Might actually go thru with “grad applications” this time around and now pretending to think about writing my “statement of purpose.” While justifying my existence to a multitude of strangers who might not even understand the concept of “post-structural blonde” is deeply undignified, the prospect of the rest of my life spent “serving people” is even moreso.
Currently mulling over a couple intros, or “hooks” [industry term, dawnworryboutit] that will convince the admissions committee that I’m the literary offspring of Joan Didion and Matt Taibbi, and at the very least will make an illustrious dead alumna when I kick it at 32 after I blow my book deal $$ on too much [vice of choice in 2017, probably still sriracha and PCP]. Here’s what I have so far.
Born 25 years too late to pursue my would-be destiny as an Eagles groupie, lounging around Laurel Canyon until marrying a producer or overdosing on Quaaludes, I might as well get an MFA in creative nonfiction. My erstwhile youthful idealism is petrifying into a slow, deadening misery and I have no interest in making it past 30 if Windex continues to be a daily component of what I get paid for. Please reference my twitter feed for further proof of my singular grasp on the nuanced truths of the human condition.
I suffered a massive aneurysm when I read that “Lena Dunham is the voice of her generation” and decided that hell is actually not having bourgeoisie Manhattanite parents with contacts at the New York Times. My childhood fantasy of being an artist living on popcorn and wine in a cold apartment was fun for about a week until I realized that I like macchiatos and professional haircuts. As a white American chick who was born in 1985 + thinks that every other word out of her mouth is worthy of being recorded solely because I was awarded soccer trophies when I was 6 even though I kind of sucked, OBVS I’m going to get an MFA. And better at soccer.
Thank you for considering my application, and although you’ll be tempted to award me full professorship immediately, I assure you I look forward to the tutelage of your distinguished staff, and the opportunity to crash undergrad house shows in jorts and a crop-top without compromising my position at your institution. Please reply with a list of your local microbrews.
I look forward to being referred to as a “woman of letters,” plus wearing shoulder pads for my about-the-author shoot.