February 23, 2003 | 3:31 AM

So yesterday night�gotta record it. Gotta remember it. Because it was thoroughly wonderful.

At 7:30 PM, as chicken breast sizzled in the oven, I sat at my computer, dumbstruck and twiddling my thumbs, not wanting to greet my guests whose arrival was imminent. Feeling weepy and angry and longing to spend the night crying into a beer all by my lonesome, listening to perhaps Aimee Mann or Hank Williams.

9:00 rolled around. I�d already emptied half a bottle of Chardonnay down my gullet. Dave and Alamada were an hour late. I sunk into heavy despondency. Tears sprinted down my cheeks faster than a steroid driven Kenyan competitor in the Olympics 100 meter dash.

I was worried�really worried, that I wouldn�t be able to pull myself out of this despair before my guests arrived. As I wiped away the snot of Friday afternoon�s quasi tragedy from my nostrils with a paper towel, the buzzer rang. I took a deep breath.

Just fake it,

I thought to myself.

Serve the fucking dinner and make polite conversation and when they all leave you, you can resume crying into your Guinness and feeling sorry for yourself.

I was kicking myself for having invited company over. I was kicking myself for the hours I knew I would have to spend fake smiling while my heart was preoccupied with HURT.

I opened the door to my apartment and listened to the parade of footsteps up the stairs. I wasn�t feeling charitable or interested. I felt drained and angry�angry at the breach of privacy I�d discovered earlier in the day. Angry that I�d made such a lousy clerical error in terms of my ( and consequently someone else�s) financial situation. Angry at myself that I had most likely hurt people I�d cared about without meaning to. Angry that I had such terrible thoughts and was stupid enough to write them in a public diary.

The footsteps got louder and closer until they stopped just being footsteps and became the recognizable characteristics of people I love.

I saw Alamada and Dave round the stairwell and right then I stopped feeling bad, stopped feeling sorry for myself. Here were two people I adore with big goofy smiles on their lovely faces, throwing their arms around me, apologizing (unnecessarily) profusely for their lateness�you see, Alamada couldn�t decide what outfit to wear. And that is one of the many reasons I love Alamada�that she would actually worry about what outfit to wear to my silly little dinner extravaganza.

Bringing up the rear was Ali, Alamada�s true love of several years. And he was carrying a bottle of cabernet in tow.

Once everyone was ushered in, I turned on Etta James and served dinner.

There�s no better friends than old friends�especially when you haven�t had too much of a chance to catch up with them recently. Over Chicken French and garlic/goat cheese mashed potatoes, the last year melted into irrelevance. My mood sky rocketed. There is nothing, absolutely nothing I love so much as sharing a meal (that I�ve prepared) with close friends.

After we�d all picked clean our plates, Danni showed up with her entourage in tow, being fabulous and off handed in exactly the way I needed her to be. Upon entering, she threw her brown velvet coat haphazardly on the floor, and then treaded none too lightly upon it as she was lighting a fresh bowl and indulging her OCD tendencies. Perfectly marvelous.

Long long after midnight, Danni and her two boys plopped down on my couch and made a wonderful satisfying spectacle of themselves. We all commiserated over politics and sweetheart deals and art and the like. Eventually Ali had to leave the festivities as he was due at work�that kid is so fucking great. He�s so god damned lovely, he belongs in a fucking Busby Berkley musical. I like him and I like that Alamada likes him and I like that they like each other so much. It makes me happy.

Christ on a cross, Alamada seems so blissful and together. She glows fiercely. She�s a night-light, a glow stick, a fucking roman candle, the last great undiscovered country in a nation of surrender. I love her so deeply (oh and incidentally as I write this, I�m listening to New Moon On Monday by Duran Duran, which is just PERFECT)�the girl has reached her New Moon� some level of positive integration. It�s like she�s been distilled down to the best of herself. She�s mutherfucking captivating to be around.

So anyway� Ali left. And as I was saying before being side tracked, after a while (sadly) David took off. That left me, Alamada, Dannie, and her boyz.

The night could�ve ground to a halt. But oh how it didn�t.

Something was mentioned that I didn't want to talk about or touch on but the subject was pursued. And drunk me, I let loose. And instead of being the scary monster I was afraid I�d be in such circumstances, I brought forth a great monologue. I wish I�d had a tape recorder going, because I don�t think I�ve ever been so frank and yet so kind, so sad but so generous in my estimations of others. I was surprised at how compassionate I was, since usually I'm so fucking selfish�and not in the lame way that I�m often compassionate, but in this not-wanting-anything-but-wishing-everyone-the-best kind of compassion.

Something that Alamada said made me realize during the course of my conversation with herthis:

I am who I am. Take it or leave it. The good and the bad. On the one hand I am desperately romantic and zealous, compassionate, and loyal. I often become swayed and incapable of viewing anything objectively, but really�what a small price to pay for what I have to offer. If I love you, I fucking love you.

I never ever want to hear the following ever again:

Anna�s so emotional, I just can�t talk to her

Yeah, I�m fucking emotional. Yeah�Hallmark commercials make me cry. Kissing on the lips makes me swoon. But you know what? I am SICK of being treated like I just can�t deal with life�s harsh realities .

If you love me, then LOVE ME. Love what I have to offer. Love who I am�love that I�ll stand out in the rain for you, that I�ll adore you and explore you and delve into you and that I�ll push you and push you because I want you to push me. Love that I�ll love you, that I�ll kiss your mouth and unhook your bra without apologies. Don�t apologize for me. Just love me like I love you. Which I will. I�ll love you so much. Just be honest with me.

O le sigh, up in smoke to make a point. Just know yer so lovely and nothing will take that away.