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Dating men with kids is something I avoid. It’s not that I dislike kids, quite the opposite really. If the kid is clean I get attached relatively easily. Unless, of course, the kid wets the bed. I hate the smell of kid piss almost as much as cat piss.

Ew times ew.

Years ago I dated a man with two daughters and it almost killed me to walk away from them, but I had to. Their dad was a total douche. Somewhere out there, there’s still a pet goldfish in a freezer waiting for me to sew a burial dress, and I don’t even sew. I’m a horrible person, certainly, but at least I didn’t freeze a dead goldfish. Seriously… WHAT. A. DOUCHE.

After that relationship I swore off men with kids. It’s just too hard. I stuck by that rule until recently.

I’m 34-years-old and I live in Utah. It’s next to impossible to find someone without kids. In fact I think I’m the only person in the entire state that doesn’t have children. So I finally gave up and accepted the possibility of dating a family. GOD that sounds sooooo “Big Love.” For the record I am not into polygamy. Yet.

And then it happened.

I met someone great, and he has two medium sized girls. Shut-up, I’m not good with ages.

Or follow through, apparently.

I found this waiting for me at his house after I met the girls briefly:

Adorable right?

One issue… see that little part where it says to write back? I saw it. And then promptly forgot to write back. I’ve only just met them and I’m already failing. Maybe I should have a rule that I only date men who have pugs. That’s where I would shine.

“Sarah your hair is so curly today.”

“Yeah, I was going for a Molly Ringwald look with the hair and 80s style skirt.”

“But she has red hair.”

“Squint a little and pretend I do.”

“OK.”

“Did I pull if off? Do I look Molly?”

“Well, you mostly look like Sarah Nielson to me.”

Sometimes I forget that the only female fashion a nerd understands is Princes Leia.

Read this week’s column about how IN is trying to turn me into a hooker.  Sigh…

The one time I leave my computer unlocked and go to lunch, I find this on my calendar:

AND a screen saver that’s likely illegal in 45 states. I’ll spare you the visual.

These nerds have no idea who they are messing with. I’m so gonna take their Star Wars action figures out of the box and place them in non-missionary sexual positions. Oh, the horror…

I’m THIS close to punching myself in the face. Why? This and because I know what E3 Expo is.

Help.

As far as I’m concerned it’s my job, as an auntie, to lie and torture my niece and nephew. Lying is a wholesome family activity. What? It was either that or teaching them how to play beer pong.

A few months ago my niece, Hannah, asked me how old I was. I lied and said I was 21-years-old. I’d forgotten all about it until Hannah called me at work last Friday in a fit that her brother, Carter, told her I was really 35-years-old.

I don’t know why he’s out to get me. First he calls me a cougar and now this?

Hannah’s defense was that I never lie to her… um, yeah.

I calmed her down and explained to her that her brother was the big, fat liar and that I was, indeed, 21-years-old.

“But Aunt Sarah, you’re older than my daddy.”

“Sweetie it’s all about the emotional age. Your daddy is much, much older than I am. Don’t I look younger than your daddy?”

“Yes.”

Whew. It’s like she knew all future Christmas and birthday presents were riding on that one answer. Carter later decided I must be younger than his dad because I was much smaller.

I’m pretending he called me skinny.

P.S. I’m totally lying on the beer pong thing, by the way. I suck way too much at the game to attempt to teach anyone.

Last Friday as I left the office my favorite nerd asked me what I was doing over the weekend. “I’m cutting my hair off on Saturday and going to Pride Festival on Sunday.”

“Uh, why would you do that?”

“Do what? Drink wine coolers in public to support all things gay?”

“Not that, the hair part. You’re really cutting it off? I almost told you earlier how great it looked after our scooter ride. It really does flow nicely.”

“Thanks, but it’s fuzzy and I hate it so I’m cutting it off and giving it to the cancer kids.”

“Ohh, those poor little kids. Cancer is bad enough, why punish them with your hair?”

“What the hell? You just said how pretty it was. Can’t you see what a good thing I’m doing? I’m giving my beautiful, golden locks to kids who need hair.”

“Sarah, you just said you hated your hair!”

“Hated hair is better than no hair. Why do you ALWAYS have to ruin everything for me?”

As I made my dramatic exit I couldn’t help but wonder if I was, indeed, making a huge mistake. It’s silly, I know, but long hair makes me feel prettier and skinnier. Short hair, not so much. I ignored my fear and stuck with my plan.

My short hair has been surprisingly more work than before. Sure there’s less blow-drying time, but then I’m faced with trying to find clothes that match my new style. Boho country girl clothes don’t really work without the long waves. So for now I just wear jeans and wife-beaters.

Those cancer kids had better appreciate my hair, because when it grows back I’m keeping it.

This week’s “That’s What She Said” explains why I vote the way I do. I’m genuinely interested in how other people decided their party affiliation. What are you passionate about and why? SHARE PEOPLE, share.

Last night I did what all sisters do at some point: I looked through my brother’s wallet to make sure he had pictures of me.

Luckily he did, but I don’t hold the prominent place in his wallet. The only person allowed to rank above me in the wallet is my mother.

The picture wasn’t my mother.

It was Jesus.

JESUS! IN MY BROTHER’S WALLET!

I’ve always said Mormon Jesus is way hotter than any other Jesus. He’s tan, fit and incredibly healthy looking. It’s like he’s been playing tennis doubles, not dying on a cross. Jesus is dreamy, but he’s still not allowed to be more beloved than I am.

NO WAY.

He already has all the Catholics… does he really need my baby brother, too? Jesus isn’t perfect; he’s selfish.

He thinks just because he died for my brother’s sins means he gets top billing. It’s not like I wouldn’t die for my brother. Sure, there’d have to be a parade and a giant prize at the end, but I’d still do it. This selfless act deserves some recognition, right? RIGHT. I’m waiting until Chady-bear is asleep tonight and I’m stealing Jesus. That dude is going down. I’ll show him.

This week’s “That’s What She Said.” Someday I’ll stop having imaginary conversations with famous people. Today is not that day.