way the Crow Flies, Slaughterhouse-Five, The Poisonwood Bible, The Fall, The Knot of Vipers, Calculating God, The Chrysalids, Sick Puppy, Nineteen Eighty-Four, Franny and Zooey, The Brothers Karamazov, and jPod. I am slightly neurotic. No I'm not. Yes I am.

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