By Special Request

Happy Halloween to all the countries that don't celebrate it like we do in the States. It's the one day a year girls dress up slutty and the boys wear wigs and hookups happen faster than a Christian in Afghanistan.

It's the single person's Valentine's Day, after all, so I'm a very happy girl.

Drunk Truths

I pushed a pillow on his lap and laid down. I didn't do it to be closer to him, instead I was getting tired. It was 3:30 in the morning and the party was winding down. He absentmindedly ran his hand down my head. By this time I removed the bunny ears and fixed the hair since the kissing bandit a few hours earlier.

He asks, "Can I tell you something? Drunk truth?"

"Drunk truth."

"I don't believe in True Love. I think we have to do the best we can."

"True Love as in soul mates?"

"Yeah."

"Oh I agree," I said too quickly. I thought about all the reasons I believe that, "You've been hurt."

"How can you tell?"

"I guess I'm good at noticing that sort of thing."

We sat there for a minute, both lost in our own heads.

"You want my drunk truth?" I asked.

"Sure."

"I don't believe men hurt as much as women do. I don't think your hearts break like ours."

"Judging on the Bell Curve, I'd say you're right."

We were silent again. It felt good to vocalize what we've been thinking and hiding for years.

We're over. I'm fine with that. I accept that. Matter of fact, I'm a proponent for that. Our relationship was one big bang followed by a slow but steady decline. I know that you and I are better friends than lovers.

So when you asked me how my speed date went, I gave you the honest truth. I told you that the men looked at me like I had a contagious skin disease. I told you I wanted just one yes, even if it was from the really really boring guy, to prove that I'm not a boy-pariah. I admitted these things to you because those are the things I would tell a friend, but hide from a lover.

But your actions confuse me. The response you gave me was really great, but there was something dismissive about the remark you made towards my potential dates.

And then there's the blog-stalking. I told you I didn't want you reading my blog, but you searched for it and found it anyway. I knew that. I knew that before things were over. You used to log on about once every four days and only to read posts that pertained to you, but that has changed since the breakup. You check my blog every day from your home computer, work computer, school lap top, and, today, from your cell phone. Why are you giving me more attention now that we're over?

Why are you all of a sudden hanging on every word of mine? Are you just curious? Am I just that good of a writer? That funny?

Are you jealous?

Were you out with her when you checked my blog on your cell phone? (You know I hated it when you checked your football scores on your phone while you were out with me. We used to laugh about it.)

I don't blame you for it. I know you don't know about site trackers and how I can see everything. I don't think you would check it as often if you knew that.

But here's the thing: I come home from mediocre dates and log onto my computer to find out you've been at my site. Again. And, at the very least, you've been thinking about me. It confuses me. It makes me wonder what you're thinking about me, and why you're thinking about me.

It makes me miss you.

And these mediocre dates are only confirming that maybe I liked you a little more than I let on.

And I'm scared because I still keep your e-mails.

I cried to let you go; I didn't cry for you. I'm scared that if things keep going the way they are, one of these days you might win some tears of mine. And it is a strict policy of mine to never cry for a boy.

But you don't have access to this diary, so you'll never know that I'm thinking about you right now. And even though you think you know everything there is about me (and obviously you like it because you keep coming back), you'll never know about this place. You'll never have the whole truth.

That maybe I liked you a little more than I let on.

And I'm scared.

A Halloween Post

I've always wanted to be had. Just taken in a moment of passion. Don't be shy, just push me up against the wall and kiss me.

So when it happened last night, I should have been excited. Instead I thought, Dude, you messed up my pony tail.

And now my bunny ears are skewed.

Speed Dating, Schmeed Dathignrrrrrrrr

The speed date was at such an awkward time that I didn't have time for dinner beforehand. I also didn't have time to go home and go back out to the bar, so I brought everything I needed with me and stood in my work bathroom applying deodorant and using in the curling iron while enduring strange looks from other women passing in and out.

It didn't cross my mind that I was going to Midtown and that I would need cash for parking, so I ended up parking along a shady street (and by shady, I'm not talking about leaf coverage) and hiking a few blocks to my destination.

And I was the first person there. Sometimes I really hate my punctuality.

I soon met Claire and Claire-- two women in their thirties who do everything together, including hunting for men. This was not their first speed date. As they talked about the events they attend in town, I realized I was speaking to my and E's future selves in about 10 years. And we had gotten uglier and lost a bit of our fashion sense judging from one of the Claire's pink plastic poodle purse.

I ordered my first drink of the night, a traditional martini with three olives, and laughed watching the others file in. Girls to the right of me and boys to the left: we were as segregated as a middle school dance. The coordinator sighed and said that some of the men were running late, so we wouldn't be beginning on time. I leaned to the girl next to me and joked about how we already could tell punctuality is none of their strong suits. She laughed. We leaned into the bar to order another round of drinks.

We introduced ourselves and decided that we would hang out with each other, since neither one of us brought a friend. She was the straight-haired version of me. We worked within a mile from each other and laughed at how we both ogle the same waiter at our mutual favorite lunch taqueria. We exchanged business cards so we could keep in touch.

The coordinator blew her whistle (Oh my god, a whistle!?) and my new friend and I headed to a table to let the speed dating begin. I grabbed one more drink to take with me.

The bar was kind of dark-- it made me nervous that I wouldn't be able to notice things like third eyes and hairy moles and disfiguring facial scars.

The first three men were nice and the four minutes we got to talk seemed to fly by. I wrote down their ID numbers and drew smiley faces by them.

Man #4 comes.

"So how old are you, #4?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Just asking a question here. Nothing behind it."
"Guess."
"I'm terrible at guessing!"
"Guess!"
"32."
...
"See, I told you I was bad at that sort of thing!"
"No, I'm 32."
"So what's the problem?"
"People usually tell me 26."

Whistle! Thank God. I stopped asking ages after that.

Man #5: I spill half my drink down the curtain behind me.

Man #6:

He asks, "So have you done speed dating before?"
"No, and I'm relieved that everyone looks so normal!"
"Well, what do you mean by that?"
"Like no one is missing an appendage or in a wheelchair."
"...Do you have a problem with people in wheelchairs?"
...

Whistle! Oh christ, I do believe I'm getting drunk. Normally three drinks do nothing for me, but I had to skip dinner.

Man #7:

"You're hot, so why are you doing speed dating?" I slur while touching his knee.
(I have no idea what he says because I'm realizing just how drunk I'm getting.)
"Why are you doing speed dating?" he asks in return.
"I need a date for my office Christmas party."

Yup, I am very drunk.

Man #7 gets up from the table and goes to sit with my new friend. I lean into her and say loudly enough for him to hear, "Don't talk to that guy. He's a total douchebag."

She laughs. He becomes very wide-eyed.

He looks at the girl and asks, "Do you two know each other?"
"We just met."

Man #8 is a dentist.

"So is it true you can brush your teeth too hard?"
"Yup."
"Have you gotten any other dental questions tonight?"
"Nope."

Man #9 and Man #10 and I have nothing in common, so we sit there in silence and stare at each other. Then with Man #10 I remembered a promise I made at work that day.

"Do you live with your parents?"

I have no idea what Man #11 said to me because I was too busy concentrating.

Oh my god, I am so so so drunk. I wonder if he can tell. You know how people's eyes do that weird thing when they're wasted? I wonder if he can see my eyes do that. Does he know I'm tanked? He has to know. I can't remember the last time I was this drunk. I am full-on shitfaced. I can usually hold my liquor, what happened? Oh god, I don't feel well. I think I'm going to puke. Please don't let me puke on this guy. Oh, I'm getting lightheaded like I do before I puke. Oh shit, I'm going to puke. Steady. Steady. I think I'll make it...

I had a four minute break and I ran into the bathroom and shoved my finger down my throat. I retched a few times, but it turns out it was all mental. A girl walks into the bathroom.

"Oh my god, we totally have to like go hit the bars after this and meet men."

"Ok." I had no intentions of ever seeing her again.

At my table I fish the olives out of the bottom of the glass and eat them, hoping they would count as dinner.

I have no memory of the last two guys.

I go and pay my tab. The coordinator comes up to me, "Are you okay? Should I call you a cab?"

So that answers my question if people could tell I was drunk.

"No I'll be fine. I just live three streets over. I can walk."

I walk back to my table and grab my things. I try to pick up my scorecard but it had glued itself to the table when I spilled my drink 8 men ago. I try and pry it off, but I only got the last page. The rest is still attached.

The coordinator had followed me. "Oh don't worry about that. The bartender can get that up."

What else can go wrong tonight?

I walk home and with a final punctuation of the night, I finally get sick. At 9:30 on a Wednesday. All over the call box in front of my building. With witnesses. I know buildings have cameras on the call boxes, so I'm pretty sure that moment is now on tape somewhere.

I buzz myself in. I have no idea if I let the dog out to pee or not. But I learned that I did make myself a pot of noodles when I woke up on my couch at 4:20 in the morning with all the lights on and the now cold noodles on the stove. I set the pot on the floor for the dog and realized I didn't remember the night at all.

The next morning at work (and after the aspirin was popped) I pull out my scorecard to enter in the website. I couldn't read my own handwriting. Not only that, but I couldn't read my own smiley faces. N had to sit with me to help me decipher.

"That's a happy face turned frowney face."
"Ok. We'll go ahead and assume that's a no."
"That's a straight line. I'm not sure what that means."
"Oh I did that for the ones I could take or leave. I think."
"That is a half smiley face/ half straight line. What the hell were you drinking?"
"Gin martinis. They're new to me, so my tolerance isn't all there."

I ended up checking off 5 yeses and 8 nos from what we could determine. But I was absolutely certain that I would be getting turned down by 13 men in one night and it could in fact be my most humbling moment. Ever.

Afterthoughts

Hi Sarah,

I wouldn't disappear off the face of the earth - especially not with you! ;-)

I was serious about maintaining a friendship... it is a typical thing to say, but I do actually mean it this time, lol! I really do like you as well and you have a sense of humor that is totally to my liking.

I would like to still read the books - I will take care of them - anytime you want them back, just say so. I will probably be able to bust through them after finals in early December (scary thing is that that isn't very far away).

Good luck tonight, can't wait to hear about that!!

Adam

It was the e-mail that broke my crying ban. I didn't even realize that I was crying until the paper towel I keep at my desk for spills was soaked completely through. I wasn't hurt or disappointed that things were officially over, if anything I was relieved. Finally I wouldn't have to worry or stress over him anymore. He had a friendship that turned into something more over the weekend and they decided to give the relationship a chance. Sounds like something that happens only in movies, how could I not root for it?

It's funny how with the breakup, I can be honest for the first time. I had never said to Adam that I liked him before my response. It's understood when you're holding hands and kissing in the park, but I wasn't able to actually verbalize it until then. Adam had never really verbalized it before either. Sure there were "You're cute" and "You're a smart girl" tucked in e-mails, but the boy never said "I really like you" until now.

It was over and I felt relieved and eerily calm. I guess the tears were a release-- I was letting go of everything. I couldn't be upset with him; he was a nice break from reality. In the last year, he was the only man to take me out on proper dates. If anything, he taught me what I should expect and hold out for.

No, I couldn't be upset with him.

I stuck a thumb under each eye and wiped the last of the tears away, careful not to smear my makeup. I had 15 dates that night to prepare for.

Adam,

I completely understand where you're coming from and I wish the best for the both of you. Seriously, I do. I also really appreciate you taking the time to tell me instead of disappearing off the face of the earth.

I've known for quite awhile that things weren't working for us like they had been previously. One of the reasons I kept in contact with you though is because I genuinely like you as a person. I hope you were sincere when you expressed you wanted to remain friends because I would enjoy that as well.

Hold onto my books for now, if you still want to read them. I'm not in any hurry to get them back, although I would like to see them again eventually. Since it sounds like you've got so much going on right now, I'll wait for you to contact me if you were serious about the friends thing.

I actually have speed dating tonight, so wish me luck on that!

Sarah

Wanted: one snuggle monkey for rainy nights and office Christmas parties

Last Tuesday was a wake up call for me. I was seeing someone whom I did not feel comfortable calling. My intentions were innocent enough: obtain a snuggle monkey for a rainy night. I wasn't asking him to spend money. Hell, I wasn't even asking him to wear pants. Still, it was a low maintenance request that I didn't feel comfortable making.

I like Adam. I do. He's smart, handsome, and affectionate. But he's never there. I'm not a needy person by any means, but I need to see the man I'm dating at least one night every two weeks. Because I wasn't getting that from him, I didn't feel comfortable on the random get together.

I wish I was strong enough to tell Adam not to bother anymore, but I can't cut him loose without any prospects. I've decided to do my best to replace him as quickly as possible. I reactivated my online profile. I've also signed up for a speed date this week. If I spread my romantic interests as thinly as Adam does, then it won't matter that I'm having a relationship with him via my e-mail account.

And if I'm not comfortable asking for a random rainy night together, then I'm definitely not comfortable asking him to my office Christmas party. I got an invitation addressed to me and my "spouse" in the mail today. With only two single people in the company, it must have slipped their minds that not everyone has a spouse. Whatever happened to "employee plus one?" Not romantic enough?

Playing Stranger

I logged on my dating website and noticed I got hotlisted.

By an Australian.

In Australia.

I don't know why he's trolling for American girls on the internet, but I can't help to think he's using my photo for his own, um, personal use.

I am beyond creeped out at this moment.

Rated R for Randy

I don't know if it's the music.

I don't know if it's the breathing.

I don't know if it's my no-slip rubber mat.

But yoga turns me on.

After an hour spent with my kness spread apart and my legs over my head, I just want a good deep dicking. I can't explain it.

Last night I was in some sort of shoulder stand slowing bending each leg until my knee could kiss my nose and all I could think was I wonder what it would feel like to get fucked like this.

Don't make love to me, just bend me until it hurts.

And after yoga, it's a lot further than normally.

Sarah Answers, Part 5 of Bazillion

Nic asked, "How can we become satisfied with ourselves so that we never lose ourself in someone else again? How do we begin to be happy with ourself? So that we know we are giving our all (in a relationship) but not giving too much."

First off, thanks for waiting. Secondly, thanks for having the enough faith in me to think I know the answers to these questions. I have lost myself in a relationship twice. I loved him and therefore wanted to make him happy, but somehow the lines got blurred. Or maybe he took advantage of it. Or both.

But both times I ended up a puddle of self-loathing. I am such a vivacious person that I couldn't believe I'd allowed myself to stop being that. This happened for the second and last time a little over a year ago.

Become selfish. Find what makes you happy and pour yourself into it. I always loved dance, so I started taking ballet classes again. Before you think I whiz my way around the stage-- I have rhythm, but terrible balance. And I can't jump for shit. But I go every week and do it because I like it, and that has earned me the respect of the rest of the class.

These things are called "hobbies" and they also make you look more interesting when you do start dating again ;) I love watching men's eyes dazzle when I say yoga.

Dr. Phil loves to ask his patients how much effort each person should put into a relationship. They usually respond 50%. This is the moment Dr. Phil likes to laugh and say that if you're not giving 100%, then it's not going to work.

This is a bunch of bullshit.

I wish I knew what to tell you, Nic, but I don't. My current modus operandi is tit for tat dating: I put forth as much effort as he does. And we all can see how well this isn't working. But I also know that me trying harder won't change a thing.

When I read He's Just Not That Into You, I put the book down and cried. I don't know if you've read it, but it ends on such a low note. Truth is that there aren't many nice guys out there. Not all nice girls will end up with nice boys, much less a boy at all. It's the terrifying but sad truth. "Everyone-- if they tuly believe it and are open to it-- will find a good person to love. I don't believe that's true," Liz writes. "I can give you incredibly valid arguments, backed up with statistics, flow charts, and diagrams, for why my pessimism is the more realistic outlook to have."

Our gender isn't making it easier. We've shot ourselves in the face with feminism. Yeah we can have sex like men, but do we want to? And why would men want to try when women are just throwing themselves at them? Why would a man ever need to commit when women say it's okay to sleep with them but not date them?

Be Honest: You're Just Not That Into Him Either ends on a much higher note. He says that in giving up on love and remaining single and not settling for some badly behaving loser, we actually win Charlie's Chocolate Factory. "You wised up. You don't believe in happily every after anymore. You know the golden ticket was a sham... you've been through so much you're a candidate for a permanent Purple Heart," the writer analogizes. "So here you are, pissed off, defeated-- and ready to leave your Everlasting Gobstopper of Love of the table and walk away... All those times you lowered your standards and were tempted to settle? You didn't... You didn't give up, not completely." In short, single people can't get divorced.

Just focus on youself. Become selfish. Become happy. If love comes again, great. If not, at least you're happy with yourself.

I'm interested in anybody else's opinion on this topic, because now I'm pretty fuggin' depressed.

Dreams

It's cold and rainy. I just want to feel with abandon and call him. Forget my rule of never calling boys. Forget my rule of letting him lead and I decided whether to follow or not.

I want to call him and offer to come over and cook a big messy pot of chili. The kind my step-mother makes. Afterwards we'll wipe our cold noses and make a nest on the couch. He'll remove the back pillows so we fit perfectly. I'll be the little spoon; he'll be the big spoon. He'll wrap me in his blue itchy blanket and he'll flip through the channels and we'll mock whatever we watch. I'll beg him to light a fire and he'll turn me down, giving me one good reason followed by four bad ones. Just to drive the point home. He'll bury his face in my neck and readjust his arm around me with a squeeze. I'll lean my head back to meet his lips and everything else will be forgotten. Even the light rain on his balcony.

But that's what rainy days are for, right? Dreaming?

My microwave dinner awaits me...

Huzzah!

I decided to take the week off from work and head to the beach for probably the last hurrah of the season. I'm spending a lot of money shopping, but more importantly, I'm having a good time.

Tomorrow I have a date with my Mastercard the Coach factory store. I don't even know if I'll be able to sleep tonight with all the excitement.

In my laziness (I didn't put pants on until 1 PM today) I took this quiz. I would say it's pretty accurate as far as the top threes go. My love for high heels suggests, however, that I am anything but practical.

Your dating personality profile: Outgoing - You can liven up any party. You've got a way with people and have little difficulty charming your dates. Big-Hearted - You are a kind and caring person. Your warmth is inviting, and your heart is a wellspring of love. Sensual - You are not particularly shy when it comes to your sexuality. You know what you like and do not feel inhibited.

Your date match profile: Funny - You consider a good sense of humor a major necessity in a date. If his jokes make you laugh, he has won your heart. Adventurous - You are looking for someone who is willing to try new things and experience life to its fullest. You need a companion who encourages you to take risks and do exciting things. Wealthy/Ambitious - You seek someone with goals, someone to whom success is important. You would like for this person to open up new experiences and opportunities for you.

Your Top Ten Traits 1. Outgoing 2. Big-Hearted 3. Sensual 4. Funny 5. Stylish 6. Adventurous 7. Romantic 8. Intellectual 9. Liberal 10. Practical

Your Top Ten Match Traits 1. Funny 2. Adventurous 3. Wealthy/Ambitious 4. Outgoing 5. Romantic 6. Sensual 7. Conservative 8. Stylish 9. Big-Hearted 10. Athletic

Take the Quiz

But he laughed too

I just found out that Adam has a gay brother.

I'm sitting here counting all the jokes I made about pink tank tops that go down to men's nipples while walking with him in front of the gay bookstore that's next to his building.

I can think of at least four.

The road to hell is paved with something something

Adam opened his front door right as I approached it.

"Do you want to come in? Or are you ready?"

"No, I'm ready."

It was an awkward moment and then he leaned in to kiss me. The kiss felt forced. He turned and locked his door.

"You look really good."

I should. I spent an hour getting ready. I was freshly shaved. My body was loofaed. I curled my hair. Even my makeup and complexion were perfect. I actually rubbed my blush off so I would look less like a porcelain doll.

I scrunched my face up. "Is that what you look like? I thought you were hotter..."

Adam laughed and pinched my side. The ice was broken.

He looked at me again. "Nice shoes, ballet slippers?"

"Well, modeled after. These are the expensive leather recreations. I have the real ones at home."

He thought for a second. "You wore them so I would feel tall."

I couldn't hide my smile. "They're my only winter flats. I thought it was a nice gesture! You better be glad I did because I would be bitching if I was walking to the park in three inch heels."

At the park we ended up with the same table we sat at the first time we came. Adam gave up the best seat so I wouldn't have my eyes in the setting sun.

I was relaxed and I was happy that neither of us had to work in the morning. We both had Columbus Day off, which was a pretty unusual day for businesses to grant their employees. I began drinking. I realized after drink five that I should probably quit, but I didn't feel a thing. I also hadn't stood up yet.

I like to think I held my liquor well. I got a bit chatty and opened up to him about my parents.

"I don't know why they got married to be honest."

"Well, it's a good thing they did," and he flashed his knowing look and he didn't have to explain further.

Two more drinks and I talked superficially about other guys I dated, a topic that was previously off limits. I had never mentioned another man before tonight; I could have been a nun for all he knew. Even partially intoxicated, I was still careful not to give too much information. All he knows is that I've dated. A lot.

We paused on our walk back home and stopped and picked up a pint of Ben & Jerry's and we stood over his sink eating the bowls of ice cream. I scooped the rest of mine into his dish and watched horrified as he dumped the uneaten portion in the sink and poured tap water on it.

Adam crossed the room and sat down on his couch and motioned for me to follow. I crashed on the couch and snuggled up against his chest with my nose to his starched buttons.

"Mmm," he groaned. I freaking love that.

I inhaled. I knew that scent, but I had too much alcohol to name it. I buried my face in his chest and he laughed.

"What are you wearing?"

"Armani."

"I knew it! Gio. Aqua di Gio."

"Yup."

I inhaled again. "It's my favorite scent of all time. I can't be trusted around it. It just does things to me."

"I like it too."

"No, I mean I almost got slapped with sexual harassment at a job because a guy sat down next to me wearing it and I kept invading his personal space so I could smell him. Another time I found myself following some stranger in the mall just to smell him. I wasn't even aware I had fully turned around to follow him for several minutes. It just drives me crazy."

So maybe I was a little drunker than I thought. I can't believe I just admitted that out loud to another soul.

Adam began to kiss me. And like I told him, I can't control myself around that scent. I took it as a sign from above that it was okay for me to get booty that night. Well that and the seven liquor drinks wore down all my inhibitions. I learned that after he had me screaming like a porn star to only realize he left his windows open.

Talk about advertising.

Give me strength

I will not have sex with Adam tonight.
I will not have sex with Adam tonight.
I will not have sex with Adam tonight.

Sarah Answers, Part Four of Many

Round four...

Natalie asked, "Do you trust people?"

That's a big fault of mine. I'm not very trusting (read: at all). Combined with my fierce sense of independence and it appears that I don't have a big need for other people. I've had several guys walk out the door and call over their shoulders, "I didn't feel needed."

It's a vicious cycle. I don't open up because I think he's going to leave. He leaves because I don't open up. The right man for me will be one that stays when I push.

Outside of relationships, the same applies. I think it's I'm afraid of judgment.

Two Drink Girl asked, "Why doesn't anybody get us the way we do?"

Crazy understands crazy. That's why we stick together! :)

Anonymous asked, "Does it feel any different to you with or without any protection?"

First off, I do not condone unprotected sex outside of a monogamous relationship in which there is another form of birth control used.

That being said, yes I can tell a difference. Especially with condoms that are ribbed or with little bumps "for a woman's pleasure." I'm not a big fan of the ribs or the bumps. Otherwise I can't tell a difference, except maybe emotionally.

Oh, after about 45 minutes to an hour condoms will, uh, dry me out. And that doesn't feel great either. I find that pausing to put a new one on will quickly remedy that.

Sarah Answers, Part Three of Many

Round three...

Anonymous asked, "Are you happy?"

I am. My brother P said to me last month, "Sarah, I have never seen you looking so well and so happy. You just have this energy about you. Sister, you glow."

With the exception of the boyfriend, I have everything I could want or wish for in life. It may not come across in this blog because I spend a lot of time sorting out my fears and feelings. I have a career that I get up and go to every morning without thinking of three reasons to call out. I have great friends. I have a balanced bank account. It's a very selfish life, but I spend time the way it I want it.

Martha asked, "How do you become content with current life situations?"

Martha, I'm not a wise person by any means, but I do know this: never become content. Let me repeat this-- never become content with current life. Always strive for better. I know you've had a rough time since I started following you with your job and roommate situations. I too want you to have the Desperate Housewife life.

You were scared of driving and look at you now-- you have a car and hours logged behind the wheel of those scary big work vans! You worked on your fear! I'm so proud of you! Strive to get the job you really want and with that you'll be able to get another kick ass roommate. Don't settle if it doesn't make you happy. When you're truly happy, people will naturally want to be around you and hopefully get a little of what you have.

"How do you move on from a romance that you feel like you never should have left?"

I love these romance questions. I think they are so funny because I don't know what the hell I'm doing most of the time. If I had really wanted it, I could have had the husband and house thing by now. There are two relationships I walked away from that I know would have ended up that way.

This is how I moved on: I drank a lot and found someone new to sleep with. Not exactly the healthiest of ways, but it worked for me.

Think about it like this, and I didn't learn this until I had years of perspective after the relationships were over: when it came down to it, you and I couldn't commit. I didn't want to acknowledge it at the time, but those people weren't right for me. It didn't mean I didn't love them and care for them, but in the long run, they wouldn't have kept me happy. It might be hard to see it because you still care for him and miss him, but there was a reason you didn't commit.

Rocky Mountain Princess asked, "Do you let people you know in real life read your journal? Who are they and why?"

No. No one I know in real life has access to this blog or even knows about it. I actually keep a separate blog for that. I lead two lives: a public one and a private one. Like I've said, I'm fairly secretive. You should feel lucky though, you get access to all the dirt and they don't. :)

Do you tend to stereotype people?

I do, is that a bad thing? Most stereotypes are founded on some matter of pattern or truth. I am a upper-middle class white girl. I was a debutante, my university was paid for by my parents, my Scotch-Irish ancestry can be traced in America back to the 1620's. I come from a very prominent southern family and I could join the Daughters of the Confederacy if I ever choose. I pretty much fit my own stereotype.

"Describe a typical evening in the life of Sarah."

After work, I hit the gym for either ballet or yoga. Then I drive home and take my dog to the park for her walk. At 7:30 I turn on Geraldo and cook dinner. I absolutely hate him, but I watch every day to mock him. Eating is more of a formality since I live alone and it's usually tuna salad or Hamburger Helper-- nothing fancy. Depending on the day of the week, I either watch TV or pop in a movie from my Blockbuster online membership. By 11 PM, I'm in bed falling asleep to one of my TV series I have on DVD. I'm very simple during the week and I like it that way.

"Do you REALLY like those tall, scary, neck-breaking shoes or is it just a societal thing you've been suckered into?"

I love them! They make me feel sexy. Last night I walked over a mile in them going and coming back from the bar. My mother hates them because she thinks I'm going to break an ankle in them. My friends hate them because I'm fairly tall as it is and three inch heels makes me soar above them. I'm actually in a bit of a dilemma because I have a date tomorrow with Adam (!) and I'm the same height as he is and I don't know if I should wear heels or not.

Sarah Answers, Part Two of Many

Round two...

M asked, "Favourite band?"

Most people have never heard of him, but my favorite is Butch Walker. He had some success about five years ago in a band called The Marvelous 3, but he has since gone solo. The Marvelous 3 played anthem rock as a throw back to the 80s hair metal scene. Their concerts were absolutely amazing and they would have explosions in one song and snow in the next.

As a solo artist Butch Walker has gone much more indie, but it's still great stuff. He's best known these days as a producer for most of the American pop punk scene: Avril Lavigne, Bowling for Soup, Pink, Rock Star: Supernova, and Pete Yorn.

Other bands I'm big on right now: Beck, Mint Royale, and Liz Phair's "Exile to Guyville" hardly leaves my 6 disc player.

"Favourite movie genre?"

I'm going to have to stay with the classics. I'm a bit hard to please when it comes to films because I've seen so many of them, but those that stand the test of time rarely disappoint. Gone with the Wind, The Apartment, Casablanca, and The Godfather are all wonderful.

All-time favs: Uncle Buck, Amelie, True Romance (if you haven't seen this, I insist you do. Written by Quentin Tarantino with and all-star cast before any of them were famous) National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, Donnie Darko, and The Royal Tennebaums.

Nick asked, "Where do you see yourself in five years time?"

Christ. Ok. I'll be in my thirties then. Hopefully I will own a condo in the city and I'll still be pounding away at my job for The Man. I will also be a little more well traveled. I'll probably still be visiting the bars, I'll have given up beer by then due to the fact that my metabolism has begun to slow and I'll become one of those people who is able to sip on alcohol on the rocks. Whisky or bourbon probably. Still single, but better dressed.

"Do you believe in love?"

No. But I so want to be proven wrong. Love and I have some issues. I realized that I have never actually been around love. I don't remember my parents being together. My mother remarried a man she didn't love "to give me a father figure" (no guilt being put on me there). My father was married to my step-mother for 17 years before he could tell me that he loved her ( That was sometime in January--they married when I was 8) And I never had a roommate that was in love. So I've never been around it. I learned about it from TV and movies and I believe I'm ruined for life because it turns out that isn't love either. Fact of the matter is Lloyd Dobler does not exist.

"What is it that you most want in life?"

I want to be happy and fully independent. I believe I am both.

"In terms of guys: Good looking or wealthy?"

Either answer is going to make me look bad. I think I would choose wealthy. I really do get turned off when I meet men that make less than me. First of all, I don't make that much. I'm just really good with budgeting. But if he makes less than me than we can barely support ourselves, much less children should I ever decide to squeeze one out. I like the idea of the man being a provider and with that a sense of monetary security.

I've dated the starving artist before. Twice. It fucking sucks. Paying someone's rent for them isn't sexy. And the song dedications don't refill your bank account.

"Full head of hair or bald?"

I have a full head of hair. Oh, on men? I've broken up with a couple of perfectly nice guys for no other reason except they were bald. Like Bic bald. I'm just not attracted. Male pattern baldness is fine-- male pattern baldness can even be cute. I just don't see myself starting a relationship with Mr. Clean.

"Shaved or a la naturel ;)?"

Where is the hair in question? Below the belt, but above the knees? Better be kept tidy. On the face? Shaved. Although I find the five o'clock shadow hella sexy, my skin is too sensitive to be in contact with it. Back and shoulders? Yeah you got to take care of that too. Remind me sometime to tell the story about my friend Matt and his hairy ass, it's hilarious. Chest hair can be natural, as once again stubble is not compatible with me.

Gabriel K. asked, "All I want to know is what your real name is."

I answered you via e-mail. Nice to meet you :)

Sarah Answers, Part One of Many

Thanks for giving me so much to do!!!

I am going to answer out of order because some questions demand a lot time, but I will get to them all.

Anonymous asked, "ok, an easy one for starters..... where are ya sarah?"

Easy indeed. I live in Atlanta: home of the 1996 Olympics and Whitney "crack is whack" Houston and Bobby Brown. I absolutely love living inside the city because there is always something exciting going on. Like the time Bobby Brown's nephew got stabbed in P Diddy's 5 star restaurant, Justin's. Yeah...

Indiana asked, "Favourite sex position and why?"

Way to go straight to the perv :). My favo(u)rite position is doggie style, especially this past year where sex has been less emotional. Not only do I love the angle, but I also feel less vulnerable with my belly and my chest facing away from the man in question. I just feel too exposed with that part of my body open to him.

Phil asked, "What do you put on your hotdog?"

First off, I found this pic last week of Phil eating a frankfurter in NY and I had a fit over his caption. Personally I like onions, chili, and mustard.

"Cam and Justin Timberlake. Do you want them to make it?"

No. Celebrity breakups make me feel good about myself.

"Which member of the Breakfast Club is the closest representation of you when you were in school?"

Brian, The Nerd. Sigh. I mean I never cried over an elephant lamp, but I grew up under a very strict roof. I wasn't allowed to wear certain clothing (My mother once called me a hooker when I wore a spaghetti-strapped shirt if that gives you any idea). I was a goody-goody to the extreme, but I managed to be stealth enough that I never got picked on.

Ask Desperate Sarah

I'm not feeling creative this week. I've been asked to write some articles for an online dating website and all my creative juices are going to that. I also don't have any self-indulgent conversations to post.

So it's time for Ask Desperate Sarah Anything.

Leave me a question in the comments section and I will do my best to answer it honestly and openly. Obviously questions like "What's your social security number?" or "What's your address?" with be ignored. But perhaps there is something you're curious in knowing about me. Or maybe you want advice on how to react when your grandmother gives you yet another flannel nightgown this Christmas.

For all you lurkers, this is your chance! Question anonymously if you must, but question away.

Go on, I dare you.

And this is where I should have lied redux

We've played this game before.

I'm not a liar. It's not that I'm opposed to it, I'm just really terrible at it. Let's just be clear that I would totally lie if I could get away with it.

So Adam calls for the first time since the unmetioned naked activity:

Adam: Hey.
Sarah: Hey stranger.
Adam: Whatcha doin?
Sarah: Having a debate with an Australian about spitting versus swallowing.
Adam: ...
Adam: ...
Sarah: ...
Adam: As if there's even a debate!

30 minute chat but still no date invite. Actually not a shocker considering.

I love to iChat

Talking online is so much funnier than talking in person sometimes.

Check out this pearl of wisdom from Angel Girl while discussing the new season of Grey's Anatomy:

Penitence

I woke up Sunday afternoon feeling hungover. There wasn't a drop of alcohol in my system, that's just how I feel when I sleep too much. The dog had moved from under my bed to the foot of my bed, ready in an instant to go outside when I got up.

I padded into the living room and squatted down on the floor where my computer is tucked away in a corner. My apartment isn't big enough for a desk. I began my morning rituals: check the Hotmail, check the Gmail, and moderate comments. There wasn't much on a Sunday outside my Word of the Day e-mail (vernissage : a private showing or preview of an art exhibition).

I lazily clicked over to my MySpace. I hadn't been on much recently, but I checked just in case. In my inbox was an e-mail marked "Hello..." from an unrecognizable boy. It's probably just one of those "You're hot, let's chat" e-mails, I thought. I opened the letter preparing for an ego boost. Instead, I got this:


Huh? What is he apologizing for? Sending an e-mail after I went to bed? Who is he?

I clicked on his profile and scrolled down to the schools section. I went to high school with him. I scrolled up and looked at his friends list and I knew who he was. He and I had one date 10 years ago when I was 15. Almost 10 years ago to the day. We went to a haunted house with a group of friends. After the date he started ignoring me at school. He said he didn't want me as a girlfriend.

"Well fine, let's be friends then."

He slammed his locker door shut and began walking to class. I followed him. "You don't know me," he said quietly.

"There's time for that. We can get to know each other." Oh god, even I wouldn't have been friends with me back then.

"Look, things just got out of control that night," and he disappeared in the classroom, leaving me in the hall.

It happened a few times when I was in high school. A boy would like me and go out with me exactly once. His friends found out and teased him mercilessly because I was too plain, or not popular enough, and he would never speak to me again. To everyone's surprise, I was a late bloomer and this isn't the first apology I've received through MySpace.

I haven't seen him in 8 or 9 years and I hadn't even given him a single thought in all that time. My eyes stung. Nothing makes me upset quicker than feeling validated. I was right in being hurt when he did that. I was right when I cried in that class we shared two periods later. I wasn't being silly.

I got up from the screen and made myself a bloody mary. Sucking on an olive, I responded, "Apologize? For what?" I at least had to make him say it.

Why do people feel the need to apologize for something they did too many years ago? Do they really want to repent?