Sarah Bellum's Tales of Wit and Charm

I’ve never had an interest in learning to speak Spanish. I’d much rather spend the time improving my slang and teen vernacular, or napping. Not that there’s anything wrong with the Spanish language, I just never found it appealing.

My friend Kelli is a typical teacher who thinks everyone should learn new things. She is also a giant whore.

Yesterday, while I worked a few extra hours, she started packing my apartment for my upcoming move. When I moved the boxes I found a hidden Spanish lesson:

She must really want me to learn Spanish. Speaking of which, does anyone know the translation for controlling, bossy whore?

Do you ever write something and five minutes later–after it’s too late to do anything about it–suddenly regret what you wrote?

Yeah, me too.

ALL THE FUCKING TIME!

Sometimes it’s passive aggressive work emails or misspelled text messages. And other times it’s a column that talks about vagina, and not just any vagina, but MY VAGINA.

On my last birthday when my niece, Hannah, asked how old I was I told her 16. I’d forgotten all about it until she called me sobbing last week.

“Auuuuuunt Sarah…. Daddy said you’re a grown up.”

“Honey your dad is a big, fat liar.”

“He is?”

“Yes. I’m 16 years old and that is not an adult. Don’t ever listen to him again.”

She sniffled for a minute and said, “OK, I won’t.”

Fast forward to last night, when I met the twins and their mom at the Gateway mall for some dinner and shopping.

Hannah and I were paying for a purchase at Urban Outfitters when the cashier asked for my driver’s license.

As I handed it over Hannah said, “Aunt Sarah I’m soooo glad you FINALLY got your driver’s license since you drive me to school sometimes.”

I should have just ignored the scowl from the cashier, but no I’m the girl who has to explain everything. “Oh, don’t listen to that. I’m not really driving her around illegally. I’m just lying to her a lot more than usual.”

Sigh.

I’m sure that statement totally fixed her image of me. Not that I actually care, but I hate the idea of getting calls from Child Protective Services when I’m not even a parent.

My friend Ryan and I were at dinner last week when I did the unthinkable: I invited him to spend the evening with my mother and brother. I was smart about it though, and made him eat a hamburger first. Protein makes you stronger and increases your chances of survival.

I’ve known Ryan for a few years, but this was the first time he’s ever met my family. He’s a good guy and I know multiple Nielsons can be intimidating. I absolutely adore my family. I really do, but we are bat shit crazy.

After an hour of NORMAL FAMILY CONVERSATION Ryan looked at Ben and I and then told my mom she was so patient. Like piranhas my brother and I immediately attacked him.

“What do you mean patient? Are you saying we are difficult to handle?”

“Oh my God, did you just infer that our Mother doesn’t love us?”

“Did you just call my sister horrible?”

“Did you just call us miserable human beings that should be locked up and never released?”

Ryan said nothing. It was all he could do from rocking himself from the corner straight into a mental institution. We have that effect on people.

He was very polite about the evening, but I think hearing about my Mom’s beard fetish left him a little skittish. I can’t imagine why.