I love being judged

I love being judged as long as a letter grade is attached. Few things make me as happy as grades.

When I first went back to school in 2004, I took English Comp. 101. We had a personal essay due the first week. I wrote thoughtfully and was pleased with my final product.

As I turned in the essay, I couldn't help but remember A Christmas Story.

I was just sure that my eloquent prose was going to send Dr. King over the moon. I wanted to impress her, and I wanted an A.

I believe I did both. I didn't get the A+++++ Ralphie envisioned, but I did get a regular A and a handwritten comment.

Dr. King wrote, "You have a very nice essay here."

I was hooked. I have been writing and trying to impress ever since.

For this semester, classes have been in session for nearly two and a half weeks, but it feels like it started in earnest yesterday.

I got my first graded assignment back in my beat reporting class.

100 percent A+

This makes me ridiculously happy. I know it is only one grade in a long line of grades to come. However, this particular instructor has one whacked-out grading scale. In order to make an A in the class, (which is a MUST, I haven't had a B since 2004) I have to get a 95 percent.

This should be criminal. On what planet is this fair?

I live and die by my GPA.

This semester, I am repeating a class that I don't need just to raise my GPA to my standards.

My goal is to graduate with as many fancy cords around my neck as possible. I want people to look at me and have cord envy.

I'm not shallow. I am going to call it determined.