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go here to read this week’s column, unless you’re my mother. then please direct your attention to your other children–the ones who don’t disappoint you online.

this week’s column can be found here. this particular one was very emotional for me to write. adding the picture of my dream ring nearly threw me into a prozac seeking fit. be gentle.

this week’s column was posted a day early, and can be read here. you knew i’d have something to say about a dead superhero, didn’t you…

I’ve been receiving quite a few emails lately asking for relationship advice. Those emails make me giggle because I’m in no way qualified to be offering advice. I’m 31 and still single. Obviously, I haven’t taken a magic relationship pill, nor can I help you find this magic pill. If you find a reputable dealer who sells them, by all means pick me up one or three—you’ll be rewarded handsomely.
While I am no substitute for the magic relationship pill, I can share my personal experiences on the topic.

The most recent advice seeking email was from a man asking if it were possible for people to remain close friends after a breakup. In my most recent attempt at trying to maintain a post relationship friendship, it didn’t work out as planned. Sure, if it was casual dating I expect a friendship to remain. But if there’s love and a possible future in the equation, forget it. I cannot go from trying on engagement rings at Tiffany’s to maintaining a casual friendship. I’m a passionate person and it doesn’t work that way for me.

I blame Jerry Seinfeld for creating a generation of people who think remaining close friends is a possibility. Remember, Jerry and Elaine are FICTIONAL! In my very non-TV life, this has never happened.

This email couldn’t have come at a better time. Recently a two-year friendship very dear to my heart ended. This is the nice way of saying the love of my life broke my heart (which is another story for another day). The point is we tried to remain friends after we broke up, but it’s impossible. There are too many hurt feelings and painful memories attached that prevented it from working. We tried, and failed miserably.

After spending a few days too sad to socialize, I decided the sulking had to end. It was getting me nowhere, and frankly not a healthy way to handle heartache. Sitting home alone eating massive amounts of junk food never solves anything, and it makes your jeans fit your ass a little more snugly than they should.

The next day with a renewed sense of self, I did what every self-help book ever written advises you not to do. I started through my Rolodex of ex-boyfriends.

With news coverage of last week’s death of comic book superhero Captain America, I thought I better check in with my very own Captain America. You never know, life often follows fiction and it’s always better to be safe than sorry. I learned he was not only safe and well, but also happy. This should not be a bad thing, right?

It’s not that I expected him to live a life of solitude after our breakup. I just imagined it would take some time for him to move on. Time spent creating a shrine to me. Or at least locked in a candle lit basement with The Cure’s Greatest Hits album on repeat. Really, I just wanted to know there were a few tears shed.

You might imagine my surprise to hear he has a new girlfriend. One who makes him blissfully happy. Hearing that an ex is happy isn’t exactly the easiest thing to hear. It’s not that I want him miserable, but hearing such joy in his voice isn’t exactly comforting. My smarter and more compassionate self, sucked it up and told him I was thrilled things were going so well for him. I felt like I was punched in the stomach by said superhero and tried my best not to throw up blood. Obviously, I’m bitter. In my rulebook, this is allowed.
I hung up after a promise to “get coffee” and “catch up soon”. This, of course, will never happen. I wish it were possible to remain friends with my last two boyfriends. It’s not easy losing a boyfriend and a best friend. In fact, it’s downright shitty.

go here to read my column for this week. it’s currently my only paying gig so enjoy!

i can’t decide whether to laugh at this, or be pissed. on second thought i think i’ll laugh it off, since i have enough these days to be pissed about.

as you can imagine things have been rather hectic in my world over the past couple of days. i want to thank everyone for their amazing support. the blog world, i’ve found, is a tight knit community who take care of their own. thank you for all the kind emails and posts. i’ve read them all and am very appreciative.

i forgot to post my column for this week, sorry! you can find it here, it’s a willie nelson tribute. to see photos of the concert go here.

while on the subject, i want to make sure everyone understands i’m not referring to IN utah this week or the SL tribune as my current employer. i write a weekly column for them, but am not a full-time employee on their staff. the magazine and their staff have been very supportive of my blog, in fact that’s how i came to write for them.

go here to read my party girl column!

i woke up this morning to an inbox full of emails asking how my valentine’s day date went last night. you can read all the details in my column next week, but i will tell you it was “super”! thanks to everyone for the great emails!

This last weekend brought the party circuit.  I was invited to three parties in one night.  I’m cute, young, and fit.  I could handle this.  Or so I thought…

Party 1

A friend recently remodeled his home and invited friends over for drinks, good jazz, and hors d’oeuvres.  I knew I was in trouble when I realized that besides the dogs and a few plants, I was the youngest living thing in the house.  When I was introduced to the host’s parents, I wondered how long it would take until I offended them.  I didn’t.  I was impressed with myself but also and the parents for not openly hating me.  They were obviously good people.

Party 2

A friend decided to host an anti-Valentines Day get-together.  It was a party I wasn’t about to miss this.  Upon first inspection it seemed like any normal social gathering.  Cute pink cookies and a chocolate fountain complete with mounds of dipping food.  After taking a closer look at the cookies, I noticed each had a saying.  Forget the I Love U sayings, these edibles were printed with the likes of MILF, Pink Taco, EZ and No Back Hair.  Brilliant and delicious–now this was a party made for me!  I ignored the blatant sexual innuendo and laid a couple pink taco cookies on my plate.  They may have been crude, but they had the word pink on them.  Plate full, I socialized my way to the group playing video games.  I’ve never been much of a gamer.  Little Sarah played Pac Man and Frogger on the family Atari, but, this party had a Wii and I needed to see what all the excitement was surrounding this little device.  One bowling game and I was hooked.  Not only am I a better bowler in animation, but also I didn’t once drop the ball.  I did, however, secure the controller to my wrist to prevent damaging the television and or myself.  I’m a downright klutz and not even a graceful one.  I also loved not having to wear the ugly community bowling shoes offered by Ritz Classic Bowling.  

I couldn’t help but think maybe there really was something worthwhile to this gaming lifestyle.  I could learn to become one with my inner geek without having to give up my pink shoes.  Unfortunately, that thought was quickly dismissed when two guys pulled out plastic guitars and started playing Guitar Hero.  I appreciate any chance to sing along with Warrant’s Cherry Pie.  The guys playing the game/plastic guitars had genuine skills.  Sadly, karaoke wasn’t a part of the game so my attention was quickly lost.  I watched my future as a geek strum away.

Party 3

My younger brother was having a party and wanted me to drop by.  I’ve known a couple of his friends for years, and it’s always nice to see them.  When I walked in I was instantly overwhelmed. Everyone looked exactly the same like they were in some sort of party uniform.  Damn near 80% of the guys there had short blonde hair, silver hoop earrings, dark jeans, and tight black shirt covering their muscular chests.  I suddenly felt like the old creepy sexual offender and had to look away.  When handed the obligatory plastic red cup of an unfamiliar substance I asked what it was.   One of the clones told me it was a “Hop, skip and run naked.”  After seeing it was mixed in a plastic bucket, I had instant flash backs of jungle juice in bathtubs, and politely declined.  With age brings neurosis.  I can’t drink something that is mixed in a bucket.  I faked a yawn and bailed 10 minutes later. 

After feeling too young, not geeky enough, and too old all in one night I decided it’s time to branch out and find a different party circuit.