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This week’s “That’s What She Said” talks about the movie “My Sister’s Keeper” and friends who cry… A LOT!

You can read this week’s “That’s What She Said” online here. You can download the PDF version here.

Yesterday RLO and I got in touch with our inner teen and joined Kelli for a showing of “Twilight.” I’m not above seeing a cheesy vampire love flick–ESPECIALLY when I am able to talk RLO into going.  Which, oddly enough, was quite simple to do. I’m sure it has something to do with the fact he’s been reading the book series.

That’s the only explanation for his complete emotional melt down during the movie. Throughout the movie RLO would lean in close to me and ask me to hold him.  Each time Kelli would glare and us and whisper, “I hate you both!”

We thought we were quite clever.  She did not.  I’d feel bad for ruining the movie for her but I was too busy feeling bad for myself that I got stuck sitting in front of complete movie assholes.

Movie assholes are the worst.  Is it really that difficult to keep your feet from kicking the seat in front of you repeatedly?  Guess so.  Instead of turning around and kindly asking them to stop I chose to pout.  When RLO left the movie for a quick trip to the bathroom he turned to me and said, “Sarah can you please not get into a fight while I’m gone?”

I nodded my head.  He should know by now I’m not about to talk shit on someone until I have someone else to save my ass.  Sure I had Kelli there, but she was too busy making weird moaning noises each time Edward Cullen came on screen.

I survived the movie.  My pride, however, did not.

Last night RLO and I went to dinner and then to see Hamlet 2.  When we got to the theater there was a long line of people filing into Man on Wire.  I’m extremely lucky he still went to the movie I wanted to see, because he’s been wanting to see the other movie since I failed to get tickets for it at last year’s Sundance Film Festival.

I think it’s safe to say he enjoyed the movie, because not once on the way home did he ask me to stop singing the lyrics to “Rock Me Sexy Jesus” at the top of my lungs.  I’m sure he’s hoping I will replace my Baby Jesus obsession with Sexy Jesus, to which I say there’s never enough Jesus–proving I have the ability to obsess over both.

Although he did ask about the guest blog post.  In fact, now that I think about it that could have been his polite way of shutting me the fuck up.

RLO: “Any ideas who this guys is?”

Sarah: “My readers think you’re Trollpop.  A few emailed me about it, and a couple left comments about it.”

RLO: “I’m very disappointed in the Internet right now.”

Sarah: ” I know, but they don’t understand you’re way too lazy to start a blog.  I couldn’t even get you to post to the Twitter account I made you.”

I wanted to be reminded of the insanity a lifetime of loneliness can cause, so RLO and I went to see Harold and Maude play at the Gallivan Center last night, as part of the Sundance Outdoor Film Festival.

Seeing one of my favorite cult classic movies play outdoors on 35 mm film is the perfect way to spend a summer evening.  RLO, however, would disagree.  Which may have something to do with the older woman next to him farting very loudly.  He sure can’t seem to escape gassy people and gassy dogs lately.

We took the scooter so I could practice driving with a passenger.  I’ve mastered riding alone, but have a little trouble still with someone on the back.  Usually I just make RLO drive me around town, but he’s finally decided it’s time I learn.  Really I think he’s just lazy—add that to the list of reasons to hate him.

On the drive back from the movie RLO said, “I’m riding bitch on a pink scooter, holding a pink blanket.  Now all I need is a box of tampons and I’ll be the textbook definition of neutered.”

I laughed, but had to stop and think, which looks worse: RLO riding bitch on a pink scooter, or RLO driving a pink scooter.

Internet, what do you think?!

I had a date Saturday night.  Rather than be creative or at all interesting, we opted for a movie at my place.  I’m quickly realizing the only good taste non-troll doll has is in women, because this is the second worst movie I’ve seen in the past month.  The other god awful movie was also his pick.

I’m not kidding, this movie was so boring I pulled out my iPhone and read the newspaper while he continued to watch.  I continued to refill my wine glass, and even that didn’t make the movie better.  I whined enough that he finally turned the movie off, gave me a kiss and went home.

The next morning I stumbled into the kitchen for coffee and vitamins–the breakfast of champions, yo!  While I waited for the coffee to brew I grabbed a handful of vitamins and reached for an orange vitamin drink that had been left on my counter. I tossed the pills into my mouth and took a giant swig of the orange drink.

Something didn’t taste right.  In fact it was downright disgusting. I spit the drink and pill concoction into the sink.  Still gagging over the taste, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and picked up the drink for a closer inspection.  I’d somehow forgotten he’d mixed a few shots of vodka into the drink.  Warm vodka is one of the least pleasant things to experience on a Sunday morning.  Well that, and church.

To read this week’s column click here.

I’d attempt to write something clever but, I’m very busy trying to find cheerful music to cover the sounds of rain outside. So far Magnetic Fields is only further depressing me. Any cheerful music suggestions?

Sundance rocked my world last night. Unfortunately, not in a good way.

I went to the SLC screening of Henry Poole is Here, thanks to The Yuppie, who at the last minute he was unable to attend. In an attempt to stick to my Sundance theme I took another ex. Little did I know the Gods of Sundance already had that covered. Sitting down I saw a man I dated years ago who I had very much cared for.

In one room I had two men who not only broke my heart, but stomped a version of the Cha-cha-cha on it. Well, if either of them could dance. Which they can’t.

Despite too many memories in one room without the coping help of an IV drip of vodka, I was able to concentrate on Luke Wilson’s hotness. Which in a way, was a small triumph for me. The unexpected ex was an undying fan of all things Wilson.

During the closing credits I planned my exit strategy. Typically, I don’t mind running into men I once dated, but the thought of these two particular men meeting made my skin crawl.

Tonight is the final night I’ll be attending films, and as much as I have enjoyed seeing fims I’ll be thrilled for the festival to end. My heart and I need some time alone. With, of course, above mentioned vodka.

Click to read the newest column of “The Dating Years.”

Sundance, blah, blah blah… By now, I’m sure most local residents are exhausted of hearing about this year’s Sundance Film Festival. First, it takes over our local news and radio and now, sadly, my column. Too damn bad. I’m writing about it anyway.

I’m an avid film buff and have been attending the festival for years. Every year there seems to be an underlying theme to the festival. This year, in my opinion, the theme is relationships past. This theme was pervasive in a screening I attended, A Complete History of my Sexual Failures. Maybe the theme could also be found in another film I attended, Megane. However, I wouldn’t know since it was in Japanese and the man in front of me had such big hair I couldn’t see the subtitles very well. Out of complete boredom I created my own story line, one that didn’t exactly fit under my proposed Sundance theme.

A Complete History of my Sexual Failures chronicles one man’s journey to interview all the women who have dumped him over the years and through the cathartic process receive some sort of closure. This was done in hopes of curing his erectile dysfunction. Yes, erectile dysfunction. I’ve always hoped this wouldn’t pop up into one of my columns, but here it is. At least it has nothing to do with me!

The movie is British and by default brilliant. The man in the film, Chris Waitt, not only found the closure he and his penis so desperately needed, but somehow managed to gain a girlfriend in the process. The girlfriend attended the screening with him and took part in the Question and Answer period following the film. I had to admire a woman who didn’t seem to mind her boyfriend sharing the intimidate details of his sex life with the world, but at the same time was thrilled not to be in her position. Of course the fact Waitt doesn’t brush his hair throughout the entire movie didn’t exactly make him prime datable material for me.

There seems to be a lot of past relationships and self-analysis going on lately–first High Fidelity, then Scott Baio is 45 and Single, and now this movie. I find the idea intriguing. Luckily I don’t have to go off in search of all the men I used to date; three of them happen to be attending movies with me this year. In all fairness I guess only two were real relationships. The other was just a guy who offered a pretty mouth to stick my tongue in.

Okay so the easy part of this catharsis is done: finding my exes. Now what? Do I ask them where I went wrong? Do I ask them to list some of my fault in hope or correcting them? Or do I just ask why the hell our relationship didn’t work out? As I sat and pondered this, I wondered if perhaps asking all these questions would cause more damage than actual help. After all, I’ve been fortunate enough to remain friends with these men. Do I really want to discuss our history and risk the offhand that talking about the past will bring negative emotions to the surface? I’ve worked really hard to make these friendships work, the last thing I need to do is sabotage them because of some silly thought brought up by a Sundance movie.

Besides, do I really want to know what’s wrong with me? Logically at that point I probably should do something about it. And frankly therapy really isn’t in my budget right now. Maybe next year…

My first Sundance movie is tonight. Let the festival begin!

I just hope Arlo doesn’t let me fall if/when I slip on the ice this year. Last year when it happened I was nice about it. This year that won’t be happening.

I’ll punch him.

Hard.