My name is Self-Appointed Expert, and this is my blog. It is part memoir, mostly fiction, and above all just trying to be funny. Some of is based on stuff that happened to me, some is based on stuff that happened to people I know, and a good deal is just entirely made up. So, if you find yourself offended, just remember - it's a joke. When you give me that look, it's a joke. Consider it my homage to the Secret Life of Walter Mitty, A Million Little Pieces, John Hodgman, and Christopher Guest.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Living in the Square.

I have a confession to make. I am actually homeless. Not hopeless, as you might infer from my completely ineffectual attempts to learn Corporate Law before my exam tomorrow. But homeless as in I do not have a home. Officially, I live in the Porter Square T Stop.

Some of you might be thinking, “But wait, I just visited your bedroom in Hastings Hall last weekend – and we screwed passionately for three hours on your extra-long twin mattress, underneath pictures of yourself and your friends and a banner proclaiming ‘This Room Is [SEA]'s Bedroom.'’’ Lies. It was all lies. It’s time to come clean. Or at least, as clean as some rainwater and an oily rag I found on the street can get me.

I am, in reality, a small town girl whose life went awry when my crack-addicted mother moved to the North East and took up with a cheap trick named Jim - forever dooming herself and my family to a life in the gutter. Or so we thought. As it turns out, the gutter is a great place to study for the LSATs – you’re miserable, you’re starving, you’re aimless, you face the threat of gangrene on an hourly basis. In short, I was ready for law school.

My life as a homeless person has improved a great deal since enrolling at Harvard. The shame of begging for spare change and half-eaten leftovers doesn’t sting so badly when I’m wearing my HLS sweatshirt (which I pilfered from the clothes donation bin at the Hark). In fact, wearing the shirt has been surprisingly good for business. I think people think I’m being ironic. Which they appreciate, because most homeless people are just depressing. And the clerks at CVS have gotten much better about not giving me funny looks when I go in to buy my Listerine each night before the shakes set in. Seriously, the Harvard name – even if it’s written on a ratty t-shirt – is like a golden ticket out of delirium tremensville.

Imagine what my diploma will get me! The shopkeeps at Dunkin Donuts already give me week-old munchkins if a promise not to use their bathroom during rush hours. I bet once I’m a grad, I might even get a bearclaw!

Anyway, I should probably get back to work. These fiduciary duties aren’t going to learn themselves. Plus, the wheel on my shopping cart has been acting up. I don’t know about you, but lugging 6 bags of cans to the recycling depot by hand is NOT my idea of fun.


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