My birthday is Sunday.  Although I won't say how old I'm going to be, I will say that I'm not quite 30, but it's getting pretty damn close. I know it may sound silly, but the 30 mark is really freaking me out. I want to have accomplished something great by the time I reach that milestone.

Some of you may remember that for my birthday last year, I got to go to family court. What a joy.

The year before that, I had to practically beg my husband to celebrate with me. I recall him saying that he had a lot of work to do, and wasn't sure he could be home. I remember watching him outside, from our kitchen window, pace back and forth on the porch, talking on the phone. I remember when he came back inside and told me that he had "worked it out" so that he could stay with me.

Apparently, "stay with me" meant make me dinner and then leave.

It wasn't until months later that I found out the truth. There was no work, there was no working anything out. Levi was seeing another woman. Levi went to be with another woman...on my birthday.

So, the last bunch of birthdays have been pretty crappy.

I'd almost like to just let this one pass by quietly. Stay home, snuggle in and watch Desperate Housewives. My friends don't want to let that happen.

And the truth is, I don't really want that to happen either.

So, here's to a new year of Faith, literally and figuratively. Here's to better birthdays. Now that I think of it, I really do have a lot to celebrate!

Debra Messing and Debra Nigro. Isn't it fun when someone has your same name and spells it the same way, too?

Debra Messing will be 'posing' as a divorced wife in the new weekly TV series The Starter Wife. I, on the other hand, will continue posing as myself — the real life divorcee.

If Messing were a real divorcee, she'd have known better than to put her show on Friday nights. Divorcees want to go out on Friday nights and mess around, or something like that.

Friday nights pose a dilemma for divorced women everywhere. Somehow you just feel you are "supposed" to go out.

Friday nights have always seemed like the night all the other singles are out — somewhere. Saturday is still "hypothetically" date night. So given a choice, divorced women will pick Friday as their night out on the town.

Therefore, I assume, in doing their research about when to air The Starter Wife, they must not have had a lot of divorcees in on the decision.

Maybe I should call the producer and at the very least have Debra Messing's character on the series, Molly, join Firstwivesworld.com. This way we can be assured her character will make wiser decisions going forward.

I'm single, I'm writing this on Friday, I am awake, it's a beautiful night and my jeans aren't choking me to death...so forgive me, I'm going out to mess around somewhere. Debra Messing — I love you, but I will see you on Tivo.

Then we can compare notes to see who had more fun!

Until then...I will rely on the First Wives World Social Network "Starter Wife Group" — who did not find qualified babysitters — to keep me updated.

By Paul Lambert, FWW co-founder.

With knees knocking, a divorce rap swirling in her head, and her Adam's apple lodged in her stomach, Debbie Nigro energetically took to the stage at the Gotham Comedy Club in New York and made the whole crowd laugh themselves silly.

She was hysterical as she talked about "cougars", the plight of divorced women, her approach to life and fun, and most of all, she shared how absolutely petrified she was standing up there, but what the heck ... "I am giving it up for a good cause".

That made me think about giving... and as she put it, "giving it up".

Marty Ingels once wrote that in this world of "give and take," too many people "take" and not enough people "give".

So I started to reflect this morning on "giving". We can all do it. Give a smile, a word of encouragement, a hug.

Anne Frank said, "No one has ever become poor by giving". And Winston Churchill said "We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give".

So as I sat back and reflected on the courage and determination that Debbie put into her wonderful comedy routine, I thanked God for this wonderful girlfriend who has devoted most of her life to giving to others.

I feel better, had a good laugh, and remembered that great St. Francis of Assisi quote: "For it is in giving that we receive".

Debbie received a lot of applause the other night, but deep down I'm sure she received something much greater: The satisfaction of stepping up to the plate and "giving it up" for a good cause.

Well, you know how I feel about the word Cougar — don’t like it. Wrote about it many times on FWW.

But the word and the lifestage it defines are so pervasive now that Saturday Night Live is doing ongoing Cougar skits. They did one again this past Saturday with Cameron Diaz.

We cannot deny that older women are now back on the market in large numbers as a direct result of divorce, and that younger men are a viable romantic option like never before.

I think it’s a good thing that women are busting up the old double standard — and yes, I admit it provides lots of comedy — BUT, Saturday Night Live inspired me to address the stereotype directly to the show. So here goes.

My Dear SNL writers,

The Cougar Den & Cameron Diaz are hysterical.

You have inspired me to do kegels as I write this.

In fact, I am even thinking of turning my spare room into a cougar den thanks to you all.

I just wanted to point out that while you're dreaming up new cougar episodes, you might want to consider that cougars (even though I hate that word) come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. They don't all look like Cameron Diaz.

You might want to broaden your cougar casting options.

The bimbo thing is something you might want to look into, too.

Cougars, because they are older — as you so clearly “coif” them — lean more toward being professional and experienced. Most are not floozies (even though some neighbors might disagree). We're talkin’ educated, been-there-done-that women exploring new options.

What the hell, the dating pool is much shallower later in life and filled with many older men who are leaking testosterone in search of arm candy to validate their masculinity.

There are three guitars strewn around the living room. My band rehearsal ran late and I'm trying to adjust to life at warp speed, because in five minutes the kids will blast through the door.

I play in Housewives on Prozac with four other women. We're all at different stages of relationships, but I'm the only one who's single with four kids. 

Never mind that multi-tasking in my house means every pot in the kitchen is blackened on the bottom.

There's a dangerous pattern developing. Meals keep getting started and end up on fire. Dogs are left outside while the sun goes down. And I'm especially jammed when it comes to any kind of a personal life.

Summer was all about bliss. So this is a good time to ask, Where the heck is the sanity?

I admit it helps to burn off steam by turning things into loud songs. Housewives on Prozac has played PTA fundraisers and large-scale stadium gigs. We did the theme song for the Liberty Girls basketball team at Madison Square Garden.

We've been playing together for 10 years and find tremendous solace and humor in each other. I'm the lead singer, and do most of the song writing.  

Each of the girls brings something unique to the project musically speaking, but, even more, they have been my steadfast friends through all the ups and downs of parenthood, separation, and divorce.

Look at the music from 1997 to 1999, with songs like "BabySlave" and "Rich Man Blues." Then there was a progression in 2000 to "Chemotherapy" and "Two Little Pills." By 2002, we were cultivating our own little cult hits with things like "Eat Your Damn Spaghetti" and "Fuzzy Slippers," and two years ago it was "The Heart Wants What the Heart Wants" and "We're All a Little Crazy."

Obviously my "coolness" factor is on the upswing, as I was invited to the gala premiere movie screening of The Lifetime original movie Coco Chanel — hosted by Lifetime Television, Vidal Sassoon and The Hollywood Reporter Monday night.

I loved it! And highly recommend you tune in if you find your "cute divorced self" sitting on the couch this coming Saturday night.

Shirley MacLaine, who plays Coco in the later years of her life, was in person at the event, and was just fabulous. Barbara Bobulova, who played Coco as a younger woman was incredible.

Why is this all relevant to you?

Well, Coco Chanel's story is an incredible inspiration to any woman who has had to "make it on her own." She never married, and had regrets about that. She loved deeply, but suffered many instances of great loss. Her work became her drug of choice to cope.

Many of us know that drill.

According to Shirley MacLaine, Coco was a name borrowed from a dog in a bar. Coco's real name was Gabrielle, and her real last name was Chaznel. Coco's character had a couple of lines in the movie that really resonated; I typed the words I wanted to remember to tell you on the keypad of my silent iPhone, in the dark, during the movie without reading glasses.

When I checked back today to clarify the quote, it read "channel cinnabons."

I went to a barbecue at my boyfriend's mother's house last weekend. I had already met her a couple of times before, but this time, I was bringing my son. There was supposed to be a crowd of friends and family, along with his sister (whom I know and like), so I wasn't sweating it too much. 

I much prefer functions like those. Where you can sort of find one person to chat with and get lost in the shuffle. I like big families. Levi's family was way too small.

I was having a really fantastic time when I looked over and saw his mother holding a present wrapped in paper that said "Grandma" all over it. This woman doesn't have any grandchildren.

She saw me looking at her — and I'm sure I had that "What the %&^*" look on my face — so I blurted (who hasn't done that?), "Does that say 'Grandma' on it?" She nodded at me. Then her friend, who had given her the gift, jumped in and said, "Oh, anything for a laugh, you know?"

I was sitting there thinking — but this time not saying — no, I don't know. What the hell?

I feel like I've been dealing with this kind of bullshit forever now. When my boyfriend and I first met he was inundated with people telling him to "WATCH OUT" or, "She's on the lookout for a father for her child," etc. etc. etc. The implication made me so angry; as if I'm willing to allow just any man to be a father to my child. Give me a break.

Yes, I am a single mother, and I love my son, but he is not what defines me. I define me. My decisions define me, like the decision to keep my child. My intelligence defines me. 

OK — it's the dreaded last week of summer...and we all hang on to it like a dog to the pant leg of a postman. This might be a good thing since everyone I know has gained weight since it began.

What's up with that?

Bloated single moms everywhere are racing around getting their kids ready for school. Booting up for back to school is "tums"-ultuous when you're a single mom. It's a frenzy of exhausting checklists, kids need everything, and you are a human money pit.

Going away, if you can swing it or a few more rule-free days, is a good thing...staying home and puttering around is also a good thing.

There's nobody to do business with...or make an impression upon.

Nobody cares...well almost nobody.

If people owe you money, you cant get a hold of them.

If you owe people money, they're away and you buy a few days.

The mythical end of summer will confuse you next week because you pull back the curtain and it will still look and feel exactly like summer, only you are not supposed to be having fun anymore.

So — whatever is going on with you this week, make sure you try to maximize any and every last window of opportunity of guilt-free summer pleasure for yourself.

You know you deserve it, and goodness knows next week is going to feel a lot different...even if it looks the same.

Imagine? YOU could take The Gold every time!

Inspired by the Olympics and delusional that I somehow can still get my body to look like those women's volleyball contenders, I was thinking...

There are so many things a divorced gal becomes proficient at by necessity — by herself — that there should be some way to get credit for it. Just maybe there should be some kind of Divorced Women's Olympics.

There would be global contenders.

Here are some divisions in which any one of you could take a medal:

Grocery Power Lifting

The Financial Balance Beam

She-Man Provider Competition

Single Mom Relay

Solo Wrestling With Yourself

Set the Table Tennis

Laundry Volleyball

Extreme Soul Searching

My favorite? The Divorce Decathalon!

"Heptathlon" actually is the proper word for the female version of this track and field competition, made up of these seven events: 100 meter hurdles, high jump, shot put, 200 meter sprint, long jump, javelin throw, and the 800 meter run.

As we all know, this sounds like a typical day BEFORE lunch.

The final event would be the "Late Life Luge"...jump on, hang on, close your eyes, say a prayer, take the ride of your life and hope you make it to the finish line in one piece.

The last one might take some extra practice but since you've got nothing to lose — you might as well Go For The Gold!

In my ongoing quest to spend a month happily living solo, I decided to spring for some fresh, fanciful fare.

I've just finished reading French Women Don't Get Fat. It seems the French drink a lot of champagne and that, somehow, ingesting quality ingredients keeps their women from over eating.

I scored beautiful local goat cheese at the Hastings Farmers Market and picked up a lovely pink Brut for under $40.

I don't usually drink alcohol while I'm alone, but I'm in survival mode and the kids don't get back until after Labor Day.

Popping the cork and pouring the Brut into a pink marabou martini glass, purchased at the TJ Maxx bargain rack, life seems sort of okay for the moment.

This was not a reward for spending a month in isolation. I don't need a reward, because I know that a workshop or trip to the Omega Institute is coming up.

However, I'm convinced that every night I spend alone is going to help me be a stronger person.

Admittedly, as I'm having these thoughts, there is a strong craving for a Valium or something else that will make me feel numb.

I used to feel desperate if I didn't have a man in my life. I still feel desperate, but when I compare the relative peace of my little blue house in Hastings to my married life in the mansion, with my over-the-top, angry ex-spouse, I'm satisfied with my decision.

But when I think of the things I gave up to be a hermit, I want to cry. Family and friends from the last 20 years are gathering on Fire Island this month to swim, laugh, and sail together.

Flirting with single guys, and sometimes even the husbands of my friends, chatting with the hunky lifeguards, and making the rounds to Saltaire, Fair Harbor, and Kismet were all part of my married life.

Feeling popular, rich, and loved seemed ingredients for a perfect life. But they're not.