Thanks!
My beloved friend Midge sent me an email with the below photos yesterday. Since she’s not lucky enough to have her own Daisy pug, she’s found the next best thing: her baby boy, Ike, dressed like one.
I’m now scouring the Internet for a pug costume large enough to fit RLO. I can’t think of a better birthday present than RLO baking a chocolate cake while wearing a pug costume. Wouldn’t you agree?
Remember when I took the batteries out of my fire detectors? Well that was a really bad idea.
Last night I attempted to make cookies. It did not turn out to be the kind of baking adventures I have with RLO. Instead rather, I started my microwave on fire and accidentally left the oven on overnight. Luckily the cookies had ginger, nutmeg, molasses, chocolate and cinnamon so my apartment smelled like Christmas rather than smokey.
The cookies survived, but because I used wheat flour instead of crappy white flour they turned out flat looking and dry–exactly like my love life. Nothing like the time RLO made them for me. When he made them I had a ginger boner for hours.
I think it’s safe to say I’m sticking to a diet of wine, cold cereal and store-bought chocolate, except for the times people take pity on me and feed me home-baked meals.
“Rlo, I want you to know I gave the remainder of my sandwich to a coworker, I’m in for some good karma. And I’m expecting that karma to be in the form of chocolate cake.”
“I have a direct line to Jesus, not karma.”
“Well does Jesus bake?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t use leavening agents.”
“Well do you think he’ll use the fake sugar I gave you for Valentine’s Day last year?”
“The cancer sugar, Sarah? Probably not.”
“It’s not like he can’t cure the cancer anyway. Jesus is just being lazy.”
Something strange has been going on with RLO lately: he’s been acting straight. First he calls a girl I’ve been trying to set him up with for over a month, and the following may just peg him as a straight man forever. Forever, of course, being until he starts trying to discuss recipes and laundry techniques with me.
I was at Summer’s place for an evening of “Heroes” and chocolate chip cookies. While I was there RLO emailed me and asked that I send a picture of the two of us scissoring.
I don’t think the picture I sent him was exactly what he had in mind:
Jesus fixed my Internet connection. Seriously. True story.
Saturday when my modem decided to fail in the middle of an online test for school I panicked. I called Comcast and found they couldn’t help me until the store opened Monday morning. I was livid, but there was nothing I could do.
At dinner later that night I recounted the story to RLO. Being the perfect non-gay, Canadian BFF that he is, he called his brother and asked if he could help. His brother agreed to come Sunday morning and take a look at the problem. I thanked RLO by not making out with him.
When I got home that night I checked again and my connection still wasn’t working. Do you know what a girl does on a early night in without an Internet connection? She does her dishes. Her two-week old dishes. And then she stops talking about herself in third person because it’s pretty damn annoying.
The next morning I cleaned my apartment and put on my “RLO is the New Black” tee-shirt. I’ve never met RLO’s brother, and wanted to look my best. Remember RLO likes to keep his real life a secret from me? I was about to call the brother when I decided to check the connection one last time. I found it working perfectly. It’s obvious what happened: RLO went home and prayed to Jesus that I would behave in front of his brother and not embarrass him. Jesus being the smart man that he is realized that he the son of God couldn’t even get me to behave, so instead he fixed my Internet connection.
Obviously I’m very thankful, but was too busy catching up online to go to church and properly thank Jesus yesterday. So instead, I’d like to give a shout out to my homeboy Jesus. You da’ man J-dawg.
Walking out to the car last night I looked at the long staircase ahead and asked, “RLO, I’m so tired, will you carry me down the stairs?” “No, Sarah, but I’ll push you down the stairs.”
And that, Internet, is our relationship dynamic. Always pushing one another down so we can help one another back up. That’s the best I can do, because otherwise RLO is just plan mean.
I specifically stated yesterday that my birthday is still a month away, yet I came home to a gift. OK, fine, it wasn’t so much a gift as it was an abandoned book in my yard.
For a brief moment I considered taking it inside, wrapping it up and giving it to RLO as a gift, but then I remembered he isn’t actually gay, I just like to pretend he is. The first time I met RLO he was wearing linen pants, that sealed his pseudo homosexuality. For the last three years he’s been trying to tell me straight men wear linen pants all the time, and for the last three years I’ve been humoring him.
Dear RLO,
Mark your calendar; my birthday is one month from today. For my birthday I would like a month long celebration. And as everyone knows, no celebration is complete without cake. Your job is cake–a month of cake.
You’re busy with school, I know, so rather than a daily cake just keep me in continuous cake. I’ll try and eat slow, but no written promises. Is this really too much to ask of you? I think not. You’re already skating on thin ice as it is. That chocolate you brought into the movie last night was horrible. And this busy thing? It’s getting old. Your roommate only has one birthday per year. I swear this is the 14th time you’ve had to stay home to celebrate. I’m onto you RLO. You do realize you can be replaced, right?
Just yesterday I had lunch with a new friend, Summer, who I met through blogging. I wished all of my female readers lived in SLC so we could get together and have one giant sleepover. Of course hundreds of woman may result in a giant catfight, or porn. Either way I could video the event and sell to my male readers, which will pay my tuition. I’ll consider it a scholarship, ahem.
Out of that many woman there’s got to be a BFF. If I were you, I’d get yourself to the grocery store for baking supplies. If you don’t come through on the cake thing, I’m going to have to find another BFF. Consider yourself warned.
Love,
Sarah
“RLO, will you make cookies for me?”
“I’ll make some of my specialty anti-Trainer Tracey cookies. I’m going for 700 calories per cookie.”
“What cookies might those be?”
“I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you. Though I can say that each cookie has a stick of butter in it.”
“I don’t like butter, so they’d have to taste like sex for me to eat them. And good sex, the kind that doesn’t involve love. Sex with strangers, do they taste like sex with strangers?”
“All right. I’ll make special buttery coitus cookies for you. Or just butt sex cookies for short.”
“Sex cookies probably have chocolate in them, right?”
“Sarah, it’s hard to separate the two.”
“RLO, I’m seriously so hungry right now. I’d take sex, cookies OR a stick of butter.”
“Yeah. I’m sure you would. You really need to push for an office so you can satisfy all three of those needs anytime you want.”
On Sunday RLO and I took Little AK to brunch with us. Her parents were out of town and we naively offered to spend an hour or so with her. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love Little AK, but she is a handful.
After brunch we tried to take her to a movie, which she was adamantly against. At that point RLO decided he wasn’t cut out for pseudo parenting, (which we already knew) and dropped us off at my apartment so he could go home and nap. He’s obviously in a heap of trouble and will only be forgive by sneaking in chocolate when we go to see a movie on Wednesday night.
When Little C walked into my apartment the first thing she said was, “It’s going to be very hot in here, I think I’d better take my pants off for this.” I couldn’t help but laugh, since that’s the first thing I do every time I walk in the door, no matter if I have company or not. It was then that I picked her up and gave her a big hug and kiss. It’s the little things kids say that keep you from killing them. I’m convinced of it.
