Panic.
I look at the clock and again at the schedule. 6:40/6 o'clock. 40 minutes late.
The car glides up the smooth main drive on campus. I don't know where the welcome dinner is being held.
I will never be a writer.
I dial PHubby. Quickly. Please, look up the campus map online.
Wait while I turn on the computer, he tells me.
PHubby and Dell are making me late. They are working against me.
Just tell me where the fucking building is.
He tells me where to walk. He is still talking when I see the room.
I'm here, I tell him. I have to go. Thanks.
I don't sound gracious.
Fuck. I'm so sweaty.
Five hours for a two-hour drive. Preschool children. Too much coffee. Humidity.
I didn't even check to see if I smell.
Oh God. What if I smell like a giant crotch?
I do. I do smell like a giant crotch.
Check bag for baby wipes. Emergency douche kit? NO. Think. Binaca?
Damn it, Sarah.
Calm down. There is a solution. Keep legs crossed. Napkin in lap. Sip drink.
Act like you're being really polite about dining neighbor's personal smell. Like blaming it on the dog. Or the baby. Only a classmate instead.
Easy.
Don't say "scrotum."
Other topics of conversation to avoid: vaginoplasty, politics, religion, bongs, David Bowie's package, making cakes for white supremacists, and, as always, cute stuff the kids do (yes, SarahP, this does include the play-by-play H-dog gives you during his poops).
Shit. I should have written this down on my hand. I'll never remember all this.
Check face in window. Act cool. Act serious. Intelligent. Thinky, even. You can do this.
Brush hair back from face. Open door.
This is the rest of your professional life.
The rest of my professional life?
Consider walking backward.
Someone saw you.
Lots of someones saw you. Walk in.
Big room. Lots of people. Lots of --
What in the name of fuck? Who put together this dinner party?
Get confused.
Get bewildered.
Get lost.
Find program director.
Find table.
Meet mentor.
Get dinner.
Meet classmates.
Laugh.
Napkin in lap.
Sip.
Laugh.
Chitchat. Family, writing, writing, writing, someone else's funny story.
Laugh.
Tell funny story about bongs.
*crickets*
Fuck.
Welp, there's always the blog.
Just so you know, y'all are my fallback plan.
If this grad school thing doesn't work out, I'll go to Blogher next year.
In any case, I'll be back to blogging regularly very soon. Thanks for being awesome, even though I haven't been responding to comments. I read them all. (Do you even read my responses when I do post them?)
Trying hard to make the rounds to all the blogs I love. It's taking sometime.
Love to all, especially your mom.
This is my 100th post.
Peace.
100 posts? That is quite something!
ReplyDeleteBy the way, good luck on the grad school shiz. I'm not made for college in general, so I can never see myself going further than undergrad status.
If grad school doesn't work out for you, and you go to Blogher next year, I'll go to Blogher next year too. Only the drinky parts though. Not the learny parts.
ReplyDeleteI feel your pain... Go get 'em Tiger, and yes we'll always be here hoping and waiting to read your replies to our stupid comments!
ReplyDeleteDude, I am in the process of applying to grad schools for the second time this fall. This will be my first year out of college and I don't be in classes or anything and it is TERRIFYING. So maybe I can comfort myself with the fact that grad school is just as scary as no grad school? HEEEELLLLPPP.
ReplyDeleteI totally take you seriously.
ReplyDeleteIf they have BlogHer in Cali or DC, I'll go too! I don't mind the smell of crotch.
ReplyDeleteSteady on, Sarah. Just remember: all the other students in your class are stupidheads. And they're not funny like you. They just think they're funny. But they're not.
ReplyDeleteDon't worry...everyone else in there probably smelled too. And they all wished they had told a bong story. Totally.
ReplyDeleteIt's a good thing I'm not a writer. Every story I have
ReplyDeleteabout college involves a bong.
This was great. :)
ReplyDeleteAnd you are definitely worthy of being taken seriously. ...And not just because you are clearly very serious about giant crotch smell.
but you already are a writer. so there's no way you can't become one. and what's wrong with smelling like a crotch? as long as it isn't smelly.
ReplyDeletebaby wipes are the best emergency douche kit. Just sayin'. Not that I ever smell like a giant crotch or anything.
ReplyDeleteHoney, telling the bong story only proves you BELONG as a writer! Here's why:
ReplyDelete1. You have VERSAILITY
2. You have GUTS to say what you want
3. You are not going to play by the rules every single time. (Who wants to read ANOTHER version of Little Boy Blue?)
And the crotch thing, I mean, please. That just shows your DEDICATION to writing. I doubt the good writers smell like roses. Hell no! They smell like blood, sweat, tears and yes, crotch. It's called "devotion to your art"
Congrats on the 100 posts!!
Aw shit. Here I was all convinced that I wasn't going to do BlogHer next year and suddenly you and Steamy are in cahoots to attend? Shiz. Now I have to rethink my plan.
ReplyDeleteAlso? My mom always reads your responses to comments. Always. She says hi.
You can't say "scrotum" in grad school? Well, it's official. I'm never getting a master's.
ReplyDeleteYou can say scrotum in grad school, love! I think you'll be just fine. You'll kickass even!
ReplyDeleteBut if it doesn't work out and you don't like it, we all love you here.
And scrotums.
I too take you seriously but you know what? Grad school people will never get it so just be yourself and let them live in their little intellectual bubble.
ReplyDeleteI am always afraid after I walk to a meeting in the heat, that I'll smell just like a big stinky gym sock. I start thinking I smell feet every single time.
The first thing I have to do for grad school is answer the question, "If you were a kitchen appliance, what would you be and why?"
ReplyDeleteThis is taking the ice breaker to a new level.
Maybe I should just answer bong. That would be appropriate, right?
Give em hell mama - and they give you any guff..give me names.. Ive got that whole wed suck a fart thing that has their names written all over it!
ReplyDeleteKick their asses. :) You got dis shit, yo.
ReplyDeleteI always come back and read your responses, btw. Heart you and your inappropriate bong stories.
I personally think that anyone would approve of the H-dawg play by play of a good poop. Perfect dinner conversation too! Totally appropriate ... especially for grad school =)
ReplyDeleteNo matter what the stuffy grad school people say ~ your nephews KNOW you ROCK! Quite frankly that's all that really matters. (They are amazed to be surrounded by such brilliant and beautiful people. Seriously, all kids should be this lucky)
Oh, LOVE IT.
ReplyDeleteI have found my motto for the rest of my life, "Well, there's always the blog."
EXACTLY.
LOVED your post here.