Sarah Bellum's Tales of Wit and Charm

Published for Now Salt Lake on August 26th 2011

1 • No longer knowing the person staring back at you in the mirror. (Oh my god yes. I hardly recognize this new version of myself.)

2 • Worry about where your life is going. (Who doesn’t?)

3 • Feeling frustrated with just about everything. (Hell yes.)

4 • Experiencing feelings of regret. (I live in a state of constant regret. Right now, for example, I regret not buying that extra bottle of wine while I was at the wine store.)

5 • Focusing on what you are losing. (Don’t we all focus on what we are losing? In this case I focus on losing skin elasticity.)

For the past month, I have been feeling like I’m morphing into a different person. Not to worry, nothing too crazy. I have yet to purchase any animal-print clothing and if I do, please have me put down. I have, however, been doing something that others may consider even worse … I’ve been listening to country music. I KNOW, RIGHT?

This could be attributed to my numerous trips to the country this summer, or maybe FSB(f)’s collection of snap shirts is to blame. Whatever the case, I’m hoping it ends before I do something crazy. I don’t think my relationship would survive square dancing lessons or worse, an Alan Jackson concert. My boyfriend is from New Mexico and that’s way too much gangsta for a cowgirl.

This all started innocently enough. I’ve always loved listening to Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson, but suddenly I found myself craving more. Soon I’d moved onto Merle Haggard, and before I knew it there was a country radio station programmed in my Jeep and I was downloading Dan Seals greatest hits.

It gets worse.

I know every damn word to a Garth Brooks album, four George Straight songs and more Reba McEntire songs than I’m willing to admit in print. Oh and “Way Down Yonder on the Chattahoochee” … yeah, I can recite the lyrics by heart.

I need help ASAP. My ears need an intervention and someone needs to delete “8 seconds” from my Tivo. I just hope I can be saved before it’s too late. Not in a Jesus sense, but in the “please save me before I buy a pair of Wranglers and purchase a farm truck” sense.

Published for Now Salt Lake on August 18th 2011

My second camping trip with FSB(f) went swimmingly compared to the first trip. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but there’s no such thing as a perfect camping trip. Wait, I guess there could be a perfect camping trip … if George Clooney were in my sleeping bag or if there were a bar, Starbucks and hotel within 100 feet of our campsite.

I was far more prepared this time around, however I did neglect a few things:

• I forgot to bring food for breakfast. You know, the MOST important meal of the day. Oops. Luckily we were only 30 minutes from one of my favorite country diners, where we had coffee and breakfast.

• I should have packed extra water. I realized this when I found my brother brushing his teeth with beer — now that I think about it, this may actually have been his preference. After I dry heaved for a few minutes, I ran to brush my own teeth with the water I had hidden the night before.

• We bought new batteries for the portable iPod speakers, but didn’t pack extras. When the music died, not even the sound of chirping crickets could cover the mooing cows in the background.

Yes, as a matter of fact, we were sharing a campground with stray cattle. We arrived to find cows wandering through our campsite. Not sure what to do, I let Rosie Finlinson out of the Jeep. Pugs aren’t exactly herding dogs, but she got the job done.

Once the cows had been chased away, we started unpacking. My brother, Ben, and a few of his friends camped with us, which was great because they kept FSB(f) amused while I kept my dog from wandering off. It turns out that bitch of mine is more of a country dog than I ever expected. She guarded the food coolers from cows and kept other wildlife away, drank from the creek and entertained everyone with her antics.

Ben’s friends had most of the items I forgot: hand wipes, games, cups, etc. My mother was kind enough to make sure we were all fed. She sent us off with dutch oven dinners, chocolate cake and firewood. I suspect she’s spoiling FSB(f) in an attempt to keep him in my life, which is really quite thoughtful on her part. Parents would do practically anything to guarantee future grandchildren, a fact I plan to exploit in the future.

There must be a way to trick her into doing the post camping laundry, and delivering coffee and bagels to the campsite each morning. It’s not manipulation when it’s family!

*You can see additional photos here.

Published for Now Sale Lake on August 18th 2011

Last weekend was my first camping trip with FSB(f). We made a trip to the country where I’ve been camping since I was a kid. As we prepared to leave, I discovered we had very different ideas on how to camp. I’m a compulsive planner when it comes to weekend trips (and life for that matter). I create Google docs just to keep track of all items to be packed. I download directions and road trip music to my phone.

However, all planning skills are thrown out when it comes to trips to the country. Country life is simple; it’s the only place I can forget about organization and truly relax.

When FSB(f) came to pick me up he was amazed at my lack of planning. I looked at the items he had packed and was shocked at how well he planned, since he never does. Here’s what each of our bags contained.

FSB(f) • tent, tarp, sleeping bag, camping chairs, lantern, bug repellent coils, bug repellent spray, iPod and speakers, lighter, energy bars, water and beer.

Sarah • wine, yoga pants, a deck of playing cards and an issue of Newsweek.

“Sarah, where’s the rest of your stuff? Your sleeping bag, warm clothes, hiking shoes and, um, food…”

“Honey, we’ll pick up my sleeping bag at my mom’s house. You’re going to love it! It’s the same one I had in sixth grade for sleepovers. It’s a hot pink and made by my favorite ’80s brand ESPRIT. I’m only taking flip-flops and anything else I need I’ll grab at my mom’s house.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue the point with me.

We arrived at my parent’s house for supplies, where my mom made us sandwiches, gave us the necessary items to light a fire and sent us to meet my dad in the mountains where he had a trailer waiting for us.

As we drove up the dirt road to the campsite, FSB(f) commented that it was unlike any other camping grounds he’d been to. He’s never seen a campground with corrals for your horses and hitching posts at every campsite. I mocked his city boy demeanor the remainder of the trip — only stopping when he pointed out I have no room to talk since I didn’t bring my hiking shoes and therefore was stuck at the campsite all night.

It got worse. I was in charge of food and since my mom made me a PBJ I didn’t bother picking up marshmallows or hot dogs. Poor FSB(f) didn’t get to partake in any real camping activities. I usually camp with my brothers, who always bring the necessary items. Without them, I turned out to be a camping failure.

I felt so guilty about being such an awful camping girlfriend that I agreed to go camping again this weekend. This time I’ll bring the most important camping item: my brothers.

*See more pictures here.