Maybe it’s because…

Maybe it’s because…

This is hard for me to say so I’m just going to say it.

I think we should see other people.

It’s not you, it’s me. This hurts me more than it hurts you. I’m sorry.

This project has been amazing. I’ve learned so much about myself & other people, I’ve improved my writing, I’ve implemented a daily writing practice, & I’ve gained confidence in my abilities as a writer, human being, & potential other half. Not to mention, all the opportunities I’ve had to connect with writers/bloggers/readers around the world–it’s been a trip, let me tell you. & I’m grateful every single (ha!) day that I started this blog, & that I kept it up, because there’s no way I’d be the person I am right now if I hadn’t have decided on a lonely, probably cold, day in November 2012 that I was going to start writing about my love life.

But, all good things come to an end. Nothing great lasts forever. I think we all knew this project had an expiry date (even I can’t truly believe I’d be alone forever) but that doesn’t make this last post any easier to write.

The last three years have been some of the most productive, enlightening, & fun of my life (so far).  & that’s (mostly) because of this blog. & the only reason I’ve been able to keep it up for as long as I have (other than my prolonged singledom, of course) is because of you. My readers. My audience. My fans. The faces behind the likes, comments, views, & clicks. You are the reason I write. You are the reason this blog is (was) successful. & you are the reason saying goodbye is so goddamn hard. But it unfortunately doesn’t make it any less necessary.

It’s time for change. The door is sliding closed on this chapter of my life & I’m going to have no choice but to pursue other projects–I recently found out I got into grad school (!!!!!!!!), so that’s going to be something new, huge, & very exciting for me. &…

I met somebody–it’s really new, he’s really great–so writing about being alone makes me feel like a fraud.

This blog has been about honesty: brutal, gross, naked honesty. & keeping it up in my current situation feels like a farce–it would be a disservice to the project & completely invalidate everything I’ve been babbling about to continue writing posts. It’s scary, but it’s time.

So, thank you readers. For everything. Y’all mean the world to me. I know that my Sundays will never be the same.

I can’t wait ’til we meet again,

xx Sarah

p.s. Just because you’re not hearing from me here doesn’t mean I’m not still writing–you  better believe I’ll be getting my blog on some way & somehow. So, follow along at where I’ll occasionally be posting fun stories, articles, & other neat things if you want to keep up with me & all my goings on.

Maybe it’s because… I’ve got nothing new to say.

Maybe it’s because… I’ve got nothing new to say.

I’ve had a very stimulating last 7 days (more on that later–probably) & I just haven’t been able to turn my brain off. So, I thought that instead of me slapping together somethin’ sloppy why not let you read through some of my favourite past reasons for why I’m alone? Join me on a little trip back in time as I look through some of the best (or worst) reasons for my continued singledom.

That’ll be fun, right? Right.

Here we go, in no particular order (except for maybe chronological):

1. Maybe it’s because all the good ones are taken?

11. Maybe it’s because I’m shy.

25. Maybe it’s because I am unnaturally close with my BFF?

36. Maybe it’s because I’m obsessive.

40. Maybe it’s my lack of motivation?

62. Maybe it’s because I can’t cook?

63. Maybe it’s Netflix?

64. Maybe it’s because I’m grumpy?

65. Maybe it’s because I don’t know how to play the long game.


73. Maybe it’s my maturity level?

78. Maybe it’s the beefdip?

83. Maybe it’s because I’m old?

86. Maybe it’s my Dad. 

89. Maybe it’s my bun?

98. Maybe it’s my bedroom furniture.

114. Maybe it’s because I’m comfortable.

Happy New Year!!

122. Maybe it’s because I’m lazy?

131. Maybe it’s because I’m in Vancouver.

134. Maybe it’s because all the good ones are taken.

135. Maybe it’s because I’m old-fashioned.

136. Maybe it’s because I’m in love (I think).

148. Maybe it’s because I’m in Toronto… Again.

155. Maybe it’s because I’m seriously emotionally damaged.

160. Maybe it’s because I’m over it.

Yeah, I know–it’s a long list. But it’s worth the ride. Trust me.


165. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what I’m doing?

165. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what I’m doing?

I don’t know how to be somebody’s something.

I mean, I guess I do know–I’ve no trouble allowing myself to be objectified. But, when it comes to occupying space–emotional space–in somebody else’s life, well… there’s where I get lost. I don’t know how to do it, &, more importantly, I don’t think I’m allowed to.

What I’m saying is this: I don’t know how to be in a relationship. All I have are pop culture schematics or  Facebook posts-cum-personal anecdotes from people I went to high school with. & for these people it seems so easy (I’m not naive enough to think that’s true, but you know how social media can make things seem real). But then there’s me. A confused little girl who is oscillating wildly between sexual assertion & shy silence.

& even that is too simple, because there is a range of emotions that ripple in between (confused, scared, excited, pleased, insecure, etc.).

I don’t know boundaries. I don’t understand public displays of affection. I don’t have any fucking clue what I’m supposed to do.

& I wish I did.

I think relationships are one of those things you learn by doing–like riding a bike, or speaking Spanish, or playing the guitar. & I know I’m overthinking it (as I tend to do) but it’s a lot harder to find another human to experiment with than it is to grab a guitar, or hop on a bike, or purchase a copy of Rosetta Stone, Español  edition. Not saying those things are easy (’cause they’re not) but they are significantly less complicated–they don’t involve the emotions & unsureness of a dude. They don’t involve that goddamn vulnerability that I’ve gotten so bad at.

Instead, it involves relinquishing control, letting it ride, living in the moment, & hoping for the best.

Easy enough, right?



164. Maybe it’s because I’m sick.

164. Maybe it’s because I’m sick.

For the last three weeks I have been a gross, mucous-y mess–I’m currently battling the (un)common cold & it seems that no matter how much cold medication I take, or how many lozenges I suck, I just can’t kick it. Partly because I refuse to slow down–my BFF was here for a week (& a bit) & I insisted on cramming as much time in with her as possible. Also, I tend to do this thing where I don’t let myself actually be sick until it’s gotten to the point of no return. We’re talkin’ the full monty of unwell here: sore throat, croaky voice, phlegmy cough, & a runny nose that just won’t quit.

In short, I’m sick. It would be adorable if it weren’t so disgusting. So, I completely understand why nobody would want to wake up next to this, but trust me when I say I extra appreciate anybody who does.

On that note, I’m off to sleep until I can breath through my nose again.

163. Maybe it’s because I’m guarded.

163. Maybe it’s because I’m guarded.


People always leave. Always. So, in order to protect myself, I started leaving first. It gives me a (false) sense of control—like, you can’t hurt me because I’m not going to let you get close enough to even be able to.

It’s lonely.

You can’t walk away from me if I’ve already got one foot out the door. The logic is sound, but the fact of the matter is if I’m always half-in, half-out of things I’ll never be able to fully commit to anything. & by anything I mean a serious, monogamous, adult relationship—one with all the fixin’s. One with arguments, PDA, comfortable silences, &, eventually—dare I say it—capital-L Love.


It’s been a long time since I let myself be vulnerable with anybody other than my BFF, much less a boy. Much less a boy who I like—as in, like-like. Sharing my feelings? No thanks—that’s far too scary. Baring my soul? Naw. Baring my body is way easier than actually stopping for a second to think about what the fuck is going on inside my head, & then communicating that to the other person, & then having a mature conversation about what’s happening.

Physical intimacy is easy. Letting somebody in–all the way in–isn’t.

I thought that I’d deconstructed most of the walls I put up, but every once in a while something happens that reminds me that, nope, they’re still there. I’m still guarded. I’m just more aware of it now—usually. Other times I don’t even know I’m doing ridiculous, ultra-careful, extra-cautious things to avoid being emotionally exposed. I shut down—it’s a defense mechanism, an instinct, & it’s so ingrained in my psyche that I don’t realize ‘til way later that by being an emotionally-guarded mess I inadvertently sabotage intimacy before it’s even had a chance to start.

I’ve always been shy, but this runs deeper than that–I have full-blown intimacy issues.

Sometimes what I’m thinking/feeling & what I physically do/say don’t match up, & that’s my own damn fault. I get confused–I mistake physical intimacy for emotional intimacy, & when I’m trying to indicate that I enjoy a male person’s company the only way I know how is, uh, hands-on.

I bypass important milestones like demure goodnight kisses, hand-holding, & casual dates, instead going straight for adult sleepovers. I want all those things, but I’m afraid of making myself vulnerable–I’m scared of putting myself out there & getting nothing in return.

I’m terrified I’ll never have a meaningful relationship because I pull the trigger too fast. What if men never take me seriously because of my emotional disabilities? Maybe the real reason I’m alone is because I don’t even know how to just be with another person.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!

New Year’s Eve is the best holiday–ever (it’s so nice I celebrated it twice this season!). I mean, & I might be biased (it’s well-documented that NYE is my favourite day of the year), but if you’re askin’ me, nothing rivals a good ol’ fashioned countdown & a too-big bottle of Baby Duck.

Oh, & plenty of friends of course.

Friends (no offense, family) are what makes New Year’s Eve so special to me. Christmas is a holiday that’s all about traditions, & family, & all that other bullshit, where as New Year’s is a day where I can celebrate the family I chose. That’s why I love this day so much, & that’s why I always have fun–I never give a shit what I do, the only thing I care about is who I’m with.

The people are what’s important to me, not the place. Not the activity. Not the drinking, the dancing, or even the eating. I just want to count back from ten with the folks I love the most & welcome in the New Year surrounded with love &, well, family. My family. Dysfunctional, jumbled, mismatched, & occasionally broken (just like a real family!) as they are, there’s no people I’d rather ring in 2016 with.

Happy New Year, readers! Best wishes for 2016!

162. Maybe it’s because I’m busy.

162. Maybe it’s because I’m busy.

The holiday season is here & in between shopping for gifts I can’t afford, eating too many tasty treats, & attending tense but necessary family functions, I don’t have a heck of a lot of time to do anything that isn’t directly related to Christmas.

I thought finishing up this semester would settle things down a bit, but even without the added pressure of school life seems crazier than ever. Working, writing, living–there’s just not enough time in the day.

Being an adult is time-consuming.

So, no boys this week but who needs them? My BFF is home for the holidays & if I’m being honest all I want to do is hang out with her, anyway. She’s only here for a week & I need to cram as much time together in as possible (sleep is for the weak, am I right?).

Now, I’m off to enjoy a premature New Year’s celebration with my BFF & her better half before she jets back to TO.

Happy Holidays readers!

161. Maybe it’s because dating is hard.

161. Maybe it’s because dating is hard.

I’ve been out of the dating game for a while now (it’s been a bit since my last foray into the world of weeknight drinks & dining dutch) & I think I’ve forgotten how it all works.

I don’t know how to date–anymore. Things used to seem simple–holding hands, eating icecream, making out in the backseat of his mom’s SUV. But now there’s so much more at stake when searching for a potential life partner. Because, that’s the thing, once you hit a certain age dating has to get serious. A boy is no longer some guy who’s going to buy me flowers & take me out on a Friday night, he’s a potential future other half.

That’s a lot of pressure. & I don’t know how to handle it. I’m already socially awkward most of the time–one-on-one interactions with the opposite sex take it to a whole new level, though. I want to be chill–but not too chill, because I need him to know I don’t hate his fucking guts. But I can’t be too overbearing either (I’m no expert but even I know that planning the wedding on date number 1 is a no-no). & god forbid I actually be myself.


Dates are like traps, if you ask me. No matter what you do there’s potential to fuck everything up & then you can kiss your future with Mr. Right goodbye (if he was, in fact, Mr. Right).

Dating as an adult sucks the fun out of the whole experience. Seriously, the older you get the harder it is. You’re no longer focusing on getting to know a person because you have to think about grown-up things like his educational background and career choice. Does he own a home? Does he want to own a home? How about kids–does he want to own a couple of those, too? Are you guys compatible on an intellectual level? It’s hard enough finding somebody I like, much less someone I like who likes me back, & now I have to find someone I like who likes me back who I can stand for more than 15 minute intervals & who shares the same moral, ethical, & other values as me.

It’s overwhelming. It’s exhausting. & it just seems way too fucking hard.

Sometimes I wish I could skip out on the whole courting business & scoot right into a longterm relationship. There just seems to be way too many factors involved in finding a mate & I don’t have the time or the energy to deal with it right now. So, if anybody knows of any way that I can fast track my love life… that’d be just great.

160. Maybe it’s because I’m over it.

160. Maybe it’s because I’m over it.

As the Winter Solstice approaches, humans feel the need to settle down & snuggle in. Temperatures drop & people partner up, preparing for the long, cold, potentially lonely months ahead; it’s the way of the world.

I’ve been too busy shovelling myself out of an academic shitstorm to seek out a cuddle buddy to call my own, but that hasn’t stopped almost every single man I’ve ever made eye contact with from seeking me out.

The boy who “helped” me with my high school physics homework (if you know what I mean). A guy I met in the 11th grade who wouldn’t look twice at my nerdy 15 year-old self. Some dude who I made out with once, 4 years ago. The jerk who used me to cheat on his girlfriend (twice). This guy I met one time who always spells my name wrong & that I don’t even remember giving my number to.

It’s open season up in here & men are doing everything they can to land themselves a lady.

It’s alarming & unfortunate, not because I don’t find it flattering (I do) but because I just have zero interest in romance right now. I’m tired & bored with men… & the weird influx of overtly sexual pick-up lines or sad small talk just proves me right.

Whatever happened to courtship? Whatever happened to getting to know people? Whatever happened to holding hands? Whatever happened to one milkshake, two straws?

Call me spoiled. Call me crazy. Call me anything you want, just don’t actually call me because I probably don’t want to talk to you, unless you actually want to talk to me.

159. Maybe it’s because I write about it?

159. Maybe it’s because I write about it?

As a writer who uses her love life (or lack there of) as fodder for mostly everything she writes, I’m kidding myself if I think I’ve been actively participating in anything romantic in the last three years–longer than that, probably.

See, that’s what happens when you treat your entire life as a narrative: everything’s a story. Everything is writable. It’s hard to turn that off, you know? To look at a conversation as a conversation instead of continuously parsing it as dialogue. To look at people as people instead of picking up on the minute details that make them dynamic characters. Everything is an opportunity for a symbol, motif, or theme. Nothing’s off limits, especially the really juicy, embarrassing, awful bits. & relationships are usually ripe with those.

It’s hard to participate in life when you’re the narrator instead of the main character.

I treat my love life like a spectator sport–I stand on the periphery, I watch the situations unfold, and then I write about it later. I’ve turned the men in my life into tropes, and that makes me the biggest trope of all.

Happy Birthday to me!

Happy Birthday to me!

The blog turns three today. & I can’t fucking believe it.

As always, this time of the year hits me with a confused, emotional mix of pride & embarrassment: making it to the three year mark means that I’m still ridiculously alone, but it also means that I’ve stuck with it. I made a commitment to myself (& you guys) 1095 days ago (give or take a few), & somehow I’ve managed to keep it up.

That’s something pretty amazing, especially for a commitment-phobe like me. &, if you’re reading this (which I hope you are), that means that you’ve kept it up, too. So in celebration of our joint commitment to one another, in lieu of a big ol’ diamond ring, here’s the top ten posts from the last 365 days!

134. Maybe it’s because all the good ones are taken?

140. Maybe it’s because I’m STILL, still unnaturally close with my BFF?

123. Maybe it’s because…

136. Maybe it’s because I’m in love (I think).

115. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what I want.

116. Maybe it’s because I’m an over-sharer?

139. Maybe it’s me?

131. Maybe it’s because I’m in Vancouver.

120. Maybe it’s because I’m not likeable?

135. Maybe it’s because I’m old-fashioned?

Thank you so much to all the beautiful people, here at home & all around the world, who support me. Whether it’s through reading, sharing, liking, commenting, or holding me when I’m convinced I’ll never write (or date) ever again–there are no words to express how much I appreciate you guys.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. Here’s to another year!

158. Maybe it’s because the future is nigh.

158. Maybe it’s because the future is nigh.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my future lately. I applied for graduation today, &, although the process itself was seriously anti-climatic, it made me realize how final the end of this school year will be. School will be over.

Excuse me while I freak out.

I’ve never finished anything in my life, so I’m feeling anxious about finishing a goddamn degree, & I’m also nervous about what comes next. Where am I supposed to go from here? What’s the next step? I will be leaving the structured environment of a post-secondary institution for the significantly less cozy real world, & I’m scared. But excited. But terrified. But happy. But all of the above, all the time, all at once.

It’s quite the emotional roller coaster. & right now, I’m just letting it ride.

Over the last three & a half years, I took my passion & channeled it into something that might turn into a career. I gave myself a direction. It’s comforting. I might not know where I’m headed, but I know which way I’m going.

Maybe it’s because I’m taking a personal day.

Maybe it’s because I’m taking a personal day.

I can’t believe we are already halfway through November–where did the last two weeks of my life go? Actually, the real question is…where did the last 6 months go? I’m caught in some sort of time warp. Months feel like days, weeks feel like hours, & days… well, those are gone in a blink of an eye it seems.

So, this Sunday snuck up on me & in lieu of posting about my relationship status, I decided to take a personal day to try & catch up on my life instead. I hope y’all don’t mind. I’m just at the point where life is getting in the way of life, & I just really, really, really need a day dedicated to getting my shit together.

Please don’t be mad.


157. Maybe it’s because I’m waiting.

157. Maybe it’s because I’m waiting.

I think I met my soulmate, but I’m scared to tell him so. I’m also unsure as to what the appropriate delivery of that information should be. Should I text him? Blurt it out mid-conversation? Hire a plane to write it in the sky?

But, maybe I need to back up a minute here. Because y’all might be wondering what the hell I’m babbling about.

So, I’ll take it back in time to when I had my cards read this summer at a mini weekend getaway for a friend’s birthday. A friend of my friend had recently been gifted a set of Tarot cards, & she’d brought them out to practice her new talent on everybody. I’ve had my cards read once before, & I found it to be pretty fulfilling, so I jumped at the chance to get another glimpse into my future.

This time, though, I meant business. There were things that I wanted, nay, needed, to know.

When will I find love? I thought it over & over & over again as I shuffled the large cards in my clumsy hands. I just wanted to know if I was going to be alone forever–I needed to know if I should prepare for a lifelong sentence as a singleton. I shuffled, shuffled, shuffled the cards. Thinking hard as I shuffled. Asking the universe: When will I find love? Or something to that effect, anyway. I was drinking, it was a few months ago, things are fuzzy.

Thinking, shuffling, thinking, shuffling. Losing myself in the deck of cards. & then–one popped out. It landed squarely on the coffee table in front of me, & I reached out to include it back in the deck.

“No!” The girl reading them stopped me. “There’s a reason that one jumped out. That’s the card.” She looked at me, “That’s what will answer your question.”

I don’t remember what card it was. The Knave of Something. & the Knave of anything means some sort of new beginning, in this case, one of love. This Knave, if I’m remembering correctly, also came with a time frame. So, it was something like–you’re not going to find love immediately but hang tight because you’re either going to find love 6 weeks from now (which at that point in time would’ve taken me somewhere around the middle of October) or in the Spring.

October has come & gone, though, & I’m still alone… Which means that I’ve probably come across my soulmate & just neglected to assert the fact that we’re a perfect match or I’m set to fall in love this Spring. But, that’s okay–because soulmates go two ways. I’m going to hold off on the public displays of affection until he’s ready, because I don’t have the time to chase the possibly love of my life down right now. He can come to me, for once.

So, I’ll be waiting right here. For him, or for Spring. Whichever comes first.


156. Maybe it’s because I’m financially irresponsible…

156. Maybe it’s because I’m financially irresponsible…

I don’t want to say that I am unaware of the value of a dollar, but I’m a touch on the fiscally irresponsible side.

I should never have been trusted with a credit card (or three).


I don’t know what it is, whether it was my financially-repressed upbringing, or my shopaholic genetics (here’s lookin’ at you, Ma), or my insatiable sense of style but I love to shop. I love it. It’s one of my hobbies–it might be my only hobby, actually. & it’s great to window shop, & you know, wander through boutiques touching, feeling, trying on, not buying. But, most times, that’s not enough. There’s a thrill that I get from purchasing something new that’s rivalled only by purchasing something new on sale. 

Buying things feels like coming home. I’m always thinking about how my wardrobe is growing, changing, evolving. & what holes I need to fill, what things I need to buy. There’s never wants when it comes to shopping. Only needs.

need thigh high boots. I need a navy crewneck. I need need need it all. Everything. Now.

I know department stores better than I know some of my own family members. I have an encyclopedic knowledge of Aritzia’s stock. I can tell you more about Lululemon’s product than most of the people who work there can.

I just love things. I love buying things, bringing them home, & introducing them to the family (also known as the rest of my wardrobe). Yeah, I know… I’m the poster child for capitalism. But–it costs money. Money that I don’t have, but choose to spend anyway. Therein lies the problem.

I am the least financially responsible person I know. I am crippled by student debt & yet still choose to spend, spend, spend on things I can’t afford & shouldn’t want. It’s not good. & it’s definitely a strike against me in the girlfriend material department. Not only am I a bonafide hoarder, but I’m also broke because of it.

Being poor isn’t cute. I’ve shovelled myself in & out of debt enough times to know that. I mean, it’s adorable in the movies (ala Cinderella, Pretty Woman, etc. etc.) but not in real life.

Money is a major source of tension in relationships. & that tension usually arises when there’s not enough of it–I’ve got to get my spending under control. No man wants a girl who chooses Gucci over groceries.