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It's been 48 hours, and I haven't breathed a word about Vegas to any of the girls. I've avoided their calls, ignored all my emails, and found a new hangout: the Dairy Queen. My favorite new companion? A Blizzard.

I'm just too depressed to talk about it. I know Stacey and Jennifer would rally around me and tell me it was time to move on. I can just hear Stacey saying, "You still have it, girl."

And Jennifer would hug me, tell me she's glad I'm getting over Justin and then ask, "When are we going dancing?"

But the thing is, I'm not over Justin. Pathetic as it is, I just keep wishing we could somehow work it all out. And it's not like telling him I shacked up in Vegas is going to send him running back to me (though that sit and spin thing would be intriguing to him).

Kelly would sit there quietly, smiling at the right times with that know-it-all look. It's comforting but loathsome at the same time. Comforting because she knows I'm not completely okay with hook-ups, and loathsome because she thinks she's the relationship expert just because she's been living with Chase for three years. It's not like she's convinced him to put a ring on her finger.

But I'd rather be Kelly than Jennifer—36, a boob job gone wrong and partying every weekend at clubs and bars. The drinking, smoking and endless tanning make her look at least 10 years older. The sad part is that she wants kids. Her clock is ticking but she's still trying to find love through casual sex.
 
And me? I promised Mom I'll go to the casino-night party at her house next weekend so she can introduce me to Ethel's son, Dylan. Scary.

Check here every Monday to read a new confession from Lisa.

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