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Did you guys watch the Neil Diamond TV concert last night? If not please lie, because otherwise you are dead to me.

I was so excited about the concert that I picked out a special couch outfit, which is code for tee-shirt and underwear. I couldn’t decide on just one shirt, instead I chose two and switched halfway through the concert. I did, not, however switch underwear. It seemed like a waste of a clean pair. I’m single-handedly saving the environment with my vagina.

First half:

Second half:

After watching the concert I decided Neil should be my BFF. I mean we have sooooo much in common–well except for that wrinkly old man part. He’s Jewish and I work out at the Jewish Community Center. He has a pink sparkly shirt, I have four. OK, so the similarities stop there, but that doesn’t mean the BFF-ship should stop. It’s perfect timing since RLO is practically worthless to me.

(When your BFF falls in love he suddenly become an idiot.)

(RLO didn’t tell me he was in love, but he also didn’t tell me he was Canadian and he totally is.)

(Canadians shouldn’t be allowed to fall in love and ruin lives.)

(So maybe RLO didn’t ruin my life, but eating at the pub isn’t the same without him.)

(Enough about RLO. He pisses me off anyway. Neil Diamond DOES NOT piss me off. Neil Diamond is perfect.)

A friend of mine shared her biggest fear with me the other night. She’s not terrified of mice like I am, or even crow’s feet like the rest of women. Nope. She’s afraid of getting stuck somewhere and not having anyone around to help her.

I live alone with a pug. Daisy has one freaking eye so it’s not like she’s Lassie. If I got stuck and couldn’t reach my phone I’d be a goner. And just like that getting stuck is now one of my fears.

I voiced this fear to another friend who reminded me I have a zillion brothers that would find and save me. Hardly. Those boys are lazy asses. They’d take my silence as their own personal vacation. After thinking about the problem for a few minutes I realized I wouldn’t ever get stuck in my apartment and die. I could easily use the gay husband signal as a beacon to alert RLO that I needed to be saved. Super RLO looks hot in tights, plus he’s a biker so super comfy in spandex.

I’m going to practice the method by getting stuck on my way to the pub. It’s really the best way to get some quality BFF time in. Plus I’m really hungry for a good pub dinner.

I really wanted to title the video “Real Men Ride Pink” but didn’t. You’re welcome.

Alternate title: Second Video Blog

Alternate title 2: Talking Shit on Sugar, Sort of

RLO dragged me into Williams-Sonoma again last night.

I don’t cook so I’ll never fully appreciate the appeal of that store. I get bored after two seconds in the store and am forced to find other entertainment. My idea of entertainment is bugging RLO when he’s busy concentrating on grapefruit knives. Now he’ll never know which grapefruit knife is superior. Damn.

“Hey RLO, which would you rather have an espresso maker or an Apple TV?”

“Oh, definitely the appletini.”

“That’s pretty interesting since I didn’t mention an appletini, you don’t drink, and you’re supposedly straight.”

I can’t be sure what his comment was afterward, because I was too busy picturing him sitting on his couch in a silk robe, drinking an appletini and listening to Barbra Streisand records.

Not everyone is well versed in the Mormon faith. I grew up in a Mormon family, and I’ve discovered there’s a multitude of doctrine and church history I don’t even know.

I assume that has something to do with me ditching church to go skinny dipping in the river with boys.

One of the things I do know is that I’m not allowed into the Mormon Temples. It’s a sacred place for active members. I have no idea what goes on in there, but I’m guessing it’s something religious and not just a bunch of people in white watching the newest episode of “Rock of Love Bus with Bret Michaels.”

When I found out I could take a tour of the newest temple before they dedicate it I wanted to go. And who better to take me than my Jesus-loving BFF RLO.

“RLO, are you busy Friday night?”

“I am. What’s happening?”

“DAMMIT. I want to go to the temple.”

“Ha!”

“Don’t laugh. I’m serious RLO.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever written ‘dammit I want to go to the temple’ before.”

“What did you want to go for?”

“I really, really, REALLY want to go. And think about it, when else am I ever going to get into a Mormon temple?”

“Oh, so you want to see the Draper temple before it’s dedicated. I’m sorry, but I can’t on Friday.”

“So it’s your fault I can’t go to the temple. That’s just mean.”

I begged RLO to change his plans and take me to the temple, but it didn’t happen. RLO doesn’t love me enough to take me to the temple. I’ve made a point to say that very loudly to him each time we are in public. I’ll shame that jerk into taking me to the temple eventually. I don’t know why he won’t agree, I already promised him I would behave and not take a flask.

I’ve been incredibly stressed out trying to figure out how I’m going to manage both school and work this semester. When I get stressed out I withdraw, cancel plans and stay home.

RLO must be in tune to the inner working of Sarah because he planned an entire day of activities yesterday.  He picked me up in the morning and kept me busy until 8:00 pm. We ate good food, saw a good movie and went to see Body Worlds 3 one last time before the exhibit closes.

The lines were pretty long to get in, but we kept busy. Much like at a concert, there was a phone number you could text message and the messages would display on the wall, complete with a dancing skeleton. And because I’m a 15-year-old at heart I text messaged it for at least twenty minutes.

I wanted to text “RLO hearts boners” but I’m trying to be nicer to RLO, AND he threatened to kill me and sell me to the museum for display if I did.

In spite of the occasional death threat, he’s such amazing friend to me, which is why I’m planning on having him all to myself. The first step is to get rid of his friend Sugar. I planned to hire a hit man, but it’s too expensive and would put a strain on my textbook budget. I thought I could sell her into white slavery, but that seems like a lot of work. The only option left is to find her a suitable boyfriend that will keep her busy enough that she won’t have time for RLO.

She really is a lovely girl if you can get past the fact that she’s trying to ruin my life.  Sooooo, if there’s any handsome men out there who want a date let me know. I’ll throw in a free blender.

Actually if there’s a handsome man he’s mine, but if there’s a sort of homely looking man who lives with his mother, Sugar is all yours.

Oh, and I’m serious about the blender.

I know I said I wasn’t going to make any New Year resolutions, but it just sort of happened. I blame that bottle of Two-Buck-Chuck. I made two, and immediately shared them with RLO.

“I decided to make two New Year resolutions: 1) be nicer to you, and 2) to be more positive.”

“Wow, Sarah, your resolutions aligned perfectly with my New Year wishes.”

After hearing that, I really wish I’d have made the resolution to punch RLO in the face every single day. And I would have, but I really like having pretty friends.  I’m shallow like that.

RLO has always hated Daisy. His hate isn’t exclusively targeted at her, but all pugs. He’s an equal opportunity pug hater, also known as a jackass.

His Daisy hate is why the Christmas present he brought me last night was quite a shock. He presented me with two pug pictures to hang and a leash that lights up in the dark for Daisy.

It wasn’t his generosity that surprised me, RLO is very generous. The pug paraphernalia, however, is so out-of-character. There’s only one explanation: RLO is dying. He’s trying to make his peace with Daisy before he croaks.  Which I appreciate, but I’d rather he spend the extra time washing my dishes, doing my laundry and finally getting rid of his pesky friend Sugar. Don’t you worry, Internet, I’ll prioritize the rest of his life. That’s what good friends are for.

Last Saturday was my office holiday party.  Since I didn’t have a date lined up RLO was kind enough to accompany me.  He immediately began to regret this decision once he saw his dinner place card:

I thought it was a clever little joke, but in hindsight I can see why people assumed we were married.  For example, while making small talk a co-worker’s husband asked us, “Do you guys have any kids?”  RLO quickly replied, “No, but we’re trying.”

Since the guy didn’t know RLO was kidding I cleared things up by explaining that RLO wasn’t my husband, or boyfriend, but just my very close friend.

Just when I finished explaining RLO muttered, “But that hasn’t stopped her from trying to steal my sperm.”

Um, awkward much?

The guy looked a little confused and I couldn’t really blame him.  I thought about explaining how I constantly beg RLO to be my marriage back-up plan.  Or how I asked RLO for a vial of frozen sperm as a birthday present, you know, just in case I decide I want a baby one of these days.

Instead, I let the conversation drop. It’s sort of uncomfortable discussing future sperm donors over dessert.  That’s more of an entrée conversation.