I took Tuesday off. I went to the dentist in the morning and by God, he did a swell job, I’m so happy with my new smile.. the fakeness is almost imperceptible. Aside from the tiny technicality that everyone on planet Earth and beyond already knows about my dental misadventures.
I took the Tuesday off to scoop out every last brain cell and make it vomit all over my b-school essays. I’ve had verbal diarrhoea and the real thing.
I called up home and things are starting to freak me out a little. Les Parents are going to meet each other next month. It will be a debacle of coconut plantation proportions. I have warned them already, but apparently “I don’t know anything about marriage”, which is true; I know nothing about the bureacratic negotiations with discrete exchange of valuable information that culminates in a massive explosion of flowers, silk sarees, gold jewellery and two people (optional). Nobody listens to me.
The essays have bugged the living fuck outta me. I get this sinking feeling that some French guy is going to read them, laugh dismissively, say “Eet ees so yoos-lace, alors!” and swiftly projectile my file into the nearest bin. It’d be damn shame too, because I am too pretty to have my file binned. Whatever.
So I’m taking tomorrow off as well to sit on my ass (which is getting larger and larger) and work on expressing my grand career plans in ways that don’t make me look like an awestruck yokel.
I am not lying, so I’m having trouble being myself. See, I wanna tell them that I wanna work in the fashion industry as a Prada-bag-weilding ballbuster, because let’s face it, that’s what I’ll be damn good at. And the motivation to work in the fashion industry does not come out of good will. You can’t say “I wanna be in fashion because I wanna help people”. Yeah right, not unless you’re talking about “helping” people look gorgeous, which you don’t do for free anyway (except when you’re fashion-consulting for your friends or writing philantrophic blog posts for the benefit of humanity).
Cuteness is somewhat of a curse for me. A very intelligent man confirmed this recently. I’m not complaining, mind you. My first impression to most people is that I am bubbly blundering bimbo. I am only two of those words. I giggle a lot, I say “awways” and “awwright” instead of “always and “alright” and I just cannot change it, no matter how hard I try.
I’ve been a grades person. I did well in school and university. The oddity here is that from what I’ve heard, your b-school essays are all about making concessions for a shoddy academic performance and proving to the committee that your awesomely cool work experience makes up for the time you wasted in university throwing up from booze OD. I am one of those things, and not the good one.
My point is..my essays sound like “Pick me! Pick me! I awways get good grades! I suck at my job, but please admit me as your token child prodigy/adult bimbo.”
Yep, that’s “exceptional maturity” right there, people.
Tant pis! I’m screwed. Whaat thoo doo? Dhees ees note goood, alors!
Papa kehte hain bada naam karega
beta humaara aisa kaam karega
magar yeh to koi na jaane
ki meri manzil hai kahaaan…
I’m not complaining…I’m totally psyched about these essays and I’m gonna kick ass EVEN IF they don’t admit me!