Katy Perry believes in me.

I have this week off work and will hopefully get some writing done. This has not been going so well. In fact, it is not going at all.

My writer's block, I believe, can be attributed to my recent rejection from round two of submissions, and Snookie. Considering that the literary climate is currently at Vampire, non-fiction, memoirs, and chick-lit, I am not surprised that editors are as interested in publishing my book as they are in... are in... god, I don't know, I have writer's block, lets pretend I wrote something wry and clever... eating boogers. Perhaps I should just change all the characters in my book into vampires and Justin Bieber and stuff Americans are into--Bridalplasty, and it hand over to my agent for another go.

It will be a huge success.

Sometimes I can feel the dark side whispering to me in the voice of Voldemort (and sometimes Anderson Cooper for when I am feeling both desperate and sexy)... "hey, you, 'writer', I can make your dreams come true. You can get published... you can do it. It is as easy as 1, 2, 3... credit card information." What are you saying Voldemort/Anderson? "SELF PUBLISH!" NOOOOO!!! I can't! I can't! You can't make me, Voldemort! Maybe, Anderson... YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!!!

Really, I can't self-publish. Sometimes, it feels like that may be the only way in which I can ever get printed and bound, but I am as interested in self-publishing as I am in... in... eating boogers. So, I guess I will push through this writer's block, write another book, and years from now, I will try to get it published. And then if my agent tells me that I have, for the second time, failed. Well, damn it, I will write a third book! I will write ALL THE BOOKS!

I only feel optimistic because I was just listening to Katy Perry's song, Firework. Lemmetellya, that is some potent stuff because I know I'm not PMSing, so... I guess what I feel from listening to Fireworks are just emotions, regular. 

I am failure.

My skirt an inch too high, my makeup an inch too thick: I was flippin' ready for this interview. The interview was for a teaching position at a private school.

Confident in my skills and impressed by my bubbly-yet-authoritative demeanor, they decided to hire me. 
I walked toward the subway, fantasizing about my new position. I was determined to become an obeyed martinet. I wanted to educate with an iron fist and produce winners! WINNERS!
...but much to my ignorance at the time, imminent misfortune was looming ahead...
As some of you may know, it is February. "Yes, we know, but what does that mean?" some of you might ask. Well, February is the start of a sacred time, a time of paradox, betrayal, surprise, self-deprecation, and mental haywire. Prepare the pyrotechnics... graduate school admissions will be announced starting now and into early April! Forget My People's New Years, Valentine's Day, and the Super Bowl, this is something greater than all of that combined. This time of the year is comparable to an apocalypse.
Well, apocalypse cometh. About an hour after employment, I received a personal email detailing the process that led up to my ultimate rejection from my first choice.

I did not take it very well. One down eleven more to hear from.
Josh, Kyle, Kyle's friend, and I went out to a fancy-pants dinner that night at One if by Land Two if by Sea. I might have been tipsy and took it out on Josh.

Sorry, dude.

Megabus, Micro-toilet, Medio-disappointment

On the Megabus ride back to New York after a fun-filled weekend with friends in Boston, I watched National Geographics: Nazi Super Ship on my laptop. The documentary was about the Bismark... Bismark? Bizmark? Biz Markie? Anyhow, it was not that interesting and I really had to pee. I usually try to avoid using bus and airplane bathrooms, but this time, I had to go like nobody's business. Those two coffees I had prior really wanted out. Freak man, bus bathrooms are half the size of airplane bathrooms! There was barely enough space for me to wiggle my jeans down. I have not had this little stall space since I was at that American bar in Mexico.

I got it to work.
Once I settled back in my seat, I checked my email (the free WiFi hardly makes up for the toilet situation) and found out I did not get the job I interviewed for on Thursday. Graduating with a fancy/expensive masters from an Ivy has failed to get me a job that pays $15 an hour. So, here I am, my hands stinking of hand sanitizer, trying to scribble images with MS Paint to pass the time.
If I do not get any good graduate school news this week I will most definitely go bonkers.