Anything to cover up that last entry.

My roommate says that I have to start thinking about myself more. I need to put myself first instead of everyone else. That's something that I decided to do in the New Year, so it's good to hear I'm starting in the right place.

She says that everything up until now was us worrying about everyone else, but that we need to think about ourselves. She also said that I should stop measuring my pain and disqualifying myself.

You see, up until now, I dismissed my own issues because I held them up against what I perceived as real pain and suffering. I looked at what I've been through, and I compared it to things like the people of India or Chile who lost family in the earthquakes and I decided that in the grand scheme of things, my life isn't so bad. Or I think about a person like Lisa Beamer and I think I have it easy compared to her loss. In my mind, everyone's loss is greater than mine, so I should put mine away.

My roommate said that I need to realize that the people in India and Chile and even, Lisa Beamer, aren't thinking of me. They are thinking of themselves and coping with their pain. I think she's right.

This is something I've always done, since I child. This is how I was raised. When I didn't want to eat my dinner, I thought of the starving children in Ethopia who would have jumped at the chance. I used to save my change in those little milk boxes all year for those children I had never met.

Each year we would donate clothing to the Salvation Army, and my mom would have me take the garbage bags of the clothing inside where I would see the people who needed them.

I guess that my parents were trying to teach me a valuable lesson of compassion, but I think it backfired.

I'm not a wallower. I don't feel sorry for myself very often. I overextend myself to please other people. I'm not selfish enough.

But now I see, being like this isn't getting me anywhere. I'm certainly not Mother Theresa and I'm not getting sainted anytime soon.

I don't know how I became like this...it's not like I am that nice. It's really strange that I should be doing this.

To add insult to injury, I broke my toe late friday night/early Saturday morning. I went to get a glass of water and walked into a toolbox. It hurt like you don't even know. I can barely get sneakers on and without my toe taped, it just hangs there.

"Suck it up" I said to myself, and went to the 80's parties on Saturday night. You should have SEEN the costumes at this thing. First, there were no dups because everyone had to register their costumes. It was hosted by a couple of stylists and they were the Love Boat crew. I'm talking down to the tee. Unbelievable.

Every hour the Love Boat theme song played and the crowd went wild. Some of the other genius costumes were an identical Hall & Oats, whom I requested a photo with and after, Oats turned to me and said, "You're a Maneater, baby." Genius. There was Mr. T, Tammy Faye Baker (with mascara running down her face), Pee Wee Herman (with a porn magazine in his back pocket and who jumped on the bar and did the Pee-Wee dance when "Tequila" came on), the original "Three's Company" cast, a perfect Ferris Bueller with Sloan, Flava Flav, Boy George, the entire Guns 'n Roses band, Def Lepard - complete with 1-armed drummer, Richie Rich, Robert Plant and a few of the backup singers, Run DMC, Tony Basil - who got up on the bar and did the cheer when "Mickey" came on, Tubbs and Crocket, a Cabbage Patch kid, Simon the game - actually wearing Simon, the game, Ms. Pacman, Downtown Julie Brown, Hugh Hefner, Madonna, the Karate Kid, Dee Snyder and many more. It was insane.

I, of course, was Heather Chandler and D. was Veronica Sawyer from "Heathers." We carried around croquet mallets (mine red, hers blue, natch) and started up an impromptu game of croquet in the back of the bar with Pee Wee and Mr. T.

All night, people I didn't know kept screaming, "Heather #1, you're so VERY."

But the end of the night was the best, as outsiders drifted into the bar. On my way out, I passed a guy coming into the bar, he took one look at me with my mallot and said, "Good night, Heather."

"Fuck me gently with a chainsaw."

RIP Kim Walker a.k.a. Heather Chandler, who died on March 5, 2001, ironically, of a brain tumor.

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