That’s What She Said… About Time on the River
This week’s “That’s What She Said” is all about floating the river. I’m addicted. The only issue is it’s impossible to get a good tan.
That’s What She Said… About Dating and Garden Wiener
Read this week’s “That’s What She Said” to hear about my current dating adventures. I skipped posting last week’s column because I’m lazy and also because I was off having aforementioned dating adventures. You can catch up here, though fair warning: it’s boring.
Dating failure is not an option. It’s expected.
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.
That’s What She Said… About Hooking
Read this week’s column about how IN is trying to turn me into a hooker. Sigh…
The men who date me really deserve a Medal of Honor, because dating me is exactly like serving our country, only the survival rate is much lower.
“You know how I’m obsessed with making lists and Google docs?”
“Yeah, Sarah, I know.”
“Well, I created a Google doc for all of your good and bad qualities.”
“You did? I want to read it.”
“No. What if it hurts your feelings?”
“Sarah, it won’t. I promise.”
“Oh riiiight, because you don’t have any feelings… that’s already on the list.”
Jerry Seinfeld is to Relationships as Satan is to Religion
Remaining friends with someone you dated seriously is the worst idea ever. If you dated casually I’m sure it’s a different story. I wish that were my story.
It’s not.
I met—what I thought—was the perfect guy when I was 29-years-old. I had visions of a beautiful wedding at the city library, followed by a perfect life.
Only the perfect guy didn’t turn out to be so perfect. He had issues. His issues turned into my issues. In spite of all the drama we remained friends when we broke up. Best friends. It wasn’t easy. In fact I worked my ass off to keep this friendship.
So did he.
Five years later I’ve discovered all that hard work was a waste.
This entire predicament is Jerry Seinfeld’s fault.
Seriously.
The friendship between Jerry and Elaine led us to believe that remaining friends after dating, not only works, but also works well.
Jerry Seinfeld is a lying fuckwad. He owes me an apology, five years of my life and a house.
Why a house, you ask? Um, because I’m the idiot girl who moves into her ex-boyfriend’s house.
I know, I know… I deserve to be punched the face. Pay attention to this next part: when someone you used to sleep with offers you a great deal on a rental property JUST SAY NO. Nancy Reagan would.
Even if it’s the perfect house for you.
With the perfect yard for a dog.
And the perfect dog door.
I have been living in this perfect little house for the last six months. Everything was smooth sailing, until that friend found himself with a serious girlfriend. I’m happy for him, I really, really am. That’s not the issue. The issue is that there’s suddenly another person in this little equation. Our friendship has suffered drastically. Without the friendship, I end up looking like the crazy ex-girlfriend who can’t let go and remains connected to him by living in his house.
Awesome.
Only it’s not.
I hate being pitied, and I’ve let myself become that ex-girlfriend we all pity.
I have no idea what to do, other than cry and hate myself for getting into this situation.
Hating myself is so time consuming. I think that time would be better spent deciding what’s more important: a perfect place for Daisy and me to live or self respect.