I'm reading a book right now --- the British chick lit variety that's almost too embarrassing to admit to because, you know, I like to foster the illusion that I've got some brain cells left --- about this woman who gets everything she wishes for.

And of course, one of the first things you're gonna wish for --- if all your wishes came true and if you're a single woman of a certain age --- is a man. Not just any man, of course. A good one.

Anyways, it's a nice way to pass the morning, seeing as I have a bit of a headache from sharing a bottle of Chardonnay last night with some friends in a pub patio, just talking until our voices were all hoarse, being the bitches that we all really are.

What is it about us that makes it so easy to slag on someone when they're not around? It's like the claws come out and I have to admit, as my head hit the pillow last night (or rather, early this morning), I had the uneasy thought that, if I was a much better person, I wouldn't have participated in the bitch-fest.

But maybe the point is, I'm not a better person. And so, today, I feel guilty, because that seems to be my cycle. There's just always something to feel guilty about and the very easy thing to do --- to stop feeling this way, that is --- is to simply stop saying stupid shit about other people.

The Best Friend pointed out that we were merely voicing our frustrations with this absent friend...but still...we were talking about her behind her back.

If we talk about her behind her back, what's to stop them from talking about me behind my back, you know?

So, memo to self:
Try and be a better friend.

Ugh.

It's so shitty when you start really looking at yourself and you realize that you're not the best person in the world.