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I had the craziest dream last night. I blame the piece of chocolate cake I had right before bed. I was at some random hotel in Amsterdam. Why Amsterdam? Probably because that’s where some of my weirdest blog comments have been coming from lately. The Yuppie and Marky were also staying in this hotel.

For some reason my front tooth fell out. Yuppie wouldn’t take me to the dentist because we were in a foreign country and he’d never read a biography on the dental work there. If you knew him you’d know that part could totally be true. I found Marky and begged him to take me to a dentist but he kept telling me to go back to bed so he could put money under my pillow. In this dream he was really into Euros, disturbingly so. I tried calling Rlo multiple times but just like in real life he wouldn’t answer his phone. Jerk.

I got mad at both of them and tried to walk home. Obviously that didn’t work and I ended up in a library, where I checked out multiple books on dental work. When I got back to the hotel and gave the books to The Yuppie he looked at me and said, “Sarah you know I’m very anti-TV and your tooth falling out is a direct result of your reality television habits. So I suggest either calling one of your TV friends for help, or just going toothless and become one with your inner NASCAR self.”

I woke up super pissed at The Yuppie and my subconscious. If I’m going to be in Amsterdam you’d think I’d at least make my way into a hash café, but oh nooooo.

I did something very naughty on Saturday night. No, that that. Perverts. Though I wish! Let’s just say my bed has seen busier times.

Saturday night was BFF night at the AK’s house. Which means Mrs. AK and I boss Rlo around in the kitchen while drinking wine. It’s very fun. For us, at least.

The recipe Rlo was cooking with was in his email, so his computer was sitting on the counter. UNATTENDED! I’d be crazy not to take advantage, so I did. I logged onto his Facebook account and left our mutual friend Sabby a message. Not just any message but a naughty one. The best kind! Which I thought was very funny until he reminded me his mom was on Facebook.

It was then something very unusual happened. My belly had a weird feeling and my heart felt funny. At first I thought I was having a heart attack, but after I wiggled my left arm and it felt normal I knew that couldn’t be it. I then realized what the unexplainable feeling was. I was feeling remorse. Me. Remorse. Over my own actions!

It didn’t end there.

Rlo didn’t talk to me for an entire day afterwards. So that icky belly feeling lasted two whole days. The longest two days of my entire life. I almost vowed to never again do something like that again to Rlo. This morning when we finally spoke and he told me he wasn’t still mad, I was really, really thankful for that “almost” part.

Rlo found himself “accidentally” listening to The Bangles when he was listening to my iTunes. He wasn’t too thrilled and the following conversation is the result:

Me: What’s wrong with the bangles? NOTHING that’s what.

Rlo: And you give AK a hard time?

Me: I do? For what?

Rlo: Loving 80s music.

Me: Dude, The Bangles don’t count. They are a chick band–I’m soooo pro chick in a non-lesbian sort of way.

Rlo: You have the most versatile vagina around. You vote with it, listen to music with it, and pretty much just do whatever it tells you to.

Me: So what.

Rlo: You are so your vagina’s bitch.

Me: Oh Rlo, you’re just jealous because the last vagina you saw was in a textbook.

And then he immediately stopped talking to me. I can’t imagine why.

I am officially a satisfied woman as you can see by the very empty container of Girl Scout Cookies.  Don’t worry, Arlo helped.  Perverts.  He helped eat the cookies, not helped satisfy me.

Mrs. AK, and I force Arlo to have BFF nights with us once a week. These nights consist of Arlo attempting to whip a little something up in the kitchen. When Arlo bakes with us around there is always an incident. Remember the MSG cookies? While the baking is happening Mrs. AK and I drink red wine and heckle him. It’s a bonding experience we all enjoy.

Sometimes I worry that Arlo feels left out because he doesn’t drink wine. To alleviate this I always take a swig off his Diet Coke, leaving enough wine backwash to give anyone a good buzz.

Yesterday at the drugstore while loading up on Vitamin C I found a way he can share in on the red wine fun without partaking of my germ loaded saliva. Also proving I am a caring friend who wants him to reap the benefits antioxidants provide. In one simple purchase I’ve proven myself as an loving friend who cares about the longevity of a friend’s life.

I’m feeling much better today. I went back to work, and it didn’t completely suck. Sure, I wanted to be back in bed, but the social aspect was good. I fear The Kid had no one to entertain him, or boss him while I was out and may have been bored. He can pretend he didn’t miss me, but I know the truth.

Tonight, however, you wouldn’t know I was feeling better. I’m in the same cozy corner on the couch, wearing practically the same uniform of flannel pajama pants, pink fuzzy slipper sock and a Neil Diamond shirt. Though, this version is clean, and less contaminated with death flu germs. I’m snuggled under the same, also newly laundered, blanket watching more Gilmore Girls reruns while reading news sites on my laptop. I should be out celebrating the fact I’m a death flu survivor at the pub with friends, but frankly I can’t muster the energy. I’d much rather enjoy the witty banter of my all-time favorite show and long for the days when Midge and I would snuggle in bed with a bottle of red wine while watching, and yell at one another for talking during any dialogue.

Perhaps Arlo would enjoy the show. I use the term enjoy loosely, because he won’t, but he also doesn’t enjoy Rock of Love and still tolerates it for the sake of shutting me up. And if he refuses I’ll use guilt. He’s religious, so clearly he responds well to such tactics.

I am considering renewing my faith in Jesus. When Arlo decided to ruin my Friday night plans by getting a date, I did what I do best: I used guilt. When that didn’t work I went home and prayed. I prayed to every type of Jesus I could think of: hot Mormon Jesus, dead Jesus, baby Jesus, cross Jesus, resurrected Jesus, carpenter Jesus and every other Jesus imaginable.

And guess what?!

It worked; Arlo’s date canceled. Either I’m magic, or there is a Jesus after all. I’m going to investigate further by praying for a skinnier ass, new shoes and a boyfriend. I’ll keep you posted.

I drove to the country for the day to help celebrate my grandpa’s 80th birthday. Of course, I had to drive by my old stomping grounds. I saw this and couldn’t help but laugh. I wonder how much the prom dates are being sold for. I’d love to get Arlo one for his birthday.

Valentine’s Day dinner looked beautiful on the plate, however, later that night it didn’t look so pretty coming back up. It’s interesting that no one else got sick from the meal. And by “interesting” I mean ARLO IS TRYING TO KILL ME!

He’s got plenty of justifiable reasons to want me dead. In fact, the whole thing is rather ironic. Just yesterday, some friends and I were talking about how much grief I give Arlo. We agreed that if he did indeed kill me, no jury in the world would convict him. I’d like to think the reason he attempted to poison me wasn’t necessarily due to the fact I force him to watch bad reality TV with me, or the fact I tease him mercilessly, but because I burned the one portion of the dinner I was in charge of:

When Arlo tried to kill himself to avoid making a traditional Canadian meal, Mrs. AK took matters into her own hands. Her British hands.

Last night she prepared bangers and mash for us. I was more than surprised when I actually liked it. Arlo, on the other hand, scoff at his serving. I have no idea why…