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Jessica A. Dusak
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« on: April 29, 2008, 11:16:04 PM » |
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***Update*** I found my essay! It was hidden deep in the part of my head they call the brain. I never thought of looking up there, thank Santa Claus; I was starting to get hysterical. Now I can finally get back to procrastinating like usual.
I have to write yet another entrance exam essay to try and convince some billion dollar institution to allow me to take out a huge loan to attend their school. (Sigh)
Personal Essay.
Autobiographical Essay:
Personal Experiences:
I got my first period at age 9. I figure that since I have just turned 28, Menopause must be just around the corner. In 5th grade we have to watch sex education films featuring all the past Annies of Broadway, and a Mom who drew female anatomy with pancake batter on a skillet. I did not eat pancakes for 10 years. My first kiss was in 6th grade at a party with only 4 girls and 1 boy. We played spin the bottle until we had each kissed him. I am still awaiting charges on gang rape. In 8th grade I discovered self tanner, and died my face orange. A short while later, I used mustache bleach to make my eyebrows a similar shade. In 9th grade I once filled up a pitcher with toilet water for friends who were coming over after an argument; I lost track of things and ended up pouring a glass for myself. In 11th grade I accidentally mistook a police officer for a man wearing a costume while taking acid on Halloween. He recognized me from my warrant for arrest from 6th grade and last I heard I was still wanted. On one of my first jobs I thought it would be a better idea to get parking tickets every day for parking on the street rather than pay the monthly parking fee. The fee was $60 refunded at the end of each month. My monthly tickets cost a little over $500.
Professional Experiences
My first job was babysitting a Satan-like infant for $30 per day. My second job was babysitting 3 Satan-like children who were the devils spawn of a local pastor. Not only did the children lock me in the basement and start a fire upstairs, but their parents never paid me; since they were embezzling money from the church they lead at and absconded to South Africa shortly after. I have worked as a hairdresser, a Starbucks Slave, a Office Manger for Illegal Immigrants, and a slew of respectable positions.
How have these experiences influenced decisions to attend college ?
Well knowing that my biological clock is running strong, and having a thorough knowledge of female anatomy has made me smarter. I realize that 4 to one is a ratio and not an even one and being yourself is always a better choice than being orange. I am not really worried about the environment anymore, since I know that there will always be a place where water runs freely from a well within each home, sometimes 1.5 times per each home or above. I respect the authority of authoritarians and denounce drugs and the holiday of Halloween. I appreciate the cost of inflation and now know that only in Boston is $500 per month a good deal on a parking spot. I hate children. Especially devil children. I see the the effects of not donating enough money to Sally Stuthers, as she will send her people to steal it from you if not an ample amount has been given. I know exactly how to cut your hair so that your head looks huge; and I can brew a perfect shot of espresso to pour into your decaf latte if you ask me more than once if I am aware you asked for decaf. I am also aware that nothing bad ever happens to those people, since they would come back the same afternoon and restart the cycle. I know what it is like to work at ordinary jobs. I think what I need to learn now is how to go to college.
How has this effected you as an adult?
Still questionable...
Hook? Humor. Funny. Fearless. Scared of Most things.
Story?
Main Character
Other Characters?
Setting?
Conflict?
Synopsis?
Hey guess what, wanna know a secret? I know a way to torture another human being. Here's the best part; it is totally legal. That's right, you don't need to go to military camp and practice waterboarding on the parakeet any more, my way so much better. It's called, college admissions essay writing. I'm serious I'm a serious woman. At work today, my assistant was making mistakes left and west, and I was seriously against this. Serious.
The setup is elegantly simple. Like delicious macaroni and cheese. Easy. Like a New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle if you make your own answers. Answers. What you get on Jeopardy and must respond in the form of the question.
Ah yes, the question. Usually its something along the lines of: Tell us about a tragedy that occurred in your life that is still fresh meat, not room temperature meat with E Coli. If you have a dead grandmother you get 2 points if you mention her. 3 points if you clearly state that your tear marks are on the essay.
Other questions they might ask are: Tell us about your hero, the one person that you pretend while writing this to really love and forgive for their audacious drinking problem.
The redemption question is another biggie. Name an event in your life where you felt you really changed, and describe your meetings with the police and your psychiatry sessions leading up to your sanitarium experience.
One may think that there are free websites available for assistance on such joyful and easy to write topics, but noooooo....they all want money to tell one to "be creative-stick out!"?"
What if I don't' want to talk about those uncomfortable rabies needles? Have they ever considered that living in that polygamist compound may have not seemed all that strange at the time? Who are THEY to demand that I exploit all those children I ignore when I go on a vaca in a 3rd world countries?
It is all just sick.
That's another thing, I may not have MS, or polio but overcoming my roommate having the stomach virus and shitting on the bathroom floor was horrendous. Where my sympathy essay?
Some kids write about their summer job in a small village in China, I went to Florida once, it was superfluous. I got trashed in Miami and learned they have huge bugs. I can't help it if I 've never shielded my brother from car bombs, he just didn't seem like he deserved it.
Oh woes me, I must find a large word I do not use...such as hyperbole to define myself for this final essay. And if this essay doesn't work, they are getting a copy of this blog.
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