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.

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…



Tell me I’m not the only one who read that title and was immediately transported back to high school, because the whole damn cheer is running through my head right now. B E A G G R E S S I V E. Be aggressive. B E Aggressive. And if it wasn’t going through yours yet, it’s stuck there now. You’re welcome.

I was talking with a friend a few days ago about why dating in this day and age seems so much easier for guys than it is for girls. I mean, there’s a whole lot of creeps out there, and I feel like the general consensus is that guys are far less likely to meet them, and unfortunately more likely to be them. That makes the idea of dating just overwhelming, and a little scary, which is more or less why this person said she was glad she is married and doesn’t have to navigate this world of dating. Then we were talking about a mutual friend of ours, who dating doesn’t seem to bother. Her exact words were “He seems to love it.” I feel exactly the opposite about it. I don’t love it. I don’t even particularly like it most days. Why? Because the vast majority of guys I’m meeting are just too mother f-wording aggressive, and I can’t stand it.

Being aggressive is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, playfully assertive is kind of fun, but let me tell you, as this year comes to an end, I’m soooooo over the scary aggressive guys, and there is definitely a difference. Like, deleted all dating apps and have started the process of accepting the fact that I’m probably going to just have to get used to being the weird celibate one who lives alone forever, over aggressive guys, because I REALLY need a break from the BS. I know…this seems completely contradictory to the usual “I just want someone to make the first move and follow the F through with it once in a while.” Ask me out, plan something and then actually follow through with that shit instead of a constant “we should get together some time” followed by weeks of radio silence. THAT I don’t have a problem with.

Here’s where I have the issue with aggressive dudes. In the tail end of 2017, I was sexually harassed….OK, actually, it was assault. I was sexually assaulted by someone who I’ve known for my entire life. That has screwed with me for 13 months now. Thirteen months have passed, and I’m STILL messed up from that and questioning every single action people take, and avoiding situations that I used to love, look forward to, and thrive in. I still tried to trust new people last year though, and it backfired on me more times than I ever would have imagined. Here’s a small sample:

  • I had someone tell me that they would love to find out where I lived so they could show up at my house and work out some fantasies whether I wanted to participate or not.
  • I had someone tell me it was rude of me to not travel 6 hours out of my way on a weekend to spend the night with them after casual small talk over the course of 24 hours prior to the request.
  • I had a “friend” show up at the hotel I was staying at, demanding to be let up to my room, who was turned away by some very attentive hotel staff. (It pays to consistently stay at the same place and make friends with the staff!)
  • Again with hotel weirdness, I had a guy demand that I fake sick and have my friends go to dinner without me so he could come meet me at a hotel while I was on a weekend girl’s trip.
  • I had someone tell me they wanted to get to know me better, then got upset with me when I told him I had something going on at the moment because “You talk on the radio like you’re single, and that’s just not cool to tease people like that if you’re really in a relationship.” (Um, excuse me, but I said I had something going on, not that I was in a relationship, and besides, I work in an entertainment industry, and if I want to keep my private life a little private, that’s none of your damn business!)
  • I had yet another person tell me they wanted to take me to dinner, because they want to get to know the girl on the radio. I told this person I appreciated the offer, but I had something going on at the moment. They said “Dang, my timing sucks,” and then proceeded to wait less than 72 hours before telling me I needed to go to dinner with them, and 2 days after that, and 2 days after that, and 2 days after that. Hey…here’s a novel idea…maybe respect my boundaries enough to understand that when I say “I have something going on right now” that doesn’t mean “You should ask me every other day to see if I’ve changed my mind yet, because the grown ass man equivalent of ‘Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom’ might work instead of annoying the ever loving hell out of me.” (And for the record…I don’t do dinner on a first date with someone I don’t know anyway. It’s always coffee, lunch, or brunch, so there’s a guaranteed way out if I don’t like the way things are playing out.)

Here’s the deal. If you’re going to act like a crazy, possessive, overly aggressive ass while you’re just contacting me through an app, I’m sure as hell not going to give you my phone number and let you know where I live. Despite what you may think, that’s not just me being a bitch; no girl in her right mind is going to do that. I’m already a little on edge with you knowing where I work, and feeling relieved that I have friends in every single level of law enforcement and the criminal justice system, and yes, they will run a quick background check on you for me if I ask them.

On behalf of single people everywhere, stop being so creepy, so dating can stop being so scary!

Heart shaped rocks

Heart shaped rocks

Hey! Wait! I’ve got a new complaint.

Ok, I don’t really have a new complaint, but I’ve had that Nirvana song stuck in my head for the better part of the last 24 hours now. And yes, I know the song is Heart Shaped Box, not heart shaped rocks, but I found a bunch of heart shaped rocks yesterday, and that’s where my 90% song lyrics and movie quotes brain went with it. Let’s back up just a little bit though, and get to why this is even something I’m bothering to get my blog therapy on with.

Sometimes I feel as if Urban Dictionary hit the nail on the head when they described the tiny little town that I live in like this:  “A little hell hole of a city in Utah where 98% of the population are close minded hicks or Mormons. The weather ranges between freaking hot to freaking cold. There’s a point system to how many prairie dogs you can hit on the way to Colorado. The school system is run by the not German Nazis. The shittiest city on earth to attend high school in. A black meaningless void of which you’ll never escape once you’ve set foot in it. A geographic anomaly in which everything is approximately 3 and half hours away.” In all fairness though, everything is approximately 3 hours away, and 2 1/2 if law enforcement and wildlife cooperate.

Living in this little geographic anomaly tends to make things particularly difficult for the girl who prefers anonymity and generally only dates in those areas 3 hours away. It’s nice, because then nobody knows your business (including the guys, who don’t realize you’re not really worth the trouble…), but here’s the catch 22: sometimes this shit actually works out, and then that 3 hours is a huge pain in the ass. Case in point: I was kind of, sort of dating this really awesome guy a couple of years ago. Then life got in the way and the 3 hour commute was a bit much for either one of us. Ok…full disclosure: we were totally cockblocked by Mother Nature one winter when the relentless witch decided that mountain passes were going to be impassable without 4WD every single weekend he didn’t have his kids. Anyway, he started dating someone else without the 3 hour commute, and I went back to business as normal in the geographic anomaly where my social/dating life is a giant black hole. We stayed friends though, because we’re adults who can handle shit like that.

Skipping forward a couple of years, this guy and I are still great friends. He gets me, I get him, and he has this uncanny ability to contact me when I’m having THE worst day. It’s the best really; if I had it all to do over again, I’d get friend-zoned by him again without even thinking twice about it. Come to think about it, I’d happily get friend-zoned again by literally everyone Tinder has made me cross paths with. But back to the story. Life has been a GIANT douche to this friend of mine lately, and when I talk to him about it(OK, text, because there are like 12 ways of contacting me on my phone, and none of them require me actually using it as a phone…..but also because I can text while at work), I like to throw in the not so subtle message of #MoveToVernal. We both realize this is a scorched Earth option. It’s 3 hours away from his kids, although, I also joke about befriending his ex-wife and then convincing her to move here, so then his kids will be here too. Realistically though, none of that is going to happen. It didn’t stop the talks about this #MoveToVernal option from getting just a little bit serious over the past little while though, and I hate how much I liked the thought of that.

So what’s to hate about the thought of one of your closest friends moving to the same town you live in? Well….there wasn’t any problem with it, until I saw a picture of him with his kids this weekend. They were all so incredibly happy. He is seriously THE best dad, and my first thought upon seeing that picture was “there is absolutely no way he can be 3 hours away from them,” and I felt like a giant asshole for even suggesting it. My next thought was “What in the hell is this crushing feeling in my soul?” That was coupled with the reality that it was feelings. Gross right? I walked right in to the damn things.

Yesterday, my BFF and keeper of my secrets invited me to go to the lake with her and some of her friends. I needed some sun, water, and friends in my life, so of course I went. At one point we decided to jump off the boat and wander around on the beach. We were walking on some wet sand, when all of the sudden we sunk almost up to our knees in the wet, muddy sand. While the kids were laughing about it, it was poetic justice for me really. That damn muddy sand was a whole hell of a lot like those feelings I had fallen right in to for a minute. I was just walking along the beach of life, and then *bam* stepped right in to feelings.

We pulled ourselves out of the mud pretty easily and washed off in the lake, then continued on along the beach looking for cool stuff. One of the girls we were with found some sweet sunglasses, and I found a plethora of freaking heart shaped rocks. I skipped right over the first few of them, but then I had an idea. I kept 4 of the heart shaped rocks and took them with me on the swim back to the boat. Only 3 of them survived; the black one that I joked was a replica of mine broke in 2 pieces in my hand as I swam back to the boat. Turns out it was a little more fragile than it looked. (Mother f wording symbolism there!) As for the other heart shaped rocks, I waited until we were in the deepest part of the lake and threw them overboard, because hearts represent feelings, and feelings are overrated, and just a little bit lame.


Build your ideal partner

Build your ideal partner

Memes other people post provide me with endless entertainment on social media. Yesterday’s most memorable: Ladies, you have $5 to build your ideal man. Here are the options.

  1. Good looking $3
  2. Funny $1
  3. Smart $1
  4. Great in bed $2
  5. Faithful $3
  6. Wealthy $3
  7. No kids $1
  8. Tall $1
  9. Great body $2
  10. Romantic $2

People’s responses in the comments were cracking me up. (For the record, almost all of them were liars who said 10 and 5 were all they needed.) My response: It’s a good thing I manage money better than your average girl, because 1-5 are non-negotiable. This response garnered plenty of laughing reactions as well as a message telling me once again that I’m too picky and will never find someone who fits my impossible standards.

Laugh at me all you want; it’s part of my profession after all, but don’t tell me I’m too picky. Can I “build” something I’ll settle for within the limits of the game? Sure, but the game didn’t ask what I’ll settle for; I was asked to build my ideal partner. So in life, as in internet memes, I’ll continue to not play by the rules, or settle just because “it’s time for you to settle down with a nice boy…or girl if that’s what you’re in to.” Life is too short to settle just because everyone thinks you should, and options 1-5 truly are non-negotiable.

You’re like the white Olivia Pope

You’re like the white Olivia Pope

To say I follow politics would be an understatement. I’m completely immersed in and fascinated by politics. I always have been. I hate party politics though. I take the “I side with”  quiz in its entirety, expanding and weighing importance on each question, at least once a year, and definitely during election years, so I can remove the partisan bullshit and just focus on the actual issues. The results are always rather eye-opening, and often end with me realizing I have a fairly different opinion politically than a good portion of my friends and acquaintances.

This political difference isn’t a new thing for me. In 1988, my 3rd grade teacher (Mrs. Moon) held a mock election so we could get in on the fun. I remember her telling us that usually whoever wins in our class election is who wins in our state voting. I remember thinking that was so cool. Of course looking back on it now, I realize “Duh! We are 8 and 9 years old, so our opinion is going to be the same as our voting parent/guardian’s opinion, so obviously the class election and state election will be similar.” While all of my classmates were voting for Bush/Quayle, I was one of few who chose Dukakis/Bensten, not because I had any strong opinions about either candidate, and certainly not because my parents liked Dukakis; I grew up in a Republican household. Why not Bush/Quayle with the rest of the class then? Well, because the week before, while riding my bike to school, some quail ran out of a bush and across the road in front of me, and I didn’t like it, so voting Bush/Quayle wasn’t going to happen. And not that it matters, but that’s where my refusal to “go with the norm” started.

The other day, I was having a political discussion with someone. Our opinions were vastly differing, but it was an actual discussion, not the name calling toddler style garbage that is prevalent in most partisan political discussions. Then the conversation ended like this:
Them: You’re like the white Olivia Pope.
Me: Thank you.
Them: That wasn’t a compliment.
Me: There is no world where that isn’t a compliment.
Them: Well it wasn’t.
Me: Ok.
Them: I mean, you’re like Command Olivia, not OPA Olivia.
Me: STILL not an insult.
Them: Whatever. I don’t even like Scandal.
Me: Yet you know there’s a difference between Command Olivia Pope and OPA Olivia Pope?
Them: Whatever. It just wasn’t a compliment.
Me: Ok, well if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go home, have a glass of wine, and start binge watching all 7 seasons of Scandal again.

To quote the writers that created the powerful gladiator herself, “I am many things, stupid is not one of them,” so I will never not be anything less than 100% ok with someone telling me I remind them of Olivia Pope, because Olivia Pope is a total bad ass.



“You need to reduce the stress in your life”

“You need to reduce the stress in your life”

My eye has been twitching for the better part of the last week. It’s been driving me absolutely insane, so I called my doctor to chat about it. After a brief conversation, he told me I need to start killing the stupid people and get massages on the regular. I mean, his exact words were “reduce the stress in your life” but I think we all know what he really meant by that.

I told him there were 3 ways I could see to reduce the stress in my life right now. One of them would be to quit my career and just focus on the morning job, which isn’t possible because then I pick up the super fun “I can’t pay my own bills” stress. And of the other two, one of them is illegal in this state, and the other is a bit immoral (this part isn’t the problem) and requires a willing second party (but this part is), so both of those options are out the window too. He laughed, I laughed, and then he offered to refill my xanax prescription so I can at least shut my brain down enough to go to sleep at night, because he correctly assumed that I am also not sleeping.

This is why I can’t change doctors…like ever….because this one gets what I need before I have to ask for it. And because next time I see him, he’ll probably jokingly ask if my method of relieving stress required a decent defense attorney that he may need to forward my medical records to.