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I’ve always fancied myself a single gal.  I’m not a relationship person. I’ve had a series of one to two month relationships, in which I get bored, or am unable to make an attachment to the man and I simply move on.  Sure I’ve had “real” boyfriends, but without going into great detail IT NEVER WORKS OUT!

It’s entirely possible I have a distorted view of relationships.  My parents have been married for 33 years.  Are they happy?  I have no idea. I haven’t seen them kiss or hug one another in years. They’re most certainly happy enough.  But I don’t want happy enough.

And my friends?

My married girlfriends bitch about their husbands; my married male friends bitch about their wives.  I can’t think of one happily married couple.  I can think of plenty of semi-happily married couples. Is bitching about your partner part of a happy marriage?  I DON’T KNOW! See why my views on the institution of marriage are slightly dismal?

But then yesterday I saw something that shook me to the core.  I saw an elderly couple kissing one another at the bus stop.  The kiss itself wasn’t shocking.  It was quite possibly the sweetest thing I’ve ever witnessed.  I felt like I was intruding on a private moment and that I should look away.  But I didn’t.  I sat and stared.  The light turned green, but I didn’t drive away. The light turned yellow and still I didn’t move.  Multiple cars were honking at me, but I was frozen.  Frozen in someone else’s moment.  Finally they looked up to see what the commotion was.  At that point I regained composure and quickly drove away.

I thought I’d never say this, but I want that.  I want relationship longevity.  I want to still, at the ripe old age of ninety, love a man enough to kiss him in broad daylight on a busy downtown street, and not care about who is watching.

Fuck.

RLO met the new guy I’m dating last night.  The guy that I’ve promised not to liken to a troll doll on the Internet anymore.  Oops, I did it again.   OK, starting NOW I’m not going to liken him to a troll doll on this website.  That one doesn’t count.  Right?

Anyway.  The point.  I have one.

RLO and the non-troll doll guy met for the first time last night.  Today RLO mentioned that the new guy was cool.  RLO’s opinion means so much to me that I mentioned it to the new guy.

Him: “So RLO liked me, eh?”

Me: “He did.”

Him: “Is that just because he thinks that I’m easily manipulated and that I’ll be sharing his workload.  The workload being you of course.”

Me:  “I’m not work.  I’m a hobby.”

Him: “I like that.  You’re going to be my new favorite hobby.”

This is where the conversation should have ended, but nooooo.  He felt that it was important to share with me an imaginary conversation.

“So what do you do with your spare time?”
“Oh, I listen to music nobody’s ever heard of, work on my motorcycle, and a dabble a bit in Sarah?”
“Sarah? I could never figure that one out–too complicated.  Had to drop that hobby the moment I picked it up.”
“Yeah, I hear you. But it’s supposed to have its payoffs–I just haven’t figured them out yet…”

I laughed and decided to keep him. For now.  But the minute this turns sour I’m totally blaming RLO.

Michael from Calanan Photography asked me to participate in his photo series “This is Their Place.” Truthfully I think he wanted just Daisy Dog, but knew I’d have to drive her so he kindly included me. Daisy and I had a nice sit down and discussed our favorite bacon flavored products as well as where in SLC felt like our place. I wanted our place to be the inside of a Shiraz bottle, but realized it might be a tight fit so settled for Daisy’s favorite place: Liberty Park, specifically the pond there. You can see the photos and read my essay here.

I’m glad I took part, even if the jerk dragged me out of bed at 8:00 am ON A FUCKING SUNDAY MORNING! For any locals I suggest you sign up for his project. He’s a great photographer and even comes prepared with water for your dog, because sometimes ditzy dog owners I forget those important little things.

Thanks Michael! Don’t be surprised if those photos pop up on my blog about section in the near future.

I went to the Utah Arts Festival yesterday.  I had an amazing day and ran into some really cool people.  Unfortunately, today I feel absolutely crummy.  I can’t figure out if it’s the wine, being out in the heat all day, or possibly the fact the wine, too, was out in the heat all day.  Whatever the case, it’s safe to say my feet aren’t the only icky today.  And with that, I’m going back to bed.

While paying for a drink and gum at a gas station last night the woman in line behind me asked, “Does your rash hurt?”

“Um, it’s pretty itchy, but wine helps.”

Before she had a chance to respond the cashier motioned for me to pay for my purchase.  When I turned around she was gone.

I got home and studied myself in the mirror.  I was wearing a tank top, but the rash is limited to just my legs.  I looked at myself from every angle in the mirror and couldn’t see any spots of rash.  For the life of me I could not figure out how this woman had noticed my rash.

And then it hit me.

Not only did I write about the rash on the Internet, but I also posted a picture of my left ass cheek for all to see.

Great.  Just great.

And you know what else wine helps?  It helps me forget public humiliation–one glass at a time.

Monday was quite possibly the worst day I’ve had in months.  I think it was partly due to some lingering sadness over my favorite sister-in-law Holli being so visibly gone from our lives, and partly because sometimes life fucking sucks.

I know, I know… “Suck it up Sarah.”  But for once I don’t want to.  We all have those days, right?  RIGHT?

Rather than sucking it up I called a friend of mine who, despite the situation, always has the ability to cheer me up.

“I need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I hate my life.  Everything is wrong and I’m just tired of going at it alone every single day.”

“Specifics, Sarah, we can talk through this.”

“It’s dreadfully hot in my apartment, and suddenly I’m regretting my decision not to move in with my brother.  I have this stupid rash on my legs that not only won’t go away but also is making me so itchy I’m afraid I am going to scratch my skin off.  I had a bad day at work and wanted to walk out and never return.  I was well on my way to my math class and was in such a foul mood I knew I’d likely throw a book at the professor if he told me to plug and chug one more time, so I turned around and drove back home.  Once I got home I realized I was alone. Just like I am every single day of my life and for once I wasn’t OK with it.”

“Sarah, you’re beautiful, smart, clever, and the most comical woman I know.  Many people would love to have your life.”

“Well can you find one of those people and I’ll trade them?  Pick one who has AC, a dishwasher, a sexy husband who can cook, a pool, skinny thighs and a flat tummy.”

“Yeah, let me get right on that one.”

Cutting Daisy dog’s nails is a constant battle–one that I continually lose.

Last night, in a brave move, I picked up the nail clippers and called her name. She took one look at me and ran. By the time I put the clippers down she was long gone. My apartment isn’t very large so it should only take a few minutes to find her, NOT FORTY FIVE MINUTES! I looked in all her usual hiding spots but nothing.

Knowing there was no way she could get outside I decided to get some reading done and she’d surface soon enough. I sat down on the couch and went to grab my blanket to snuggle up and found this:

She looked so cute I not only skipped clipping her disgustingly long nails, but I let her have the blanket.

I don’t check my blog stats as often as I should. If I sit down and think about just how many people are reading about my vibrator I tend to panic.

Yesterday, in an effort to put off my math homework, I decided to look the blog stats up. Seeing how many of you are out there reading was amazing! I thank you, and my vibrator thanks you. My mom, however, does not thank you. I’m sure the thought of so many people reading about the time I got caught with my hand down my pants, or the time I managed to use the word fuck and Baby Jesus in the same post would give her further reason to hate technology. I can hear her now, “Sarah, those strangers are only encouraging your bad behavior. Don’t come crying to me when you end up chopped up in someone’s freezer somewhere.” My mom actually said that last part to me when she found out about my blog. I didn’t have the heart to tell her if I was chopped into pieces I probably wouldn’t be crying to anyone, because I WOULD BE DEAD!

I realized I have the best source of blog info at my hands. Who knows the Internet better than you people?

So here’s your chance to pimp your own blog. In the comment section I want anyone with a blog, or a favorite blog to leave a link and briefly tell us what your blog is about. My RSS feed could use a little revamp. Get busy. And when you’re done getting busy, come back and leave me some blog links. Not everyone around here (READ: ME!!) is getting a little something, something–which means I’ve got plenty of time for blog reading.

**Edit**Woohoo!  Look at all these links!  To make things easier I’ll post a list of all the links left in comments, so post your link by tomorrow.

To read this week’s column go here. One of these days I may even get around to posting the pictures with needles in my forehead. Just not today… I’m too busy being pissed off at the President for making me late to work. The war is one thing, but fucking up my commute? Now that’s something worthy of impeachment.

*Edit: for all those who have emailed me requesting the contact info for the Botox doctor I used here you go Center For Facial Appearances. Make sure you ask Dr. Anderson to tell you the stories about his travel abroad.  Trust me.