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Bagel Friday is a holiday for my nerds. They love free bagels at work, and I love seeing them appreciate something outside the Apple product line.

If Apple comes out with a bagel shaped product I’m going to kill myself. Unless, of course, they kill me first for ruining Bagel Friday.

A few months ago, while cutting my bagel, I accidentally sliced my finger. Instead of using the blood as a cream cheese substitute, I dropped the knife and fashioned a tourniquet out of pink Post-it notes and paper towels. I finished just in time to see my Chief Nerd pick up the blood and skin covered knife to slice his bagel.

Inside my head I was screaming at him to stop.

Outside my head… not so much.

I watched as he consumed his bagel and a side of my skin. I wanted to stop him, but couldn’t move. I blame the blood loss.

Later in the day he started complaining about a stomachache.

Holy shit. I poisoned a nerd with awesome. Finally a technical skill to be proud of.

I still wasn’t going to say anything, but I started feeling like an evil cross between Microsoft Windows and every single evil comic book character.

I came clean.

He didn’t talk to me for days.

I didn’t let it bother me. I just assumed he was just super busy morphing into a super sonic Sarah.

I thought the incident had been forgotten, but last week the bagels came pre-sliced. The nerds were ecstatic, which I thought was weird. Typically nerds love using knifes. It’s like a mini-sword fight at the office.

It all made sense when a nerd exclaimed, “This is fantastic. If we could have pre-sliced bagels every Friday, I could keep so much of Sarah’s skin out of my system.”

My nerds are soooo unappreciative.

I’ve been sorta scarce this week. I’ve just been soooooo busy pissing off truck drivers and in turn trying not to let them piss me off.

Actually that’s not true… I don’t mind hateful comments when they are clever and this week’s column sparked a little humor alongside the hate. One ill-intended comment and half a dozen emails later I’m quickly realizing the majority of truckers want to run me over and use me as a mudflap.

Seems like I can’t write anything without pissing someone off. This week: truck drivers, next week: wet kittens. Hopefully the kittens have a better sense off humor.

For years my brother, Ben, and I have been fighting over who my grandma loves more. It’s a ridiculous thing to argue about, as I am clearly the favorite.

Sure, Ben hangs holiday lights for her, but I named my scooter after my grandmother. Plus I have better hair and shower more often.

Ben went to visit my grandparents the weekend before Easter. When I called, all my grandma could talk about was how great it was to see my brother. Rather than be thrilled he made her so happy, I was pissed at him.

I immediately planned a trip the following weekend. It’s important to remind her I’m the one she love the most.

While driving to the country, I left Ben a voicemail with my somewhat deviant plan to win her back.  Here’s the voicemail from his phone. Try not to pay attention to my icky manlike voice.

For the record, my grandmother declared me the winner. She encouraged future competition. She said it’s to ensure more visits from the both of us, but I know she’s only going along with it so Ben doesn’t get his feelings hurt. She’s a good woman and doesn’t want to tell my brother she loves me more.

Even though it’s soooooo obvious.

“You know how I’m obsessed with making lists and Google docs?”

“Yeah, Sarah, I know.”

“Well, I created a Google doc for all of your good and bad qualities.”

“You did? I want to read it.”

“No. What if it hurts your feelings?”

“Sarah, it won’t. I promise.”

“Oh riiiight, because you don’t have any feelings… that’s already on the list.”

I detest grocery shopping.

I hate thinking about the calories sitting in my cart. I hate trying to find food I can actually eat. And I especially hate handing over my bank card.

It’s all bullshit.

Last night when faced with starvation I ignored the hatred and headed to Harmons.

While trying to find the perfect apple I heard someone behind me.

“Ma’am I think you dropped your shopping list.”

I ignored the shit out of him.

“Excuse me… ma’am you dropped something.”

I wasn’t about to let someone get away with calling me ma’am, so I continued to ignore the shit out of him.

“MA’AM DID YOU HEAR ME? I think you dropped your shopping list.”

“Of course I heard you. I’m just ignoring you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said I was ignoring you. I don’t respond when people call me names.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, you must have heard me wrong. I didn’t call you a name.”

“THERE YOU GO AGAIN. Stop calling me that!”

I placed the apples in my cart and in a dramatic huff turned and walked away.  Just as I was about to leave the produce section I hear a booming voice.

“MISS, I THINK YOU FORGOT YOUR KEGEL EXERCISE INSTRUCTIONS.”

Fuck. My. Life.

This:

was written on the back of this:

I thought I was all ‘Miss Green Party Hero’ for recycling the homework from my gynecologist. Instead, I was ‘Asshole of the Day’ for being a dick to someone trying to help.

I’d like to say I learned my lesson, but that would be a lie. And I don’t have time to worry what the karmic reaction is for lying. I’m going to be very busy trying to figure out how to punch karma in the balls.

I’m sort of slacking on this whole blogging thing. I have some dating quips to share and ANOTHER humiliating story. I’ll get to those just as soon as I find my way out of this bottle of Shiraz.

I promise.

Look at me making promises I may or may not keep.

Until then, you can read this week’s “That’s What She Said” for In Utah This Week. You can also check out what I’ve been doing over at Aiming Low here and  here.

“Summer, change of plans. I can’t make the gym tonight. I’m going to be busy killing myself.”

“Umm… that’s not OK! How about I just kill you at the gym?”

“I don’t think you understand the severity of my situation. I just did the math and had I gotten knocked up in high school I could have an 18-year-old right now.”

“Wow.”

“I’m the oldest, single, childless woman I know. I AM GOING TO DIE ALONE, so I think I’ll just go ahead and get it over with now. I’m going to leave you my womb. Please clear out the cobwebs and put the little fucker to good use.”

“Sarah, it’s time to shut the hell up. You’re not going to die alone.”

“Yes I am! I just heard it on NPR.”

“Well I guess if NPR said it, it must be true.”

“I KNOW, Liberal media never lies.”

My friend Scott and I have been friends for 10 years, so it pains me to write this next part.

Scott is a total asshole.

I’m soooo mad at him right now.  Not “I’m going to flip you off” mad, but rather “I’m going to jack your shit up in a knife fight” mad.

Yeah, this is serious business.

I told Scott that I was confident if I were to meet Bon Jovi, he’d totally fall for me. Bon Jovi seems like the kind of guy who would appreciate a smart, funny and somewhat neurotic woman. Not at all like that Bret Michaels who only goes for STD-ridden hookers with bad grammar.

“Sarah you’re kidding me with this Bon Jovi shit, right? He’s been married to the same woman for 20 years.”

CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?

Friends are supposed to be supportive. He should have said agreed and then helped formulate a plan for us to meet.

So I’m like, “I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW. I’m younger and that means things are tighter. If nothing else Bon Jovi would want to be my new BFF. You’re out Scott. He’s in.”

“Fine, Sarah, I will try and friend him on FaceBook. I’ll keep you posted.”

FaceBook? That’s the best he can do? That’s lousy. If the situation were reversed I’d be starting trends on Twitter, sending Bon Jovi kittens with Scott’s name shaved into their fur and generally stalking the shit out of him.

I’d make an impression.

NOT friend him on FaceBook.

Friends are bullshit, man. OBVIOUSLY.

My column for In Utah This Week is about my mission to rid the world of smoking. Yeah, yeah… I’m THAT asshole, which shouldn’t be all that surprising.

April Fool’s Day is the weirdest day. A day where we are encouraged to lie to one another? Um, no thanks. I already have that in my life.

It’s called dating.

Isn’t that enough of a joke? Apparently not enough for everyone, so the tradition continues. As does my confusion.

Every year I wait for a press conference where someone of authority stands up and announces–with jazz hands–what items of interest were an April Fool’s Day joke all along.

Ahem, Sarah Palin

Harem pants

Decaf coffee

Heidi Montag’s career

Low-fat ice cream

The pursuit of happiness

“American Idol”

MSN Bing

Mazda Miatas

These have to be jokes. I mean who really thinks happiness and Heidi Montag’s career are real. No one is that gullible, right?