11/15/2010 05:24 pm ET | Updated May 25, 2011

How to Roundhouse Kick Grief in Its 5-Staged Face

1) Denial.
It isn't just a river in Egypt. Or a set up for crappy puns. It's happening. Breathe. You will be ok.

2) Anger.
My favorite stage of grief. Once you get here, have some fun. I suggest buying Alanis Morissette's multi-platinum album, Jagged Little Pill and blasting track 2, "You Oughta Know," until you lose your voice. You might hate Dave Coulier forever, but that is a risk most Americans are willing to take.

3) Bargaining.
This is also known as the Lloyd Dobler phase. Listen, we all want them back at some point, or at least want to return to a happier moment in time. But they don't make boomboxes anymore and you look like an asshole holding your iPod up in the air outside your ex's window playing "Baby Come Back." I'm told women forget the excruciating pain that is childbirth, which is why women often have more than one child. Well, guess what? Yeah, you see where I'm going with this. Remember the good times. Nothing is wrong with remembering the past. But that's exactly what it is. The past. The linear past. This isn't Lost. But, like Lost, whether you like it or not, it's over, and sometimes its best to just remember the good parts and forget the parts that make no sense.

4) Depression.
This is a scary one. But I have a solution.

Place cash, Identification, and taxi cab phone number in your pocket. Go to the sleaziest dive bar you can find. My philosophy on dive bars is that if you don't feel like you could get stabbed at any moment, well, you're not in a dive bar. Go to said dive bar and drink. Tell the bartender your whole story. Cry. Sob. Commiserate with fellow sufferers. Be "that guy" for a night. If you have done this correctly, then you will never ever want to do it again. And when you are depressed, you will think of Bruce, the nice gentleman at the bar who got stabbed with a flat-head screw driver in the cheek by his old lady when she found out he flushed the meth down the toilet when the FBI raided his crash pad. There, life is instantly less shitty.

This is the only time I will say this. In fact, I kind of can't believe I am saying it right now, but so it goes. Deep breath. Ok. Go shopping. Buy a dress. Get pretty. It's ladies night. Relive 6 seasons of Sex and the City and be "that girl." Your ex was Aiden, your Mr. Big awaits. I'm disgusted with myself for even knowing this. Now, I'm not suggesting you sleep with someone. However, it might have been a while (ever?) since you could be a Samantha instead of a Charlotte (when she was married to Trey). Live it up. Yell out of cabs. Be a "woo-hoo" girl for an evening. You deserve it. Be crazy. Hopefully you will wake up to either a young semi nude gentleman or a headache that would shame any member of The Rolling Stones. You will either feel great, and want to do it again, or be glad with your current situation. Ok, so I just made every woman on the planet sound like a lobotomized cartoon character. The point is to not do something extraordinary, but rather extra-ordinary. I found with all the turmoil that was happening in my life, I just wanted a little normalcy and to be around friends. Find something cathartic and fun that you probably don't get to do often, and just dance.

If this stage lasts, do something about it. Depression can be a scary, scary smoke monster.

5) Acceptance.
Sign the dotted line. You're free.