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I’ve always prided myself in being the type of person who doesn’t give a shit about what people think of me. Recently I discovered that’s not exactly true anymore.

Case in point: my relationship with FSB(f).

It didn’t work out. Obviously.

Something, something… I was too mean and he was too crazy.

I stopped blogging because during a very heated argument he told me everyone in his life hated me. Umm, and I was the mean one? All snarky comments aside, the old Sarah would’ve said, “Like I give a shit what your friends and family think. It’s only important what MY friends and family think and guess what? They love me, so suck it.”

Sadly, that’s not what happened.

Instead I took it insanely personally and stopped writing altogether. Why? He said his family had taken the time to try to get to know me by reading this blog. Without getting to know me, in person, they decided I was a horrible person who was mean to their son and hated Mormons. Sigh…

Instead of dealing with things, I just stopped writing. It didn’t seem worth the drama at the time and I was hurt.

Well, I’ve moved on and accepted that not everyone will like me and that’s fine. I know I’m better off without his nutty, Mormon family in my life. There’s only room for one nutty, Mormon family in my life and I’m much rather have that family be my family. They’re far superior and their nutty is the good kind of nutty.

What I’m trying to say is I’m back.

Last week I was worried about presenting a media plan to a client’s board of directors. I’ve never been good at presenting and tend to stress out way more than I need to.

The night before my meeting, I explained to FSB(f) everything that could go wrong and how I would ultimately fail, lose the client, let down my agency, get fired and end up living on the streets. He rolled his eyes, but patiently listened because that’s what good boyfriends do when they want you to put out.

The next day I found this note in my laptop bag:

I was so busy worrying about why he thought I would lick a note, that I didn’t have time to obsess over possible failure. Needless to say, the presentation went okay and he got some.

I love documentaries, but watching them comes at a price. I am naturally anxiety ridden, so when I’m given something valid to worry about I do. A lot.

Last week FSB(f) and I watched “Gasland” – a documentary about the hazards of drilling for natural gas. The movie was great, but all I could think about was that my tap water was contaminated with natural gas and would kill asshole puppy or worse my house would blow up.

I was busy planning a living will in my head when I heard FSB(f) fumbling around with something in the kitchen. I walked in and found him with a lighter heading towards my kitchen sink. Worried that the house would blow up I grabbed my phone to document our death. iPhones are pretty much the same thing as an airplane black box, right?

We lived, obviously, but my gas induced worries aren’t over. I made FSB(f) promise to check for gas in the water once a week and have added “find Hello Kitty water filter ASAP” to my shopping list.

Published for Now Salt Lake on August 18th 2011

My second camping trip with FSB(f) went swimmingly compared to the first trip. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but there’s no such thing as a perfect camping trip. Wait, I guess there could be a perfect camping trip … if George Clooney were in my sleeping bag or if there were a bar, Starbucks and hotel within 100 feet of our campsite.

I was far more prepared this time around, however I did neglect a few things:

• I forgot to bring food for breakfast. You know, the MOST important meal of the day. Oops. Luckily we were only 30 minutes from one of my favorite country diners, where we had coffee and breakfast.

• I should have packed extra water. I realized this when I found my brother brushing his teeth with beer — now that I think about it, this may actually have been his preference. After I dry heaved for a few minutes, I ran to brush my own teeth with the water I had hidden the night before.

• We bought new batteries for the portable iPod speakers, but didn’t pack extras. When the music died, not even the sound of chirping crickets could cover the mooing cows in the background.

Yes, as a matter of fact, we were sharing a campground with stray cattle. We arrived to find cows wandering through our campsite. Not sure what to do, I let Rosie Finlinson out of the Jeep. Pugs aren’t exactly herding dogs, but she got the job done.

Once the cows had been chased away, we started unpacking. My brother, Ben, and a few of his friends camped with us, which was great because they kept FSB(f) amused while I kept my dog from wandering off. It turns out that bitch of mine is more of a country dog than I ever expected. She guarded the food coolers from cows and kept other wildlife away, drank from the creek and entertained everyone with her antics.

Ben’s friends had most of the items I forgot: hand wipes, games, cups, etc. My mother was kind enough to make sure we were all fed. She sent us off with dutch oven dinners, chocolate cake and firewood. I suspect she’s spoiling FSB(f) in an attempt to keep him in my life, which is really quite thoughtful on her part. Parents would do practically anything to guarantee future grandchildren, a fact I plan to exploit in the future.

There must be a way to trick her into doing the post camping laundry, and delivering coffee and bagels to the campsite each morning. It’s not manipulation when it’s family!

*You can see additional photos here.

Published for Now Sale Lake on August 18th 2011

Last weekend was my first camping trip with FSB(f). We made a trip to the country where I’ve been camping since I was a kid. As we prepared to leave, I discovered we had very different ideas on how to camp. I’m a compulsive planner when it comes to weekend trips (and life for that matter). I create Google docs just to keep track of all items to be packed. I download directions and road trip music to my phone.

However, all planning skills are thrown out when it comes to trips to the country. Country life is simple; it’s the only place I can forget about organization and truly relax.

When FSB(f) came to pick me up he was amazed at my lack of planning. I looked at the items he had packed and was shocked at how well he planned, since he never does. Here’s what each of our bags contained.

FSB(f) • tent, tarp, sleeping bag, camping chairs, lantern, bug repellent coils, bug repellent spray, iPod and speakers, lighter, energy bars, water and beer.

Sarah • wine, yoga pants, a deck of playing cards and an issue of Newsweek.

“Sarah, where’s the rest of your stuff? Your sleeping bag, warm clothes, hiking shoes and, um, food…”

“Honey, we’ll pick up my sleeping bag at my mom’s house. You’re going to love it! It’s the same one I had in sixth grade for sleepovers. It’s a hot pink and made by my favorite ’80s brand ESPRIT. I’m only taking flip-flops and anything else I need I’ll grab at my mom’s house.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue the point with me.

We arrived at my parent’s house for supplies, where my mom made us sandwiches, gave us the necessary items to light a fire and sent us to meet my dad in the mountains where he had a trailer waiting for us.

As we drove up the dirt road to the campsite, FSB(f) commented that it was unlike any other camping grounds he’d been to. He’s never seen a campground with corrals for your horses and hitching posts at every campsite. I mocked his city boy demeanor the remainder of the trip — only stopping when he pointed out I have no room to talk since I didn’t bring my hiking shoes and therefore was stuck at the campsite all night.

It got worse. I was in charge of food and since my mom made me a PBJ I didn’t bother picking up marshmallows or hot dogs. Poor FSB(f) didn’t get to partake in any real camping activities. I usually camp with my brothers, who always bring the necessary items. Without them, I turned out to be a camping failure.

I felt so guilty about being such an awful camping girlfriend that I agreed to go camping again this weekend. This time I’ll bring the most important camping item: my brothers.

*See more pictures here.

Published for Now Salt Lake on July 26th 2011

I decided it was time to take the next step in my relationship with Fancy Shirt Boy(friend), which means taking him to the country for the first time. This includes meeting my parents and grandparents. Poor guy had no idea what he had agreed to. I’m 35 years old and single, so of course my family is going to approve of any man I bring home; it’s the bonding I worry about. The last thing I need is my family liking my boyfriend more than they like me.

Weighing all the options, I decided taking him home for the Fourth of July weekend would be the most enjoyable. After all, there’s nothing more American than a small town celebration. Whoever came up with the idiom “more American than apple pie” was obviously a city kid. Pff. I hyped up the trip with promises of camping with my brothers, floating down the river on tractor tire tubes, getting up early for the Fourth of July parade and finally ending the day with the demolition derby and firework show.

My perfect plan was foiled by my goddamn allergies. As it turns out I’m allergic to everything but red wine and sarcasm. Sure, I’ve always had allergies but this year has been especially miserable and I knew there was no way I could survive an entire weekend in the country. Instead, we opted for taking a day trip to the country. While he didn’t get to experience country kid camping, he was able to spend a fair amount of time in the desert when we got lost looking for my brother’s camping spot so we could ride four-wheelers. I don’t think he was much impressed with my country girl skills, but I immediately made up for my indiscretion by taking him to lunch at my favorite country caf? and shopping. We don’t have a Nordstrom or even a Target. We do, however, have a killer clothing selection at the IFA. FSB(f) picked up a killer pearl snap shirt and probably a strain of Bovine virus, or whatever infectious disease you can pick up from farm animals. I am, of course, immune to all country diseases. We followed up with a T-shirt purchase at the grocery store and flip-flops from the Phillips 66 station.

My parents seemed to approve, as did my grandparents. They all fired questions at him left and right and my beloved grandmother let him know just how special to her I was. I would have melted with happiness, had I not been texting my younger brother to let him know I really was the favorite grandchild just as I had suspected.

It was a perfect day. FSB(f) not only survived, but he also had a great time. Or at least he had the good sense to pretend he did.

*To see a few pictures from the trip go here.

I must have accidentally worn the Monday set of panties from my days of the week set… there’s no other explanation why today would feel like a dreaded Monday. It’s almost the weekend, and not just any weekend but a loooooong one. Without going into detail, know that today sucked.

And then suddenly it didn’t.

All it took was a 10 word message from FSB(f) to lift my mood.

“I would do anything for you to make you happy.”

Um, why didn’t any of you tell me that having a boyfriend could be so fantastic. If I weren’t so giddy right this now, I would fire every last one of you. Don’t worry, I’ll thank him for you.

This week’s “That’s What She Said” talks about reverting back to my single girl behavior…. and while I’m at it, go ahead and read last week’s column about summer concerts.

This week’s “That’s What She Said” talks about my trip to Southern Utah with the new boyfriend. You guys, we survive nearly rolling my Jeep AND managed to remain a couple!

You can see more pictures here.