Sarah Bellum's Tales of Wit and Charm

One childhood memory stands above all others. I remember crying over something absolutely ridiculous as a kid, you know, because that’s what kids do.

My dad looked at me and said, “Sarah what’s your last name?”

I managed to stop the sobbing long enough to whisper, “Nielson.”

“That’s right. You’re a Nielson. We are strong and don’t cry.”

I’m sure he was trying to get me to shut the hell up because we were in public. What he didn’t know, at the time, was that moment and phrase would forever be ingrained into my memory.

Refusing to cry is not a healthy behavior, I know. I cry on occasion, but usually at home over a tub of ice cream, never in public, and especially never in a movie. Obviously I’m broken, so there’s no need to point that out. I get it. I also get that I need to fix this behavior. Probably with therapy and vodka. Until that happens I found a solution.

Last night I saw “The Blind Side” with my friend Susan. The movie melted my heart repeatedly. Enter solution: Every time I felt like crying I looked at Susan and demanded her to cry. She did, because that’s what good friends do.

The only problem with this temporary fix is the convenience factor. I’m going to have to arrange all emotion around Susan’s schedule. This will be incredibly difficult around the holidays, so no one is allowed to get hurt, die or invite me to a wedding until January. Capish?

After a weekend in dirty Las Vegas I made it back to SLC just in time to meet my friend Sandi’s new baby.

Sailor is perfect. She is beautiful, sweet and content to let a perfect stranger hold her. It was love at first sight. I wanted to toss her in my purse and take her home, but I was worried that Sandi would kill me, and her feeding tube might get caught in the zipper of my purse.

I promise, I’m not usually the kidnapping type, but oh my God I fell in love with this little girl. The minute I saw her my ovaries did a perfectly choreographed tap dance up and down my womb.

I took the batteries out of my biological clock years ago, but holding Sailor close enough to feel her heartbeat started that damn clock. I don’t know how that thing is running without batteries, but it is. And, man, is it loud.

Internet, I think I’m in big trouble. Let’s just hope a pug puppy this spring will fill the void, because a baby daddy is just like the perfect red lipstick. Impossible for me to find.

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.

Before you watch this video you should know he totally deserved to be yelled at. He broke our pinky promise that he’d not tell Susan I don’t think cats should exist, which is sad because her cat is really quite lovely.

In another life if her cat was a Canadian I think we’d be great friends. I bet a previous cat, newly Canadian friend would NEVER break a pinky promise, or get me in trouble with Susan and then laugh about it.

If you’re going to give someone a housewarming plant the appropriate thing to do is name it after yourself. You want the recipient to have a constant reminder of your amazing generosity. When the gift is from two people you obviously have to give the plant a celebrity couple name.

The problem is that when you combine Sarah and Susan you get Saran. Not only is it pretty much still my name, but it sounds exactly like the toxic nerve agent Sarin. Actually now that I think about it Sarin is fitting. I have been called a weapon of mass destruction before so may as well stick with the familiar.

Plus the name “the hot blond girls who drink all your wine and boss you around” is way too long and just not as catchy. Sarin it is.

Now all that’s left is hoping the plant lives. And the boy.