To all acquaintance be as fraught...

Twenty thirteen came in and slid out like the nice, clean surface of a bar of soap with one painful dart jabbed in for good measure.

After Hanna moved out in late 2012, I, for the first time in my life, lived on my own. I was initially frightened at the prospect because having a roommate means having someone who is there to help in case you have one of those "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" moments. But it was... kinda nice. Sure, it was odd having the larger room empty and actually accessible for the first time since I've moved into my apartment. I can remember the times when my old amiga J-Co lived with me, and we'd have sleepovers and long weekends with friends aplenty. But with Hanna's departure, it became "the larger room" instead of "my roommate's room", and the potential for a future opium den-esque meets zen sanctuary began to germinate.

Then about March of 2013, I got a panicked text from Hanna stating that her roommate was moving in the boyfriend, and had asked Hanna to move out, and would it be okay if she moved back in with me. I chewed the idea around for a moment--Hanna was a dream to live with, barely around and nice as all get out. And her portion of he rent meant more moolah for me. So the deed was done, and she moved back in, and it's been just lovely.

In matters of the wallet, I had promised myself that I wouldn't make any other major purchases or take any big vacations until my credit cards were all paid off. After spilling a cocktail on my laptop and having to buy another in February, I was briefly set back, but rallied forth, and eventually succeeded. I then immediately went about a month later and applied for a few new cards.

Not always the best choice when it comes to your credit report, but hear me out.

With a higher income and good credit history, I got on board with credit cards that had higher credit limits, points and 0% introductory offers. Plans are already in place to pay them off before said 0% introductory offers expire, so go me with my bad financially sound self.

One night in July, I woke up from a nap, went to the kitchen to get myself a drink, came back into my room, and saw my beloved cat Sugar lying still on the floor, eyes glazed and tongue out. I had always known the day would come, but not so soon. She was about 8 1/2, and was a loving constant in my life. I had never felt grief like that before. A month or two later, I found a video I'd taken on my camera of her eating cat nip that I'd totally forgotten about. I still watch it from time to time.

About a week after Sugar died, I took a long, quiet walk to the SPCA to adopt another cat. Much as I loved my little Sugar Bunny, I wanted a different temperament, so I adopted one of the few male cats they had--the wily snowcat Shazaam. And it's official: we're in love.

To close out the year, I flew my mom and myself to Vegas to visit Petula, Jo and family. We haven't all been together in ages. I won big on the Willy Wonka machine the very first night, and verily lost it all on the second. Although my family is talkative as hell and I got a little stir-crazy on day two, it was nice to see them and nicer still to hit the reset button on my psyche. When I got back home, I appreciated the fuck out of my beautiful Frisco Disco.

New Year's resolutions are painfully trite--I'm adding an additional day at the gym each week and removing Thursday as a cocktail-eligible day in the hopes of curtailing the vodka gut. The flights are scheduled and the hotel is booked for a trip to Disneyworld in March with Lavern and Ashley. And last night's trip to the End Up broke my mysterious and misplaced year-plus long streak of having not gone out clubbing.

Good times... good times...