So there was this one time...

When I opened the mail on a Friday night, and saw an acceptance letter from the New School.

Then I realized it wasn't for me, but rather addressed to a Mrs. Ayala.

I became sad.


And angry.


And a nasty beeyotch to everyone around me.


And then...

I got a phone call.

From a Mrs. Ayala.

She lives in Brooklyn.

She was nice.


She told me she had something for me. Something big.


I thought it was a foot. A huge, stinking foot to stomp all over my already dismembered heart (I don't mean to potentially plagiarize, should that be the title of a preexisting emo band's first hit) .

But it wasn't that messy.


She too, had a letter.

I puked a little.




Then a voice said, "It is my pleasure to notify you of your admission to The New School's Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing beginning in the Fall 2008 Semester. You have been selected for the concentration in Non-Fiction."

I might have told her I loved her.

I hope her husband didn't hear me.


THE END.
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True story! I guess it pays to be persistent when you're in the collegiate Purgatory of Waitlists.

So NYC, here I come!!!!!!!!