Every girl has a story about some other girl who stabbed her in the back and then made her feel like crap about it. I mean, unfortunately, it’s a fact of life. Women are mean to each other.

Now, obviously, this is messed up. Aren’t men mean enough? Why do we have to make each other miserable too? But the fact is, we do.

So how to deal with such underhandedness? Cry? Scream? Pee in her soup?

Nope! Take the high road and follow these easy tips for counteracting cattiness. Because, seriously? She’s SO not worth it.

Don’t Cry

This is usually the first instinct. In that stinging moment when you discover her betrayal, tears almost always seem inevitable.

But fight those motherf*ckers!! Tears make her happy and make you look upset. And that’s what you don’t want. Think about something really funny and bite the inside of your cheek. Do NOT let her see you cry.

Talk To Your Mother

Or your aunt or your grandma or your older sister or your cousin, or anyone who automatically has your back and won’t tell anyone. This is the place where you can cry. Get it all out here, because this is your last chance.

(And buy whoever this is dinner, because they deserve it for listening.)

Make a List

Write down the things that upset you about the situation. Then cross out all the things on your list that will actually hurt you in the long run. Chances are, you’ll find there aren’t any. And if there is one, think about how you can run damage control before it gets any worse.

Cut Contact

Don’t get revenge. It’ll only bite you in the butt in the long run.

Instead, think about ways you can avoid her. Of course, you should always be polite when you see her–but only polite, not friendly. She is obviously not worth the negative energy.

If she’s a close friend or someone who you have to work with or anything like that, you will need to talk to her. Explain to her why she hurt your feelings and see how she reacts. If she goes on the defensive or tries to act like a martyr, just say you understand and resolve to remain polite but distant. If, however, she is truly sorry, then perhaps you can live to friend another day.

Get Over It

Yeah, it seems impossible. But you gotta do it.

Let it go and feel the relief of knowing you took the high road. You are making the best decision for you by avoiding drama and handling her bitchiness as an adult. Let her next victim seek revenge (and end up regretting it)–you don’t need her validation to be who you are.

Congratulations. You’ve just conquered cattiness. And you didn’t even break a sweat.

[Image courtesy of www.stephenrahn.com. Doesn't it make fighting look oh-so-cute?]

5. A lost wallet and/or clutch. This is particularly disturbing because it is usually the first thing that hits you in the morning, well before you’ve had any time to nurse the hangover you earned. It feels very similar to being on a deserted island that smells strongly of vodka and lime. You are cell-less, cutting off contact with the outside world. With credit card whereabouts unknown and no proof of identity, you are left defenseless against fraud. If you are underage, there is the heavy burden of finding a new fake i.d. The brand new lip gloss and powder from MAC that you inevitably JUST bought are gone forever. Worst of all, your dear, loyal, and perfectly fashionable clutch will never be wedged into your armpit for pictures or table dancing ever again. R.I.P. Limited edition Coach Python and Boucle clutch. You will be missed.

4. The guy you went home with. Okay, last night this guy was h-o-t! He was witty and charming and so attentive to your needs; not once did he let you have an empty glass! Whether you met him at the pre-party, the bar, or on the way home (never a good sign), this dude – who seemed like a great idea at the time – is now nothing more than a big (or worse, tiny) mistake. Often, this error in judgment will use trickery and promises of rides on his family’s yacht to get you home with him, but come morning all he can offer is a ride home…if you’re lucky. High-tail it out of there and head to the nearest health clinic to make sure all he has given you is a bad memory.

3. Bar-Dancing Induced Injury. An injury caused in part by your favorite jam is highly unsettling; it feels like betrayal. Unfortunately, though, being hammered enough to hop on the bar and shake your shiz with the shot girls is begging for disaster. One minute you’re on top of the world (bartop) doing the drunk girl dance; the next, you are falling in slow motion into a sea of A/X clad gentlemen. While that group of guys was immobile for the last 5 minutes trying to look up your skirt, they have swiftly parted, allowing you to fall directly onto the floor. So much for chivalry. The only up-side to this drunk-tastrophe is when the bar staff take pity on you and set you with straight shots of Ketel One.

(Note: This mishap will always occur a day or two before a major event (like graduation) where you will then be forced to explain your injury to your grandparents.)

2. Hitchhiking. Only the biggest and baddest of theme parties (and the most alcoholic hunch punch) can inspire such stupidity. The problem with being both extremely intoxicated and too impatient to wait for a cab is that it often results in severe underestimation of distances, which can lead to the (incorrect) assumption that everywhere is within walking distance. While you saw nothing wrong with stumbling down a busy street’s sidewalk dressed in lingerie, angel wings and 4 inch pumps on a 38 degree evening, a kindhearted stranger did. He rolled down his window and had you at “Um, are you okay? Can I take you somewhere?” After hopping out of his car and wastedly thanking him (and God for letting you make it out alive), he sped off into the night with your angel wings.

1. Getting Arrested. While it seemed completely appropriate to hit on the hot young cop outside of the bar last night, this morning all that attraction has turned to regret. Despite his insistence that he was working, and that you should probably run along to the nearest Taco Bell and head home, you couldn’t resist to ask “Why, is there a plobrem occifer?” Cue his disgruntled and older partner to walk over, demand I.D. and arrests you for being drunk in public. Those hilarious comments about “ASS-aulting an officer” and your demands to have “Officer McChiseled-Abs” cuff you instead probably didn’t help your case, either. Use your one phone call wisely, because if you call your still-groggy girlfriends in the morning, they will most likely be laughing to0 hard to take you seriously.

I wasn’t planning to go to the prom. With no date and a recent heartbreak, what was the point? Instead, I was going to dress up and have dinner with some single friends. Except… at dinner, one of my friends and I decided that we kind of wanted to go to the prom after all.

The only problem was that it seemed impossible—you needed to have a ticket to get in, and tickets had been selling all week for $50/pair. Advance tickets were the only tickets, and you couldn’t buy them at the door.

My friend and I complained to each other about how $50/pair was an exorbitant price for prom tickets (something I still believe). “Screw that,” she said. “Let’s just sneak in.”

To put it mildly, I am a goody two-shoes, and that didn’t sound like the greatest idea ever to me. But I was so bitter from the recent breakup that she was able to convince me before too long.

We planned out some major stealth moves, but as it turned out, it was pretty easy to sneak into the prom. The door attendants weren’t even checking tickets, and we were already dressed up, so we were good to go. I was of such high morals, though, that I wouldn’t touch any of the fancy desserts there because I hadn’t actually paid for a ticket (even though they looked SO GOOD!). Instead, I strolled into the dance area.

Well, you can probably imagine what I saw there.

Even though Nicole and Eric were dancing a little too close to each other for comfort, they still both vehemently denied that they were seeing each other. All of my other friends denied it, too, and told me I was crazy for thinking so. Believing I was going insane, I couldn’t stand much more than a half-hour at the prom, and my friend and I left after just a little while.

Believe it or not, it wasn’t until two years later that my suspicions were finally confirmed. I was working with an old high school friend of mine who decided to start a conversation with me using the line, “Hey, you remember when Eric was going out with Nicole?”

She pretended to be shocked that I had never known during all that time.

I confronted my best friend about it (she and Eric had broken up about a year previous to when this happened), but she just acted like it was no big deal. “I don’t see why it bothers you,” she said.

For real?

I still consider her my best friend, but we’re really not as close as we used to be.

Moral of the story: trust your gut, and remember that your prom wasn’t the only one that sucked.

I was a late bloomer, and I didn’t have my first boyfriend until sophomore year of high school. Let’s call him Eric. Eric was a freshman when I was a sophomore, but we were in the same German class. After several weeks of elaborate and awkward courtship, Eric finally asked me to see a movie with him, and our relationship began. Neither one of us was the flaky type, so it lasted a pretty long time—almost two full years, until I was a senior. Until, to be precise, just a couple of months before my senior prom.

As you might imagine, I was crushed when he dumped me (over instant messenger—on the night before finals!). I’m ashamed to say that I walked around for weeks being weepy and really dramatic, but my friends were a great help, especially my best friend. Or so I thought, at first.

My best friend—let’s call her Nicole—did everything a best friend was supposed to do. She hugged me, she laughed with me, and she came over to my house for a sleepover with chocolate, Godiva ice cream, and Moulin Rouge. She told me I didn’t need a boyfriend and that Eric was a loser, and she was right.

A few weeks later, not too far before the prom, I called her one evening at around dinnertime. Her sister said she wasn’t home, but she’d call me back when she got home. After a few hours, I presumed she had forgotten to call back, and so I called again. Nope. She still wasn’t home. Weird, I thought. Eventually, at about 11 p.m., she did call back.

“Where were you all night?” I asked.

“Uh… nowhere,” she said.

“No, really,” I insisted. “Where were you for so long?”

“I was just out,” she said. “I went to McDonald’s with Eric, and we kind of got lost.”

I should have figured it out then, but I didn’t. Eric was friends with all of my friends, so it didn’t seem that odd to me that he had been out with Nicole, although it was a little strange that they had been out for so long. But thinking that my best friend was lying would be like betraying her, so I told myself it couldn’t be true that anything was going on. She wouldn’t lie to me like that.

Another couple of weeks later, right before the prom, I was out shopping with Nicole. She mentioned something about Eric that sounded suspiciously affectionate. I tried to convince myself that I was just imagining it, but it didn’t work that time. Instead, I blurted out, “Are you going out with Eric? Just tell me. Just tell me the truth.”

She looked injured. There was a short silence, then she said, “No! No!”

I believed her.

To be continued…