The one with the guest blogger therapy sesh

The one with the guest blogger therapy sesh

I’m 99% sure the entire purpose of this blog is to save myself money on therapy, so I’m happy to let other people use it for the exact same purpose, ESPECIALLY when those people know what it feels like trying to navigate the single life in a town so small it’s suffocating. So…without further adeiu, here’s a guest blogger therapy session.

“Take a breath. I’m going to tell you something that will change the rest of your life.” Those are some powerful words right there. What in the world could it be?! “I have a guy I want to you to talk to. He’s your future husband, I just know it!” Uuugghhh…. Someone has once again found my future husband.  How many future husbands does that make now? 

I can’t tell you how many times I have been involved in similar conversations. Many people have told me they have the perfect guy for me. But I have yet to have an actual conversation with any of these perfect guys. I always say to go for it and tell my friends to give them my number. What’s the worst that could happen? I get to have a conversation and get to know someone. I’m always down for that. You want to know what actually happens? Nothing. Nothing ever comes of it. 

After a few weeks, I meet back up with my friend and I can guarantee one of the first things out of their mouth is asking how its going with Mr. Future Husband. Then I get to explain why nothing has happened. And answer the plethora of questions that follow. Just yesterday I was told that it is my responsibility, since I will be out of town for several events, to contact Mr. Future Husband and let him know, just in case he was wanting to take me out. Excuse me? There’s been no contact yet. He’s not breaking down my door to ask me out. At the end of the conversation, no matter how well intentioned it is, I leave feeling like there’s something wrong with me. Because it’s always my fault as to why Mr. Future Husband hasn’t contacted me.

I’ve decided, I’m going to start turning it on the people who try to set me up. Did YOU give them my number? Oh, you told them I was neurotic, didn’t you? (Yes, that actually happened.) Are you sure he’s single?  What’s wrong with him? Why hasn’t he texted me? Facebook messaged me? Snapchatted me? Slid in to my Instagram DMs?

I don’t mind being set up. I really don’t. In fact, I’m always up for it. In this small town, it’s tough meeting new guys. But it’s always a bit of a let down to be told it’s my future husband or the perfect guy for me. When that phrase is uttered at the very beginning, I can almost guarantee that I’ll hear the crickets chirping.

***Note from the editor: I’m pretty sure NONE of these dudes have been the right ones for her anyway, because I’m fairly certain that behind the scenes it went something like “Who do I know who is STILL single? Ooh….that guy from accounting’s brother just moved back to town! Yeah, he’s perfect. I’m pretty sure I heard he’s divorced.” Besides, I’m fairly certain there’s a Hemsworth, Pine, or Evans who is perfect for her anyway.

Self Care on Steroids

Self Care on Steroids

Exactly how much can you get away with in the name of self care? Asking for a friend….except that friend is myself….and I don’t really care how much I can get away with as self care, because I needed it, and there’s literally nobody telling me I can’t..not even the fine folks at American Express.

My mental health has been a somewhat rapidly declining shit show for the past couple of weeks. I know what I could do to change it, but I also know that the change I REALLY want to make isn’t a feasible solution, because there’s that whole house I need to sell, job I’d need to find, and ridiculously overpriced new housing market, so really, it’d just introduce an entirely new kind of stress in my life.

Weekends are the absolute worst, because if I’m not out of town, I spend WAY too much time alone with my thoughts, and trust me when I say, this isn’t a pleasant place to be sometimes. So this weekend, I forced myself to go out in public and actually do something instead of sitting at home in a horrible anxiety cycle feeling sorry for myself. I went to lunch with some friends, snuggled a brand new baby, and had a delicious drink, then shared my pictures from my photo shoot I did in December with them, because they’re in my car all the time and they wanted to see them. I got my eyebrows waxed so I didn’t have to do it myself, bought an Italian soda, and had a pedicure and massage, all in the name of self care.

The problem was, I still had to go home, and that’s where all the solo self care in the world doesn’t help, because the whole being in public by myself thing is doable, but being home by myself is just so soul sucking lately. So, I did the only thing I could think of that would work, short of taking enough Benadryl to sleep until Monday, and texted my best friend a meme that said “If I tell you I need you, do not take it lightly. I do everything I can to never have to depend on anyone, to never show weakness, and if I say that I need you, it means I am trusting you to catch me when I fall.” And boy did he ever catch me, instantly, and from over 100 miles away. He momentarily fixed literally everything I tried to shop away in the name of self care over the course of an hour’s worth of back and forth text messages. (Yes, I know a phone call would be easier, but 1- I don’t use my phone for that, and 2- The kinds of things he was saying, are really best when you’re able to read them again, and again, and again, and again, because they’re the kinds of things a girl just needs to hear more than once.)

That text message exchange was the best “self care” I ever could have asked for, and I could have stopped there, BUT…I didn’t. The next day, I shopped again in the name of self care and bought a designer pen that I didn’t need, but hey, it was Ted Baker, and it was insanely affordable, so #selfcaresunday justification for that one. 3pm nap. Self care, check. Post work grocery store run for all of the sparkling water flavors. Self care, check. Ice cream for dinner… Self care, check…check…checkity check. But wait, there’s more! Monday manicure in the name of self care, you bet! Finally caving to the Easter candy section of the grocery store and then eating eggs for dinner…..Cadbury eggs that is. Sure, why not. It’s self care after all!

That’s a whole lot of self care justified shopping/pampering over the course of 72 hours, and I’m not about to start thinking I shouldn’t have done it, or that I didn’t deserve one bit of it, but now it’s really probably time for the hard part of self care. The part where I need to have a serious conversation with my doctor about my stress levels and mental health in the name of self care. The part where I eat the whole foods, and do the cardio in the name of self care. The part where I keep surrounding myself with people who are good for me, and let go of the ones who aren’t, all in the name of self care. It’s time for the real self care, not just the fun kind, because self care isn’t all massages and manicures.

Worst Job Interview Ever…

Worst Job Interview Ever…

If you’re not following me on Twitter, I can’t say that I blame you. It’s mostly shares from Instagram and retweets of whatever Ben Winslow tweets during the Utah legislative session. Seriously, it’s mostly politics. I feel bad for my 97 followers, but some of those followers are decent members of Utah’s legislature and I might fan girl just a little bit when they retweet me. Anyway…if you’re not following me on twitter though, you missed this gem.

At this point, dating just seems like a horrible interview for a job that ends with 50% of people paying thousands of dollars to quit. Don’t believe me? Drive by the homes of my family attorney friends. They didn’t buy those gorgeous houses on the backs of happy marriages.

About the horrible interview….let me tell you what the last few weeks have been like for me in social media world.

Me: Accepts random friend request, because why not…it can always be undone later, and we do have friends in common. May as well live a little.

Also me: Repeats this process 10 times over the course of 4 days.

Still also me: Cringes at the barrage of “Hi pretty,” “Hello Beautiful,” and “What up sexxxxxy” that slide in to my messages. Um….My name is very clearly posted on facebook. You clicked it to add me as a friend. Maybe try using it?? BUT, I won’t hold the pretty, beautiful, or sexxxxxy thing against you, because that profile picture is a great one thanks to my very amazing photographer, and equally amazing hair and makeup artist.

Again me: Receiving messages with lines of questioning that read like a mail order bride interview.
Do you like to cook?
Do you cook well?
How do you feel about cleaning?
What kind of food would you say is your favorite?
Are you a Christian?
Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs?
Do you have children?
Would you be open to having more?
How did you vote in the 2016 Presidential Election?
Do you have anything concerning in your family medical history?
Would you consider selling your house and moving?
What marketable skills do you have that would allow you to relocate and remain successful?
Are you completely committed to the political involvement, or could you do something a little more lady like to pass your time?
Have you been with more or less than 2 men?

I shit you not. My eyes rolled SO hard back in to my head, and NOT in a good way. I’ve never blocked people so fast in my entire life. Seriously?! WHO T. F. ASKS QUESTIONS LIKE THIS TO SOMEONE THEY HAVE NEVER MET?! And also….Will I sell my house and move to God knows where for someone I don’t even know? Please…I can’t even sell my house, but if I could, I’d go as far as 3 hours, buy a condo, and live with my best friend, because his kids love me, and both of our lives would be a hell of a lot more fun that way.

I suppose I should just be grateful that the creepy factor showed up in Facebook messaging, instead of real life situations that would have had me faking an emergency or ordering an angel shot from a lifesaving bartender, because holy shit…dating just seriously feels like a painfully awkward job interview at this point.

It’s the little things

It’s the little things

I needed some best friend time in the worst way this weekend. As luck would have it, he had his kids until noon-ish on Saturday, so I asked if I could take them all to lunch. I mean, I needed some best friend time, but if I’m completely honest, I REALLY needed the excitement that can only come from a 3 and 9 year old who haven’t seen you in 4 months and also think you’re pretty damn cool. (Excuse me….3 and a half and 9 and a half….we’re at the age where these half years are important!)

Of course dining with children means the 5 star, hole in the wall random place you found on Yelp in the shady part of town is out of the question, so the ever favorite of children it was…IHop, where there is a perpetual 15 minute wait, no matter what time or day you go. Surprisingly enough, the very hungry, and slightly tired kids were amazingly patient and very well behaved while waiting for a table. Then they were just as well behaved during the entire meal, and as anyone who has ever gone anywhere with a tired, hungry toddler knows, this is nothing short of a victory.

Meals were eaten in peace, and we all had a great time. Then the 9 year old decided he was ready to be done with lunch and wanted to wash his hands, and announced that he wanted me to take him, not his dad. Score one for me. (Actually, I rank pretty high on the cool meter with these kids every time we get together, so this wasn’t a surprise.) While I was waiting for him to come out of the bathroom, a very sweet woman told me “I’ve been watching your cute family, and just wanted to let you know that it’s a joy to see children who can behave in restaurants without needing electronics to occupy them.” Rather than explain to her that this wasn’t my cute family, I simply thanked her.

Later that afternoon, I thought of how incredibly difficult it was sometimes to take my own toddler to a restaurant, and how it never failed that EVERYONE noticed when he was naughty, and I was struggling with him, and always had unsolicited advice or condemning glares and thought just how nice it would have been to hear good things once in a while. So…I did what anyone should do in that situation. I sent a message to my best friend’s ex wife and told her that her children, her tired and hungry children, were perfectly behaved in the restaurant, and that they were an absolute joy to be around, because moms need to know when their kids are amazing. It’s not the first time I’ve done this…I always reach out to her when I’ve spent time with her children to thank her for letting me do so, and to let her know about anything special we may have done. Call it mom code. Call it respect. Call it whatever you want, but it works, because she doesn’t hate me, and that makes it so I can continue to see my best friend’s adorable boys without any awkwardness.

Perhaps it was karma on my side after following mom code yesterday, because when I came to work this afternoon after getting back in to town, one of the girls I work with came up to me and said “I need to tell you something.” She continued, “I know you’re worried because most of the people your son hangs out with are little shits. But he was the only one of them that came with his friend’s dad to help me move yesterday. His friend said ‘Why should I go; this doesn’t benefit me at all’ but your son came and spent all day helping me get moved, and I just wanted you to know he really is a good kid.”

I cried, because I really needed to hear something like that. Moms need to know that their kids are good humans. Single moms REALLY need to hear it. This parenting thing is SO hard, and things like this make it just a little bit easier sometimes. So do a mom (or dad) a favor, and when you notice something good about their children, tell them. You never know what kind of hell they were going through before that, and every parent needs a victory once in a while.

This isn’t wrkng is it?

This isn’t wrkng is it?

I have to share a little random message exchange I had the other day with you. Last week, I spent some time lobbying against a bill at the Capitol. Of course that means we talked about it on the air a bit the next day, and early this week, we were talking about “smart things” again. This resulted in the following conversation with some random guy who slid in to my Facebook “Other Messages” folder.

Random Dude: Holy Shit! Ur rlly smart. Like your more then just the smart ass on the radio. Your actually smart.
Me: Thanks. I know some things about some things.
RD: For real tho. idk hardly anyone our age that wud understnd some of that political stuff the way you do.
Me: It’s really not all that difficult, but thanks.
RD: I like how you just tell it like it is on the emails and stuff. Like it’s cool.
Me: Thanks. I often don’t really think about the things I say first. I like to be just as surprised as everyone else by the things that come out of my mouth.
RD: U shud let me take you to dnnr some time.
*Remembering that earlier that day, we had an email from someone who was all sorts of upset because the dude she had gone on a couple of dates with corrects her grammar, and she thought it was rude and wondered if it was shallow to break up with him for it. My response, again without thinking about what I said first was “He’s probably wondering how to politely stop seeing someone who is too stupid to understand grammar and spelling at a 4th grade level anyway, so you’d be doing him a favor.”*
Me: Hey, did you catch our emails today?
RD: Yeah. U were hella blunt with your answer.
Me: And…
RD: This isn’t wrkng is it?
Me: Yeah, nope, it’s not.
RD: Well ur still hella smrt and funny.
I ALMOST asked what you do with all the extra time you save by dropping random vowels from your words, but somehow controlled that.
Me: Thanks. 🙂
RD: Srsly, ur smart.
At this point, I’m a little bit over hearing that I’m smart. I’m 100% not sure what in the hell this guy thinks he’s going to accomplish by telling me this multiple times, and starting to feel the snark coming on.
Me: I’ve actually been called brilliant by someone who is much more educated than I am, so there’s that.
RD: Well, ur prbly gonna have a hard time finding anyone around here with expectations like that.
Me: I’m not sure what you think my expectations are, but thanks for your concern. (Can I just send a Pelosi clap meme to this guy yet?!)
RD: U shud just prbly keep dating dudes from SLC until u get tired of drivng so far.

Cool….I left the guy on read and didn’t even bother responding. Two hours later, this message comes through: “I’m still gon listen tho cuz your still hella funny, even if you won’t let me buy u dnnr.”

I still want to know what he does with all that time he saves dropping random vowels from his messages, but not enough to actually respond to that message…

Well THAT was a horrible idea…

Well THAT was a horrible idea…

Something you should know about me: I don’t do New Year’s resolutions….at all. I fully intend on remaining the same adorable smart-ass you know and love (or hate) every single year, without pretending I’m going to be a better person just because the year on the calendar changed. Something else you should know about me: a good friend of mine was not wrong when he once said “You and Paul (his son) are just too damn stubborn for your own good.”

I’m pretty consistent at following through with something, even if it was a horrible idea to begin with. Case in point: Operation Squatty Potty Body. No, you won’t find it on Google, because I just made it up yesterday on Snapchat, and then shared it to my Instagram, because I figured if I was laughing at my own stupid joke all day, someone else might giggle too.

So, what exactly is Operation Squatty Potty Body? Well, it’s absolutely NO reference to the stool that fits at the base of your commode and has a cult following. Yesterday, I decided it was time to start drinking more water, partly so I had a reason to leave my office several times a day, and partly because I really need to drink more water. I have also REALLY been missing my CrossFit family lately. I mean, I know I haven’t been there in like 3 years now, maybe more, but I REALLY miss it, and having the time for it, and every single thing that goes along with it, so I told myself “Hey, you should just do 20 squats every time you have to go to the bathroom!” Not too bad right? Drink, squat, pee, repeat….Operation Squatty Potty Body…get it?

Sounds like a great idea….right up until the time you realize that drinking over a gallon of water means a LOT more trips to the bathroom than usual, but I wasn’t about to give up. It’s my February thing after all, BUT I’m not entirely stupid either. I scaled it back to 10-15 squats each bathroom break, and I’ll just increase that number by 5 each week.

When all was said and done, in addition to the 30 or so flight of stairs I get to climb every day, I had done somewhere around 150 squats yesterday. This morning, my body said “everything hurts and I’m dying” but my brain said “don’t you dare quote Parks and Rec to me to get out of this” and since I’m “too stubborn for my own good” here I am, another 80 squats in to the day, sitting at my desk thinking “Would it REALLY be that bad to just pee your pants to avoid another round of squats?” I mean, I already know the answer to that is yes, it would really be that bad, because I’m 38 years old, and it’s far too cold outside to go home with wet pants, so 15 more squats it is, because I am an adult after all, and last time I checked it was frowned upon for able bodied adults to wet themselves. That, and there’s NOBODY at my work that would take one for the team Billy Madison style and tell everyone else all the cool kids are peeing their pants…

Just say no….to early morning texting

Just say no….to early morning texting

Once upon a time, I had a Samsung Galaxy S3. It had this handy little feature where you could set a delivery delay on texts, so if you hit send and then instantly realized that you added a picture you didn’t mean to, or sent it to the wrong person, or in my case, needed to correct a “smart” phone grammar error because looking like a moron is something that you don’t want to do, you could cancel the sending of the message and fix whatever you messed up. I miss that. I ALMOST needed that yesterday.

Do you happen to remember last year, late-ish February, when the Utah Bar Association made national news by sending out information about their annual conference? It’s not that the conference was so shocking that it warranted national news, but someone “accidentally” included a photo of a very lovely topless woman in the email that went out to every single member of the Utah Bar Association. Immediately after sending the email, another one went out that said in a nutshell “Hey, DO NOT OPEN THE LAST EMAIL THAT WE SENT YOU!” Of course this meant that the email was opened by probably every single attorney and judge in the state instead of sending it to the garbage like most of the emails sent from the Bar Association. Yes, every single attorney and judge in the state saw that email that according to an attorney friend of mine “Perked up an otherwise mundane Monday.” (You’ll see why this little story was important in just a minute.)

Here’s the deal. I finally narrowed down my pictures from the boudoir shoot I did to 25 out of the 100 or so that were sent to me. I wasn’t 100% sure those were the ones I wanted, but I also hadn’t changed them in a week either, so going with a gut feeling, those were THE ones. My sweet photographer also noticed that I had 25 images that sat in my favorite images for a hot minute, so she worked up the book that came with my shoot and sent me a message with the link to the proof yesterday morning. I LOVED it. All of it! And what do girls do with things that they love? Of course…share them with our besties. Here’s where it gets fun….

I had several text conversations going that morning, including one to the “perked up an otherwise mundane Monday” friend of mine a few minutes before receiving the link to the photo book. When I copied the link for the book, my phone automatically selected the last person I had texted, and me, thinking it was one of the Best Bitches trio, ALMOST hit send. Fortunately, in my not quite fully caffeinated state, I thought “Maybe I should check that text first,” and spared myself from sending it to my attorney friend, effectively submitting my 25 picture application for Ms. Utah Bar Association 2019.

So yeah…I don’t think I’ll be forwarding any pre-caffeine messages to anyone any time soon, because I’m not sure there’s a way to recover from that one, other than “Please forward my application to the appropriate member of the Utah Bar Association. Thank you for your consideration.”