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.

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.