Friday, March 18, 2005

2am and a glass of wine

I am fucked. No, not like hot steamy sex, being pinned down and screaming obsenities. No "fucked" being defined as: it is 2am, I have a call with a client in less than 6 hours on something that I have no fucking clue about, no idea what I am supposed to talk about, and nice boss who so politely pointed out that I am putting on GRE stress weight is not going to be there to bail my ass. Instead I am trying to nurse a midnite panic attack of self doubt, weight gain, and crappy skin with (on first try): masterbation (didn't work), tv watching (didnt work--when did Dharma and Greg get so crappy), and now finally a glass of red wine (hopefully will work).

You know you have a problem when you are trying to masturbate, get yourself all hot and steamy, in the mood for self love and all of a sudden a GRE practice test pops into your head. Your hands stop and you are left, in your bed--teddy bear scrunched up in the corner of the bed as you are splyed out in a futile to get yourself off quietly and instead are trying to remember the formula for the circumference of a fucking circle. C=pi2d?

So, of course, since I cannot remember the circumference formula nor how to manipulate the damn rate formulas and have boss telling me that I have gained weight...I begin to cry, thinking that my life is over. I am going to have to work at my horrible company forever, making no money, working...and my dreams of an Ivy degree, job as a consultant with the rich dorky cute husband, and later I become a stay at home prof mommmy with the cute dorky husband dreams are shattered. I will be the wankers bitch forever.

Fuck, I feel like I am going to begin to cry.

But then I remember, my personal statement is great. It brings the reader to a 360 chronicalling my life, my intellectual passion, my job and a little bit of wit. Sounds fucked up, but this is what an admission committee wants either:
1) A library donated to the college in your family's name
2) A gut wrenching story of overcomming adversity, abuse, and hell while keeping your faith in humanity. Like the Anne Frank of applicants. Luckily I have no prob hyperbolizing my lifestory for an admissions letter. I am about to even inculde a made up story of me overcomming child molestation by a mean teacher...but even I have qualms of stooping that low. Instead I'll just sell out my family's adversity and hope that nobody from the admission committee is a member of the community in which my family belongs. Is there a way for me to work in alcoholism? Fuck, maybe I should make my mom addicted to crack?

Sad how the only men in my life right now are from CL. Guy#1, the cool guy, and I are supposed to do dinner when I am less hectic...but what I find the most frustrating is that he is almost perfect. Like he has a lot of qualities that I adore but is missing that je nais se quois that I find attractive...maybe b/c he was somewhat open with his imperfections? And for those who know me, I expect peope to act like they are perfect, until long enough has passed that the imperfections have been revealed.

Those of you who know me, know that only a few truly know me...understand my imperfections, know how I react to myself and to life. Maybe my prob with NYC is that I have yet to meet a group of people who I can be myself around...except for my friend and her dog. But anyway, the men who I date, I expect them to be a lot like me...and I find it startling when they act otherwise. Perhaps this one will be a plesant suprise...but doubtful.

Then there is the Yalie...shy, maybe gay...but sounds awsome on paper....

I am about to cry thinking of my dating prospects. And I need to look cute for my young Jewish FREE Sushi tomorrow...And of course I am going to pick out the gay or fucked in the head one to make conversation with...

Fuck, just thought about the prospect of studying at Columbia. Have alcohol induced tears in my eyes right now, thinking just how much I want this. How, whenever I visited my friends who went there during my undergrad, I felt this pull to the school...same pull I felt for MoHo, same pull I had for scumfuck, same pull I had for my friends when I first met them...knowing that something great is supposed to happen because of that life experience...

I am really scared.

Or maybe I am being hyperbolic right now because I am sligthly tipsy, tired, stressed, and late with my period (no, cant be preggers, unless my vibrator could get my pregnant).

I just want to be famous and be married to a man who adores me who alo happens to be that just too much to ask?!

I am going outside for a cigg...I miss NoLa b/c I would bring my wine outside with me.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Better than a vibrator induced orgasm

I have on my hard drive the hottest letter of intent. It will make them laugh, cry, and see me as this shining star...all in 500 words or less.

This isthe most satisfying feeling in the world.

Can't wait for the test to be over so that I could write again and not feel guilty.

Because I have some pretty insightful shit to say.

Thursday, March 10, 2005


I am tired.

This work work work lifestyle just is soooo not me. I come home exhausted and all I want to do is go to sleep...

My OMG, how I know I am a NYer moment:

When I was younger, I used to be enamoured with the film industry and whenever I walked around the city, even if is was a cheap NYU student film, I always got excited, made conversation with the people, and held my childlike curiosity. My NYer moment of the day: some people are filming on my block and insted of being genuinely curious and excited, I am a nasty bitch when they tell me to cross the street. I say, "I am tired, it is cold and I just want to go home!"

What has happened to me??

In other news, I am failing in my fiscal responsibility. Booked flight to London for the weekend. Champagne and over priced dinner with my sister tomorrow. I do not know how to live like a poor student. And am having problems with the idea of parting with the trainer.


Writers bloc

Fucking GREs...

Ever since I started to study for them, I have lost my inspiration to write. Or maybe it is because I am not living life...

Literary critics study writing, writers live life.

Sitting in a cafe, freezing by the window drinking espresso infused coffee must not be living life.

I am shaking violently. It is after midnite.

I started smoking again after I began to eat like a pig.

All this for CU...

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

A capuccino at 10:30pm is never a good idea

Let me re-cap what my life is going to look like for the next 6 weeks both fiscally an socially:

Since I am applying to an over-priced bourgious intellectually pretentious ivy league school to study social class inequality (I think my passion is winning out...not bored and not as ADD when I debate about my passion), I have realized that my lifestyle of Grey Goose, international travel, and designer jeans is not compatible with saving money and PAYING for it. Wouldnt it suck if I got in and couldnt afford to go?!?! Hence, your author is having to cut back her extravagant lifestyle, no more clubbing till all hours, no more champagne drinking, no more eating out at funky moderately priced restaurants and *gasp* I am cutting relations with my personal trainer. Yes, you heard me right. He gave me what I needed, a jump start to my fitness goals, a positive attitude, and motivation. Now the rest is up to me. And with Adam's wedding as a motivator combined with the knowledge that aldo has bestowed upon me, I think that is all I will need to be fine and svelte.

All in all, until I find out that I have not gotten life is going to suck. I am already practicing living the life of the poor student. Yippee. And I would make like 90% of women and go out and find a bfriend to pay for my food and drinks but the hours that I work just are not conducive to finding a decent guy, and let's be real, internet dating is a horrible invention. More on that later.

Sociall my life is going to suck:
So my exam is 3/21 and after ingesting 2.5 cappucinos at the cafe around my block in an effort to teach myself math...I have come to the realization that I am FUCKED like a little boy Michael Jackson is fucking up the ass w/o lube. A painful massacre of innocence. I have no fucking clue about the math, this is going to be my score that I use to apply to my PhD programs (because taking the test for a third time is just ridic) and my dream being a mommy/professor driving a land rover while preaching about social stratification to my students, is just not going to be a reality. So, in an effort to kick ass, my life is revolving around the test.

Sample Day:

7am-8am: gym
9am-7ish work
after work: study
after study: sleep

No room for alcohol, friends, nor fun. And I have been cigg free for over a week now. I hope that my stress doesnt manifest itself in the munchies or else I am going to be fat for Adam's wedding and we cannot have that. I need to be the hottest one there. In a red dress. With a CU acceptance letter in my hand. And a glass of champagne in the other.

Fuck, I am having an anxiety attack as I write this. But it is making me feel better...anxiety attack now, get it out, and then back to the math.

Reasons why I have to get into CU:
This almost one year of work has taught me that if I wanted to, I could hack it in the make the rich man richer mentality. I could make the rich man richer, prob make money, and not lose my identity...but the by product is that I am living this lie to myself. Dressing it up in designer jeans, supressing my passion with Grey Goose and tonics and more recently, champagne. When this weekend of hanging out with an old friend, studying together and decortaing our cell phones in rhinestones and super glue (take off the face of the phone first...I almost runined my new camera phone) and driving around the North Shore of LI...I had the most amazing time. Better than a bar, getting drunk, kissing boys...I had fun, being myself. Cuddling with a puppy in bed. Where I am most at peace and comfortable is being an intellectual, debating, and using my mind for a higher purpose than making the rich man richer.

Do not mistaken my decision to become an academic with this passion for alturism or a disdain for corporations, etc. Quite the contrary...I still love my things. I love my designer jeans. But, there is no way that a company is going to pay me my worth w/o me having to give up my life. And for those who know me...when I talk about social stratification, it is a topic I can talk forever about. Debating about policy initiatives, why it exists, and...I am focused and engaged with it. I wish I could say the same thing about my job...but as much as I love it, I am lacking that focus that I had in college. And the idea of popping Strattera to keep me focused and productive and not allowing it to wonder to its true passion, is like neutering the winner of the westminister dog show.

Unless this is a by product of my quasi-alcoholism...then my mind is shot and there is no hope for me, and I might as go corporate and make a shit load of money. But even just thinking about my proposed study plan, as my window is open and it is 47 degrees outside...MHC in the fall weather. It is so much more than nostalgia. Whenever I think about the prospect of studying and writing this mind blowing thesis, making the system rethink assumptions that certain public policies are based's like my heart wants to leap out of my chest in joy. I know it sounds corny, but I feel like this is what I am supposed to do. My purpose.

Internet dating musing:

So last night IMed with Yale boy. Now I know I promised myself that I would never touch internet dating with a 10 foot pole and i know i prob won't b/c he is a homo, here is how i know he needs to come to terms:

1. As cool as people seem, there is always a fatal flaw...he is a closet case. He even alluded to that when i sent him a posting from my blog that spoke of my crush on effiminate men. He first asks me something about liking effinate men and I told him that I plead the fifth but my taste in men has developed an incredible gaydar. Then he asks me what I thought of him (as in sexuality, I said that w/o meeting him it is hard to tell but I really was thinking to myself...except you sound like a fucking homo when we spoke on the phone briefly!!)and then he mentioned something about being mistaken for being gay...(uhm, yea pal, I am sure "mistaken") but said that he knows he is hetero (i.e wanting a traditional family, etc).

2. I was at my friends house and she had a webcam and so I sent him a few pics (clothed!) of me, that actually looks like me...not dressed up, no make-up...the way I look 90% of the time. He says first that I am not hot. ok, no, I am not hott. When I am dressed up with makeup and 6inch heels I am fucking hott, not when my hair is in a bun and I am studying math. Then tells me that there is "potential" and that I am cute...Yea, now I wonder why he is single...hmmmm!!! Fucking A man...but it's like I cant even look to my sister for inspiration b/c her perfect bfriend became an asshole overnight and just stopped calling her, out of the clear blue sky. I have officially lost faith in men.

3. He wants to become friends first. Ok, I can respect that, I too agree that internet dating is wayy too contrived and BS...but we have been IMing over a month!! 1 MONTH!!! I mean, we could have met for a cup of coffee or to see the MoMa...anything platonic. He must be hiding something...either a fat ass, acne, a missing limb, or a complete fabrication of everything that he has told me...yale my ass!! Or HIS SEXUALITY!!!

So, I have washed my hands of him and the asshole who just wanted a fuck and suck (but I showed him by being THE cocktease!) . So knowing he lives in my neighborhood (of like 5 a block radius) and sent him pics of what I really look like 90% of the time and some excerpts of my blog, I think it is safe to say that I have sabotaged this properly. No more internet dating, actually all I would like is someone who is pretnetious to critique and offer feedback of my writing. Yea!!!

Fucking internet dating...taking the romance out of everything. Making me fearful of rejection and have allowed the "meek to inheret the Earth" aka, the ugly to be choosey. And people like me, who are a little cuter than average are paranoid that the person on the other side of the computer screen will not find us attractive/think that our personalities will suck..Well guess what?! I have come to the realization that unless that person is looking for a wife...they are going to be ugly on the other side of the computer screen. Ugly men must be so fucking's like the ball is in their court for the first time in their lives. In bars before they could even look in a hott/cute woman's direction they are shot down. No chances given, if you do not pass the visual test, you fail. You do not pass go you do not get to spend $200.

But on the internet they are Gods. Having the power to pray upon our weakness of wanting to find a "decent" guy, someone who is respectful/intelligent/funny/an all round good guy. Sending misleading pics, misleading emails, having time to carefully craft emails that play into our interests, etc. Making us get our hopes up for our first meeting, taking extra time in blow drying out curly hair and applying make-up and wearing cute shoes. Guess what Mr. ugly?! If bars were filled with men who looked like you, we women would not be dressing up or even shaving our legs for that matter! So revel in the first meet up b/c this is the first and last time in your miserable life that a woman of our caliber will go out and try to impress you by teetering on heels and fasting for the day to look extra cute in the sweater.

Fuck you internet dating. Fuck you to the yalie who got my hopes up that there are interesting people, not only on the internet but also in real life. People who could *maybe* understand the subtle contradictions of my personlity as I navigate my status as a bourgious bohemian...but deciphering his behavior for the past month and placing it in aggregate with other male behavior....fuck it. Ladies, I am a homo. or asexual.

New Goal after I accomplish goal of a perfect score on thr GRE:
Having a serious relationship with a woman b/c men just arent doing it for me. I am here, I am queer, get used to it.

Monday, March 07, 2005

Driving the bus to hell

I should be studying math for the GRE test, instead I have spent the last few hours chugging double espresso cafe mochas in a coffee shop IMing friends, while pretending I am a NYU student. I tried tackling the dreaded letter of intent, trying to capture that balence of pity, intellect, and academic promise that admission committess eat up.

Instead, I am in a tail spin because I cannot find the motivation necessary to teach myself math (it wasnt at the bottom of the second cafe mocha), I cant get the words to match my passion and intensity for why I want to study social stratification at CU, and I am IMing my friend Adam...the one who is getting married.

Now I know that he isnt my soulmate, beshert or whatever language you want to use and say the word that we all lay at awake and hope for at night. It's just as I continue to date in NYC, I am losing a part of myself...becoming jaded, becomming the girl at 16 who used men for free drinks, free food and an evenings entertainment. Isnt it funny that 1 year living in NYC has almost ereased the lessons I learned while living on that feminist hippie sisterhood commune?

Welcome to NYC.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005


Please. I wonder who actually reads my shit.

Plus procrastinating writing my thank you letter for CU