I say, "Blame the pork rinds!"

As I sit here in my pantry, pretending to be folding laundry, I have to ask myself, "What makes me special?". This isn't some random existential phase us hermits have every couple weeks, this is a real, truly worrying crisis. While scrolling through lists of scholarships I was struck by the fact that no matter how much of an oddball I may truly be, I am simply not special enough for the powers-that-be (and grant money) to notice. Since my half a million dollar inheritance/college fund suffered greatly from the recession (it now comes to about $17,000) and college tuition is still ever rising, I am in great need of that cash.  I am not left handed. I am not a member of the Presbyterian Church of Winthrop. I am not a Beef Ambassador, a twin, an accomplished duck caller, or any of the other number of scholarship and grant requirements I have come across.
Enough of this pessimism! I am special. I know it. Now what do I do with it?

I am of the female persuasion with no plan to change.
I listen to copious amounts of folk music.
Science fiction makes me happy.
I am an attendee of a good high school.
I can fry a mean crepe with caramelized bananas on top.
I come from a fairly erudite family (as my knowledge of the word 'erudite' and my semi-spectacular PSAT scores can attest to)
The area beneath my bed is littered with a veritable bookstore of half read novels and discarded writing supplies.
I am Filipino-American which is technically a minority, although not a small one.
My father is a 69 year old, disabled, Vietnam veteran who dropped out of one of the colleges I am considering.

The last isn't really about me but I'm still squeezing it for all the money it is worth. Either way I need more than that sparse list to fund my way through today's overpriced school system. What happened to my bright and shiny underclassman delusions of clubs joined, teachers sucked up to, and general scholastic superiority? I have become sedentary in my cocoon of ignorance with my movies, 'light' novels, potato chips, and fried pig skins. Maybe Swing Club really is my ticket to financial happiness. Who knows? All I can really say is that I refuse to believe that I am doomed to a life of community colleges with a minimum wage job at QFC, so the powers-that-be can just shut up because I can be pretentious too.