Before I get drunk in my sweatpants, let’s reflect

I’ve been blogging a lot lately on only two topics - Vegas and Richard (that’s code, get it?), and I promise this is the last time. After this, I will not publish any more stories about my horrible journey here in Vegas, or about a cheating man that got off Scott-free, minus a little damage to his $200 pair of shoes, or his beloved Mario Andretti-signed garbage, or his iPhone. I promise not to flood my blog with anymore sad stories told with Leona Lewis tunes playing in the background. You hear them, don’t you? Besides, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas... and if he's smart, he won't show his face in Arizona. And I promise not to write on these topics because, after all, we all go through a bit of damaging, right? I'm no exception. A little bruising. Some scratches. Dents we don’t notice until you crank on the light and you realize motherfucker you hit me and you didn’t even leave a note of apology!? No more of these stories. I promise. (I think.)

But this last one is a must. I’ve done things this year that need reporting:

I moved. I explored a dream. I ate vodka-soaked gummi bears. I leaned on friends.  I became a grandmother. I ate vodka-soaked gummi bears. I Facebook stalked his women. I kicked my caffeine habit. I endured heartbreak. I revoked his privilege of knowing how I’m doing. I defined (and redefined) my standard of happiness. I was reminded of things I already knew, but apparently didn’t trust enough. I ate vodka-soaked gummi bears.

And I’ve learned things this year that need reporting:

No amount of crying or screaming will ever make you actually crumble. Screaming does make your windows rattle and your vocal chords bleed, and crying buckets does lead to a heavy aching of silence, but you do not crumble. Sometimes alcohol is the answer. So are endless miles of running, spray tans and Matlock. Call a spade, a spade. It’ll save you a lot of time. Do what you do best. Keep your standards. Don’t change for anyone. Don’t wear all the hats. Blog often. Delete friends. Have a tryst. Initiate. Spoon. Eat four desserts for lunch. Trust yourself. Meet someone new. Look for the story, wherever you are.

And I’ve lost things this year that need reporting:

My taste for gummi bears.

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I’m headed back to Arizona and my blogging will be better because I’m a (FILL IN THE BLANK) kind of person. A couple things are inevitable this year: 1) My stories will evolve, 2) I'll have new people to talk smack about, 3) The temperature will hit 120 at least once and I'll want to complain, and 4) I'll pick someone up at the airport, flash him, and I'll have to tell you all about it. I predict these inevitables. And I predict this will be the last time I get drunk in my sweatpants. (I think.)