Losing a job sucks. It sucks more when it seems - as it does these days - to come from factors beyond your own control. But being unemployed only excuses you from so much, and for so long. Last week's installment of the Daily Intel's "sex diaries" made that point exceedingly clear.  The anonymous contributor is a 24-year-old female living in Murray Hill, an Ivy League graduate and unemployed ex-investment banker.

The beginning of her weeklong account begins when she wakes up and realizes that "its only noon", determines that it's too rainy to go outside, and orders delivery through SeamlessWeb. Maybe it's a little late, but why stress yourself when you've just been laid off, right? Wrong: "Since getting laid off (okay it's been six months now), life has been a cycle of drinking, boys, hangover, and Seamless."

That cycle, we learn, has been sustained in part by older men:

I am currently dating a few to finance my Manhattan meal plan. I promised myself the liquid diet, but not when you are having a free fabulous dinner at Del Posto. Mumble an excuse after dinner about not feeling well and having to call it an early night.

There's something savvy about the way our anonymous heroine manages to eat lavishly without a job, but there's also something pathetic about resorting to tactics used by aspiring trophy wives.

After the jump: the most embarrassing and pathetic incident of the week.

On the second day, at 1 a.m.,

We all head to Marquee, where I catch the eye of a handsome boy in an Hermès tie and immediately start eye-BJ-ing him. He is a 28-year-old M.D. who graduated from Yale. He buys me SoCo-lime shots and I tell him that 28 years old is too young to be an M.D. He responds that he’s just that good. His friends back him up.

Can someone tell me what the hell an "eye-BJ" is?

[4 a.m.] He asks me to come back to his place and I’m skeptical, but he says he lives on 65th and Park with his two older twin brothers. He has me at 65th and Park... Sitting in his penthouse apartment, he opens a bottle of Dom and we watch South Park — that should have been the first sign. We get drunker and pass out in his room. I think we hook up, but the night is fuzzy.

[8 a.m.] He freaks out and asks me to leave. I angrily storm out and the doorman asks me if I was with the twins last night. I say their little brother and he laughs. When I get home, I look him up on Facebook and see that he graduated HIGH SCHOOL in 2009. He is 17 YEARS OLD and it was his parents' penthouse in the city.

The user becomes used. One would think that going home with a high schooler posing as a 28-year-old graduate of Yale Med would cause the former investment banker to turn a new leaf, but the rest of her week proceeds in a similar (albeit less embarrassing) fashion. At the end, however, she reminds herself that "[she] actually used to be smart and care about other things in [her] life", and makes "a mental note to read the newspaper today and perhaps even try to find a job."

Not much, but at least it's a start.