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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.

To read my column about attending Utah’s Pride weekend go here. To see the pictures go here. A big thanks to AK who came WILLINGLY and photographed the event. He’s a good friend to have, unless he’s talking incessantly about biking then I’d trade him to someone for a slice of chocolate cake.

I saw this yesterday and it made my day! Thanks to Nina Garin at The San Diego Union-Tribune! Being called the Carrie Bradshaw with a foul mouth is possibly the best thing ever. And sooooo true.

Me: Why is there a bunch of bike blogs linking to me? Did you have something to do with this?

Rlo: It’s a grass roots movement. They all want their balls less than one layer away from you at all times.

Me: Um….

Rlo: They have a non-profit too, “Balls without Boundaries.” You should totally donate. It’s a worthy cause

Me: What are my donations used for?

Rlo: Half goes to designing more breathable pants and underwear. The other half goes towards developing more ball friendly razors.

Me: Hold please. I need to barf before we continue.

My new blog list may not be complete yet, but my life goal certainly is!

Finally I get a chance to see New Kids on the Block again. Milinda and I saw them play on BYU campus when we were in eighth grade. We’re going together again, and this time I’ve promised her I won’t wear a lime green stretchy outfit. Thankfully it is at a different venue this time around. I really don’t want us to get caught at BYU with a flask. I’m terrified of the Mormon police punishing me with a lifetime sentence of polygamy. Eek!

Thanks to everyone who left comments and a link on yesterday’s blog. For me, as a blogger, my favorite part of this site is reading your comments. I can’t wait to delve into all the blog links left. It’s a big list so give me a couple of days to read them all. I’ll get a list of all the links together and post it soon. I promise. But, in the meantime, I have to go put NKOTB’s new song “Summertime” on repeat. Not because I’m obsessed, but because it’s awesome.

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.

When I saw these sweats on a fashion blog I read, I just knew I had to have them. Finally something to make me feel like there’s a purpose behind the lull in my sex life!

Yeah, I’m not dating the younger guy anymore, but since we’re friends and he reads this blog that’s all I’m going to say. While I won’t write about it, I’m more than happy to explain through interruptive dance for those interested.

Back to the abstinence sweats…

I tried to get Rlo to drive me and Maddie to Kmart on Friday, but he was disgusted with me for even asking. Yet that didn’t stop him from calling the store two seconds later to see if they were still open. He claims the store phone number wasn’t on his speed dial, but really how else could he have called so quickly? His disgust with Kmart may have been a little more convincing had he not told me he was saving himself for Martha Stewart earlier that evening.

My parents are Mormon and don’t drink alcohol. I am not, and do. Usually this really doesn’t affect our relationship, beyond the occasional you’re going to hell lecture. I love my parents, I really do. I just don’t love their chosen religion. I love a good Shiraz way more than I love Baby Jesus. That being said…

Last night Ben and I were driving to meet our parents for dinner.

Me: “I had a long day and since I can’t go home and drink wine on my couch I’m ordering it with dinner. Consider yourself warned.”

Ben: “WHAT?? You can’t do that. Mom and Dad will freak out.”

Me: “Too bad. I specifically choose Red Butte Café so I could order a glass. Having one glass of wine may cast me into outer darkness, but the world will not end.”

Ben: “ I’m not letting you drag me into this. I will take you to the bar afterwards and get you as drunk as you want, just please do not order wine with dinner. Please?”

Me: “Fine. If it’s that important to you I won’t. But I’m ordering a dietfuckingcoke then.”

Ben: “How old are you?”

Me: “12.”

Ben: “OK, I can live with that. You’ll get a dirty look from mom, but there won’t be any yelling.”

Me: “I think saying fuck is a lot more offensive to her than ordering wine. I’m willing to bet you one bar tab on it. We’ll ask her when Dad goes to pay for dinner.”

We did and she was horrified that Ben even asked her. “You know how much I hate that word, Benjamin,” she hissed at him. And for once I came out looking like the good kid!  The good kid that’s getting shit-faced on Ben’s tab all weekend long.

Last weekend I received an email that shook me to the core. No, not freebie bacon enhanced vitamin water offers, BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE? I would bath in that stuff! It’s funny that for someone who dislikes meat so much (insert your own dirty joke) to love bacon. I pretend it’s made from soybeans–tasty pig-flavored soybeans.

But I digress.

The email was from Flyboy, or Captain America as Rlo nicknamed him. Remember the summer I spend dating him? Me too. Sigh…

I’ve questioned my decisions to break-up with him for two years now. And with just one email I got the closure I needed. Flyboy was deployed to Iraq. Suddenly the future I played out so many times in my head with him was shot down. Just like that.

Death frightens me. It’s just so… you know, final. I know myself well enough to know I’d be a mess the entire time if we had stayed together. A mess that even a good Shiraz and Xanax couldn’t fix. All this time I’ve hated myself for ending things, and now I’m selfishly happy that I did. I’m not strong enough to deal with the fear of someone I love dying, day in, and day out.

I wish him well, and if I knew his girlfriend’s address I’d send her a case of red wine and a bottle of Xanax. She’s going to need it.

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?

When I received this anonymous comment on my “Oh Snap“blog post:

Comment by Curry to a piss head–June 3, 2008 You are so full of this shit, this page makes my colon look like God’s bathroom floor.

I just knew I had to have a colon masthead. I thought about asking my dad for pics from his colonoscopy, but in the end decided against it. It’s bad enough I write the fuck word repeatedly on the Internet, posting pictures of the inside of his colon would be the ultimate betrayal in his book. And frankly, I can’t risk being written out of the will. I’m banking on that cash.

My friend Aimee designed the masthead for me in a matter of seconds. She is seriously amazing, and I’m not just saying that because of that one time she asked me to hump Ben Fold’s leg for her.

Thanks Aimee!