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The Kid called me fat today, or not fat. I’m so confused.

We’ve been passing back and forth a stale granola bar for a week. I had every intention of eating it when I picked it up a couple of weeks ago, and then didn’t. I put it on his desk BECAUSE I AM A NICE PERSON! He didn’t eat it and put it back on my desk. We soon started adding notes listing reasons why the other should eat it. He suggested I lay off the caffeine and eat it for natural energy. Ha! I then suggested he is young and likely sowing his wild oats and should therefore eat an oat bar.

His latest note is going to be hard to top:

It’s February, which means time for anyone who is single to scramble in hopes of securing a Valentine’s Day date. The stress is enough to turn me into the typical bitter anti-Valentine’s Day spinster.
If I didn’t love the holiday shopping so much I’d have booted the holiday years ago. Valentine’s Day and Breast Cancer Awareness month are by far my favorite color oriented times of the year. It’s no secret I love pink. Growing up with four brothers left me grasping anything girly I could get my hands on– thus developing my lifetime love of the color.

I’d considered having a single girl party, but all my girlfriends have found relationships over the past few months putting a kink into that plan. Perhaps the best thing to do, in this case, is boycott the holiday altogether. I certainly can’t ignore it. I love the conversation heart candy too much. So boycotting the date portion of the evening will have to do.

I’ve come up with four ‘alternative to a date’ plans to choose from for my evening:

1. Staying home and watching Lost. This isn’t any different than most Thursday nights, but to spice it up a bit I’ll crank the heat in my apartment to 85 degrees, wear tattered island clothes and only eat fruit for dinner. Watching the lives of this cast will make me suddenly appreciate my own boyfriend or not.

2. Force Ask, my friend, Arlo to bake me a heat-shaped chocolate cake. I’ll certainly need the anti-depressive qualities of the chocolate while I spend the evening reading old love letters, eating cake, and wondering where my love life went wrong.

3. Go out to dinner alone for the sole purpose of people watching. I would entertain myself during dinner by creating an internal dialogue making fun of the cheesy couples in hopes of making myself feel better about not being apart of one. Of all the plans, I see this one backfiring and resulting with me going home in tears wishing I had a boyfriend.

4. Take a road trip to Hardup, Utah. I would search for some sort of gift shop with a clothing line containing pithy sayings using the word ‘hardup’, or at least postcards bearing the town name to mail my girlfriends. After hearing about this alleged town for years, it’s time to find out if it really exists. What better day than Valentine’s Day?

However I end up spending my evening, I’ll try and add a little humor to a night that makes so many of us feel badly about our single status. I don’t need one specific day to make me feel badly for not having a boyfriend; I have a mother who makes me feel badly about that nearly every single day.

Sarah: “Are you avoiding my calls because you don’t want to hear me lecture you in the importance of voting today?”

Ben: “No. I already listened to your messages.”

Sarah: “Good. Go vote. Also, you should know I emailed your girlfriend today and broke up with her.”

Ben: “What?! Why?”

Sarah: “Her Obama shirt… I told her she had a vagina and should use it to vote.”

Ben: “Oh man…”

Sarah: “Don’t be mad. She’s the one that said she was torn between Hillary and Obama. She had to either vote for her vagina, or vote for her ‘brown’ vagina.”

Ben: “SARAH!! I really didn’t need to hear that the girl I’m dating and my sister are discussing vagina together. I’m never letting you meet anyone again. I mean it.”

I almost changed my vote to Obama because Andrew Shue (Billy Campbell) from Melrose Place was backing him, but then I came to my senses and remembered Melrose Place is and never will be Beverly Hills 90210. Since Jason Priestly didn’t publicly back a candidate my vote for Hillary Clinton was safe.

It felt good for my vagina and myself to vote for a woman.

I’ve been known to be a tad demanding. My friends and family will be the first to tell you this. I expect a lot from people, it’s just the way I was made. I’ve learned over the years people can often disappoint me. Case in point: Arlo.

I asked Arlo to teach me to make perogies Wednesday night. He happily agreed to my face, but then behind my back he tried to cut own hand off with a dull kitchen knife in order to get out of teaching me. Perhaps he’s lazy; perhaps he’s trying to avoid seeing me hurt, like last time. Whatever the case, the lad is just so thoughtless and cruel. I don’t think five stitches is a good excuse for breaking promises. Ever.

I’m going to peek under his bandages to be sure he’s telling the truth. Like I tell my three-year-old niece, Hannah, boys lie AND carry cooties, therefore cannot be trusted.

I opened the email, and contrary to the promise, I’m still worried.
Mostly about the following:

1) Who will get the Republican nomination.
2) Driving in the snow.
3) Who will get cut on the next Project Runway.
4) How I’m going to pass my math class.
5) If my bread pudding burn is going to scar.
6) Why my bank about never seems to have a surplus of cash.
7) If yellow tail shiraz is still on sale.
8) If Arlo is going to kick me out of life for making fun of his middle name.

You know important stuff.

Ben called when I was picking up the kids from the daycare last week. After discussing whatever weird thing was on his mind that day, I handed the phone to the kids so they could say hello.

When Hannah was on the phone I said, “Make sure you tell Uncle Ben you love him.” She looked at me in complete disgust and said, “No, Sarah, love with boys is gross! But when you get married love is OK, and it’s not gross anymore.”

She handed me back the phone and left Ben and I to discuss how weird our family is. Even the kids.

I think the universe is telling me to go on a diet. Which sucks because Arlo has promised me I can drown my sorrows in his chocolate, I suppose that’s as naughty as he can be without pissing his bishop off. He’s already skating on thin ice with his God for being friends with me at all.

After an especially crummy day a friend came over to have some dinner and watch the debates. We called to order a pizza and were told they were closed for an hour and to call back. No biggie, it was worth the wait since they have wheat crust. An hour later I called back and was told they were filming a movie and would be closed all night.

Bummer.

We then ordered Chinese food online from Sam Pan, because it’s easier than speaking to actual human beings. An hour and a half later I called to see why our food hadn’t arrived. They didn’t have our order. Stupid technology. Growing moodier by the second I re-ordered and was promised it would arrive in one hour. Thirty minutes later they called and had trouble processing the credit card because it was one number short. We went through the order again.

One hour and fifteen minutes later I had food. It’s never taken three hours to get food to my apartment. Clearly the universe thinks I’m fat and is throwing hints my way. The universe is an ass, but I get the hint and will hit the gym this weekend. When I’m done eating Arlo’s chocolate, of course.

It was a rough night last night. It started when I couldn’t drive up my brother’s semi-steep driveway due to massive amounts of snow, immediately followed with forgetting the garage code.

When we finally got into the house the alarm went off. I couldn’t get it to stop and Carter immediately started to cry. Followed by Hannah yelling because Carter wouldn’t stop crying. Ten very loud minutes later I convinced the alarm company I wasn’t there to harm the children, because if so, I would have DONE IT ALREADY!

I knew there was only one thing that would cheer the little buggers up: “Baby Got Back.”

And it so, so did:
The fact the kids now know the word horny guarantees I’ll never be asked to stay overnight with the kids again. It was totally worth it.

Of course I told him, “Hell no! Get a job and buy your own.”