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“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.”

Last weekend I met up with the SLC Drinking Liberally Group for some good old fashioned political fun.  Here’s the “That’s What She Said” column about the evening.

When I told Trainer Tracey I’d buy a balance ball to workout with at home, I doubt this is what she had in mind:

I ran out of room on my clothes drying rack for my bras. Calm down, it’s not like you haven’t seen underwear before. You may have even seen mine if you ever hung out drinking at Murphy’s Bar in downtown Salt Lake during my late 20s. If you did, by chance, pick up a black lacy number off of the street can you mail it to me? I’ve never found one that fits as well as that one did.

Needless to say I’ve lost some of my workout motivation.  I really need to get back into the groove of it.  I’m sure the elderly couple misses me something fierce.

The Yuppie emailed me this link today.  He thought if anything could help me pass my math class it would be video games.  I thanked him, but was quick to point out I’m not only bad at math, but I’m also bad at video games.

Knowing I’m obsessed with The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald he sent me the following:

Damn, I thought I found a solution to your problems.  Maybe if they made story problems centered around Gatsby?  If Gatsby has three times as many shirts than Nick Carraway, and 1/3 of those shirts are striped Egyptian cotton and 2/3 have French cuffs suitable for molar cuff links (They’re real teeth!  See!), and Nick has one shirt for every year that Daisy Buchanan has been alive, how many Egyptian cotton and French cuff shirts does Gatsby own?

My answer would have to be: Who cares how many shirts Gatsby owns, I just want him naked!  It’s no wonder math isn’t going so well.

There are few things in life that make me happier than a random call from my mom.  I’m not that girl who talks to her mom every single day, so when I do see her name on the caller ID I answer with a smile. However, whether the call ends with a smile is a completely different story.

“Hi honey, I was just thinking about you and thought I’d call.”

“Hi mom.  Were they good thought or bad thoughts?”

“Neither.”

“MOM! That’s a horrible answer.”

“What?  Of all people I thought you’d appreciate the fact I was being politically correct.”

“Whatever.”

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.

My metamorphosis into old maid is complete. I’ve decided now is the time to start collecting things. I have given this collecting business a lot of thought, and have decided to collect Pyrex. My lovely pseudo sisters all collect Pyrex and I’ll never be accepted into the sisterhood if I don’t.

Given my love of all things pink I decided my first piece should this little beauty:

I’ve named her Rose and we’re going to be very happy together. Once I learn how to cook, or hang shelves on my wall to display her properly.  I’ve also promised to bring her home some sisters soon.  Which means I’ll be scrounging through my mom’s kitchen ASAP.

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.