Ouch

Dear Lord. I have a friend in town who turned 22 yesterday. I woke up with a humongous hangover. Who do I think I am? A 22-year-old? Having a binge personality is a bitch.

After years of slowly culling the energy vampiras from my life (a serious feat when you're working with people in the performing arts, a field which attracts more than its share of megalomaniacs and depressives and you have self-worth issues of your own), I have a tremendous number of fabulous women friends. I have managed to surround myself with smart, successful, grounded, self-possessed, nurturing, fun, kick-ass women. Thank you, Jesus.

One of my goals in returning to NYC has been to get this league of Superfriends to know each other. In the past, I was covetous of these women, these agents of sanity in my otherwise crazy circle of acquaintances. Now, I am compelled to share the wealth; it's the only way I know to repay these saviors of mine. That and feed them when they'll let me, babysit when they need it, and remind them why they don't wanna be single.

I'm a lucky woman.