What Happened?


Guys, the past year has been weird. The past six months, especially. Slighted by the man I thought was the man of my dreams (the cute Russian translator I pined over for YEARS), I fell into the rabbit hole of Tinder for six days at the end of June. I went on four dates in five days because why not? The fourth date brought about a whirlwind engagement that ended in an alcohol fueled nightmare seven weeks ago. I’ll start out slow with my dates:

July 1st: date #1 was a really sweet guy that I refer to as “Z number 2.” I had a nice time playing mini-golf and razzing him about his knowledge deficit in music and movies, but I just didn’t feel any attraction. We parted ways and I let him down gently five days later when he FINALLY texted. However, I had connected BIG TIME with #4 by then. I very nicely explained that if he liked me, he should have texted me the same night. Or the next day. Or even two days later. He thanked me for being honest and said he’d remember my advice in future encounters. I hope he found someone adorable.

July 2nd: date #2 was disappointing. You know the guy who only has pictures from five years and 50 pounds ago? That’s who showed up. I’m super chatty and I ask tons of questions. He was very clever and seemed pretty quick when we were messaging each other, but all I received in person were one word answers. It’s terribly rude, but I texted my friend who was down the street, and she joined us. An hour later, I told him that I thought he seemed like a nice fellow but I wasn’t feeling anything between us. Without a word, he slammed his beer glass on a nearby table and stormed away. Oops?

July 3rd: Date #3 wasn’t actually a Tinder match. Well, he wasn’t MINE anyway. My friend matched with him, but after communicating for a day or two, she decided he was better suited for me. So, with my permission, she gave him my phone number and we started chatting. He seemed great! Sarcastic and quick, which got me all excited. I love a smart-ass who can dish it out but also take it. We met for dinner the next evening. When I arrived, I spied a gentleman in his late 30s, wearing a button-down shirt that was left open to about mid-chest. “Please, by everything that is holy, do NOT let that be my date.” Chest hair doesn’t stand up, but sees me searching and waves me over. STILL not standing, he asks me if I want a drink. He’s two beers in. During dinner he displays his forest of chest hair that rivaled that of the late Robin Williams. Now, don’t get me wrong, I find chest hair super sexy. I like a man with a chest full of curly man-fuzz, but this was an excessive display. I’m pretty sure one fell in my sandwich. Chest hair talks about himself, I get bored, thank him for dinner, and head home. We both proceed to not text each other, but have since awkwardly run into each other on multiple occasions because we hang around the same places. *Sigh*

July 4th I host an annual get-together. Dates are placed on hold.

July 5th: Date #4 was M, a man unlike anyone I’d dated, or ever met before. He was covered in tattoos: arms, legs, torso, neck, and a few on his face. He was pierced in several places. He was RIDICULOUSLY nervous, and I would find out later that night he was diagnosed with anxiety so bad that he was prescribed higher doses of medication than I knew was possible. We met at his friend’s tattoo shop and walked a few store fronts down to have dinner at one of my favorite local spots. We chattered all through dinner. He barely ate. I ate almost everything. We started walking and parked our rears on the steps of a church. The talking didn’t stop for six hours. I had to work the next day, so I rushed us back to our vehicles when I finally checked the time. We hugged, I said I’d like to hang out again, and hopped in my car. I texted him when I arrived home, about 10 minutes later, telling him what a good time I had. What I received was most unexpected. He said I didn’t seem like I was feeling him, but he’d had a good time and wished me well. DAFUQ? We texted most of the night until around 3:30 am, each of us explaining that we were really into the other and how the Hell could we have misinterpreted the signals? Looking back, that was the first clue leading to my ultimate, “Sarah, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE?” We made plans to hang out again that Sunday, four days later. He comes to my house because it’s the day after my birthday and I am seriously hungover and don’t feel like going outisde. We watch television and he doesn’t even try to kiss me. Wait. Did he kiss me? I think he did. We make plans to hang out Wednesday. I get Norovirus. If you’ve never had it, you’re one lucky sonofabitch. It’s like having food poisoning plus the flu; everything is coming out of both ends, you have a fever, and you want to die. I was sweaty, smelled horrible, and was highly contagious. M showed up anyway to take care of me. He picked up my favorite Vietnamese food and brough it to me because noodles were the only thing I thought wouldn’t make a violent return. Days go by, I get better, he gets sick, but I am out of town visiting a friend. He waited until I was six hours away before telling me he was puking and shitting uncontrollably.

At this point, I’m thinking things are going pretty well overall. Then, about six weeks later, I tried to introduce him to a couple of my friends. We go to one of those “First Friday” art shows close to my neighborhood. He doesn’t like my first friend solely because she is 27. You read that correctly. He has a preconceived judgement that she is immature because he is 43 and thinks that anyone younger than 40 cannot be mature. Cool. My other friend, who is 25, shows up. Let the shit show begin. We look at some art, I get hungry, he gets super anxious in the crowds, and orders a beer. I don’t think anything because this seems normal, right? Nope. He’s an alcoholic. I do not know this. He mentioned at one point that he didn’t drink, but never expressed that when he starts, he cannot stop. He has three beers before we finish dinner. He orders no food. Three days later, I’m coaxing him out of his house to go to his parents’ where he can detox. I meet his parents for the first time at 11:30 pm on a Monday night. I spend every non-working hour in their house with M for the next four days. He proceeds to drink himself silly in their basement until Saturday, when he decides he should get help. His father and I drive him to an inpatient treatment facility, where he stays for three days. Little did I know that I would be doing my nursing school clinicals in that same facility, in the same unit, in four short weeks.

More to come…


All the Feels


Maybe it was a mistake to accept my ex-husband’s offer to ride along to Gulf Shores, AL from Kansas City to hang out for 3 days on beautiful, sandy beaches and hear amazing music. Maybe it was fate that we had only spoken once in 12 months, yet he asked me to accompany him for a 16 hour drive times two. I was his third choice as a companion, after his girlfriend and our nieces. We never once turned on the radio or popped in a CD on the way south; conversation flowed like we’d been best friends forever and it hadn’t been 5 years since we had genuine dialogue. The whole situation was natural; like we were still together, yet not.  It was like we had never missed a day. We were so in sync to each other’s moods and feelings. On the drive home we were confronted with our past that I was not yet ready to discuss.

Z asked me to accompany him to a wedding tonight. It was intolerable. The epitome of love was this couple. They dated for five years and their wedding was the kind you see in the movies. It was a dream: perfect vows, perfect speeches, perfect wedding guests… Though we broke up two months previous, Z still wanted me to attend. I drank lots of wine and nearly cried in public. I still love J. I will always love J. We had a four hour conversation about the end of our marriage on the way home from Alabama. It was the most painful discussion I’ve experienced. I was never ready to let go of my husband. Z asked me about this on the way home tonight from the wedding. I tried to explain my feelings to him, a person who has never been married and never loved anyone before me, but it backfired. If you have never loved another person, it is unfathomable to think that the person you love has ever loved someone else.

Z has never truly loved another person and does not understand my feelings. Instead, all he knows is selfish love; how could I love more than one person at a time? It’s actually very easy. I love three people currently: Z, J, and the mechanic though it’s all different love. Z, I love like a best friend, a confidant. J, I love like… I don’t know. I love him and that’s all I know. The mechanic and I understand each other. That one is more a love of mutual understanding. Z will never understand and needs to move on. I do not know what I am doing with my life. Any advice or insight is whole-heartedly welcome.

Alone Again… Naturally


Two years and two days have passed since I met WFB (Whole Foods Boy). A little over one week ago I asked him to move out. Alcoholism and depression are motherfuckers and I can handle one, but not both. He basically moved in with me last summer, though he was still under a lease with his roommate for six more months. It was June of last year when he “moved in.” I asked him to stop living in my house if he wasn’t at least helping with dishes and mowing the lawn. Three months later, he was in a car accident and had to reveal to me that he had been driving on a restricted license due to not complying with state laws and getting an Interlock Breathalyzer system installed in his car TWO YEARS PRIOR when he got his second DUI. I forgave him the major omission, but still asked him to move back in with his roommate. He never left. In January of this year, he began paying rent and moved all of his things in to my house.

On the subject of alcohol, I’m the kind of person who will buy a six pack of beer that will last me six months. He drinks two or three beers a day for no reason and binge drinks on the weekends, often to the point of belligerence. He doesn’t drink Coors or Budweiser with low alcohol content – he purposefully buys beers in the big bottles that are anywhere from 10-15% alcohol content. I was embarrassed to take him anywhere that alcohol would be involved. In August of last year, we were invited to a party at a local bar. My friend’s friend was paying for all the drinks that night, and I informed WFB of this fact. He still ordered $20, $25, $30 bottles of beer, justifying the expense because “we were all sharing them.” He drank so much that he didn’t remember leaving or the cab ride home. He woke up the next day and asked if we had walked home.

In May, he went to a birthday party without me. I was house-sitting and didn’t feel well enough to attend. He drank so much that at 5:00 am, when he was supposed to be headed to work, he could not blow clean to start his car. His phone was dead and once he left his friend’s house, the door was locked behind him, everyone asleep inside. He walked almost 30 blocks to the house where I was staying, reeking of alcohol and his eyes bloodshot. “Can you take me to work?” he asked when I opened the front door in shock. I dropped him off and barely spoke to him. He was fired the next day. He swears it had nothing to do with his physical state that day.

He sat at home for almost three months, living off of the three months of PTO he had accrued that were paid out to him. He never filed for unemployment. He applied for only 2-3 jobs a week, stating that he had to completely re-write his cover letter every time and “that took a lot of time.” One week into his unemployment, my friend offered him a part time gig in a warehouse that would allow him to make money while looking for a career in something he had more interest. He assured me he was going to continue to apply for jobs while working at this temporary job. It was early August when he finally applied and started working in the warehouse. He is still there. They offered him full time and he is no longer looking for a career that interests him. He says he’s not going to be there forever, but that’s what he said about Whole Foods. He was there for over four years, and his mother was the one who talked him into applying there. He would still be there if he hadn’t been fired. I pushed him into the warehouse job because it was guaranteed income and he could continue the job search while earning some money.

About a month ago, I wanted to try to work things out. I went to his parents (who had just returned from seeing WFB’s brother in rehab) about his problem with drinking and his lack of motivation. There is a long line of alcoholism in their family. His parents promised to help him however they could and supported my decision if I chose to end the relationship. I recently started nursing school and I am not equipped to handle the stress of his depression and alcoholism along with the stress of school. I came home and relayed what I had told his parents. He spoke with them the next day, coming home to tell me that he was going to start AA classes and make an appointment with a therapist. He has been saying for the past six months that he is going to contact his previous therapist and get help. There has been no such contact. He has attended no AA classes. He is not very good at following through.

Four weeks ago, we broke up. Three weeks ago, we tried to work it out. A little over one week ago, we broke up and I asked him to move out. He has yet to look for another place to live. He doesn’t know how to take care of himself, and I cannot mother another man. I saw a six pack in his closet when I moved my printer out of his room two days ago. Some things never change.

He came home crying today, asking me if I’m happy. I simply left the house. I’ve grieved the loss of our romantic relationship for so long that I cannot cry any more about it. I’m sad some days but I am happy others. Some days I want to crawl into his arms and say, “let’s work it out,” but I know I’ll just turn around and change my mind the next day. Love is a bitch.

The Road Trip


One week ago, I arrived home after a 10 day road trip with my boyfriend. Eight months into our relationship, we drove 5000 miles together (or rather, I drove because he can’t drive my manual transmission vehicle) and managed not to kill each other. Did I mention that I had horrible PMS starting the day we left? It was truly an adventure.

I drove about 14 hours the first day, including gas, potty breaks, and a stop at the Badlands in South Dakota. The hour we spent there was totally worth the $15 State Park fee. Anyway, it took us about two and a half days to get to Seattle where we met up and stayed with my bestie and her hubby. The BF and I went hiking one day and spent a portion of the next day getting my tire changed because I got a flat on the way back from hiking. I’m soooo glad I have a spare. Anyway, we spent the rest of the day shopping and walking around the Market. We met some of my other friends for happy hour at a cool dive near the Market. BF was not very happy that we had planned on going to a neighborhood bar afterward, but we were all tired: my friends from working, and me from getting elbowed in the face all night by him. He was very pouty, but seemed to understand when we all crashed early that night. I was pretty bummed that we only spent a couple of days with Carrie and Doug because it just wasn’t enough time, but we had to get on the road.

Wednesday morning, we ate some breakfast at a diner nearby then hit the road to San Jose around 9:30 am. We arrived around 11 pm. Jason was home to greet us and Julie would be home that Friday afternoon. We took a day trip to Los Gatos and Santa Cruz on Thursday. We ate awesome food and had several arguments. The most time we had spent together, without work interruptions or other plans prior to our trip was about 48 hours. By this time, we’d been unseparated for 7 days. I love him but I needed some alone time. The next day, Julie came home and we drove down to Capitola. They offered to drive, but I absolutely LOVED driving those windy mountain roads, so I took the wheel and off we went. That night, they took us for Afghani food that was phenomenal. When we got back to the house, the stress of the trip and my erratic mood swings had taken their toll on my BF. After a small melt-down, he holed up in the bedroom while I played silly games with our hosts and their neighbors. I had a great time, but felt badly that my BF wasn’t in on the fun.

We headed out late the next morning for the wedding, just north of Bodega Bay. It was magically beautiful. The ocean was at our backs and the mountains were just ahead. This was the first day we hadn’t fought since we left home. Or maybe we did and I just don’t remember. The wedding was at 3:00 and we started home shortly after 7:00. We didn’t fight as much on the way home, partly from exhaustion and partly from my silence while driving through mountains in heavy fog. By the time we got home, I was beyond worn out. I snuggled my cat, then compulsively unpacked while my BF passed out on the bed while reading comics on his tablet.

Things are still good between us. I think the trip brought us closer together. I have been so used to traveling alone that it was a huge adjustment having to think about another person’s needs along the way. We’re talking about living together. I’ve been enjoying moving more slowly than past relationships. We have had more time to learn about each other and our quirks before getting too serious. I would bet money that if my ex husband and I had gone on a ten day road trip together, we would never have gotten married.

So I guess my advice to any couple getting more serious about their relationship or thinking about marriage would be to take a road trip together. You see a person’s everything: every mood, every bad habit, how they entertain themselves… If you still love them afterward, you’ve built a strong foundation.



Butterflies are the best. When you hear that knock on the door and your heart skips a beat. Every cell phone vibration might be them and your pulse races. Butterflies are fleeting, but should they be gone after six months? Should my heart drop when I come home for lunch and see that his car is still in the garage? I wanted that 45 minutes to myself. I need space. Lots of it. After being in a marriage with infinite space, I wanted a man to be at my side at all times. Now that I have a man who wants to be by my side at all times, I’m suffocating.

We have other issues than space and, though our communication is stellar, I’m unhappy. Sometimes I wonder if it’s my small living space that causes my anxiety about our relationship, but I know it’s not the size of my apartment. It’s the empty beer bottles and salsa dishes and skillets that I clean up almost every time he leaves. It’s my melted spatula and my ruined loaf pan with no replacement offer. It’s the Tupperware he’s had for 4 months and can’t manage to bring back despite constant reminders. It’s the Kleenex and the toothpaste and the toilet paper and the soap and the electric bill and the food and the beer that have exponentially increased in usage and therefore cost over the past 5 months. It’s coming home, thinking I have a night to myself and he’s in my shower after his workout or on my couch watching sports because he doesn’t have cable and I gave him a key. It’s being told that my nieces aren’t my family because they’re my ex-brother-in-law’s kids and not my blood relation, even though they’ve been a part of my life for the past 10 years. Communication improves things for a week or two, but not long-term. I often chalk it up to his relationship inexperience, but that only accounts for so much. I left a relationship in which I was a care-giver rather than a partner and I now find myself in the same type of relationship. Patterns don’t break themselves and I have to find a way. He says he loves me but words are words and, as the adage states, actions are louder. I feel used: not loved for me, but for what I can provide.

I’ve been thinking about the mechanic a lot lately. Though we never had a cemented relationship, we connected in a way that I’ve never connected with another person. I know we may never enter into a committed relationship, but he understands me and I understand him. At this point in my life, that’s all I want. I don’t want a ring or a wedding or even a joint checking account. I want someone to miss me and to love me, but I want freedom. I don’t know if I can have it all, but I need to be bold and try.

I need to be alone.



I usually think it’s incredibly sweet when my boyfriend shows up unannounced to see me. He brought me two dozen roses on February 13th over his lunch break, even though it meant he wouldn’t be able to eat. Sometimes I’m selfish. Tonight, we were supposed to watch the KU basketball game together. I called him on my way home from the gym to tell him I wasn’t up for hanging out. I just wanted to come home from the gym, take a bath, and watch The Killing on Netflix while eating Ben and Jerry’s Peanut Butter Cookie ice cream.

He didn’t answer his phone, and I came home to my boyfriend in my shower and ESPN blaring on my T.V. I was barely able to wash my face before my hot water ran out. No bath. By the time I was finished showering, he was yelling at the basketball players like he was the only motivational voice they could hear. No Netflix. I don’t feel like farting in front of him tonight, so no Ben & Jerry’s. I’ve been at the computer for the past two hours with my headphones on, listening to my Head & the Heart channel on Pandora. It’s great if you like folksy, easy-going music.

I love him, but some days I miss my space. He doesn’t like to be in his space. His roommate is a mess and a hoarder, and their house makes me claustrophobic. I don’t feel comfortable there, and he tells me he feels more at home here, in my apartment. I understand completely, but my space is a 500 sq. foot studio apartment. Sometimes I need quiet, Sarah Time.

I’m starting to believe that I’ll always be learning in my relationships. This relationship is teaching me patience and how to use my voice. I think tomorrow is going to be “Sarah Day.” I need that, and I know he’ll understand.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back


I found an old journal I started when I was first dating my now ex-husband. It was all flowery and mushy, like all 21 year old girls can be when they think they’ve found “The One.” Unfortunately, the longer we were together, the more miserable I became. One entry I wrote seemed a bit foreshadowing: two months into our relationship, I put ink to paper that “I’m going to marry Jeff. Mom and I argued about it, but I’m in love and we’re going to get married one day.” I remember her saying we were too young, too immature… She and my father have been married almost 39 years: she was 18 and he was 27 when they wed. Anyway, we did marry but it didn’t last, obviously.

Here is where the damage lies. I love my boyfriend. He’s fantastic. He witnessed a hangry break-down for the first time that involved crying and a lot of “I’m so hungry that nothing sounds good!” He patted my head, told me he loved me and everything would be fine. This completely stumps me. This is the kind of support I’ve needed my whole life, but I feel like it’s not real. I’m afraid one day he’ll say, “we need to talk…” and that’ll be it. I’ll tell him a deep, dark secret and he’ll run. Will he become bored with me? Maybe I’ll run. I seem to have a talent for ending relationships. I’ve been the one in all of my serious relationships to throw in the towel. I’ve had three of them: the first lasting over one year, the second two and a half years, and my third being my six and a half year marriage. How do I convince myself to let go and let it be? I don’t know that there are enough affirmations in the world to make me believe I’m worthy of the love I’m receiving, but I’m going to keep telling myself “happiness is my destiny” and “I am worthy of my love and another’s love in return” in hopes one day I’ll hear truth in those words.