The University of Spilled Cheesecake Crumbles

So I live and work in Downtown Los Angeles now.  Let me tell you, if there is one thing it has taught me, it is that the students of the University of Southern California are quite possibly the least intellectually curious, least creative, most self-centered, most ironed-haired/buzz cutted I've ever seen.

Yes, I've heard the old clever play on words, "The University of Spoiled Children."  Hell it's such a common phrase that even John McCain used it during his campaign (I mean he probably did).  But I'm not even going to go down that road.  I'm not going to call them spoiled.  Now, certainly, some (all) of them may(definitely) be (are) spoiled, wealthy, Audi/Beamer driving turds.  But maybe it's not the spoiling that made them turds.  Maybe it's something in the water, or in the air, or in the frozen yogurt at Yogurtland that makes them this way.  

Okay, yeah, long way to go for me to get to the real story: Yogurtland.  I hate USC students almost exclusively based on the behavior I've witnessed at Yogurtland.  Now, I can hear you saying, "Well how do you know they go to USC?"  Well, because they're all wearing sweatshirts that say USC.  "Well maybe they don't go there, they just have a sweatshirt from there."  Okay, fine, maybe they don't go there, but they are still one hundred percent complicit!  Wearing a sweatshirt, especially if you don't go somewhere means the following: 1. You have a child/brother/cousin/lousy friend who goes there. 2. You like the school for some other reason and by wearing the sweatshirt condone the practices of their student body and advertise for free 3. You got it for a few bucks at the Goodwill or a church yard sale and never intended to wear it out, but then your house burned down in an electrical accident and you barely made it out alive and the only things left were the clothes on your back, in this case, your USC sweatshirt and a pair of boxers.  If 3. was your answer, then read no further, this post is not about you.

This post is about USC kids, though, because I do really effing hate them.  I hate them so much that I went on a paragraph long rant just about their sweatshirts when I already said this post was supposed to be about Yogurtland.  And it is.  We're here now.  We've arrived at the Yogurtland part of the story, thanks for sticking with me.

After working a double at the job I just quit, I wanted some frozen yogurt.  Yogurtland is only a block from work, and only half a block in the wrong (not towards home) way.  So, I walked on over, opened the door, and was immediately blocked by about thirty eighteen year-olds with rosy cheeks and pin straight ponytails.  Did I mention they were giggling?  Thirty, no FIFTY giggling eighteen year-olds, all wearing USC sweatshirts or tee shirts or swinging those weird lanyard things you get at orientation for your keys.  It was a nightmare.  I just wanted yogurt.  Was it worth it?  Was braving the sea of brats worth it? I was conflicted.  On one hand, I could just leave, turn around, not fill myself to the brim with bile and hatred.  Or I could stay, listen to conversations like, "I can't believe that you got that text?" and "Remember last week when I got like so much yogurt and almost barfed in the car on the way home?  Only six ounces this time."

I decided to stay.  And it was a mistake.  A huge effing mistake.  But not for the reasons you're thinking.  Not because some little sorority girl with that same silver Tiffany's heart bracelet and skinny headband and spray tan knocked over my yogurt and not because someone's Ugg boot stepped on my foot.  No, the reason it was awful was because I was introduced to a new kind of USC student: The Creative Theatre/Studio Art one.  That's right!  I hated the new type over the old type!  The Alterna-SC girl was worse than the Blonde Bunny!  Why?  Because she was more insidious!  Because she may or may not have liked some of the same things I like, and she may or may not have liked the same type of jewelry, and she may or may not have had on a nice scarf!  When someone is a shrieking spoiled brat who obviously does nothing other than drink herself stupid and suck the dicks of pre-meds, it's one thing.  But when someone is a shrieking spoiled brat who obviously is part of GLBT and SA groups and probably spends most of her time in her studio or lens or going to comedy shows, then it's really insidious.  It's really wrong.  Because that means we are more alike than we are different.

There I was, for twenty minutes, constantly getting rubbed by Alterna-Brat's big, boho leather purse and tapped by OG-Brat's tiny, Coach clutch.  There was nowhere to go.  Which is precisely when one of the OG Brats dropped a spoonful of cheesecake crumbles on the floor, giggled, and left it there.  And it dawned on me, like the angel's singing in unison: The University of Spilled Cheesecake crumbles!  Ahahahahah. I was so proud of myself that I took out my notebook and began writing down all the ones I could think of, and here are the fruits of that exercise:

The University of Spoiled Crackers (the food)

The University of Spoiled Crackers (the whites)

The University of Sweat-suited Cunts (the velour kind...of cunt I mean)

The University of Supersweet 16 Coordinators (you know they watch it)

The University of Super Crabs (the STI)

The University of So-gay-I Cringe (you can't talk about the move Nine all the time)

The University of Soft Chumps (soft meaning fat)

The University of So-homophobic I Crush-you (dude, nice hat- no homo, though)

The University of Sucking Cocks (too obvious?)

And that's all she wrote, folks.  Until next week, au revoir.

-Mrs. G to the O-D