When I first began writing this column six months ago, I was a 21-year-old trying to find love. Needless to say, a lot has changed since then. My divorce has been finalized. I finally let go of Mr. Perfect-the man that haunted me since I was 15 and who, by the way, is back with the wanna-be-tattoo artist (and I couldn’t be happier for him, sans sarcasm). I’ve broken a couple hearts, and I’ve gotten my heart broken. And finally, after I stopped looking, love picked me (it’s about damn time, Cupid). For me, this column hasn’t been a soapbox to rant on. I don’t set out to make conservatives look the other way or to stir controversy when I say the word “sex,” and I don’t use it as revenge on all the men who have done me wrong in the past (because the truth is, they’re all good guys and it takes two for a relationship to fall apart).

The purpose of this column has been for me to share my experiences with others in hopes that somebody out there will get it, understand and relate. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can help those people handle similar problems in their relationships. If not, the best I can hope for is that I can let at least one person know that she (or he) isn’t alone, whether they’re battling things like heartbreak, lust or sexless relationships.

I’ve had people tell me how much they enjoy what I write-some of them being men who consider it a guilty pleasure (you’re secret is safe with me). But of course, there are many people who don’t like it, some who even find it offensive. And I completely respect those opinions. But at the end of the day, if every magazine, opinion column, TV show, book, movie or song out there was meant to please every person, men would love the Home Shopping Network just as much as women, and atheists would tune into the Catholic services on television despite their beliefs.

Face it-that isn’t how the world works.

I’ve done my best to write about what I know: love comes when you stop looking for it; sexless relationships that once strived on intimacy simply don’t work; Mr. Perfect is a figment of the imagination; and, believe it or not, many college students do have sex (you can choose to look the other way on this issue, but that only gives us more incentive to do it right under your nose).

But unfortunately, I need to spend a little less time talking about relationships and a little more time focusing on mine. Thus, this will be my last column. I tried to think up several brilliant ways to end this, but the only thing I can think of is to stick to my roots:

I still feel sex is an important part in a relationship. I’m not budging on this-it just is. And if you don’t know what I’m talking about or if you disagree with me, just wait. If one day you’re married and your spouse won’t touch you with a 10-foot pole, you’ll get it.

And no offense to the diamond industry, but shoes are still a girl’s best friend. Even when I’m broke as all hell, I still go to the mall and attempt to “window-shop.” Some people don’t realize just how daunting this task can be, when those of us born with the instinct to shop can only peer through stores via sheets of glass-the one thing keeping us from diving through and pouncing on the window mannequins in pursuit. Call me a female chauvinist, but if enjoying a day at the mall paints women in a bad light, I’m afraid many women out there are unaware of their bigotry.

And chardonnay will always be a woman’s drink-sweet and sexy like femininity. If this doesn’t tickle your fancy, I’m sure there’s something out there suited to your taste (this is South Louisiana for crying out loud-there’s an open bar at every event). Whatever your alcoholic preference, drink responsibly, and never sacrifice your poise for the poison (i.e. refrain from ending the night puking in your front yard-you’ll have a hard time explaining this to your parents later).

Every woman has her own vices. These just so happen to be mine, without which I wouldn’t be where I am now-completely and totally happy and in love.

Thus, I end this in saying that every woman should find what makes her happy, whether that be a guilty pleasure, a good man or a rousing book on a Friday night.

In the meantime, I’ll stick to what I know and love: sex, shoes and chardonnay.