The Extent of my Day

The Bird Flu Ruined my Week

The last time I felt this horrible was when I had kidney stones three years ago and spent Christmas in the ICU. Which, in hindsight, wasn’t all that bad. Midge brought movies and cuddled in bed with me. The pain was somewhat tolerable with a Morphine drip. However, once I started seeing the face of Jesus in the wallpaper I made them take it out. Talk about ruining a good time.

My body has never handled germs of any kind very well. I’m a chronic puker. When I was in high school a doctor accused me of being bulimic when, after a case of Mono, I couldn’t stop throwing up for weeks. My mother in her prime mama bear days got angry with the doctor and reminded him I’ve had a weak stomach since I was a very tiny baby. As a nurse, she was always very involved when I was sick. Perhaps that’s why, at 32, the minute I feel sick I want my mom taking care of me. And if I asked she’d drop everything and drive two hours to get here, just to rub my back or get me a drink of Gatorade. Since it’s my dad’s birthday tomorrow I’m not asking her to drive up. After all, he only has a birthday every four years.

What I thought was a cold is a full-fledged case of the bird flu—self-diagnosed of course. Sure, I get flu symptoms with a minor headache, but this is beyond ridiculous. I can’t even keep a sip of water down. Not to mention, every part of my body hurts, even my eyebrows. Which is all very inconvenient given that I had a math midterm tonight and a Lost party to attend.

I promised my mom if I wasn’t feeling better tomorrow I’d go in and have then hydrate me with an IV, but until then I’m going to lay on the couch, continue to whine, watch trash TV and remind myself over and over what the silver lining of being sick is...

SKINNY JEANS!

Obviously, I'm going to look really good after this "diet" helps me fit back into them.

Doogie Howser got me high!!

I’m sick, and it’s all Ben’s fault. I’ve not had a cold or flu all winter. With the small exception of food poisoning inflicted by Arlo, I’ve been completely healthy.

Like a good sister I picked Ben up from the airport Sunday and gave him a ride home. He coughed the entire time and spewed his disgusting boy germs all over my car.

I started feeling gross yesterday, and then woke up this morning with a fever and coughing so hard I puked. Awesome. It was obvious I was Instacare bound. Ben called to see which one I was going to so we could meet there. The jerk is still sick. I told him where to go, but he never showed. Is he OK? Who cares. Part of me was hoping he had overdosed on NyQuil. Not because I don’t love him, but because he totally deserves it.

After waiting an hour in the lobby, my name was finally called--music to my insanely clogged ears. Another wait in the room and finally a doctor arrives. And by doctor I mean Doogie Fucking Howser, MD. Young doctors before have seen me but this was ridiculous—he looked like he was in high school.


"Bad news, Sarah. Looks like you don't have strep throat."

"Um, why would that be bad news? I didn't really want it."

"Strep we could have treated. This particular funk you've got can't be treated. I can, however, give you a prescription of codeine pills to ease the pain a bit."

"Pills? Can't I just get some cough syrup? I think with my throat this swollen I won't be able to swallow pills."

"Unfortunately there's a shortage on codeine syrup, so pills will have to do. Try crushing them in ice cream."

"Ohhhh, is that what your mom does, too?"

He glared at me. I'm guessing he gets wisecracks about his age all the time. Quite honestly, I was just excited at the prospect of ice cream. I swore off ice cream a few months ago and was very much looking forward to having a reason to buy some.

"Go home, load up and get as much sleep as possible. You should feel better in a few days."

Maybe having a young doctor isn't all that bad. Loading up sounds just like what I need. And who am I to defy a doctor's orders? Exactly.

In Utah This Week, Issue #93

This week's installment of "The Dating Years."

Lunch... The Most Humiliating Meal of the Day

When I started working for a company only ten minutes from home, I was thrilled. Finally, I could start going home a couple of times a week for lunch--what a great way to save money for my jean habit!

And it was great, for the first couple of weeks anyway. After which things took a turn for the worse--I blame the writers strike. They took away my “good” TV habits and forced me into a reality TV addiction. I’ve despised reality television ever since Julie, the Mormon BYU student, cried in what felt like every single episode or The Real World. The only exception was when Mrs. AK started watching Project Runway. As a rule of thumb when your host is feeding you dinner you watch what she is watching without complaint. (Yes, Arlo, that's directed at you.)

But suddenly, with nothing decent on primetime TV, I found myself watching Rock of Love, The Hills, and Scott Baio is 46 and Pregnant religiously.

When I go home for lunch I watch my trash TV while eating my lunch. Yesterday, however, I hit my breaking point. With a weekend to catch up on my shit shows, I was left with nothing but daytime television to accompany my lunch. I found myself watching Full House reruns. Yes, seriously. And let me tell you, they are just as stupid now as they were then. Uncle Jesse is still the only reason to watch the show, and frankly I remember him being sexier. I guess this is further proof that cheesy writing can ruin anyone’s sex appeal.

On my drive back to work, I vowed to stop watching lunchtime TV and start reading. It’s not like I don’t have enough books at my house, not to mention a growing list of books to buy. At a red light I reached into my pants pocket for my earlier written grocery list to add a book or two while I was thinking about it. Only there wasn’t a grocery list, there was instead a movie ticket and bar receipt. Odd. Upon closer inspection I found I wasn’t wearing the pants I had on earlier.

Another thing about going home lunch is the minute I walk into my apartment I feel the need to shed my pants and shoes as quickly as possible. I have got to start paying closer attention to details... like clothing. Otherwise I could easily end up back at the office in pajama pants.

Carter is Fired

My brother, Matt, called me yesterday. He rarely calls me, typically his wife is the one who calls. Despite being out to dinner with my other brother, Ben, I took the call thinking it may be an emergency.

Matt: "Thought I better call and inform you that your nephew is now a NASCAR fan, and he really wants to go deer hunting."

Me: "That kid is fired! I need a replacement nephew. I liked it much better when Carter liked Dancing with the Stars. Seriously, you and Holli better get knocked up ASAP and give me a different nephew. Or else."

Matt laughed, but little does he know I am not kidding. NASCAR? Unacceptable. I'm not too worried about the deer hunting bit. Carter is such a sweet, sensitive little tyke there's no way he'll grow up and kill animals. He's terrified of my dog, and she's tiny. It would be difficult for him to get close enough to an animal to kill. But this NASCAR thing, is very serious. I HATE IT! His obsession with cars is understandable, he's a boy kid. However, I think the love of cars needs to stop at his race car bed.

Also, spending time with his uncle Ben needs to be limited, and with adult supervision. Otherwise Carter will grow up with a mullet and drink beer in cans. I can't think of anything worse.

Stairs are a Challenge

"Sarah, what happened to your knee? Those bruises are awful."

"I feel down the stairs."

"Again?!"

"I don't think again is necessarily the right word. They were different stairs this time."

"Where?"

"At work. The heel of my shoe got caught on my cuffed jeans and before I knew it I was falling."

"That totally sucks. Did anyone see you?"

"No one that matters, just some asshole that happened to be walking down the stairs too. He moved aside and let me fall."

"What a jerk, have you dated or something?"

"No... not yet."

I'm a Believer

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.

Reason #8,464 The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints Pisses Me Off:

They send my brothers on missions. Chady-bear turns 20 tomorrow and I can't see him because he's in a foreign country serving God or something. And to make matters worse it's against the rules to phone him.

Daily Reading

It's the little things in life that make me smile--like chasing tail at the office:

Dear Internet,

Please stop emailing me about Hillary Clinton. I read the news; I watch CNN; I refresh my Internet browser OCD style when it comes to news. With that said, I'm fully aware that Obama is rocking the nation. And guess what, dear Internet? That makes me happy.

I don't have to explain my political views to you, but rather than reply to the 42 emails in my in box let me go ahead and do, just that, explain.

I'm a Democrat. A proud one. I grew up in a very conservative Republican home, so unlike some people I know, I picked my political party. I wasn't raised a Democrat. I became one. A choice that I'm very proud of, so don't give me shit.

I think Obama would make a fine president. In fact, I would be thrilled to see him in office. However, I voted for Hillary, because I am a woman. Like many women today, I remember growing up wondering why a woman couldn't be President of the United States.

So, when finally a woman is on the ballot did you really think I'd not vote for her? I mean, really? I'm not a feminist by any means. I like men to do stuff for me. And not just in bed.

This is why I voted for Hillary Clinton, but would be just as happy at to have someone like Obama running our country. He bring passion and not just a last name. Plus his wife is pretty hot.

So back off, would ya?

Love,
Sarah

In Utah This Week, Issue #92

This week's "The Dating Years."

Turning Four

Dear Carter and Hannah,

Happy fourth birthday! The last four years have flown by--you’re growing up too fast. I wish you didn’t live in Utah County, so I could see you more. Twice a month isn’t nearly enough. I feel badly that the only time I see you are when your parents are gone. Remember I'm there because I want to be.

Carter, I’m so happy I didn’t throw you out the window the first time I babysat you. Trust me, I was tempted. You cried so much, more than any baby ever, but my friend Alecia was with me and she talked me out of doing it. You owe Leash your life.

I love you Buddy. More than I ever imagined I could love a small child who likes to play big trucks and wear animals on his clothing. You’ll always be my buddy.

Hannah, you’re everything a little girl should be: cute, pink-loving and spunky. You never stop making me laugh, especially when you attempt to have an adult conversation with me. You use vocabulary just slightly beyond your comprehension, much like your Uncle Ben.

I love you Hannah Gatanna more than the color pink. And you, of all people, will understand that’s a hell of a lot.

I have a Starbucks gift card for both of you in my purse. I couldn’t bother giving it to you on your birthday because Grandma Myrna might have been angry. And I don’t want to anger her. She calls pregnant people fat, so can you imagine what she would do to me if provoked. I’m sure you understand.

I love you two more every single day. You’ve brought our family together in a way that I never expected. I would do anything in the world for you, and would do whatever it took to protect you. You’re the closest things to true love I’ve ever known. Thank you for letting me be your Auntie.

Love, Aunt Sarah

Why the State of Utah Should be Paying for my Therapy Bills

I received a letter in the mail yesterday from the Utah Department of Health. This shouldn’t be a huge deal, but with my imagination and anxiety it was.

I walked into the house and sat on my couch just staring at the ominous white envelope, imagining the very worst. I couldn’t bring myself to open it. Once that letter was open whatever bad news it had to offer would be real.

Was this about the flu shot I stole last year? Some co-workers and I went to the offices next to ours and pretended to be employees, when they were offering flu shots free. I talked myself out of thinking it was wrong when my very Mormon friend, Kirk, didn’t seem bothered by it. If there was a place in Mormon heaven for him, then surely I wasn’t going to end up in hell over this one little thing.

There was that sketchy boyfriend with all the tattoos from my early 20s. With that much body art it’s entirely possible he contracted some fatal disease from a tainted needle. I haven’t heard from him in years—he could be dead for all I knew. At this point I felt numb all over.

Numb extremities are never a good sign. After a quick online consult with WebMD I decided I was dying. Diabetes was the number one search result. My father is a diabetic, and somehow the health department was able to diagnose me before any doctor had. I jumped up and ran into the kitchen. I was bound and determined to eat every last drop of sugar in my apartment before finding out I was indeed a diabetic, and that I was forever banned from sugar.

One zillion calories later I knew it had to be done. Whatever was inside that envelope was something I could deal with. Something I had to deal with. I was ready.

I opened the envelope and found a copy of my birth certificate. That’s riiii-ght, I ordered it online last weekend when I couldn’t find the original.

Now, I have a birth certificate, enough calories to double the size of my ass, and lastly an understanding that while the health department can’t diagnose your insanity, they can certainly be the cause of it.

Country Livin'

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.

Arlo's Plump Perogies

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:

Top Ten Reasons to be Single on Valentine's Day:

1) Sleeping in ten extra minutes, because there is no need to shave my legs.

2) My panties and bra don't have to match.

3) I have a reason to listen to the Eels "Love of the Loveless" over, and over all day long.

4) The only flowers in my house are ones I've purchased myself, so there will be no sneezing due to allergies this year.

5) I don't have to wear perfume, unless I want to.

6) No one is going to drag me to a steak house thinking I'll be impressed, and then remember ten minutes into the meal I don't eat steak.

7) The only gifts purchased for the holiday are those for myself.

8) I don't have to try and have dainty girl eating habits at dinner tonight. I can pig out on Valentine's Day candy and no one will care.

10) And best of all, I get to spend the evening with friends watching "Rock of Love" on Tivo. Though, if Arlo meets someone and falls in love within the next eight hours my evening is ruined.

In Utah This Week, Issue #91

This week's "The Dating Years."

Eh?

As it turns out, ignorance really is bliss.

I received some horrible news yesterday. Apparently I’m Canadian. Well, sorta. Not so much me, but my great-great-great grandparents were. This info rocked my world beyond belief. I’ve spent the last 13 years making fun of one of my closest friends, Carmen, for you guessed it--being Canadian.

I feel like such a bitch. A cold, heartless Canadian bitch.

Confessions of a Caffeine Junkie

I’ve been attempting to introduce a new beverage to my diet: water.

Which, I thought, was going well, until I noticed my desk has one diet soda, two coffees and only one bottle of water on it—all from today, I might add.

Want to guess which one is full?

Quote of the Day:

"There is something to be said about dying young and leaving a good-looking corpse. Necrophilia is so much more palatable when you look like Heath Ledger."--The Yuppie

I seriously have the best collection of ex-boyfriends this state has to offer. Now, to keep them all single so we can remain friends always. That's not too selfish, right?

Notes from the Weekend

If your driver license has expired and you’ve been too busy to renew it, bar hopping is a bad idea.

Carpet burns are better on your elbows then face.

Broken toes hurt.

Men from Holland bounce their heads way too much.

When you talk shit on someone and then make your girlfriend stick up for you, you are the one who should be kicked in the baby. Even if you are my brother.

Lemonade and Southern Comfort doesn’t make me barf.

Going Ghetto

Driving into work today I accidentally had my iPod gangsta mix playing. Don't judge me! Actually you can, I certainly would.

My phone rang and I hit speaker and answered it assuming it would be my brother bugging me about his latest prison tool obsession. It wasn't. It was a client. Which is cool, I'm all for the clients I like calling me. Though, I have a feeling she may have a difficult time taking me serious after hearing "Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta" blaring in the background.

Oh well, such is life... you can't win them all.

Netflix is Ruining My Life:

Bangers for Dinner

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…

For Energy and Laughs

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:

In Utah This Week, Issue #90

This week's "The Dating Years."

Breaking up for Hillary

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."

Change is in the Air

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.

Liar, Liar... Stitches on Fire

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.

Spam Mail Lies

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.

A Lesson in Love

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.

Chocolate: The Naughty Treat

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.