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My blog finally grew up a little bit. Calm down, that doesn’t mean I won’t talk about dog farts, dry humping and using as much profanity as possible. It just means this blog now has a PO box, which you can find on the contact page.

After getting my fair share of hate mail lately I decided if someone is going to take the time to write me a hate filled message the least they could do is buy a fucking stamp and mail it.  I’d really like a handwritten account of just how horrible I am.  It will come in handy each time my mother tires to remind me that she raised a sweet and caring daughter.  I can hand her the book and instantly prove her wrong.

While I was at the post office in line I saw a man that looked vaguely familiar, but couldn’t place him.  And then it hit me: if a man looks familiar chances of me making out with him at some point in my life is 100%. Not just any make-out session either, this particular time involved dry humping.  NOT BY MY CHOICE!  I was so disgusted that I had no choice but to block his name from my mind and forget about his very existence.

I walked out to my car without saying hello.  NOT because I’m rude, but because I knew I’d accidentally say “Happy Dry Humping” instead of “Happy Holidays.”  So really I”m pretty thoughtful.  Maybe there’s no need for handwritten hate mail after all!

Last night I was sorta sad, for obvious reasons.

I tried to find something to cheer me up, but since I’m off sugar I couldn’t cope with my usual vice of chocolate peanut butter ice cream. I’d also normally drink a bottle of wine, but I had to work today and Mondays are bad enough without a giant hangover.  Instead I tortured my pug.  WHAT? Isn’t that how all dog owners cope with sadness?

You could call the ASPCA, but I imagine they will just tell you that painting a dog’s nails purple isn’t torture… IT’S LOVE!

I’m a strong believer in it.

A couple of years ago I met and briefly dated an incredible man. Flyboy was a brilliant and very sexy F16 pilot for the United States Air Force.  Dating military men isn’t typically my thing, but he and I had an amazing connection. We dated for a couple of months and it was fantastic.

Enter ex-boyfriend.

Ex and I had dated on and off for a few years and had the most passionate relationship of my life.  He came back into my life and professed his love for me.

Enter motherfucking complications.

I chose the complications.  I had to.  There was too much history to ignore and I knew if I didn’t I’d always have to live with that regret.  And I had enough regrets in my life.  So many, in fact, I named them after The Seven Dwarfs in Snow White.

Things didn’t work out between us.  They never do.  And I had to live with that stupid regret of walking away from a good thing.  That regret is called Dopey.

Yeah, yeah… water under the bridge, right?

Wrong.

My recent dating escapade ended in similar terms.  This time someone walked away from me. This does not bode well, but I’m attempting compassion as I’ve been in such a situation. This doesn’t make it any easier, in fact, it makes things more difficult because not only do I have to cope with this loss, but the past feelings have surfaced as well.

Needless to say, dating sucks.  And just in time for the holidays–which is where I found my silver lining: one less present to buy.  I’ll take the money and buy Dopey a silly holiday sweater.  He deserves it.

Yesterday I was going through some of my favorite books to compile a reading list for a friend, when I found two notes from two different boyfriends in one book.

Leaving me to wonder if I’m a giant slut, or just a very slow reader.

“Sarah, what are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you scrunching down in your chair like that?”

“Well if you must know, I used to date that guy that just walked in and I don’t want him to see me.”

“You did not, liar.”

“I did.”

“No way.  That guy is old, fat and balding.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want him to see me.  I aged so much better than he did, I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“You really are a bitch, you know that right?”

“Yup, I know.”

Dear Google,

I’d like to thank you for reminding me what swimming sperm look like with today’s homepage image:

I admittedly have suffered a dating lull lately.  It’s good to know you’ll always be here for me to remind me of the good times when my bed was much, much busier.

Love,
Sarah

It is with medium sadness that I inform you of my once again single status.  Non-Troll Doll has gone back to the kingdom of trolls. Sure I’m sad, but at long last I can don my retro polka-dot heels again.  Oh, how I’ve missed those babies.

NTD is a fantastic guy, but we had one huge problem: he wanted the freedom to date me as well as other women.  Um, hell no!  I’ve been there and done that.  Here’s the thing… I am in my thirties, not my twenties, which, for me, means I’m not as willing to play the dating game anymore.  There’s just no way I’m going to put myself into a situation that will undoubtedly cause me a great amount of anxiety and stress.

Towards the end of our very short, two-month relationship, I found myself more interested in hanging out with my BFF RLO than Non-Troll Doll.  Internet read closely: this in no way means I’m going to be dating RLO. I read your comments and emails; I know your thoughts on the subject.  He’s hot I get it, but RLO is dating Jesus.  And while I can’t compete with Jesus, I bet I could drink him under the table.  Twice.

I think I may have inadvertently confused people last week by my relationships are a motherfucker post.

When I wrote the most significant relationship of my life, I was not referring to Non-Troll Doll. He and I have been dating almost two months. That is not enough time to make a significant relationship. Hell, we can barely tolerate one another yet.

I’m difficult to date. That’s no surprise, but he’s no piece of cake either. Though if he were a piece of cake he’s be chocolate, which is my favorite. Oh and he’d probably have raspberries on the side. Oh my god, NTD is the tastiest piece of cake ever.

I digress, but cake people, CAKE!

NTD is an amazing guy, he really is. He makes me smile, even when I’m pissed.  Plus he tolerates me, and he’s dreamy. Don’t believe me? Ask Bishop Deal. There’s one small thing though: he’s impossible. Seriously, impossible. He claims he’s a relationship person, but frankly I haven’t seen anything that would back up his claim. He doesn’t include me in his life.  It’s sort of weird, and a total red flag. For example, he never invites me to parties he attends, and for some reason that really bothers me. Not that I would go, but still an invite is always nice.

He says he really likes me, but frankly it doesn’t feel that way.  Which certainly doesn’t make me want to invest any real emotion. I think I’m officially in a dating rut. But truthfully there’s no one I’d rather be in a rut with right now than him, which makes it even worse.

Non-troll doll and I were eating a late dinner at Red Rock last night, when he asked the waiter, “Can you bring me a side of that garlic sauce?  I can’t remember what it’s called.”

“Aioli sauce?”

“Yes, that.  Thank you.”

The waiter leaves and Non-Troll, looking very concerned, said to me, “I’ll never be able to remember the name of that damn stuff.”

“It can’t be that difficult… just remember areola nipples.  I’m pretty sure you can remember that word.”

“So when I order nipple sauce you think they’ll know what I mean?”

“Definitely, but can you wait until after we break-up?”

“Of course darling.”

Sitting in the dark movie theater waiting for the movie to start Non-Troll’s phone rang.  It was on silent mode since we were in a theater, but it lit up and I could see someone was calling him.  ANNOYING!

“I hate your phone.”

“Really, why?”

“It’s always ringing.  But don’t feel special because I hate everyone’s phone.”

“I hope I’m never special.”

“Oh honey, you never will be.”

“Ahhh…”

At that point he leaned over and kissed me hard in the middle of the theater.  Any man who can find my abrupt Sarah-speak cute, is a man I plan on keeping around–at least throughout the remainder of the summer.