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 rich...is 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.