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Dating men with kids is something I avoid. It’s not that I dislike kids, quite the opposite really. If the kid is clean I get attached relatively easily. Unless, of course, the kid wets the bed. I hate the smell of kid piss almost as much as cat piss.

Ew times ew.

Years ago I dated a man with two daughters and it almost killed me to walk away from them, but I had to. Their dad was a total douche. Somewhere out there, there’s still a pet goldfish in a freezer waiting for me to sew a burial dress, and I don’t even sew. I’m a horrible person, certainly, but at least I didn’t freeze a dead goldfish. Seriously… WHAT. A. DOUCHE.

After that relationship I swore off men with kids. It’s just too hard. I stuck by that rule until recently.

I’m 34-years-old and I live in Utah. It’s next to impossible to find someone without kids. In fact I think I’m the only person in the entire state that doesn’t have children. So I finally gave up and accepted the possibility of dating a family. GOD that sounds sooooo “Big Love.” For the record I am not into polygamy. Yet.

And then it happened.

I met someone great, and he has two medium sized girls. Shut-up, I’m not good with ages.

Or follow through, apparently.

I found this waiting for me at his house after I met the girls briefly:

Adorable right?

One issue… see that little part where it says to write back? I saw it. And then promptly forgot to write back. I’ve only just met them and I’m already failing. Maybe I should have a rule that I only date men who have pugs. That’s where I would shine.

Read this week’s column about how IN is trying to turn me into a hooker.  Sigh…

“You know how I’m obsessed with making lists and Google docs?”

“Yeah, Sarah, I know.”

“Well, I created a Google doc for all of your good and bad qualities.”

“You did? I want to read it.”

“No. What if it hurts your feelings?”

“Sarah, it won’t. I promise.”

“Oh riiiight, because you don’t have any feelings… that’s already on the list.”

Remaining friends with someone you dated seriously is the worst idea ever. If you dated casually I’m sure it’s a different story. I wish that were my story.

It’s not.

I met—what I thought—was the perfect guy when I was 29-years-old. I had visions of a beautiful wedding at the city library, followed by a perfect life.

Only the perfect guy didn’t turn out to be so perfect. He had issues. His issues turned into my issues. In spite of all the drama we remained friends when we broke up. Best friends. It wasn’t easy. In fact I worked my ass off to keep this friendship.

So did he.

Five years later I’ve discovered all that hard work was a waste.

This entire predicament is Jerry Seinfeld’s fault.

Seriously.

The friendship between Jerry and Elaine led us to believe that remaining friends after dating, not only works, but also works well.

Jerry Seinfeld is a lying fuckwad. He owes me an apology, five years of my life and a house.

Why a house, you ask? Um, because I’m the idiot girl who moves into her ex-boyfriend’s house.

I know, I know… I deserve to be punched the face. Pay attention to this next part: when someone you used to sleep with offers you a great deal on a rental property JUST SAY NO. Nancy Reagan would.

Even if it’s the perfect house for you.

With the perfect yard for a dog.

And the perfect dog door.

I have been living in this perfect little house for the last six months. Everything was smooth sailing, until that friend found himself with a serious girlfriend. I’m happy for him, I really, really am. That’s not the issue. The issue is that there’s suddenly another person in this little equation. Our friendship has suffered drastically. Without the friendship, I end up looking like the crazy ex-girlfriend who can’t let go and remains connected to him by living in his house.

Awesome.

Only it’s not.

I hate being pitied, and I’ve let myself become that ex-girlfriend we all pity.

I have no idea what to do, other than cry and hate myself for getting into this situation.

Hating myself is so time consuming. I think that time would be better spent deciding what’s more important: a perfect place for Daisy and me to live or self respect.

Read this week’s “That’s What She Said” for probably way more info than you want about my dating life and over obsessive mind.

I’d love to hear where others are meeting people to date. Unless it’s a truck stop bathroom, because I grew up in the country I’ve so been there and done that. I want NEW IDEAS!

I think I might be an emotional loner. I like people well enough and I enjoy spending time with my friends, but I have the hardest time letting new people in. This does not bode well for any new relationships.

When someone tries to get close to me I’m extra abrasive, overly critical and sarcastic. There’s only so far pretty hair can get you in a relationship.

I wouldn’t date me.

I wouldn’t encourage my male friends or brothers to date anyone remotely like me.

So what makes me think I will find someone who WANTS to date me?

Heavy stuff for a Tuesday morning, I know. If you want some lighter reading go read my guest post for Libby Logic.

A few weeks ago I wrote about how much I missed my Magic Date Ball, and because I have the best readers in the world this magically showed up in the mail today:

I immediately tested the ball out with a dating question. The answer was a very exciting, and a very glittery “Absolutely!” You’re going to have to figure out the question on your own though. I can’t be expected to do all the work around here.

Plus it’s embarrassing as hell.

And sweaty.

I just gave it away didn’t I?

Thanks again Jogurl. You’re the best!

This week’s “That’s What She Said” is all about my inability to figure out dating equations. You guys, math is HARD! I’m suddenly wishing I’d paid a little more attention in College Algebra. You can download the PDF here.

I’m the type of person that loves a routine. Every day when I get home I immediately ditch whatever I’m wearing and put on a white tank top and a pair of comfortable boxers that were left at my house years ago by an old boyfriend.

I’m like the white trash Mr. Rogers, but with a vagina.

Lately there’s a problem with this routine: the boxer shorts have been worn so much they are starting to fall apart. I desperately need a new pair. I’d go buy new boxers, but they are only comfortable to me after they’ve been worn a while. I can’t steal a pair from just anyone. Boxers rub on someone’s junk all day, and I’m VERY picky about whose junk I allow in my life.

The only option is to get a new boyfriend. This new boyfriend needs to have excellent taste in underwear because at the end of the day I’m going to be the one wearing them. Is that something I can add to my Match.com profile?

If you’re single it’s entirely possible you’ve had a defining moment where you realize why you’re single. I have them often. Including last night when I realized that wearing winter appropriate shoes really shouldn’t include wearing Hello Kitty fuzzy, pink socks.

I’m embarrassed to know me, so I imagine most men would feel the same way. And if that doesn’t scare away any potential suitors I imagine the fact that I’m discussing my ticking biological clock online will.