To read my column this week click here. When you finish please pray to whatever god you believe in, that I may be blessed with extraordinary kickball skills by six o’clock tonight. Otherwise, pray I don’t punch anyone who makes fun of me in the face.
“Sarah, do you want to go to the pub for dinner?”
“Duh, Rlo. But we have to order something semi-Mexican there since it’s Cinco de Mayo. Do you think they serve Mexican wine?”
“Doubtful. You know, you could just drink so much you vomit and pass out. It’s just like going to Mexico.”
I think secretly Rlo wants to get me drunk and take advantage of me. In doing so he’ll prove he is not as gay as I make him sound, and I’ll be forced to write about his manliness on the Internet.
I’m boycotting Costco. And by boycott I mean I’ll go again soon but will pout the entire time. They used to carry coconut-covered cashews and now they don’t. Clearly they don’t understand this girl needs her crack back.
I took matters into my own hands; I found this recipe online and headed to the store. On my list was cream of tarter. One problem. I didn’t actually know what cream of tarter was. I suspected a spice due to the recipe quantity so I headed directly to the spice isle.
After what felt like hours of looking I decided to ask for help. I picked the older gentleman wearing elbow patches on his jacket and professor glasses. Dude looked smart enough to know what this mystery spice looked like. When I explained I don’t typically bake and wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for the man looked down at my hand and said, “Oh honey, that’s why you don’t have a big rock on your finger.” As he handed me the cream of tarter of the shelf I may or may not have said, “Thanks old man prick.”
I’m soooo thankful this exchange took place. Now I can memorize every spice and snatch up a husband in no time. Fucker.
When I got home I started toasting the coconut according to the recipe and upon reading the recipe further found I needed a candy thermometer—which, of course, I don’t own.
I messaged Rlo, told him I was baking and needed help. He read the recipe and instead of offering to come rescue me from possible life-threatening burns he offered the following, “Sarah, technically you’re not baking. This is candy.” To which I replied, “Technically you can SHOVE IT!”
Me: I have a new recipe for you to try on BFF night: One can frozen pink lemonade concentrate, vodka, one pitted peach and ice. Blend and drink.
Rlo: Sounds easy, just like everyone after drinking it.
Me: Ohhh Rlo, that is why I love you! Well that and you put up with my constant abuse, wear pink underwear and love my dog so very much.
Rlo: I must be some sort of angel.
Me: Or a masochist.
I’m going to do something a little different this week with the photo of the day. Instead of posting random snapshots from my iPhone, I’ll be posting photos of a pretty spectacular little boy and me. This is the little boy I’ll be walking for on Saturday at the Utah Autism Speaks Walk.
Thanks to The Kid’s hard work, my previous dating column archives are all in one spot. Nerds are seriously the best thing ever! Well that and Tivo, which is technically the work of nerd so… oh, and Rlo. He’s the third best thing ever–even if he does drink the last of a shared Diet Coke in the movie. Actually, now that I think about it Rlo isn’t third, he’s fourth, Diet Coke is third.
Damn it. I changed my mind. Comcast Cable is the fourth best thing ever. Rlo is number five. So the order is: 1) Nerds 2) Tivo/DVR 3) Diet Coke 4) Comcast Cable 5) Rlo.
Why did Comcast make the list? As much as I love a good dose of sperm, TV seemed like hardly the place to get it.
Last night, Rlo and I had dinner with Mrs. AK and her kids. After dinner Little AK asked me to read her a story and tuck her in. This has been a longstanding tradition between the two of us, until recently, when she’s decided Rlo can join us.
No matter which book I choose, Little AK wants the male character to be called Rlo-pants. He blushes and I oblige. The three of us crawl into her tiny PINK! bed to hear the story. As I turned over the last page, Little AK immediately dismissed Rlo from her bedroom, so that I could tuck her in properly.
As I was picking up her stuffed animals and placing them on her bed, she looked up at me and said, “Goodnight, Sarah, I love you more than Rlo.”
“Well, sweetie, I love you more than chocolate, and you know how I love chocolate.”
“But, Sarah, I love you more than Google.”
Realizing I couldn’t follow that up, I gave her a quick kiss, turned off the light and ran downstairs to gloat.
