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Imaginary boyfriends are the most generous boyfriends of all.  My imaginary boyfriend knows exactly what to buy me for Christmas.  No silly gifts that I won’t use, or that are too generic.  He buys me the exact same things I would buy for myself.

Not only is my imaginary boyfriend generous, but also incredibly smart.  He crossed out the tags on the gifts from Kelli and wrote in his name.  GENIUS! I can’t help but love him more every day.

I love Christmas decorations especially the ones at the AK’s house. This year Little AK added a naked mermaid. Who doesn’t love a naked Christmas?  It gets a little chilly, sure, but just turn the heat up and enjoy.

My blog finally grew up a little bit. Calm down, that doesn’t mean I won’t talk about dog farts, dry humping and using as much profanity as possible. It just means this blog now has a PO box, which you can find on the contact page.

After getting my fair share of hate mail lately I decided if someone is going to take the time to write me a hate filled message the least they could do is buy a fucking stamp and mail it.  I’d really like a handwritten account of just how horrible I am.  It will come in handy each time my mother tires to remind me that she raised a sweet and caring daughter.  I can hand her the book and instantly prove her wrong.

While I was at the post office in line I saw a man that looked vaguely familiar, but couldn’t place him.  And then it hit me: if a man looks familiar chances of me making out with him at some point in my life is 100%. Not just any make-out session either, this particular time involved dry humping.  NOT BY MY CHOICE!  I was so disgusted that I had no choice but to block his name from my mind and forget about his very existence.

I walked out to my car without saying hello.  NOT because I’m rude, but because I knew I’d accidentally say “Happy Dry Humping” instead of “Happy Holidays.”  So really I”m pretty thoughtful.  Maybe there’s no need for handwritten hate mail after all!

This week’s “That’s What She Said.”   This is where I come up with some clever remark, but I’m far too busy nursing my twisted ankle.  Ladies, don’t wear high heels on a snow day.  Your excitement to wear your new shawl will be overshadowed by a swelling ankle.  Wear ugly, sensible shoes.  Trust me.

Also of note: I do know the difference between Jonathan and Jordan Knight.  When I saw the picture of the wrong Knight brother the paper ran alongside my column I cringed and hoped no one would notice their mistake.  After quite a few emails this morning I realize that lots of people know the difference between the two, which means I’m not the only NKOTB obsessed fan… I KNEW IT!!

Last Saturday was my office holiday party.  Since I didn’t have a date lined up RLO was kind enough to accompany me.  He immediately began to regret this decision once he saw his dinner place card:

I thought it was a clever little joke, but in hindsight I can see why people assumed we were married.  For example, while making small talk a co-worker’s husband asked us, “Do you guys have any kids?”  RLO quickly replied, “No, but we’re trying.”

Since the guy didn’t know RLO was kidding I cleared things up by explaining that RLO wasn’t my husband, or boyfriend, but just my very close friend.

Just when I finished explaining RLO muttered, “But that hasn’t stopped her from trying to steal my sperm.”

Um, awkward much?

The guy looked a little confused and I couldn’t really blame him.  I thought about explaining how I constantly beg RLO to be my marriage back-up plan.  Or how I asked RLO for a vial of frozen sperm as a birthday present, you know, just in case I decide I want a baby one of these days.

Instead, I let the conversation drop. It’s sort of uncomfortable discussing future sperm donors over dessert.  That’s more of an entrée conversation.

See this pissed off look?  It’s not because I put a coat on her.  It’s because I put a coat on her that doesn’t match her purple nails.  Seriously.  She’s very concerned with fashion.

And here? She’s just plotting my death. I can’t wait until tomorrow when I force her into the dog snow boots I found for her. Pug torture is seriously the best hobby ever!

Last night I was sorta sad, for obvious reasons.

I tried to find something to cheer me up, but since I’m off sugar I couldn’t cope with my usual vice of chocolate peanut butter ice cream. I’d also normally drink a bottle of wine, but I had to work today and Mondays are bad enough without a giant hangover.  Instead I tortured my pug.  WHAT? Isn’t that how all dog owners cope with sadness?

You could call the ASPCA, but I imagine they will just tell you that painting a dog’s nails purple isn’t torture… IT’S LOVE!

I’m a strong believer in it.

A couple of years ago I met and briefly dated an incredible man. Flyboy was a brilliant and very sexy F16 pilot for the United States Air Force.  Dating military men isn’t typically my thing, but he and I had an amazing connection. We dated for a couple of months and it was fantastic.

Enter ex-boyfriend.

Ex and I had dated on and off for a few years and had the most passionate relationship of my life.  He came back into my life and professed his love for me.

Enter motherfucking complications.

I chose the complications.  I had to.  There was too much history to ignore and I knew if I didn’t I’d always have to live with that regret.  And I had enough regrets in my life.  So many, in fact, I named them after The Seven Dwarfs in Snow White.

Things didn’t work out between us.  They never do.  And I had to live with that stupid regret of walking away from a good thing.  That regret is called Dopey.

Yeah, yeah… water under the bridge, right?

Wrong.

My recent dating escapade ended in similar terms.  This time someone walked away from me. This does not bode well, but I’m attempting compassion as I’ve been in such a situation. This doesn’t make it any easier, in fact, it makes things more difficult because not only do I have to cope with this loss, but the past feelings have surfaced as well.

Needless to say, dating sucks.  And just in time for the holidays–which is where I found my silver lining: one less present to buy.  I’ll take the money and buy Dopey a silly holiday sweater.  He deserves it.

Finally someone got my title correct: master.

My latest installment of “That’s What She Said.”

It’s posted a day late, sorry.  My cold medicine left me in such a daze yesterday I spent the entire day thinking it was only Wednesday.  Which was totally awesome when I woke up today and found that it was Friday.  Yay for skipping Thursdays!