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Good Times
I'm playing in a tennis tournament tomorrow, perhaps. It's been raining steadily for the past couple days, and will likely continue through my 9 am match. Which means it will be rescheduled and I will sit on the couch eating the kids' leftover chocolate chip pancakes and reading the comics. Which, hello? Saturday? I love you. Even you, boring afternoon hours, where the kids fight and I'm sick of all the CDs in our 300-disc changer. I even have a little crush on you.
Today I got a rejection e-mail. Nothing unusual there, except for it coming 9 DAYS AFTER MY SUBMISSION. So I guess they didn't like my name and address? Hmmm, Mignon. Sounds like a bitch. And what the hell? She lives on a street?? Fucking loser! REJECTED! That's how I imagine it goes at literary magazine these days. A bunch of former homecoming queen runner-ups at a lunch table picking through the literary offerings of the Latin Club. It makes me feel better, anyway. Because I know what the homecoming queen runner-ups thought of me. They thought I was a foreign exchange student, that's what. And no, in Kelso, Washington, that doesn't get you any play. It gets you the opposite of play. Friday nights playing Yahtzee with your 8-year-old brother. That's the opposite of play. Oh, and you lose, too. And you never get any Yahtzees or the fucking large straight, which is the biggest pain-in-the-ass category. Which is why tonight, in remembrance, we played a little Yahtzee. And I still didn't get Yahtzee or the Fucking Large Straight, but I still kicked Madeleine's ass. Ha ha! Take that crappy Texas State MFA Literary Magazine! Texas. Snort. Whatever. Huh.
Here's the fruits of our spring labor (all safe-for-work, in case that sounded overly intriguing):
Today I got a rejection e-mail. Nothing unusual there, except for it coming 9 DAYS AFTER MY SUBMISSION. So I guess they didn't like my name and address? Hmmm, Mignon. Sounds like a bitch. And what the hell? She lives on a street?? Fucking loser! REJECTED! That's how I imagine it goes at literary magazine these days. A bunch of former homecoming queen runner-ups at a lunch table picking through the literary offerings of the Latin Club. It makes me feel better, anyway. Because I know what the homecoming queen runner-ups thought of me. They thought I was a foreign exchange student, that's what. And no, in Kelso, Washington, that doesn't get you any play. It gets you the opposite of play. Friday nights playing Yahtzee with your 8-year-old brother. That's the opposite of play. Oh, and you lose, too. And you never get any Yahtzees or the fucking large straight, which is the biggest pain-in-the-ass category. Which is why tonight, in remembrance, we played a little Yahtzee. And I still didn't get Yahtzee or the Fucking Large Straight, but I still kicked Madeleine's ass. Ha ha! Take that crappy Texas State MFA Literary Magazine! Texas. Snort. Whatever. Huh.
Here's the fruits of our spring labor (all safe-for-work, in case that sounded overly intriguing):
posted by Mignon at 6:51 PM
screw them and their plastic tiaras. we know they're just haters anyway.
keep trying, mignon.
What Bob said. I personally think that people named Mignon who live on streets are awesome. And I feel you-- I once got rejected with the salutation, "Dear Writer." They might as well have said "Dear Loser." Classy!
At least you recognize, they probably could not get past the fact that when you wrote your name on the envelope, you did not put a heart about the letter i and did not even glance at the contents. I know it must be hard, but I am glad you keep going.
I hope the next batch of submissions go to people who did not get their writing degree from a college endorsed by Sally Struthers.
Boxing. Rocky Balboa. Cheesy yet true. "It's not about how hard you hit, it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward". You rule.
Mignon - I'm so glad you're back blogging because it's hysterical -- hey, could you email me? janetmooreoconnor@comcast.net - I need to get connected, but left all my email address on my work email. Muahhh!!!
Jan
Maybe the person in charge of reading all the entries had a melt down and all their marbles rolled away. Because seriously, how can he/she not see that you rock?!
Love the Rocky quote, but if it held water then Tex Cobb would have won and held a belt for decades. How about Mike Tyson: "Everyone has a plan until they get hit in the face." I hope blogging isn't settling into plan B. No one gives shit like an older brother...
wow...impressive WALL you got there!!! Zack would be proud.
so um. the large straight. BLOWS.
i second that. its one of our favorite 'get shitty and make bets' game. next to mancala.
also - so does this mean that a FRENCH name such as Amelie for our cracker ass american (unborn, unconceived) child - would not be good?
Texans just have issues with Montana because they know that's where real ranchers, cowboys, and writers come from.
Why be ashamed that don't live in a PO box? I mean, c'mon, how white trash is living at the PO? ; )
With a name like Mignon, everyone should be tearing the envelopes open hoping for erotica. Hey, don't laugh, think of Anais Nin. She went FAR--in every sense of the word.