Everything I Want, I Gotta Wait a Year

Just over a year ago I graduated from college.  I donned my blue gown, walked across the stage, received my "diploma" from a random administrator, shook T. Haas' hand, and blew a kiss to the arena.  I didn't look back.

Until now. 

During my undergrad I always knew that a career in writing wouldn't pan out for me.  I am not clever enough or experienced to write the next Great American Novel, nor am I dedicated enough.  At some point during my time as a GVSU student, I decided that it wouldn't be so terrible to make a career out of banking.  My managers always told me I could "go all the way" if I really wanted to, and I thought that made sense.  Perhaps that was my excuse to never really give 100%.

But you know what?  I don't want to be a banktress for the rest of my life.  I don't want to tip-toe around the wealthy to keep their business, I don't want to garnish people's wages, and I don't want to explain the reasoning behind petty fees.  I don't want any of it. 

This fall I am headed back to the ivory towers of Grand Valley.  I will take a few more PR classes and hopefully network with some of my professors in hopes of securing letters of recommendation for my grad school applications.  If all goes according to plan, I will then trade in my Laker blue for Spartan green in pursuit of a Master's Degree. 

Remember how I once wrote about my need to count down to things?  I am always looking ahead to the next major event in life.  Well, I'm doing it now.  Perhaps this is what I love so much about public relations.  Its always focused on what's next. 

Good things are next. 

We are Golden

It's been a while... seems like I should keep all three of you posted on my recent shenanigans...

These are things that happened in recent weeks:

I went back to blonde.

Its okay, I do what I want.

I graduated from GVSU with my writing degree.

Let the glamorous job offers roll in...

The delicious boys of Brena released their second album, I watched it all unfold.

You will know these boys soon enough.  Just watch.

National City officially became PNC.  National City no longer exists, unless you live in Indiana/Illinois.  You still have Nat City for another month.  Cherish it, their operating system was so much easier than PNC's.  

I started my internship at the Grand Rapids Children's Museum.  I don't have any fun pictures of that yet, but I'm sure some will come along soon enough.  Right now my job consists of me sitting at a desk fervently searching for relevant articles on how play benefits child development.

Basically I have convinced myself that I will not own a TV once I have kids.

I want my children to be so wonderfully weird and imaginative, and completely unaware of the existence of the Disney channel (unless they bring back Bug Juice).

I started my summer class: Writing in the Disciplines.  (I should be doing homework for that...)

The prof. is teaching us about dangling modifiers and what not.  That's what I get for taking a remedial class that I tested out of.  This girl needs four more credits before GVSU will stop holding her diploma captive.

After this I just need to complete Women's Self Defense and I am an official graduate.

I got out of going to the Bosnian wedding.  Loving that.

I got to not only see Butch Walker live:

I touched him.  Twice.  Somewhere around this point in the show:

My life is complete now.  I love this man. 

Other minor things:

-My neighbor's house caught fire (everyone is okay).
-I learned of the band "Locksley" and fell in love with them.
-I made the Dean's List for the first time ever in my collegiate career.
-Jenny came home for Mother's Day.
-I probably made some crafts and bought things I shouldn't have.

It's summer, which means I am smiling a lot more than I did over the winter.  I hope to have more time and less angst when it comes to blogging.  :)

Motoring: What's Your Price for Flight?

I called in sick to work today.

I hate calling in. I always think that they think I'm faking it, which is weird, because I never think that other people are faking it.

Anyway...

I've calmed down since the last post. Believe you me, dear reader, last week was an intense Monday. Thank the Lord for Jenny, keeping me in check. Without her I'd be swooning and giggly over something (someone) I can't have.

I had planned to post my e-mail exchange with her during the whole debacle, but for the sake of her privacy, his privacy, and mine, I deleted it all. Sorry.

I am already into the fifth week of my classes.

Ten more.

I simply cannot wait. This semester is full of the following:

SOC 323: Families in Society

This is the last class I need to take for my "theme", GVSU's way of making sure that we are all well rounded citizens. I chose the Human Journey theme back when I thought it wanted to be a nurse. So anyway, I'm learning all about how families have changed over time. Easy class, ridiculous. As long as I remember the difference between polygamy and monogamy I should be fine.

CAP 321: Media Relations Writing

This class terrifies me. I feel like it is way over my head. I can write a press release, but I have no idea how to plan out a media campaign, much less, for a major client like the Rapid. However, this is the kind of stuff I want to do for the rest of my life, so its going to be very worthwile.

WRT 351: Web Design

The baaaaaaane of my existence. I hate this class. I like the prof, I love my classmates, but I just hate web design. Html isn't really all that hard, but it is tedious. However, it is one more skill that makes me a wee bit more marketable, so I put on my big-girl pants and sit there for three hours every Tuesday night.

WRT 495: Theory of Genre

This is the last class that all writing students have to take. I already did a thirty minute presentation on genres of restaurants. Last week we met at Schuler's and we got a tour. I think the prof just didn't know what to do with us. However, I got to spend my class time drinking wine at one of my favorite bookstores. I'm not complaining.

This semester will be long, but this is my last full semester at GVSU. I can see the end. Feels good. :)

How long must we sing this song?

Week one of my final year of school is finished. For the first time in my college career I find myself taking classes that I don't absolutely hate. This is the first time in my five years of higher learning that I am not stuck taking a science class, a math class, or a foreign language.

Et oui, j'aime apprendre le français, mais seulement quand c'est convenable.

Five attempts at Algebra, I finally mastered it.*

The last science class I took was BIO 120. Train. Wreck.

But here we are, I am embarking on something fantastic.

After a week in class:

Writing 350- Business Communication

From what I can tell this class is essentially a reprise of Writing 250, intro to professional writing. That's okay though, perhaps my two semesters spent with Keith Rhodes will give me a leg up on all the computer science and accounting majors in the class. The professor, Christina Olson seems cool. I like my profs the way I like my winter roads, dry and slightly self deprecating. And she, dear friends, is very dry. It doesn't hurt that I find myself sitting next to Michael Vartan's identical young cousin and in front of my best friend from seventh grade. Resumes, memos, data reports, blah blah blah... Hello to the rest of my life.

CJR (Journalism) 256- News Reporting I

I do not aspire to be a journalist. I am not sure why this class is required of professional writing majors. I suppose that successfully gathering and reporting information by a deadline is key to any writer's prosperity. I feel like this is a class where the prof wants me to work. Let's face it kids, I'm pretty lazy.

Writing 360 - Intermediate Non-Fiction Workshop

I have been dying to take a class with Austin Bunn since I saw him speak on a panel at Kirkhof last year. Unfortunately my indiscreet admiration of him may be a hindrance to my writing. We turned in a memory piece on Thursday and I was so concerned with his approval that my writing was not in my natural, even-flowing, perfectly professional, and smooth style.** I am excited to learn how to become, if nothing else, a better blogger. Who knows, maybe someday they will make a movie about my mundane and non-impressive life. It will follow my unnatural obsession with a similarly named individual that no one under 40 cares about. Someone like ... Steven Seagal. Yes. Stephanie and Steven. I will blog about my year spent suffering through the entire Seagal movie collection***, Good Morning America will do a profile on me. Austin Bunn will not love it.

COM 203 - Argument and Analysis

What. On. Earth. I think that the professor uses this class as an excuse to rape our minds. She is insane!! I had to return my textbook to make a car payment. I will go back and buy it again next week. However, I think that her... eccentricities... will allow for leniency and light grading. When you get down to year five of college, I feel that you can go one of two ways. You either realize the importance of what you're learning and buckle down and dominate, or you constantly seek the easy way out. Guess which way the black sheep Gamble is going?

Writing 251 - Document Design

My professor is probably two years my senior and he has a chin strap beard. No. Oh, and I have already threatened to meet one of my classmates in the parking lot. He doesn't know this, he was too busy providing the class with a poorly constructed, yet colorful, commentary on the lecture, to hear my idle threats. Robyn heard them. That's what matters.

So here we are, fifteen weeks that will bring me that much closer to my much desired diploma. College cannot be over soon enough.

*By mastered, I mean that I passed with a C+. I do not need Algebra. I have a calculator on my phone.
**Ha.
***I have yet to watch a single Steven Seagal movie.

Beware the neurosis.

So classes have been out for about three weeks.

I still have several large papers in my possession with critiques I have yet to read. In fact, it usually takes about 2-3 days for me to actually flip an assignment to the back page where my all knowing and all powerful GVSU professors provide me with the valuable feedback designed to make me a better writer. I don't even want that paper back once I turn it in.

Oh, its not disinterest. No way. I'm neurotic. Didn't you know?

I get a slight anxiety attack on the day profs hand back my papers. Their comments are not reflections on my writing, my ideas, or my sentence structure. No, they're comments are on me as a person. If they didn't like my paper, then clearly they don't like me.

So I sit there, avoiding eye contact with my classmates. My talented classmates, who should all be writers and receive handsome salaries and rave reviews from Michiko Kakutani. Keith Rhodes and Charlie Lowe will throw a parade in their honor for their revolutionary views on Hunter S. Thompson, Dave Eggers, or Salmon Rushdie. Their papers will be passed on to the fishladder if not the Mid American Review.

So I slump down in my seat and busy myself with adding an unnecessary event to my planner until the prof calls my name.

"Why did I put that in my paper? What was I thinking with that quote? Does that exerpt even make sense? What did I title this paper? Oh no, that's so corny, why do I think I can be a writer? What am I doing here? This prof hates me. Okay, if I get a B- I'll be okay. Crap, I'm too stupid for this class."

(See? Neurotic.)

When he does place my paper, my piece of me, back into my hands, I jam it down into my backpack between my French book and the handful of napkins that have been in there since last semester. There is no way that my thoughts flow so clearly as those of my peers. I'll look at it later, I tell myself, thinking that I am no better than the non-writing majors in the class.

Keith Rhodes e-mailed our final portfolio grades to us. The only reason the e-mail has been opened is so that it stops showing up as a new message in my gmail. I have yet to read his comments. I don't know what Stan Krohmer thought of my reflections on Ishmael Beah, or why Barb Ziemann hated my paper on effective PR tactics. (Perhaps it is directly related to the fact that I don't know how to properly conclude a paper, or maybe because I used the terms "Strategies" and "Tactics" interchangeably throughout my whole 9 page paper.)

Being a writer is scary.

Being a delusional writer is even scarier.