<p>Ok guys...</p>
<p>My best friend just applied to Yale and sent me her 500 word supplement essay. She wants to know if it was to outlandish for Yale, or if it was unique and will set her apart from other candidates. I can vouch for her to, we both go to the same school, everything IS completely true!</p>
<p>My life can best be defined by Murphy's Law: "Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong." Maybe it's bad karma from all the mischief I perpetrated as a child, or perhaps I was cursed by gypsies in a past life, but my luck is unusually unfortunate. The only way to relay just how strange and jinxed my world is would be to chronicle each and every peculiar incident, and so I present a condensed excerpt of the bizarre life of Felicia Sackowski.</p>
<p>Johnny Depp gazes into my eyes, the glow of the sun behind him. He whispers to me, "Felicia
Felicia
Felicia! Get up for school!" Why didn't I hear my three 6 a.m. alarms? My clock, my phone, my iPod? Not one went off.
"Felicia," says my mother, "you'd better hurry up, it's already 7:50." By 8:10, I've gone through the morning rituals. Now, where are my shoes? "Hi, weesha
" I look up to see my grinning one-year-old brother, who has learned to walk and, evidently, learned to steal. After scouring the playpen and the toy chest to no avail, I settle for tennis sneakers and accept in advance the consequential dress code violation.</p>
<p>Walking briskly, I spot a panting, ominous raccoon ahead of me on the road. I begin to realize nervously that raccoons don't normally appear in the day, and they certainly don't normally foam at the mouth. Galvanized by images of being devoured by the growling, rabid creature, I run the seven blocks remaining to school- just in time for the closing, "Have a Magnificent Monday!," of the morning prayer, marking the beginning of first period.</p>
<p>Following a pop quiz in A.P. Government and Politics and receiving, as a result of my thirty second tardiness, a detention, I stop at the nurse's office for a cup of tea to cure my caffeine migraine. In walks a petite blonde woman to take five medications (all for mental afflictions.) At the sound of my voice, she whirls around, and I recognize the face: It's Jennifer, the head of the guidance department and the person handling my college affairs. I drop by her office during my lunch hour to hand in my transcript requests. The secretary, Mrs. Hannigan, affectionately deemed Clucky the Canasta Mastah, is on the phone for twenty minutes before acknowledging my presence: "Oh, dahling, ya so FUNNY! Did ya tell 'em about ya manicurist? Uh-huh. Okay, I gotta run, I gotta student here waitin', see ya at canasta!"</p>
<p>After school, my psychotic "best friend," Connor, grabs me by the arm and ushers me to the art office. His mother, the drama teacher, has smuggled in a zealous Nigerian priest named Joel. Connor promptly locks the door, and announces that Joel has rid him of the "little people in his head." "Feleesha," shouts Joel, "you need to be DELIV-AHD!" With Joel's hand planted on my head, I inwardly chant the Murphy philosophy: "Smile . . . tomorrow will be worse."</p>