They went like the wind. There are no more samplers. But we should have e-mail sneak peeks at least a month before Revelations is out. I still don’t have clearance to send them which is why you haven’t received them. I’m so sorry. But hopefully hopefully hopefully we will get the greenlight soon.
Not much to report: it’s summer, things are lazy even though I look at my TO-DO List and there are so many things on it. Like filling out applications for nursery school. The private-school smackdown begins for us this year. We’re already upset that we can’t even TOUR one of the schools on our list because we don’t know anyone whose kids go to that school. It’s all about who you know, even at twenty-one months. But that’s okay, that school is just strictly nursery. And the only reason we like that school is because the architecture and design is really fab. One of the parents is a well-known designer (hint: a judge on Top Design). But now we have our sights on bigger fish.
I’ve been going on studio meetings and all we talk about is the private school dance. It’s like a bonding experience, like surviving boot camp. Apparently a lot of people apply to fifteen FIFTEEN!! kindergartens. Which should give me nightmares but actually isn’t at all. Because I applied to TWENTY-ONE colleges. So I’ve been there. Yeah. TWENTY-ONE. My dad was really worried I wouldn’t get into one because I had this ridiculous math score. Okay, so the first time I took the math test, I got like, 300. Yup. 300. I think they give you 200 points for just dotting in your name, right? My dad was HORRIFIED. My dad is a math genius, so he just couldn’t understand how I could do that badly. Can I add that I got a perfect verbal score? 800? But that didn’t count. He thought schools would just dismiss me because of the total: 1100. They wouldn’t see the high verbal score, they’d just think I was totally average.
So I took the SATs SEVEN times, and my dad re-taught me algebra, and finally, finally, I pulled up my math score to 550. And with the perfect verbal score of 800, I got a decent 1350, which meant at least the Ivy colleges wouldn’t vomit all over my application when they got it.
But Pop was still worried, so he had me apply to all these schools that I had no intention of ever attending, and which were all—sorry to be so rude—safeties. I think I had FIFTEEN safety schools. I got into every one, with major scholarships. I think there was one school where if I went, my parents would not have to pay anything, and the school would even pay ME, a $5000 stipend every semester. And it was by the beach and super-laid back. My dad said, “Beach house, beach house, beach house.”
I was like, IN YOUR DREAMS, POP! I didn’t put nose-to-grindstone and have an awful time in high school just so I could graduate from Beach House U.
When I was a senior in high school, my dream school was Stanford. Because I grew up in San Francisco, Stanford was the ne plus ultra of schools. In California, it’s the most desired school. And I wanted an IN YOUR FACE school. Like, I got into Stanford, IN YOUR FACE, biatches!
But I didn’t get into Stanford. That was a really sad day.
And I didn’t get into Brown either. My second choice. Because um, no grades??? I was UP for that.
But I did get into Columbia, which was my other second choice because it’s in New York. And my college counselor said they would love me at Columbia and I would love it just as much. And hello: New York! Nightclubs! The Palladium! Andy Warhol! Hello! And they gave me an almost full-ride too. In fact, Columbia was the most generous of the Ivies my family has attended.
At Yale, when my dad’s check would be late or bounce, they would not give my sister her dorm keys or let her register. There was no such B.S. at Columbia, a friend of mine whose parents were going through a tough time financially was able to go three full years before the school finally said um, you have to pay us something. It probably came from how disorganized the financial aid office was, but I also like to think it was from the school’s deep-seated understanding of how not all of its students were swanning in with major trustfunds, which I think comes from the people who ran those offices, who mostly lived in Harlem and the Bronx. You know? New York is a tough town but it’s got a great heart.
At Columbia if you were a financial aid student, you could even get short-term CASH loans from the school to cover food and stuff. You would just fill out a form and they would give you cash!
Like manna from heaven.
I did love Columbia, and so many of the wonderful people in my life are from that school, my husband for one. And I probably would have hated Stanford since I loved Columbia so much. At Columbia there was the Art Suite and the Prose Kitchen and Hot Jazz and Champagne and if we didn’t want to do that we had all of New York at our feet. Meet you at the Sound Factory at 2AM! Every time I visited friends who went to Stanford they were playing Scrabble. Need I say more.
So you know, people: if you don’t get into your first choice, it’s not the end of the world. Really, so many things are not the end of the world in life.
Your top school didn’t take you? Not the end of the world. You’ll get in somewhere better for you. Your crush doesn’t crush you back? Not the end of the world. You’ll find a cuter guy who does. Your husband isn’t get getting you a Birkin for your birthday? ARMAGEDDON! Snarf. Just kidding. He already said he was getting it for me. But now I am wondering if I still want one. You know how they say the anticipation is sweeter than the thing itself. So we’ll see. I kind of like just wanting one. Once I do get one I’ll be so bored. Such is life.
So I’m trying to not get too crazy as we go through these nursery school rounds. Mattie will be fine. There are many great schools and she’ll be happy wherever she ends up.
And so will you. I know applications for college aren’t due till this December, right? But don’t stress so much. And if you don’t get into your first choice, like one of my dearest friends Garret who didn’t get into Stanford and had to go to Columbia, you can always transfer to Stanford your junior year (like the traitor he was!) and then go back and visit all your friends at Columbia every semester and get homesick for New York and then end up at Columbia Law School anyway. I’m jus’ sayin’.