Holy fucking shitkickers, it's almost been a month since I've written. There's the draft of a post I forgot about on the 6th called "Shawshank Fashion Tips" but it's unfinished. I'll get into that later.
So...how have you been? Feel free to answer in the commentary or just speak to your laptop as if I can hear you. It doesn't make you crazy, it's kind of like talking to the other cars in traffic. If you like my logic because it justifies your insane behavior, feel free to use it. I always do.
That last paragraph made no sense whatsoever.
So you're good? Awesome! What have I been up to the last four weeks? I've stood in my sister's wedding, taken the GRE, and finished the third draft of The Water Door Magician. Oh and I cut my hair. Now I'm impatiently waiting to see if I got into grad school.
What do you mean that's no excuse not to blog? Aaaah! Thought I couldn't really hear you, did you fucker? Well, I did and I will have you know that all of those things take a great amount of concentration and leaves very little time for bloggery. What? No, I haven't been seeing anyone, why do you always assume that's why I haven't written in a while? I've really, actually, genuinely been busy .But now I am back and ready to talk about how the movie "The Shawshank Redemption" helped me pick out a pair of bridesmaid shoes.
Shoeshank Redemption
It was the morning of my sister's wedding day, and at 7:00 I thought I had everything ready to meet her at the salon where my sisters and I were getting our hair and makeup done. And anyone who reads this blog regularly should know how much I have to love my sister to get my hair done and put on makeup. Anyone who does not, can read this as a tutorial: Femme Failure
No let me say, I really, really love my baby sister. I would have done just about anything she needed me to do for her wedding day. Having said that, I hate getting my hair done. The term "updo" makes me want to shave my head. Because when I have this done to me, someone, usually a loud woman with long, stabby nails, rakes her fingers through my hair, ties it up on top of my head, and sprays it with something that they also use as a pesticide on crops. Then she tells me that I look really good when I honestly I think I would look better if I dropped my hair in a fish tank.
And don't even fucking get me started on makeup.
This was the hesitation I was feeling when I gathered my things to meet my sisters for a morning of artificial beauty before the afternoon wedding. While I was taking stock of everything I needed to bring to the car, I think I might have actually been chanting, "I love Stephanie, I love Stephanie, I love Stephanie" when I realized that I had forgotten to buy shoes.
I hate shoe shopping. Surprise!
But not enough to skip it completely when I'm the maid of honor in a wedding. I spent about five minutes beating myself up. "I can NOT believe you forgot to do this. How on EARTH could you forget the shoes? What are you going to wear? Black Chucks?...well, those would look good, but you CAN'T you just can't! It's 7:00 in the morning, you have to meet April and Stephanie at 10:00. No place is open practically until then!"
On top of a time crunch there was also the matter of my feet. I'm six feet tall. My feet are huge. Well, long at least, just like the rest of me. Shoes can be hard to find. I needed a pair of dress shoes that would match a lavender bridesmaid's dress. In two hours. In the morning.
So I hit Target. There was almost nothing to choose from, and keep in mind that it was about a week and a half after Christmas so I was left to pick through the odd ones that hadn't sold. I was trying not to buy heels, heels make me, at minimum, 6'2." The conversation in my head, while I desperately scanned the shelves for size 11's, went like this:
"Lavender...what goes with lavender? Silver? There isn't anything silver in my size - wait! Sparkly silver Converse rip-offs! YES! No, no, bad Genevieve, bad, choose wedding shoes. White? There are no white dress shoes. Does the fashion industry actually stick to the no white after Labor Day bullshit?...hold on...nude. Nude heels. Heels? No flats? There are no flats. Does that go with lavender? I...I honestly don't know."
I didn't. God help me, I could not figure out whether a nude heel would match a lavender dress. In my moment of crisis I realized three things. 1) I didn't have a choice, I was running out of time, 2) the dress came down long enough to cover them for the most part, and 3) the line from Shawshank Redemption, "seriously, how often do you really look at a man's shoes?"
Let's set aside how ridiculously fitting it is that I would use information from a prison movie to make a fashion decision, and just focus on the relief I felt.
"Yes!" I thought. "That's brilliant!...Maybe I SHOULD get the sparkly silver sneakers! Who'd know?" I didn't. I did the responsible thing and bought the ugly heels, which I think is what I was supposed to do as a maid of honor anyway, since it is my job to make the bride look good. And I got my hair and makeup done. Then we went to my aunt's house to get dressed for the wedding, and my sister brought out her rain boots.
"What are you doing?" I asked April, who pulled a rubber black and white checkered boot onto her foot.
"It's muddy out there, dude. We gotta walk across the grass, I ain't wearing heels."
April let down her dress, which covered the boots completely. Stephanie laughed and took pictures. She thought it was great.
Mother. Fucker.
PS- The wedding was beautiful. And because it was at my aunt's house the three of us hit the trampoline in the backyard during the reception. It's not really a family wedding unless you're on a trampoline in your bridesmaid's dress, trying not to step on the bride's gown while your other your sister does a front flip.
Showing posts with label grad school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grad school. Show all posts
Friday, January 31, 2014
Monday, December 30, 2013
Essay or Death
Do you ever not act on something because it means a lot to you and you really love it? Even though you are aware of how little sense that makes?
Yesterday I blogged about how I'm having a rough time writing my statement of purpose for grad school, and today is no better. So I texted a writer friend who's also applying to the program and I said, "I'm afraid that I'm not good enough, that my writing is boring, and that I'm too old to be a writer, like it's too late." She said there's no such thing, and reminded me that I've already been published so I'm actually a writer already. Then I shared the same fears with my coworker James and he said, "If you don't go to grad school for those reasons, I will kill you." Then my writer friend said, "I'll kill you too," and then she texted me a kissy symbol, like "I'll kill you if you don't do this, love ya, bye."
So now I HAVE to apply to grad school or I will die. And my friends will not make this a "she died quietly in her sleep" type of death, no, they're going to toss me from a moving car and into a Miley Cyrus video. So I just gotta do it, I just gotta write it. I'm a writer, I can write this, right? Right? Of course I can!
Why do I want to get an MFA in creative writing? Because...ok. Because I want to learn more about writing, and to become as good as I possibly can. Because I love teaching it and I want to eventually become a professor. Because I would get to share what I know and read other people's work. Because I feel at home at college, I practically grew up on a college campus when my mom went to grad school. Because writing can be so solitary and I want to be part of a writing community, more than just talking to other writers on-line I want to meet them and know who they are. Because it's the career I want more than anything, it's not just a job, it's my vocation. Because my friends will kill me if I don't.
Ok, I need to say all of that, but say it better and make it two pages long. More coffee is necessary.
UPDATE: This is rough draft is honest, enthusiastic, and so fucking cheesy all at the same time. I might make myself vomit if the words "wisdom" and "experience" end up in my final draft.
UPDATE 2: Can't I just say, "Lemme in your program or I punch you in the face?" No, that won't work, it has to be two pages long.
Yesterday I blogged about how I'm having a rough time writing my statement of purpose for grad school, and today is no better. So I texted a writer friend who's also applying to the program and I said, "I'm afraid that I'm not good enough, that my writing is boring, and that I'm too old to be a writer, like it's too late." She said there's no such thing, and reminded me that I've already been published so I'm actually a writer already. Then I shared the same fears with my coworker James and he said, "If you don't go to grad school for those reasons, I will kill you." Then my writer friend said, "I'll kill you too," and then she texted me a kissy symbol, like "I'll kill you if you don't do this, love ya, bye."
So now I HAVE to apply to grad school or I will die. And my friends will not make this a "she died quietly in her sleep" type of death, no, they're going to toss me from a moving car and into a Miley Cyrus video. So I just gotta do it, I just gotta write it. I'm a writer, I can write this, right? Right? Of course I can!
Why do I want to get an MFA in creative writing? Because...ok. Because I want to learn more about writing, and to become as good as I possibly can. Because I love teaching it and I want to eventually become a professor. Because I would get to share what I know and read other people's work. Because I feel at home at college, I practically grew up on a college campus when my mom went to grad school. Because writing can be so solitary and I want to be part of a writing community, more than just talking to other writers on-line I want to meet them and know who they are. Because it's the career I want more than anything, it's not just a job, it's my vocation. Because my friends will kill me if I don't.
Ok, I need to say all of that, but say it better and make it two pages long. More coffee is necessary.
UPDATE: This is rough draft is honest, enthusiastic, and so fucking cheesy all at the same time. I might make myself vomit if the words "wisdom" and "experience" end up in my final draft.
UPDATE 2: Can't I just say, "Lemme in your program or I punch you in the face?" No, that won't work, it has to be two pages long.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Statement of Purpose
The purpose of this post is to write a rough draft of my statement of purpose. Oooooooooooooooooooh God. I hate writing this stuff. It's for my grad school application. Did I mention that? At statement of purpose for my grad school application for the U.N.O.'s MFA program in creative writing?...That sentence I just wrote was poorly written and boring and there were too many prepositions in it. And the over editing begins...
This should be easy to write. I have a lot to say and there's a whole heap of reasons why I want a Masters in Creative Writing, I just feel squirrely and restless when I sit down to write this thing. I haven't had to do academic writing in six years, I'm used to my own messy style now.
So first I'm going to write this messy. Then I can go back and edit. Ok, here it goes.
Dear Santa Claus,
How have you been? Did you have a nice summer? How is your wife? I have been extra good this year so I have a long list of presents that I want.
Wait, why does that sounds familiar? That's not a statement of purpose! That's Sally's letter to Santa from "A Charlie Brown Christmas!" I'm already plagiarizing! And it's not even applicable! OOOOOHHH, I'm never going to get this! Never! NEVER! (wrings hands, hurls self in front of a train)
Ok. Now that the despair is out of my system I can try again.
Four score and seven-
No. Take three.
Dear U.N.O.,
When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the moviehouse, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.
(Gives self a long, baffled stare in which I question how I was even able to pass high school.) Genevieve...that is the opening line from The Outsiders. I know that you feel awkward writing this. I know you feel insecure about applying for grad school in the first place because you're afraid that you're not good enough. But all you have to do today is tell them why you want to do it. So write about that and we'll edit it later. Write it, you know, casual.
Casual?
Yes.
Ok. Here I go.
Dear Fuckbuckets,
Please consider me for your creative writing workshop. I love to make up stories and new words, as is evident by my calling you a fuckbucket when I don't think that's a real thing. I just made that up all on my own. That's just a sampling of the many nicknames you'll get from me when I am part of your workshop. I love to write and to learn new things about writing. I have also recently taught a workshop and enjoyed that experience. I like sharing what I know and learning more about writing through my students. That workshop and the tutoring I've done on the side has shown me that I would love to teach, so ultimately I would like to be a creative writing professor, and with the help of you clever bitches I can also become the best writer I can be. I thought I wanted to be a librarian for a while but then I realized that I don't want to shelve books, I want to write the books that people shelve. I want to be part of the writing community and publish all of the time, and have other writers and readers in New Orleans say things like, "Oh yeah, I know Genevieve Rheams, I saw her do a reading at Burger King." And then they'll want to take my class! See how that would work? And I would talk about U.N.O. all the time, like about how I got my undergrad and master's degree there, although I'll probably get my doctorate some place else. But let's not get ahead of ourselves because I haven't even finished my application yet and so far I'm a little freaked out about it. So my purpose is - I get into your program and become the best writer ever. Deal?
Thanks,
Genevieve
Sigh. God help me.
This should be easy to write. I have a lot to say and there's a whole heap of reasons why I want a Masters in Creative Writing, I just feel squirrely and restless when I sit down to write this thing. I haven't had to do academic writing in six years, I'm used to my own messy style now.
So first I'm going to write this messy. Then I can go back and edit. Ok, here it goes.
Dear Santa Claus,
How have you been? Did you have a nice summer? How is your wife? I have been extra good this year so I have a long list of presents that I want.
Wait, why does that sounds familiar? That's not a statement of purpose! That's Sally's letter to Santa from "A Charlie Brown Christmas!" I'm already plagiarizing! And it's not even applicable! OOOOOHHH, I'm never going to get this! Never! NEVER! (wrings hands, hurls self in front of a train)
Ok. Now that the despair is out of my system I can try again.
Four score and seven-
No. Take three.
Dear U.N.O.,
When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the moviehouse, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.
(Gives self a long, baffled stare in which I question how I was even able to pass high school.) Genevieve...that is the opening line from The Outsiders. I know that you feel awkward writing this. I know you feel insecure about applying for grad school in the first place because you're afraid that you're not good enough. But all you have to do today is tell them why you want to do it. So write about that and we'll edit it later. Write it, you know, casual.
Casual?
Yes.
Ok. Here I go.
Dear Fuckbuckets,
Please consider me for your creative writing workshop. I love to make up stories and new words, as is evident by my calling you a fuckbucket when I don't think that's a real thing. I just made that up all on my own. That's just a sampling of the many nicknames you'll get from me when I am part of your workshop. I love to write and to learn new things about writing. I have also recently taught a workshop and enjoyed that experience. I like sharing what I know and learning more about writing through my students. That workshop and the tutoring I've done on the side has shown me that I would love to teach, so ultimately I would like to be a creative writing professor, and with the help of you clever bitches I can also become the best writer I can be. I thought I wanted to be a librarian for a while but then I realized that I don't want to shelve books, I want to write the books that people shelve. I want to be part of the writing community and publish all of the time, and have other writers and readers in New Orleans say things like, "Oh yeah, I know Genevieve Rheams, I saw her do a reading at Burger King." And then they'll want to take my class! See how that would work? And I would talk about U.N.O. all the time, like about how I got my undergrad and master's degree there, although I'll probably get my doctorate some place else. But let's not get ahead of ourselves because I haven't even finished my application yet and so far I'm a little freaked out about it. So my purpose is - I get into your program and become the best writer ever. Deal?
Thanks,
Genevieve
Sigh. God help me.
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