Some people think your (actual) birthday determines the next year. If I’d known that, I would have spent my birthday a little differently. It wasn’t BAD, per say, just nothing I care to repeat for an entire year. The Cliffs Notes version of my birthday…

·         Spent most of the day in bed watching a Law & Order marathon, in deep procrastination.

·         Had dinner with my family.

·         Watched my mother try and con us into burning an old flag because it was the “respectful” thing to do. HOLY WHAT THE FUCK?! There are SO many things that are wrong with this…but let’s start with the fact that flags don’t freaking burn: they are fire retardant. To accomplish such a “respectful” task, an old flag requires soaking in lighter fluid (or some such bullshit) beforehand. My mother skipped this step in favor of lighters and candles. The only substantial outcome, other than a polyester fume high and a few small burnt spots (on the flag), was my poor sister having a piece of polyester burnt into her skin. (That’s what you get for trying to help your mother!)

·         Started writing my paper around 9:30PM.

·         Received a phone call from the guy I was seeing around 10:00PM, who I later discovered, just wasn’t that into me.

You can bet your sweet ass I’ll not be procrastinating on my next birthday or burning ANYTHING with my family. I will be having the best day ever. It will include being totally on top of my school work and lots of awesome sex with a man (not a boy, or guy) who respects me and worships the fucking ground I walk on. I am over the year of procrastination and boys who don’t measure up.

A few months ago I had an interesting conversation with my dad about dating. (Weird, I know.) He said the shitty part about internet dating is that you don’t have a “real” connection with the people you are meeting*. Well, except that you both pay to meet people on the internet. All you can do is cross your fingers people are genuine because you aren’t going to see them again through mutual friends, or run into them at some shared activity. There is no accountability. Don’t want to talk to someone anymore? Pretend they don’t exist. The end! I’m guilty of this, as well. Sometimes it seems silence is more kind…which leaves me wondering: what the fuck happened to make (insert name of anyone interesting I’ve dated since moving to stupid fucking God’s Country) disappear? I feel like I have been doing a pretty good job of not being the crazy girl. My boundaries have improved. I’m not fucking each dude within the first 20 minutes (I’m all way up to 40 minutes of conversation before sex in the Starbucks bathroom). And I wait at least 5 minutes AFTER sex before I profess my love for him, tell him I want to have a million of his babies, and that I can’t wait for him to meet my cat.

Communicating with men via dating websites the appropriate amount of time, graduating to personal email or phone, then eventually in person is exhausting. Especially when you meet and you immediately know it’s not gonna happen. Whether it’s because he’s educated to fucking infinity but has yet to discover the joys of deodorant, freaking you the fuck out by attempting to destroy all the boundaries you’ve set (HELLO! Red flag d-bag!), or you’d rather tongue kiss your cat. All of which makes it more frustrating when seemingly decent men disappear.

Does anyone know who Random Carol is? ? I’ve been receiving referrals from her, but her blog is private.

And to the person who is coming here by way of a “what to ask to my future husband” Google search, you are in the wrong place. (I don’t know why I’m the second result either.) If you continue to return, I may be forced to write a list of things to ask the lucky fucker.

*I hate it when my dad is right.

Seriously, who hits up women on dating websites and woos them with their apathetic attitude toward love? Whatthefuckever.

In other news, I’ve decided I would never have money problems again if every ex-boyfriend who contacted me paid some sort of fee/fine. It appears I’m that girl: the girl who boys profess their love, kindness, and appreciation to AFTER we’re done dating. Thanks a fucking lot guys! I sincerely hope one of the handful of men I’m communicating with right now will appreciate me for all my sassy glory before we’ve broken up. When I asked my friend Steph how to go about charging ex-boyfriends the “I was wrong about you fee” she suggested I make each new guy sign a contract when we first start dating. Lawyers? Help!

Ing’s perspective is very familiar. I’ve have had relationships here and there. Some long, some shorter. I understand the pressure of friends and loved ones wanting me to be with someone. I can particularly relate to what she wrote about her mother. My mother also believes that not finding someone to marry and have babies with is so horrible it’s just shy of a terminal disease. She tries not to pressure me, but I can still feel it. It’s not done maliciously; she just wants me to be happy. But it’s still a lot pressure for a girl.

I would love to meet someone to share my life with; I have wondered if that will really happen for me. This is not a pity party; it’s my life. I am not under the delusion of waiting for The One because I don’t believe in The One. It is bullshit to think there is only one person for everyone. I happen to think there are many options out there for all of us. I think it’s more likely a matter of finding someone whose baggage is the right weight, so you can help each other shoulder the bullshit of life.

When I read this I almost fell out of my chair.

“…sometimes I wonder if men and women are suited for each other at all.”

Crossing my fingers that I’ll find one of my many possibilities…hoping the most valued relationship in my life is eventually not my cat; though he’s damn fucking cute.

My almost-two-year-old niece’s favorite topic of the week is my juggs. (Yes, I called my boobs juggs.) She says my name, hold her hands above her head and yells, “Boobies bid!” Which translates to I have huge boobies. My sister said she’s been talking about them when they’re at home and I’m not around. Lucky me!

I’m a little sad that I didn’t buy chastity sweats. Damn, they’re cute! I would feel awkward when my dad, inevitably, would ask about the writing on my butt. Nothing says I’m saving it like silk screened junk in da trunk, right? By saving it, I mean dishing it out to the next guy who’s decent enough to help me break the rules and regulations of Club Celibacy. Here’s to hoping the next guy I date doesn’t appear as a member of a teen pron chat group in a Google search. I’m not gonna close up shop till marriage or anything, because that could be a VERY LONG TIME. And let’s face it; even with a drawer full of battery charged goodness I don’t have that kind of patience.

How was your weekend?

Has anyone else had this problem? Surely Megatropolis and I aren’t the only two who’ve suffered from the birth control curse.

Another dating problem I’ve encountered: I’m ready to date, only I’m not ready to date here. I don’t want to date anyone in Utah (insert bitching about weird Utah dating scene), which is pretty fucking inconvenient, considering I’m officially a Utahrd.

Random thought:

I’ve always thought that each person has many potential soul mates, matches, partners etc. Though I’m beginning to wonder if my potential matches have been run over by trains, sniffed too much airplane glue, live in less “red” states, are stuck in loveless relationships, lack the ability to hold onto something good when they’ve fucking got it, frustrated into celibacy by dating, preemptively received vasectomies or realized they’re gay.

Whatever the reason, I wish he’d hurry the fuck up and find me; I’d like someone to watch scary movies with, followed by oversexed sleep overs.

What will finally make him give up? Perhaps nothing, until he’s turned me into a skin suit that he wears while he sits on his piece of shit couch, getting high, drinking light beer and playing Xbox live.