Sarah Bellum's Tales of Wit and Charm

I’m absolutely terrified of finding a body in my house. It was built in the 50′s and has a creepy crawl space, so chances of discovering skeletal remains are high. I just hope David Boreanaz and the rest of the “Bones” cast is here when it happens.

Oddly enough, I was watching that show when Asshole Puppy’s tennis ball rolled underneath the couch. While retrieving it, I felt something lumpy attached to the couch frame.

DEAD BODY. DEAD BODY. DEAD BODY.

After a moment of hysteria, I realized how ridiculous this assumption was. However, I still waited until a friend arrived to check it out further. You know, just in case.

We found this labeled black bag:

Knowing that killers never leave behind labeled evidence, I fearlessly opened the bag and found extra couch legs. I sighed a deep breath of relief as my friend laughed.

I really should stop watching all things scary. I only have so many friends patient enough to come by each time I think I’ve discovered a body. And this friend? Well… he removed himself from the list. Jerk.

Thanks to my mom’s newly discovered penchant for all things technology, I finally know the truth about my childhood. I had polygamist hair…

and in my spare time I ran my own street gang.

I’m terrified what she’s going to uncover next.

Do you remember the Mr. Men and Little Miss books from the 80s? I loved them! My mother would refer to me as Little Miss Bossy, Little Miss Trouble, Little Miss Stubborn, Little Miss Bad or Little Miss Naughty depending on my mood and behavior. Not once did she call me Little Miss Helpful, Little Miss Neat, Little Miss Sunshine or Little Miss Splendid.

I think it’s safe to assume my mom was calling me Little Miss Asshole, behind my back.

Since then, I’ve often describe my moods with the book characters. And now, for the first time ever, Little Miss Scatterbrain has surfaced. Bitch. Wait… did I just call the character a bitch or myself a bitch? Both are accurate, I suppose.

Lately I am so all over the place. Sure everyone is scattered now and then. How many of us misplace our keys on a daily basis? Me. And probably you. That’s normal and not at all what I’m dealing with. I’m forgetting important life details. Like how many eyes my puppy has.

TRUE STORY.

I’ve been accidentally kenneling the wrong dog. The first few times I was convinced someone was breaking into my house and switching dogs just to fuck with me.

Because, seriously, the difference is obvious:

I’m hoping Little Miss Scatterbrain moves along soon. Otherwise I’m going to end up Little Miss Drinks Herself Into a Coma. That’s a character, right? Well it should be.

On my way home last night I stopped at Target for some groceries. Realizing I still had a long drive ahead of me I made a quick trip to the restroom before shopping, stupid given my history of embarrassing moments in public restrooms.

The first stall didn’t have toilet paper, so I moved to the next. I was finishing up when I heard someone enter the other stall. I considered warning her about the lack of toilet paper, but didn’t want to engage in pee talk. I absolutely hate when people chat it up in the bathroom. Pee in peace, that’s my motto.

As I walked to the sink my phone started ringing. I reached for my purse to silence the damn thing, only to discover my purse was still hanging in the other stall. I started panicking but was quickly distracted when my phone started ringing for a second time. The sound of Warrant’s “Cherry Pie” was deafening. I considered fleeing the scene, but my keys were also in the purse.

“Is someone out there?”

I wanted to remain silent, but was terrified she’d rummage through my purse and steal my Hello Kitty lip-gloss.

“Yes, sorry, I left my purse in there.”

“No problem let me hand it over to you.”

Oh my god, this woman was about to stand up without wiping and hand me my purse. My favorite purse was about to be tainted with stranger vagina. I paused my dry heaving long enough to say, “No it’s fine. I’ll wait. I’m not in a rush.” And wait I did.

Seriously, slowest woman alive. I was so busy freaking out about stranger germs I didn’t think to pass her some toilet paper, so this next part is totally my fault.

She walked out and handed me my purse and said, “Sorry, but I think your purse got a little wet.”

I couldn’t look her in the face as I mumbled thank you. I grabbed my vagina purse and ran. I didn’t even get the groceries, which is too bad since Clorax Wipes were number one on my list.