There I was last night, sitting around feeling sorry for myself and complaining to my diary that I had no life. Well, you gotta be careful what you wish for.

I had no sooner finished posting last night's entry, when the phone rang. It was Shari and she and Trevor were heading out for a drink and did I want to join them? You bet your ruby slippers I did! And as I was slapping on a little make-up to cover up the self-pity of earlier in the evening, B called as well. Brief chat with him to assure him I was okay (he'd just read the entry) and then out the door and off to the bar.

Four bottles of Corona and a long talk about how Jessie's never going to have the new bar open in time for the awards show after-party, like he's been planning, and I was home and getting ready for bed. Feeling a little better about life and looking forward to some good sleepin'.

2:00am. The phone rings and it's Shanny, really upset by her evening out with the ex, which turned into a big fight with many bitter words and cruel exchanges. She had just ordered him out of the house and said she never, ever wanted to see him again. Being the good friend that I am, I grabbed the only available bottle of alcohol in the house, an un-cracked 26 of Jack Daniels, hopped in the car and headed over to her place. Poured us both a stiff jack and diet coke and settled in to hear about her night.

We had a lot of good girl talk. She shed some tears and read me some old letters from the ex. We analysed her love life and mine. All the while pouring more drinks. We listened to sad, bitter break-up music. And poured more drinks. We burned some old photos of the ex, almost burning down her apartment in the process. And poured yet more drinks.

By 6 am we were very, very drunk, which was bad, and laughing instead of crying, which was good. For some reason we started talking in these bad Withnail and I / Ab Fab British accents. I staggered off to the store in search of more diet coke and more smokes (and a frozen chocolate cake and some Asprin) while she made us grilled cheese sandwiches. Fortified by food, we decided, in our infinite wisdom, to make some early morning phone calls. First we tried Dennis, since it was actually 10am where he is. He didn't answer (lucky boy) but we left 4 - count 'em - 4, slurred messages on his answering machine. Then we phoned B. Poor lad. It was only 6:30 in the morning where he lives and he had the bad luck of actually answering the phone. Bless him, he just listened to our drunken babbling and laughed. Actually, I think he basically thought he was still asleep through the whole thing and just having a bad dream. I shudder to think of my cell phone bill after that little episode.

Anywho, we finally gave up at about 8:30am and decided we had better get some sleep. By 3 in the afternoon we were up and about, as I had a haircut scheduled for 4:30. So off we went, for the visit to the hairdressers, followed by dinner at a pub and a trip to the book store, both of us looking like the hung-over pathetic wretches that we were. Even the new hair cut couldn't disguise the green tinge to my skin.

And now I'm home, in front of the damned computer again. I'm supposed to be going out for drinks with Grant after he gets off work at 10pm, but I don't know if I can do it.

Ah, the irony. On the nights I have nothing planned, I sit here moaning about my lack of a life, wishing like hell someone would call me. On the nights I have plans, I'm too hung-over from the nights with no plans to feel like going out.