There’s TWO of them?!

There’s TWO of them?!

It’s the return of the, oh wait…No Way! You’re kidding! She didn’t just see what she thinks she did, did she? There’s two of them now?!

Do you know what happens when you drink all of the water you’re supposed to in a day? That’s right…you spend more time peeing at work than you should, but still not as much time on breaks as the smokers, so you really don’t feel too bad about it. Except the fluorescent lighting in bathrooms at work shows EVERYTHING, and today that everything is not one, but TWO completely white eyebrow hairs.

I knew I already had one, and props to that one, because one minute it’s not there at all, and an hour later, there it is a mile long (slight exaggeration), sticking out with all of the attention of a toddler who just said a naughty word at the very quietest time during church. Much like that adorably potty mouthed toddler can be silenced with a quick hand over the mouth by a completely mortified parent who will no doubt laugh about it later, the white eyebrow can be banished as quickly as it showed up. But the problem is, when I yanked that son of a B out of my eyebrow this afternoon, I found its evil step sister, that didn’t exist until today, less than a centimeter away and had to banish her from the kingdom as well.

Look, I know I could do what seemingly EVERYONE else is doing, and just wax those bad boys off and have them tattooed or microbladed on in a perfect shade, completely void of white hairs, but I’m genuinely concerned about what bullshit beauty standard women are going to have to live up to in 10 years when having eyebrows the size of steak fries is out of fashion, and we’re all stuck with these things tattooed on our foreheads. Seriously, it’s a legit concern, because these brows are going to age about as well as the overplucked razor thin ones we all had to have in the 90’s. So 4 months shy of my 40th birthday, with an apparent midlife crisis ramping up, I suppose the best thing I can do at this point is to keep reminding the ghost white twins that they aren’t welcome, and hope they tell the rest of their friends that are no doubt lying in wait to become the next undesired houseguests to just stay away, because I’m just not quite ready to age gracefully yet.

Goodbye Earl

Goodbye Earl

Holy forking shirt! Have you ever tried to cancel service with SiriusXM? It’s a joy. A real ducking joy as my phone would correct the word I really want to use. First of all, unless you’re some kind of genius, you can’t simply cancel service through your online account. Calling Listener care to cancel is conveniently not working today, and the live chat…..well, let me just share that with you!

Here’s what happened after verifying my identity with Earl from SiriusXM.

Earl: How can I help you today Ms. Foster.
Me: I would like to cancel my service please.
Earl: I’m sorry to hear that. Here’s a 60 word offer I’ve copied and pasted as an effort to get you to keep your service.
Me: I appreciate the offer, but I would still like to cancel.
Earl: I’m sorry to hear that. We would like to keep you as a loyal customer, here’s another 60 word offer that’s even lower than the first offer that I’ve copied and pasted in order to try to keep your money.

This exact process repeats for 4 more “last offers,” and then…

Me: Thank you Earl, but I would still like to cancel my service before it automatically renews to the credit card that you will not let me remove from my account.
Earl: I’m sorry to hear that. Let me come back with one last offer. You have been a loyal customer and prices like this will not be available again.
Me: Look Earl, I know how this works. I’ve had SiriusXM since XM and Sirius were 2 different companies. I’ve had XM since the first month it was available. The place I work has sold thousands of XM, Sirius, and SiriusXM radios. I know that if I cancel right now, in 60 days you’re going to send me an offer better than the ones you’ve given me today, but ultimately Earl, I just want to cancel my service right now, because I listened to it for MAYBE 15 hours last year, and I don’t want to pay for it anymore.
Earl: I can offer you 12 months, and add online service for a total of $89.99 for 12 months. That is the lowest I can go.
Me: Look Earl, are you familiar with the the late 90’s song the Dixie Chicks wrote about someone with your name? I’m beginning to understand it so much better. Unless you can give me 12 months of SiriusXM service at no cost, I would like you to cancel my account, so my Discover card is not charged one single solitary cent on October 14, which has been my goal since the very second I tried to cancel this service without having to involve you.
Earl: FINALLY confirms cancellation of my account, and asks if he’s answered all of my questions with another cut/paste “end the chat conversation” template.
Me: Thank you. Goodbye Earl.

That Lifestyle Suits You….

That Lifestyle Suits You….

Last week I spent some time in Washington DC. After returning, I decided it’s pretty rude that my house doesn’t clean itself, have a super swank 12th floor lounge, Starbucks in the lobby, Michelin rated restaurants within walking distance, more brunch locations than even I know what to do with, or high end couture available for purchase directly across the street, but whatever. Still, going back to work in rural Utah after living my best life in DC for 5 days was a bit brutal, ESPECIALLY since we don’t even have a Starbucks anymore, and that pumpkin cream cold brew is LIFE. Seriously though, is it too extra to drive 2 hours for coffee? Because it’s that good…

After being home for a couple of days, I ran in to a friend…an acquaintance actually….a follower on the Gram. This person told me “I saw all of your pictures in your Instagram stories. It looks like you had so much fun. That lifestyle suits you. You could be a politician’s wife. I can see you holding fundraisers, and helping in soup kitchens and things like that. You should marry a politician.”

I giggled internally, but thanked her out loud. Then I told her “I could handle being a politician’s wife, but I’d rather be the politician. Although, I have no desire to filter the words that come out of my mouth, or find out what people REALLY think about me, so I’ll just stick with being a pain in the politician’s back side. I’m quite good at that already.” Then we both laughed, and I finished with “However, I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to be philanthropic with someone’s money, so forget the politician, and in this fantasy world we’re concocting right now, let’s just work on finding someone rich who can put up with me, because that DC brunch and shopping lifestyle does indeed suit me.”

The one with the spy in my pocket

The one with the spy in my pocket

A few weeks ago my dad was in town. We went to lunch, and as he was dropping me off back at work he said “I can’t remember if I ever told you this, but if you wanted to go back to school, I would pay for all of it.” I told him I would have definitely remembered something like that, but I probably wouldn’t have accepted it because my parents raised me to be a stubborn pain in the ass that can take care of herself. He laughed, I laughed, and then he continued “Well, I don’t know when you would find the time for it but I still would pay for it. All of it. I mean, I’m not paying for a Harvard education, but I would pay for school.” Without missing a beat, I said “No Harvard. Ok. Georgetown Law then.” He laughed, but he didn’t say no.

Obviously I had my phone in my pocket during this conversation, because heaven forbid I leave work without someone being able to contact me 3.5 seconds after I leave the place.

Georgetown Law. I said those two words, coupled with 2 trips to DC in 8 months, and another one on the books for September, with the details of said trips saved in the travel agency app on my phone. Also found on my phone: Yelp and Uber activity in DC, as well as the DC Metro app.

Three days ago, a friend texted me and asked if I could open my Tinder to see if her boyfriend popped up on it. Sure…why not? Now it doesn’t always show you EVERYONE who is in your vicinity, so I’ve had discovery enabled for the past few days and every once in a while, I open it up and swipe looking for the possibly wayward boyfriend. I haven’t found him, but I have uncovered a little bit of a mystery. I don’t pay for premium Tinder, so there’s no undoing accidental left swipes, and no swiping outside of a 100 mile radius, yet my Tinder exploring looks a lot like this right now:
* Hard pass on the local guy
* DC’s most eligible bachelor
* Co-worker: Can’t swipe left fast enough
* Hot Georgetown Professor
* What rock did you crawl out from under 20 miles away
* Attorney in Baltimore
* 2 miles away: Nice lifted truck (that your daddy probably paid for). Cool arsenal of weapons. Obligatory no shirt selfie. Stack of cash that is CLEARLY a stock photo from google. Man, I’m sorry about that body part you’re overcompensating for!
* Yet another DC dude with pictures in the Russell Senate Building, DC Wharf, and a well placed pic from Adams Morgan Day.

It’s not just Tinder either. Yelp is sending me “hot new restaurants” that are supposedly near me, but are conveniently located near Dupont Circle, and LinkedIn is sending me employment opportunities I may be interested in, also in the DC Metro area. So yeah…not only is my cell phone spying on me. It’s doing it’s damndest to make the East Coast as appealing as possible.

Tranquility in the Trampoline Park

Tranquility in the Trampoline Park

Y’all, it’s getting to the point where I kind of hate summer. Not in the “OMG I can’t wait for my kids to go back to school because they’re driving me crazy,” I hate summer, because, well, that ship has sailed. Not in the “Check on your fat friends. It’s hot and we are not doing ok” way either. I mean, yeah, it’s hot, but I love that. I kind of hate summer because they’re so damn busy that by the time I have a minute to actually enjoy the warm weather and longer nights, we’re knocking on the door of Fall again.

I think this summer has been busier than most I can remember, so when I realized I had a chance to get out of town this weekend for a fundraiser, I couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Seriously, I couldn’t leave fast enough because it’s road construction season in Utah and that severely hindered the speed at which I could get 150 miles away from home. Anyway, this fundraiser…it was a pool party. Yes, the exact kind of fundraiser this girl would have normally skipped, because well, we’ve already discussed years of body image issues in this blog, so you can only imagine the kind of anxiety a pool party would trigger. BUT….for the first time in forever, there was absolutely no anxiety over this, and I thought to myself “F this. I’m going. And besides, the way the top of this swimming suit is cut, NOBODY is going to be looking at my food baby.” And to take that “Who the hell cares” attitude a step further…I ended up at a shopping mall with a friend from the pool party and probably ended up on someone’s “people of Wal-Mart” upload since I never bothered changing out of the board shorts I wore to the pool party, and just threw a tank top on over the swimming suit before we walked in the mall and spent the next 2 hours shopping. Anyway, that’s really not the way I was going with this, but I was pretty impressed with how ugly I was willing to look in public this weekend, so it had to be shared.

While shopping, and probably looking like I needed to crawl back under a bridge, I received a text that said “You are so beautiful.” Now, homegirl knows this had NOTHING to do with my physical appearance, but more that it was a reaction to an act of kindness towards the person who had just texted me. (Although a quick scan of Facebook later showed that text was sent right around the time its sender liked my Insta/Facebook share from the pool party so, it could have had something to do with the physical aspect too.) Still, how does a text that says “You are so beautiful” not make you just melt?!

Later that evening, or maybe it was the next morning, I’m too lazy to get my phone to look at the exact timeline, I was invited to go to a trampoline park in the deep south of Salt Lake County. I HATE, with a passion, the deep south of Salt Lake County. Like, it makes absolutely no sense for a girl who lives in rural Utah to hate Southwest Salt Lake County as much as I do, but it is what it is. As much as I despise this area of the state, I love the people who asked me to go there, so without hesitation, I headed to the burbs on my way back to rural Utah on Sunday.

I beat my partners in crime to the park, so I had prime view from my parking space of the faces my best friend’s kids made when they pulled in to the parking space next to mine. They were so excited, which got me right in the feelings. Then they ran over to me and I realized they might be just as excited to see me as they were to go to the trampoline park, which got me right in the feelings again.

It didn’t take long for the kids to want to bounce without needing a constant audience, which was when I got some much needed time with their dad, who after a minute asked “What’s new in your life. What’s going on with you?” And in my head, I had all kinds of things to say. But these aren’t trampoline park things to say. Because what I WANTED to say was:

* I’m so tired from working ALL the time.
* I need a break from reality that lasts longer than 24 hours.
* Can we talk about how terrifying it is to have a family history of cancer in a body part that can’t be removed as a preventative measure?
* While we’re on that subject, my brother isn’t doing so great, and there’s a million different things I want to tell you about that.
* I just need another hug to make all the noise in my head go away.
* I love when your kids grab my hand and don’t even look back to see if you’re following.
* Once, the little one called me mom.
* My dad told me he would pay for college if I decided I wanted to go back, but I have no idea how I can even find the time for it, even though it would validate the 20 years of experience I have in my line of work and make it so I could demand the money I’m ACTUALLY worth.
* My home address needs a change of scenery…one that’s not so rural and lonely.

Trampoline parks are fun. But trampoline parks smell like feet, and one does not get emotional in a place that smells like feet and pre-teen body odor. So instead of discussing what’s new, or what was going on in my head, we sat and enjoyed the pure joy of a 10 year old, and an ALMOST 4 year old at the trampoline park, and THAT was exactly the kind of peace and tranquility my soul needed. Among the sweat and feet, I found a calmness that didn’t exist anywhere else in the world, and that was the best thing ever.

You’re prettier in your profile picture.

You’re prettier in your profile picture.

Welcome to a day in the life of my “other messages” folder on Facebook. I give this guy the slightest bit of credit for not just saying “Hey” or some other equally creative greeting, but just the slightest bit…

Inbox stranger: You’re prettier in your profile picture.
Me: Um….weird opening line from a complete stranger, but OK. Tell me something I don’t know.
IS: Seriously, you’re way more of a knockout in your profile picture than you are in the picture with the bald dude in yellow.
Me: Cool. I paid a small fortune for the profile picture. I had hair and makeup done by a professional, and the picture was taken at a strategic angle in warm lighting, using professional equipment being operated by a highly skilled professional. I’d be disappointed if it didn’t look better than the one taken on my Samsung Galaxy after being at work for 12 hours.
IS: You should do your hair and makeup like the one in that picture more often.
Me: Look….I’m sorry I can’t be viewed with perfect hair and makeup in warm lighting at a strategic angle at all times. I’m quite upset by this too, but I’ll always be the girl who would rather sleep for an extra 30 minutes than wake up at 4am to do hair and makeup.
IS: I’m just saying, the picture with the bald dude isn’t as flattering.
Me: Obviously.
IS: So, do you wanna hang some time when you’re out here?
Me: I think I’m going to pass.
IS: Why? Is it because I said you weren’t very attractive in the picture with the bald dude?
Me: You’re going to have to try MUCH harder than that to insult me. There’s literally nothing you could say about my appearance that I haven’t already said to myself. I’m passing because you don’t realize the bald dude is the Lieutenant Governor of the state you live in, and you couldn’t read that in the photo description. I’m passing because you clearly don’t realize the significance of having the opportunity to meet the Lieutenant Governor and his wife in a one on one setting. And I’m passing because the next time I’ll be anywhere near you with free time will be for a campaign event for the Lieutenant Governor, and you’re the last person I would want to take as a plus 1.
IS: Seriously?
Me: I’m also passing because you think the best way to “pick up chicks” is to insult their appearance. So there’s that. Best of luck in the next inbox you slide in to.

†

You guys….I wish I was making this stuff up, but alas, this weirdness actually happened….and is happening on a strangely more regular basis… Oh, and since you’ve spent the last 2 minutes reading about the profile picture versus the one with the bald dude, here’s a little side by side for reference. Of course the one in red looks better. Thank you Captain Obvious.

OK, I’ll Play

OK, I’ll Play

Last year, when the weather was still “Why the hell can’t it be spring already” crap outside, I went to brunch with this super cool guy. While we were chatting up a storm, he asked me “how often do you get hit on by complete strangers because of your job?” I told him “It literally never happens because I have a face for radio.” Then we laughed and moved on. What I didn’t know at the time, was that damn question jinxed me and random strangers have been sliding in to my DMs and being all extra AF on Tinder lately, so thanks a lot counselor.

Let me tell you about the latest person blocked from my Instagram. A few weeks ago, I woke up to a million (slight exaggeration) Insta notifications from someone who had started following me and liked almost every single one of my pictures. A little creepy, but no big deal. Then last week Senior Creeper sent me a super creative direct message, “Hi,” which I ignored because I’m 100% uninterested in messaging someone who has an Instagram account that is like 4 weeks old and is sliding unannounced in to my DMs.

Fast forward a week or so and I had COMPLETELY forgotten about the rando from the Gram when he commented on one of my pictures “ANSWER YOUR MESSAGES.” OK first of all, you can stop yelling at me with your all caps, and secondly, you’ve caught me in a moment of feeling sorry for myself, so I guess responding to some random DM wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Then this happened…

Instagram dude: Hey, thanks for finally answering my message.
Me: You’re welcome.
IGD: Why did you ignore my message?
Me: Do you make a habit of messaging strangers and then chastising them for not responding immediately?
IGD: No, I just think you are very beautiful.
Me: Thank you. I had a team of professionals making sure my profile picture was amazing.
IGD: What are you doing right now?
Me: Laundry
IGD: Why?
Me: I need a new maid because the current one sucks, and also she is me.
IGD: If your maid does not do her work you should get a new one.
Me: (already bored with this conversation, sends a picture of the meme this very joke was taken from) It was a joke.
IGD: Proceeds to ask random questions in idiot’s English, repeating questions as if they’re new, irritating the ever loving hell out of me, then says “Give me your number. I don’t like messaging in Instagram.”
Me: I don’t think so Tim.
IGD: My name is not Tim. Can you message in Hangouts then?
Me: I don’t think so Tim…another joke….from a 90s sitcom. Why is messaging in Hangouts any different than IG?
IGD: I just prefer it.
Me: Ok…

Then the conversation moved to Hangouts, where Instagram dude started right the hell over with the very first question he asked in my DMs. My response “Do we really need to go over all of this again just because you wanted to switch messaging platforms?”

IGD: I am going to ask you 10 questions so we can get to know each other better OK. And then you will ask me questions.
Me: Whatever floats your boat.
IGD: Proceeds to ask the typical “girl on a blind date trying to figure out if you have money” questions. What do you do for a living? What do you drive? Do you own your home? Blah, blah, blah.
Me: Waits longer than 30 seconds to answer because I’m actually doing laundry, and my phone is charging NOT in the laundry room.
IGD: Why are you not answering me? How many other people are you talking to on here. This shows you are online, but you are ignoring me.
ME: Wow. Calm your tits buddy. I already told you I was doing laundry, and responding to this message is not my priority.
IGD: Why are you online if you don’t have time to talk.
Me: Starts answering Sir Creeps-a-lot’s questions.
IGD: I see you are typing but nothing is coming through. Why is it taking so long for you to answer my questions?
Me: Hits send, realizing this conversation is only continuing for the purposes of this very post.
IGD: Those are good answers. Now you must ask me questions, and if you want the same questions I asked you, you have to type them yourself.
Me: Ok…controlling much?
Me: starts typing questions
IGD: Hello, you need to ask me questions.
Me: Annoyed AF sends the following:
If you only had one week left to live, how would you spend it?
What is the most important thing you’ve learned from past relationships?
If you found a magic lamp, what would your 3 wishes be?
What is your favorite place you’ve ever been?
What is your biggest regret?
What is the best book you’ve read this year?
IGD: Those are very good questions. I would wish to be rich, and wish for more wishes. I don’t read books. My biggest regret is my ex.
Me: If you don’t read books, what do you read?
IGD: I don’t read at all.
Me: I don’t think I have time to talk to you anymore….ever.
IGD: I think you would be perfect for a serious relationship.
Me: You’re 100% right, but you’re not the other half of it.

I deleted Mr. Overbearing from my Hangouts contacts right after that ridiculous encounter. 3 days later I received yet another message on the Gram. It read “Why did you quit talking to me on Hangouts?”

Me: I think I was pretty clear when I told you that I didn’t want to talk to you anymore.
IGD: I thought we were getting along just fine.
Me: You thought wrong
IGD: But I’m moving to Salt Lake in September.
Me: Good for you.
IGD: I want to start a business and make lots of money.
Me: Best of luck to you.
IGD: You’ll wish you were nicer to me when I’m rich.
Me: I’m going to block you now. Best of luck finding someone who is in to the controlling type. A word of advice though, you may want to delete your fancy “talking about business” post and redo it with a phone that has the cords in it that go to the handset and wall. Attention to detail might get you a bit farther in your next scam.
IGD: You’re kind of a bitch.
Me: Bye now. Buh bye.


Just a little effort please?

Just a little effort please?

After a few weeks of a friend posting screenshots of the real winners she’s found in the Tinder/Bumble universe to Instagram with what is becoming my favorite hashtag, #whyimsingle, I decided it was time to enable discovery on good old Tinder again. You know…for research purposes, and you guys, it has NOT disappointed.

First, there was a “You have a new match” notification on my phone, which I didn’t even bother looking at, because I was fairly positive it would be followed by an almost immediate unmatch, but I was wrong. It was followed by a message. Cool. Except let’s be honest. It was 2am, and I was just settling down after an epic girl’s night, and we had pedicure appointments in 12 hours and still needed to grab brunch before that, so I was not staying up to chat with some random dude. Also, if I’m being completely honest, I really wasn’t feeling this anyway, and the Tinder swiping was really just a way to pass some time. His “You up” message was met with “barely…2am is not my jam” to which he responded “Ok..I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

The next morning around 10, I had a message notification. “Come over to my house and cuddle. We can Netflix and chill. ;)”

My response: Sorry friend….this is a girl’s weekend and I already have plans.
Tinder dude: Just bail on brunch and come over.
Me: Brunch is the best meal of the entire week.
Tinder dude: Then skip the pedicures and come over.
Me: Lo siento amigo, girl’s days are sacred.
Tinder dude: well then….have fun I guess.

Skipping right on past the unimportant details of brunch, shopping, pedicures, and 3 hour drive home, at 10pm here come the messages again.
Tinder dude: you up
Me: Not for long. I have to be up again in 6 hours, and while I can still party like I’m in my 20’s, I don’t recover that way anymore.
Tinder dude: Come over for a little bit.
Me: Did you happen to notice how far away I am?
Tinder dude: What the hell?!
Me: Sorry…maybe next time I’m in town.
Tinder dude: What….you have to go back home to your husband during the week.
Me: Never had one of those….thanks for your confidence in me though.
Tinder dude: Your wife then?
Me: Again….thanks for the vote of confidence there, but no, there’s no wife either.

Four days later, Tinder dude starts the conversation up again with this little gem: Hey, come out here. You can stay with me.
Me: I have plans this weekend already.
Tinder dude: I bet I’m better than the plans you already have. Come out here. You can stay with me.
Me: If I happen to find some free time, you could perhaps meet me for brunch at Stratford Proper.
Tinder dude: I don’t really like the downtown area.
Me: Prohibition?
Tinder dude: Yeah, still too close to town.

You guys, Prohibition is like 8 miles in to the suburbs from downtown SLC, but ok.

Me: Well…why don’t you just meet me for coffee. How about Starbucks in Cottonwood Heights.
Tinder dude: I’d kinda rather stick around Sandy where I live.
Me: It’s like 8 miles from Sandy to Prohibiton, and 6 from Sandy to Cottonwood Heights. (Point of reference for my Sitka peeps….this is like someone saying “You know, I know you have 4 hours to kill before the ferry leaves, but I don’t really want to hike part of Harbor Mountain with you, because I live clear over by the post office… That 7 minute drive is just such a pain in the ass! Maybe if you weren’t so far out on HPR…)
Tinder dude: So….
Me: I just don’t think I’m going to have time for this…not this weekend…or ever really.
Tinder dude: Why is that?
Me: Do you really need me to break it all down for you? Or can I just tell you to maybe make a little effort next time. Just a little. Leave your 6 mile bubble, and see about taking a 10 minute drive for coffee instead of “Do you want to come over to my house and make out watch movies, but not really watch movies?” No judgement if you want to just Netflix and chill. None whatsoever. But, maybe tell a girl she’s pretty and at least offer to buy her a drink before you try to get her naked. I’m guessing that’ll work a little better for you.
Tinder dude: Nobody has ever talked to me like that. Not once in 49 years.
Me: Consider this a long overdue public service announcement then. Best of luck in your future swiping.

You can’t say that on the air: Rudest Road Trip Ever

You can’t say that on the air: Rudest Road Trip Ever

This afternoon, while trying to decide if I could make it another 5 hours at work without a nap, I started scrolling through my camera roll and came across this little gem I took a picture of before I left for DC at the beginning of this month. It comes courtesy of one of our morning show prep services, but since we’re a terrestrial radio station in a pretty conservative state, there’s just no getting away with telling this story on the air. Like not at all, but my 15 year old boy sense of humor just couldn’t let this one go. So, for the 15 year old boy in all of us, here’s the story of the rudest road trip ever.

British brothers Magnus and Andy Tait recently took a tour of their homeland. However, it was no ordinary road trip as they spent six years mapping out a 2000 mile journey to the country’s rudest locales, from Fanny Street to Butthole Lane. The brothers also visited Titty Ho, Sandyballs, Cockermouth, Penistone, Shitterton, Lickfold, Fingringhoe, Slutshole Lane, Rimswell, and Wetwang. Andy dreamed up the idea after he drove past a place called South Gash , in Northern Scotland and couldn’t help but laugh at the sign. However, Andy said his favorite stop on the journey was Wilsford Cum Lake.

Yeah…that happened…and I laughed almost uncontrollably for about 5 minutes over this one, because as I’ve mentioned, I have the sense of humor of a 15 year old boy, and this road trip puts Utah to shame, where the best we can do to even compete with that is take a trip through the Fillmore Beaver area as we head to St. George, and the fine folks at UDOT have taken ALL of the fun out of that trip by removing Beaver from the road signs until you pass the Fillmore exits.

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.