Sarah Bellum's Tales of Wit and Charm

Published for Now Salt Lake on August 2nd 2011

Dear God,

I don’t keep in touch enough, sorry. It would be so much easier to keep up if you were on Twitter and Facebook. I’m excellent at staying in touch via electronic communication — prayers and letters, however, not so much. In my defense it would be much easier if you took a more active role in my life. Right now the only time I think about you is when I see one of your divine creations: a gorgeous sunset, a well-behaved pug or an especially sexy photo of Anderson Cooper. If we’re going to be close I need to think about you more, and you need to pay more attention to me. Aren’t you supposed to be watching over me and protecting me from harm? In the span of one month I’ve had quite a bit of bad luck; if you were truly paying attention to me the following wouldn’t have happened:

• My asshole puppy Rosie Finlinson has escaped 27 times, chewed two new bras, a picture frame and half of a coffee table.

• What started as a routine doctor appointment turned into an all day visit to the emergency room.

• The bill from above emergency room adventure.

• I can’t manage to keep my lawn green in spite of the summer rainstorms.

• I have a boyfriend who buys fireworks in Evanston, not wine.

• I almost rolled my Jeep.

• A backyard full of wasps.

• I heard two Mariah Carey songs in the elevator in one day.

• My best friend, Midge, is moving to North Dakota.

• Someone, ahem FSB(f), sat on my favorite pink aviator sunglasses.

• I’ve had 13 paper cuts, yes really. Maybe this one is on me. I guess I could buy a letter opener.

Every time I have something unfortunate happen my dad likes to point out that if I were closer to you I’d not have such life drama. Each time something unfortunate happens in my life my dad says, “Sarah, if you were closer to God your life would be much calmer.” I’ve always thought he was just being an overbearing, Mormon parent, but perhaps there’s some truth to his words. If you and I were besties would I have better luck? It’s time to test this theory, so here’s what needs to happen: I’m going to spend more time thinking about you, but in return you need to think about me. This means keeping me safe, healthy, drunk and happy. Together we can do this.

Love, Sarah

P.S. This letter is a result of a lazy Sunday afternoon and three glasses of wine. Please don’t take this as any indication that I will be attending church soon … unless, of course, you are willing to hold church at Brewvies or Red Butte Garden.

Published in Now Salt Lake on July 18th 2011

I’ve done regular Pilates but knew nothing about the reformer classes. I spent more time than I’d like to admit watching videos on YouTube. I was intrigued and 100 percent intimidated. My friend suggested 9th & 9th Pilates. After checking out their website, I decided if I was going to make it through a class without major embarrassment, I would need to take a private lesson first. There is a $10 reformer orientation class, but I’m horrible with fitness instructions and benefit from personal attention. A private class is $65 and worth every cent. Without the one-on-one instruction I would have never made it through a class.

I walked into the studio, took one look at the reformer machine and considered bolting. In fact, had the owner not spotted me I would have. Those damn machines are terrifying. It’s a cross between an ancient torture device and an exam table at the gynecologist’s office.

My private class was with Verena, who was fantastic and incredibly patient. She took the time to really explain the fundamentals to me and didn’t mind my constant barrage of questions. I left feeling a little more confident about attending a real class. I decided to start with the beginner class, which was perfect for me. The class was slow enough I could keep up without being too overwhelmed.

There were a few moves I wasn’t able to master. Tucking my hips seems to be a trouble spot for me. I swear my hips are fused differently than everyone else in the world.
Luckily I was able to avoid any highly embarrassing mistakes. There was a close call as I stupidly applied tons of lotion to my feet before the class. Slippery feet in a reformer class are not ideal. My feet slipped from the bar a few times and each time the instructor adjusted my positioning I was worried she would think my feet were sweaty. I didn’t want to be remembered as a gross, sweaty girl. In spite of that, I enjoyed the class enough to sign up for additional classes. I still need to find a cardio workout I like, but the Pilates class is a definite keeper. Any workout I don’t need to wear shoes is my kind of workout.

For real, non-Sarah info please visit: 9thand9thpilates.com or email them at info@9thand9thpilates.com. Don’t tell them I sent you; otherwise they may check your feet for excessive sweating.

Published for Now Salt Lake on July 26th 2011

I decided it was time to take the next step in my relationship with Fancy Shirt Boy(friend), which means taking him to the country for the first time. This includes meeting my parents and grandparents. Poor guy had no idea what he had agreed to. I’m 35 years old and single, so of course my family is going to approve of any man I bring home; it’s the bonding I worry about. The last thing I need is my family liking my boyfriend more than they like me.

Weighing all the options, I decided taking him home for the Fourth of July weekend would be the most enjoyable. After all, there’s nothing more American than a small town celebration. Whoever came up with the idiom “more American than apple pie” was obviously a city kid. Pff. I hyped up the trip with promises of camping with my brothers, floating down the river on tractor tire tubes, getting up early for the Fourth of July parade and finally ending the day with the demolition derby and firework show.

My perfect plan was foiled by my goddamn allergies. As it turns out I’m allergic to everything but red wine and sarcasm. Sure, I’ve always had allergies but this year has been especially miserable and I knew there was no way I could survive an entire weekend in the country. Instead, we opted for taking a day trip to the country. While he didn’t get to experience country kid camping, he was able to spend a fair amount of time in the desert when we got lost looking for my brother’s camping spot so we could ride four-wheelers. I don’t think he was much impressed with my country girl skills, but I immediately made up for my indiscretion by taking him to lunch at my favorite country caf? and shopping. We don’t have a Nordstrom or even a Target. We do, however, have a killer clothing selection at the IFA. FSB(f) picked up a killer pearl snap shirt and probably a strain of Bovine virus, or whatever infectious disease you can pick up from farm animals. I am, of course, immune to all country diseases. We followed up with a T-shirt purchase at the grocery store and flip-flops from the Phillips 66 station.

My parents seemed to approve, as did my grandparents. They all fired questions at him left and right and my beloved grandmother let him know just how special to her I was. I would have melted with happiness, had I not been texting my younger brother to let him know I really was the favorite grandchild just as I had suspected.

It was a perfect day. FSB(f) not only survived, but he also had a great time. Or at least he had the good sense to pretend he did.

*To see a few pictures from the trip go here.