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me: Is it possible to feel too fat for the gym?

marky: I’m right there with ya. I feel more like doing whatever is opposite of the gym. Which, I guess, is what I am doing right now.

My friend Marky has a secret life. He has an entire friend network I’ve never met. For the longest time I just assumed they were all made up, and served as an excuse why he couldn’t accompany me on errands. Then I met one of his imaginary friends, and it turns out he’s indeed a real person with a name and everything! But, of course, I instantly forgot his name, so when I see him around town I never say hello. Which isn’t a big deal because I’m positive he hates me. There’s no other explanation for his odd behavior.

It started at Cafe Niche when I was having brunch with my girlfriends. Non-imaginary friend sat down at the table next to us, drank a little coffee and then bolted to a table across the room. Recognizing him as one of Marky’s friends I tried my best to keep the offensive brunch conversation to a minimum by not saying vagina over and over, so I knew that wasn’t the reason for his move.

I noticed him again at one of my favorite lunch spots and he did his best to avoid any contact with me. Over the course of a month there’s been quite a few run-ins, without any acknowledgment on either of our parts.

I can’t help but wonder what Marky is telling his friends to make them hate me so. Is it that I made him leave the U game early to take me to the library? Or is it because I doubted their existence to begin with?

Mom: “Just calling to say goodbye. We are leaving in the morning for our trip.”

Sarah: “Ok, but who is going to take care of me?”

Mom: “You have three brothers, if you need anything call one of them.”

Sarah: “Umm, I actually have four brothers, but what if there’s an emergency?”

Mom: “Just call 1-800-Princess.”

Sarah: “Mom, come one. Seriously. I’m not playing the part of a princess, by wanting a contact number.”

Mom: “We’re taking a Princess cruise, Sarah. And before you say anything, yes, without you. Sorry.”

Sarah: “Fine… I still love you, but give the contact info to a more responsible child. Have fun and don’t forget to bring me a present, but please not from Columbia. I don’t have the bail money it would take to spring a drug smuggling mama from jail.”

My family ditched me for Thanksgiving, and left me with the responsibility of finding Ben a suitable place to spend the holiday. My mom took his threat to eat at Village Inn seriously, which is rather silly because it’s much easier to order Chinese food, and Ben is all about easy. (Please note: This is not a sly way of saying he dates sluts, because I have no problem telling him his girlfriends are not good enough for him.)

After much consideration I decided we would be spending Thanksgiving with Mrs. AK, her kids, the Japanese basement dwellers and our Canadian turkey baster. AK will be out of the country for the holiday, which sucks because there goes our designated driver, which makes it a weekend affair. If I’m going to have a Thanksgiving off from the Mormon family I’m going to spend it drinking massive amounts of wine–or course, saving some room for turkey and pie.

Today, Mrs. AK and I were assigning duties when she asked, “What task should I assign Ben? Entertainment?” “No,” I said, “I told him he would be carving the turkey and peeling veggies. He’s really good at skinning things. Which if you think about it is really worrisome.” Mrs. AK said, “Yes, but better than Arlo, who is apparently good at boning the turkey.”

I cannot wait for our dirty Thanksgiving!

Ben and I had a sibling day yesterday. Since he moved to the ‘burbs I don’t get to see him as much as I did when he lived across the hall. I miss seeing him more, but I don’t miss the smell of his sink full of dirty dishes.

We left The Gateway and were driving past the temple when Ben got really quiet. I love it when Ben gets really quiet! It means he’s about to say something really weird. I crossed my fingers and hoped it would be something blog worthy.

“I can’t believe it took 40 years to build the temple. It’s not even that big. I could’ve built it ALONE in way less time and that includes the time it would take to learn to build a temple.”

I’m not good with this religious stuff but I’m pretty sure it’s not a building competition between Ben and God. But if it were, my money would be on God–not because I’m a big believer, but because Ben is really lazy.

Sarah: “Who lives in Dad’s rental property?”

Ben: “Just a bunch of guys, why?”

Sarah: “There is a pro-voucher sign in the yard. It’s weird.”

Ben: “So. I was pro-voucher too.”

Sarah: “Ben, for starters you didn’t vote, and second do you even know what the vouchers are about?”

Ben: “No clue, but I would have voted against them just to spite you.”

Sarah: “Sometimes I hate you.”

Ben: “Whatever. I’ll pick you up in 30 minutes for the movie.”

To read this week’s column for In Utah This Week go here! Sadly, the footage of Ben singing to me was dark and crummy. Imagining it may be better a whole lot better, just don’t do it too long or your head may explode.

Instead just look at how good the boy Clements and I look together:
Or at how weird Ben is:

Am I the only childless person tired of hearing about toy recalls? Lead paint? Big freaking deal, who hasn’t ingested a little lead paint in their life? At least with the Aqua-Dot recall it’s for a good reason: GHB is meant for frat parties, NOT children.

Even the Easy-Bake Oven has been recalled, because of a “burn hazard.” No shit! While it is an oven powered by a light bulb, it’s still hot. How else do you overcook those little cakes? And recalling Dunkin’ Donuts glow sticks because kids are choking on the lanyard? Shouldn’t the company be more concerned with the fact kids may eat them? I, for one, put nearly anything with the DD logo in my mouth. And I’m an adult. Ohhh, and another favorite was the recall for Gymboree Pirate Swords because they break and are sharp. Hmmm, a sword that’s sharp? Weird.

I remember as a child the dangerous toys were the best kind, like those giant metal Tonka Trucks. Now those could cause some damage when thrown directly at a younger brother (Sorry Ben!). Long gone are the days of natural selection.

I’m not saying I don’t want your kids to be safe, unless you are the parent of the child who grabbed my ass at the library–in that case just teach your kid some manners: like saying thank you after grabbing the hottest ass in sight, or teaching him to buy me a drink first!

What I’m trying to say is if my brother, Ben, can survive childhood anyone can! Let your kid be a kid and learn their lesson that light bulbs are hot. A childhood just isn’t a childhood without an Easy-Bake Oven.

Sarah: “Did you know Roseanne Cash is having brain surgery tomorrow? Do you want to put her name on the temple prayer list, or shall I?”

Ben: “I vote you. You live closer and have less shame associated with walking in.”

I love my apartment, but have recently come to the conclusion I’m totally over it. It’s been a good little spot for me, but it’s time to move on. And move up. Only there’s a problem: I want to live the good life. Nothing fancy, but it would be nice to wash both dishes and clothing at home. My current apartment has neither a dishwasher or laundry. Paying more rent shouldn’t be a problem, but I’m in school and only working a part(ish) time job.

Thus the conundrum.

I’ve been considering taking on a roommate. I’ve not had a roomie in years (I’m not counting Daisy, as she never bothers to do any type of house work beyond her attempt to lick imaginary crumbs off the carpet.) I’ve even found a friend who is also looking for a new home. The only drawback is she’s young–fantastic, but young. She looks older than she is, and acts older than she is. Then there’s me… I look (I hope!!) younger than I am, and certainly act MUCH younger. If my calculations are correct (which they probably aren’t, I’m getting a C in math) then I figure we average out to be 26. She’s like a younger sister. In fact I had high hopes of her marrying into the family but she and Ben are “just friends.”

Will this work? Do I put my hesitations to bed and jump in? Can she deal with living the spinster life at such a young age? Will we get along? Can she handle my inherited orneriness? Am I worrying too much? Probably. I am, after all, my mother’s daughter.