Oh The Douchebaggery

Yeah. That title has nothing to do with the actual acne remedy.*

Wait for the words. I swear I will make a connection.

Recently I had a moment.

I complain a lot. It's therapeutic.

But I have been bitching quite a bit more than usual lately and even I am tired of hearing it.
So I racked my brain (and my friends and family) for some guidance as to a solution and decided to go back to school for my M.F.A. (a.k.a. Motherfuckin' fine ass!---also referred to in polite society as a master's of fine arts....pishah! polite society---with all your strictures and Dockers and Celine Dion balladry).

Horror!
Ever have that dream where you're still in high school but EXACTLY the same age? Holy psychic trauma!

But shit has gotten to the point where I need a change. This much strife is just uncouth. I'm about to freak out Amy Winehouse style and nobody wants to witness that.

So, I am applying to Columbia as my first choice.

Raising the bar high, I know. But it's about time I did something besides belly up to it.

I have a second choice, New School. They already accepted me once for my under-grad and I must say, I like the idea that when somebody asks me which
University I attend, I can reply, "Oh, I'm kickin' it New School".

Fingers crossed that I get into one of the above because my third choice is Iowa.
Pro:Great writing school.
Con:In fucking IOWA

*
Though I hear it works!
Seriously, I once lived in the same apartment building as this beautiful creature who had a subscription to Elle and a Kate Moss endorsed wardrobe.

I used to sneak a peak in her mailbox everyday like it was magic fairy happy land.

Ahh, living vicariously since 1977 should be my new motto.

Ladies and gents, I could count the number of pimples I have had in my lifetime on one hand.
Those eruptions are Vesuvius style occurrences.But I spent the $30 dollars anywho. Whatever.