Tales of Wit and Charm…

I got a few emails after my last post telling me what a crappy sister I am, which is funny because that’s not really mean. I’ve done worse things to my brothers. Far worse.

I’m an older sister, if I’m not going to make them tough, who will?

Ben had it easy, compared to my brother Jeff–who, by the way, totally deserved it 94% of the time. Well he probably didn’t deserve the bruises Matt and I left, but we were smart kids and knew what a pain in the ass he would end up being for us.

I was five when my parents brought Jeff home from the hospital, and Matt was four. The world as we knew it ended that warm July day. This new baby got all the attention. Suddenly my mom didn’t have time to listen to my tales of witches living inside my bedroom walls, or the extra time to make sure every single grain of Rice Krispies cereal in my bowl matched. Off-colored pieces were certainly going to be the death of me.

All her spare time was devoted to the care of this baby. This baby who did nothing but eat and shit, which was totally boring.

I convinced Matt that our parents would take Jeff back to the hospital if he were defective. I knew this because she did it with my favorite hula-hoop. Who cares if the pink sparkles rubbed off on the furniture—it just make the couch prettier.

Our plan was to make Jeff cry all the time. I heard my dad complain about crying babies once so I knew he hated it. Over the next three weeks Matt and I pinched Jeff every chance we got. He had bruises everywhere and howled constantly.

Sadly, the plan backfired when my parents spent more time with him than before. Trying to soothe a miserable baby is apparently quite time consuming. It also required taking him to the doctor more often to determine the cause of the bruising.

In the end my parents kept Jeff, and I spent the rest of our childhood finding other ways to torture him. Though now, I can’t help but wonder if my constant bruising is the universe’s way of telling me I was a shitty sister.

As a child I was absolutely terrified of drifters jumping off the train that ran through our small country town. I was convinced they would climb through my window and murder me in my sleep. I’m not entirely sure where this fear came from, either a babysitter let me watch scary movies, or my parents put LSD in my bedtime snacks. The jury is still out on that one.

After weeks of forcing myself to stay awake into the wee hours of the night, I finally came up with a solution: my baby brother Ben. Every night when it was time for bed I begged my mom to let Ben sleep in my room. She thought I was being nurturing and wanted to spend time with my baby brother. She was dead wrong. I was seven years old—I didn’t care about anything, but my own survival.

Once baby Ben fell asleep I scooted him over to the very edge of my bed, where he was closest to the window. I thought the sound of Ben being murdered first would wake me up, therefore giving me enough time to escape.

Now, occasionally when I hear the sounds of a train I’m thankful Ben was not murdered in cold blood on my bed. I still sleep with the same Care Bear pillowcase, and would really hate to have bloodstains on it. In addition, sometimes I like having him around–you know for fixing my car and hanging shelves.

The Yuppie invited me to an Easter party last night. (Un)fortunately I had plans and couldn’t attend. The party was a bunny hunt where the women were requested to dress like bunnies. I figured this is why he invited me; I am, after all, a Delta Rabbit. Then I got a second look at the invitation:

“Everyone, in the spirit of a good hunt please bring a single friend or friends… it is a hunt after all.”

Oh. My. God. He wasn’t inviting me because he wanted my company. He was inviting me to get rid of me! There’s something a tad disturbing when the man you used to date is trying to hook you up with other people. I’ve seen the episode of “Sex in the City” where Samantha takes the guy she’s trying to get rid of to a similar party, so I know what he’s up to. The Yuppie is so fired. If he wants back into my life he’s going to have to persuade me with a LOT of chocolate, cheese and wine.

Letting Daisy out this morning I was stopped by two sweet looking old lakes. Except they weren’t sweet, they were Jehovah’s Witnesses, which is damn near devil status. My dog is absolutely worthless. She barks when people she knows come into the house, but outside when approached by strangers she is completely well behaved. Bitch!

She walked up to them and waited to be pet, because she is a worthless traitor dog. It was too late, I couldn’t get away at this point. Daisy was sniffing their giant old lady purses hoping to find one full of bacon treats.

Devil Woman: “We’d like to invite you to a event we’re holding tonight in honor of Jesus.”

Me: “No thanks, I’m not a big fan of Jesus.”

DW: “That’s OK. Come tonight and I guarantee you you’ll leave with a better understanding of our Lord, Jesus.”

Me: “No really, Jesus and I broke up years ago when I prayed for a sister and got a brother instead. Me and Jesus are soooo over.”

Silence.

Me: “And then there was the time I prayed to Jesus for a pony. Instead I got a stupid kitten, that I was allergic to.”

DW: “Here’s the flier, we hope to see you tonight.”

As the women walked away I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of Jesus expects single women to give up Saturday nights. I like the Mormon Jesus better; he only asks you give him Sunday afternoons.

Find an employer that give employees Good Friday off.

My new column is out.

I ended up going with one of the titles they suggested: “That’s What She Said.” I appreciate all the suggestions sent, and my favorite was “Tune IN” suggested by Beaches369. Rather than send her a gift card she asked I send the money to the local homeless shelter, which I thought was an excellent idea. Consider it done.

That’s What She Said
By Sarah Nielson
After reading the title are you picturing Michael Scott from The Office?  Don’t worry, me too.  His famous “that’s what she said” double entendre line seems to be in nearly every episode.
When my editor suggested naming this column “That’s What She Said” I cringed, stopped, took a deep breath and then cringed again.  Who wants a column name that reminds readers of sophomoric humor?  Not me.  That is until I found myself watching reruns of Gilmore Girls over the weekend.  In one of my favorite episodes the line was repeated so much I couldn’t help but laugh. While I’m not the type of person who calls a coincidence a sign, I am the type of person who happily gives in to a bit of crass humor on occasion. If it’s good enough for my beloved Gilmores it’s certainly good enough for me.  And hopefully you.

Really, who am I to scoff at immature humor?  I’m just as guilty when it comes to telling a dirty joke as any twelve-year-old boy. I loved writing about my dating life, but after a couple of years I was bored silly of my dating life and I assumed my readers were as well.  It was definitely time for a change.   

IN Utah This Week hasn’t had an entertainment/pop culture column since Dan Nailen left the newspaper.  Moving into that role made perfect sense.  I can still write about my life, but leave the dating where it belongs: in my bedroom. 
This column will be chocked full of useless pop culture references, local entertainment, concerts, nightlife, and of course, bits and pieces of my life.  I’m thrilled at the prospects.  Finally I can justify all the gossip magazines that I subscribe to and the many gossip blogs found on my RSS reader.  My friends will also be relieved that I have a formal outlet to discuss pop culture.  I fear they are really tired of hearing about Brittney Spears’   latest episodes of insanity, or what trash TV show I’m addicted to this week. 

I plan on writing a few columns about spending time in the life of some of our local scenesters, as well as the occasional focus on self-improvement.  I will also include fun stuff, like crazy new exercise routines and other random and often odd crazes.  As always, I welcome ideas from readers.  Also, my lovely lady editor, Amy, has a few surprises under her sleeve– stay tuned for what’s to come.

This column is brought to you exclusively by half a bottle of cheap Australian Shiraz.  Note to self: never buy marginal wine on sale– spend the extra two bucks.