Back to Reality

So, back to work at Fabulous Job. Six lovely days off. Watched movies with dogs, recovered from dr. Botox, went to the park with dogs and on a date in NYC which turned out not to be a real date. A much married rich dude who likes to surround himself with professional (not that way) lovelies. I arrived, had to shamed- faced admit that needed to get the last train to jersey, after which was ignored. Horrid ride back to Jersey on Last Train filled with drunk teens. Not even worth it.

At work everyone frantic with leaving for San Fran to meet with Account X. Grateful not going, although resentful at the same time. Commute to work 2 hours. Arrive 1 hour late and soaked.
Notice P actually at his desk, actually present at work. Disturbing talk with P, during which, I understand the company's days are numbered and Fabulous Job might be no more in the new year. Fuck.... Fuck, fuck, fuck. Am completely broke from dr. Botox and frivolous designer shoe purchases. But come on... A girl in fashion cannot be taken seriously unless the bottoms or her heels are fabulously RED. We all know that's half of V's power: her seemingly endless array of Louboutins. But anyway. If laid off, have cheap living in fabulous apartment in jersey, though move to NYC light years away without Fabulous Job.

D2 leaves in a hurry, hiding her print assortment from me. Bitch! Have meeting with a London studio and purchase 6 prints. Once again, realize that Dior Poison is not as captivating on me as on the London rep. Half-hearted convo with J about our efforts in marketing and new format for newsletter. Enjoy several minutes of trashing insaneA.

Texting back and forth with A about my need to control Friday night date. Get completely annoyed. Relate to Mother who is not sympathetic and 'has to go'. We agree that I am a 'weird girl'.

B leaves for San Fran. We share a laugh after figuring out that the mysterious charge on our cc's to 'destination happiness' is not a Chinese restaurant or porn service, but company's travel agent. Feel sorry for B and hope she has a safe flight in the winds.

Get mobile alerts about wires on tracks and all trains diverted to Hoboken. Grateful to botox. My face remains serene, as my insides boil...regardless of situation, have to go to Penn
Station to purchase monthly pass. Long line. Go outside and stand stupidly at 8th ave and 34th street deciding on which hell: path to Hoboken and wait for mystery train or bus from Port Authority. Finally decide on the latter. Half hour on line. When finally get on bus, A is on the bus! We sit together and I explain why I must know where we go on Friday. When finally arrive in FancyTown, A pisses me off to high hell. Too complicated to xplain why. Not sure if I will go out with him on Friday.

Once home, I busy myself with finally hanging up the curtains. You see, I take perverse pleasure in making my Jersey prison look like a fucking showcase. I pull a muscle, as I balance precariously while drilling, and of course either the new drill bit or the weak drill fail, and I end up hammering the parts in while dripping sweat. It looks kinda ghetto, but I hope that it will look better when I do the pull- backs on Saturday with daylight.

I am very very hungraaay...you see, I want the Versace dress to not just fit, but DRAPE on NYE. Dress is hanging by the fridge to serve as reminder that every time I open the fridge I am not worthy of the dress. The cats, who supervised the curtain project and the hanging of the dress on the fridge project stare at me with approving green eyeballs. One of them left a pile of barf on the kitchen floor. If it's a hint, forget about it. Hate bulimics- wasteful. On the other hand, the anorexic will power...now that's something I can work with.

Going to bed, remembering to put the phone with alarm far away from the bed...lesson learned this morning that the nightstand bullshit does not work! I need to be forced to get up to turn it off.