It's Friday Night, and I am a fucking loser.

So, I am a college student. It is Friday evening at approximately 9:21 PM, and instead of getting prepped to party, I am about to put on my pajamas to wind down. It is not like I had a particularly hectic day... I got my picture taken to be put up on the grants and scholarship website, I went to the local hippie hotspot for lunch, I hosted a women's chat about body image where I discussed my eating disorder, and then I literally sped home so that I could eat Doritos and iced oatmeal cookies to fill up the emptiness that was left from being an anorexic feminist.

However, I am hungover from last night's drunken fiascos. I made an absolute fool out of myself. I didn't eat dinner, and this boy who is, after a week, in love with the idea of me (what's fucking new) brought me over a bottle of wine, which I pounded. Then we met friends at the bowling alley. I never actually bowled. I went directly to the bar, and my luck was that the bartender made me a long island iced tea, without the soda. It was literally 99% booze. I drank it too fast, told the boy I am currently dating WAY too much about myself, had him take me home, and then I ran over to my exes house while the new boy waited patiently in my room. My ex wasn't home, so his poor roommate had to walk my drunk ass home and listen to me cry.

Fuck. I want another cookie. The moral of the story is that I realize that I truly can be shallow sometimes. Instead of worrying about what I said last night or who I hurt, my biggest concern is that I look drunk, sweaty, and hungover in the picture that they took of me for the website.

I wish my ex would come over and play his part in our abusive bantor. It has been a one sided hate machine lately, and I miss my counterpart. He won't answer my calls, emails, or anything. And every time I think that I make progress in getting over it, I have a drunken evening where I make him even more mad. BARF. Someone should punch me right on my boob. seriously. I have heartburn, my body is confused because there is food in it.

I dreamt that my ex was a stylish artist Jew last night. He rocked his yamulka like none other. God, I need a fucking life.