Gay-ve (the gay man cave)

My gay-ve, the dream of nerdy bookworms around the world. Envisioning a lavish library, cool vinyl record collection, espresso machine, art and a lovable Cocker Spaniel, the gay-ve was every nerdy gay boy’s wet dream, an alternative to the testosterone fueled man cave.

The gay-ve would serve as a creative hub. I would spend countless hours dreaming up stories, poetry, and outlines for novels. Of course, my graduate school acceptance letter should arrive at any second. Gushing over my short essays, they would shower me with adulation.

On a quiet evening in Harlem, yours truly sat with a brick of a book and glass of wine. Rarely do I stare at my cell phone, especially on a wine & books night.

Into the middle of wine glass #2, a buzz rumbled. The blue glow of a cell phone illuminated within my pocket. Picking up the phone, it showed ” new email message.” Surprisingly, it came from the university. “We regret to inform you, that you were not accepted into the Masters of Fine Art’s program.”

Trembling with shock, I called everyone to reveal the dire news. Gulping more wine, I returned to my apartment. Like any good warrior, defeat didn’t cripple any ambitions (for the time being). The next day was spent, spread eagle in bed, eating a breakfast burrito and watching silly YouTube Videos.

Feeling crushed, I licked my wounds and nursed a ginormous hangover of disappointment. Calling my dad, he suggested emailing the school and finding out why I received rejection letter. Too scared to call, I found solace in the most holy of places.

Strolling with my man purse to the local coffee shop, Lenox Coffee, I attempted to drink away disappointment. Reading a book and sipping coffee served as a quick distraction. Unfortunately, the pangs of misery wouldn’t let up.

Returning to my apartment and hiding under the covers, depression lingered. Curiosity led yours truly to emailing the university. Still feeling like a failure, they (surprisingly) emailed back, quickly. (here’s the abridged version)”Thank you, sir, we’re sorry you didn’t get into the program. We only accept 3% of applicants into our program. Best of luck with your graduate school hunt.”

Having a better chance of getting run over by a big rig, than getting into the MFA program was liberating. 97% of applicants were as equally devestated. If only there was a support group for artistic rejects.

After receiving closure, I focused on the back-up plans, teaching credentials and moving to California. Weeks later, I shipped vinyl records and books to my father’s house. The literary and musical gold would adorn the future gay-ve. The gay-ve, which will host to new memories and career path. Grad school, I will be applying to you next year.

 

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