Archive for March, 2012

Springy Chicken03.29.12

Ever wonder if you’re secretly more racist or uppity than you think you are?

After visiting my local community college last week, I left feeling like I didn’t belong. I felt a moment of shame over some possible reasons. Perhaps I wasn’t jiving with the multi-ethnicity of the place?  Which would be odd because I’ve worked for decades at our family restaurant with 98118 zip code, a zip code known for being the most diverse in the country, and I loved the clientele. Perhaps my years of yuppie life had crusted my brain with too much upper crustiness that I scoffed the at inner city feel of the community college?

Then I realized the last time I felt this way, it was at a club with a particularly young crowd. I was afraid to respond to the young man hitting on me, because if he pinched my butt, his parents might sue me for statutory rape. I felt old. As an older law school hopeful, I knew age was something I would be dealing with. However, even in my LSAT prep, I was dealing with being a decade older than the average student instead of feeling like I could have given birth to the average student.

There is a silver lining in feeling super old now. Instead of feeling like the really old gal when I get to law school, I will feel like a plucky spring chicken. Navel shots? Bring on the salt lick!

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Not Quite Law School03.23.12

On Monday, I applied for admissions at a local community college. Because I’ve been out of college for over ten years, they wanted placement exams done. I went in to take my math and English tests the next day, but not before I freaked out over whether I remembered the equation for a line or what a dangling participle is.

The English tests were embarrassingly easy. Half the time I wondered if they were designed to trip the gangster looking types I saw around school. Example of a sentence that needed fixing: “He were angry at them.” Might be: “He’d be all angry at them.” Some of the sentences were straight thuggin’. There were no participles, dangling or not, to identify.

Because this school was an inner city community college, it was filled with all sorts of interesting characters. People of a wide range of color and age came here. My mother took ESL classes there some thirty odd years ago when we first got to the states. It was easy to bus to so this was a great school for new immigrants. Capitol Hill had a number of halfway houses nearby, so there were some possibly under the influence types loitering around. To round off the interesting crowd, senior citizens could take two free classes a semester, so throw that into the pot. Stir it up. And you have my first day.

That night, I went out for dinner with my boyfriend. When we were a block away from the college, we saw a Japanese girl with a flouncy short skirt and multi-layered knee/thigh-high stockings, full anime getup. I told him, “See, that girl probably goes to my college.” He said, “You are going to have a very interesting time there.”

I’m very excited about the writing class. I’m giddy about it. This is a class I’ve been wanting to take and even as I was plotting away for law school, I was trying to figure out where I would fit all this in. Now I’m getting the class and a potential drug source. It’s a win all over.

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Law School Rejection03.18.12

My lack of updates to this blog is because I’ve been quietly holding my breath, waiting for replies from schools.

On Friday late afternoon, the letter of rejection from my law school of choice came to my email. I was having a drink with my sister at her bar. From just the subject of email, I knew it was bad news. It mangled my ability to think at all and I was teary eyed beyond my own control. I canceled dinner plans with friends and asked my boyfriend to pick me up so I could go home and mourn, in private, the death of my dreams of starting law school in summer of 2012.

Unlike the mourning over a loss of a love one to illness or old age, dreams are more heartbreaking in that you feel like you directly controlled the outcome somehow. This particular outcome felt like I’ve failed myself. And the many friends I had to call to let them know about the outcome: that I’m not going to start law school this summer after all. Of course like all good friends, my friends did their best to cheer me up, but a mourner fresh in mourning is not ready to be consoled yet.

There’s an episode of a television series called “Castle” where the protagonist’s daughter applied to Stanford, and despite being an amazing student, she was rejected. She cried and cried and called herself a failure. I rolled my eyes and thought she was being such a silly drama queen. Oh, I judged too quickly.  A rejection letter was a rejection because it found the candidate wanting. It was hard to not feel like a failure for a moment.

If a lady is rejected by a male suitor, we tell her to not worry because there are plenty of fishes in the sea, and this is also true with schools. However, I do not wish to relocate. A big part of why this particular school has become so ingrained in my dreams is that I spend so much time looking at it. I can see it from my living room windows. Every time I drive myself or my boyfriend to work, I drive by it. Because I can run over and lick the building at a moment’s notice, it’s so easy to visualize myself being there. The dream is so much more real when it’s not a nebulous cloud. I do feel this school is a good fit for my needs and would allow me to be available to help my family by staying near.

View of snow covered trees lining SU from my living room.

After I settled down, I went back to reading the email. For a rejection letter, it was actually kind. Not kind in the “I’ll just be overly polite in telling you you suck” sort of way, but kind in that the letter stated I was a strong candidate but they felt I could use an advance writing course before I reapply and that guidance will be provided for courses I should take if I choose to go that route. Also, I should get my application in before December 31st (curse you letter of recommendation that held me up for over a month!).

I won’t lie. Worries about writing ability have been haunting me. I’ve written so many words on multiple blogs, but it wasn’t until I had to write my college essay that every single word came out like jogging through hip deep snow. It wasn’t that I lacked the words to splatter across the page as I’ve done before, it’s that I worried about how my writing would be critiqued. Another thing I worry about is that I can’t outline to save myself from poorly displaced fat on my body.

At the age of 36, it’s tough to know I have to wait another year. Nevertheless, I am pretty excited about taking a writing course though. It’s something that I’ve talked about doing for far too long. While I’m at it, I would like to check out that accounting , public speaking and psychology class that I’ve been dying to take. Hopefully this next year will not be a wasted year. Diving in Great Barrier Reef is back on my pre-schooling list.

The end of a dream, whether it is achieved or missed, makes room for more new dreams.

Edit: It seems a lot of people stumble on this particular blog entry and I don’t want people leaving on a sad note. Here’s a link to the update on this situation. I wish you good luck on your college application.

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