Sarah Bellum's Tales of Wit and Charm

I adore my dog, but her high pitched barking drives me stark raving mad. I do whatever it takes to avoid that bark. She knows this and usually gets whatever she needs by piercing my eardrums until I do what she wants.

I’m a damn human robot. I hate it, but I hate the bark more.

She has a new treat stick that she rolls around the house like a kibble vending machine until it’s empty. Then she runs around my apartment barking until I refill the thing.

The first time is sorta cute, but after three days of this routine I’m ready to take my bloody eardrums back to work for some peace and quiet.

I was twelve when my baby brother, Chad, was born. I was a bratty pre-teen and horrified that my parents were even having sex let alone bringing home the result and expecting me to love him.

I already had three younger brothers. The last thing I needed was another one. I may have been more forgiving of their transgressions if they had brought home a baby girl.

But noooooooo, they brought home yet another stinky, pain in the ass brother.

I tried to remedy the situation by dressing him up like a girl as much as possible. I called him Chadina:

My parents found out what I was doing and that was the end of that. He still made a pretty cute boy though:

When I graduated from high school and moved away from home we were both brokenhearted. I was once again brokenhearted when he decided to serve a Mormon mission in Japan for two years.

It was a long two years without him, but he’s served his time and is headed home!

My parents flew to Japan last week to pick him up. Today they will bring home my baby brother, but today they will also bring home a man.

I hate having my picture taken. I’m not naturally photogenic like some people. My eyes are always closed, or my mouth is hanging open. And sometimes? It’s both.

There’s nothing worse than stumbling across a horrid picture of yourself that should have been burned, or at least given to an ex-boyfriend so when his new girlfriend finds the photo she always feels hotter. Yeah, I live in a dream world where any future boyfriend will only have pictures of his ex-girlfriend that make me look even better. I’m shallow and insecure like that. I think it partly comes along with having a vagina.

Sure, I’ve had some great photos taken, but it’s a process AND by very talented photographers (@Calanan @Cottonsox I’m looking at you guys!).  For the most part, however, my experiences haven’t been good.

Whenever I’m out doing something and someone pulls out a camera I turn my head and avoid the shot. I try to be discreet about it, but there’s always someone that calls me out on it and I end up looking like a giant jerk. Which I’m totally used to, but it still sucks.

Last night at a get-together for In Utah a local photographer was taking pictures of everyone at the bar. Wanna guess what I did? Yup. I turned away and, of course, looked like a bitch. In fact a friend even called me one. I shook it off and changed the subject.

I think having my photo taken is  just going to be one of those things I always hate, like chicken. Don’t ask. It’s just gross.

Typos are the bane of my existence. Seriously. They haunt me as much as old relationships do.

Yet I still make them ALL THE TIME!

Sometimes the copy editors catch the mistakes and sometimes they don’t. The worst feeling in the world is seeing those typos in print. Sigh.

I wish my typos were limited to my column, but they aren’t. There are typos in my text messages more often than not. Like the time I tried to send a text message to a co-worker telling them to “give me a sec” but it came out “give me a sex.”

Yeah, that was fun to explain.

With that said, here’s my typo filled column for this week. Luckily the typos on the website were changed. Print, though? Not so much. For the print version you can download the PDF here.

How early is too early to start drinking?

No really?

Noon?

1:00 pm?

Breakfast?

..you see a magic seagull eating fry sauce in the drug store parking lot.