Sarah Bellum's Tales of Wit and Charm » That’s What She Said

That’s What She Said: A Wino’s Tips to Getting a Drink in SLC

Sarah — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 16:39:05 +0000

Published for Now Salt Lake on September 15th 2011

This week’s theme is drinking in SLC. As a SLC resident and an EXPERT on drinking, I feel a duty to contribute. OK, that’s not entirely true. I’m allergic to beer and outside of vodka tonics, I rarely drink mixed drinks.

I guess that makes me a local wino. My contribution will be a guide to SLC’s wine bars. Except I don’t frequent wine bars. I’m a wino who enjoys dive bars, the seedier the better. However, seedy bars don’t typically serve wine. And the few that do, well, the wine isn’t exactly good. I’m not a wine snob, but even I don’t like my wine to taste like vinegar. With that said, here are my favorite bars that serve non-vinegary wine:

The Spot is my happy place. That sounds like such a euphemism, but I promise you this spot is almost as good as THAT spot. All wine is served chilled, which is a little odd, but I find that endearing. The heavy pour is another endearing quality, as well as the female bartender who calls me sweetie.

The Sugarhouse VFW is another favorite of mine. I’ve written about the bar before and likely will again. Ben, the bartender, is the most comical and friendly bartender in SLC. I get funny looks from fellow patrons when I order a box of wine and straw. Of course I only get a glass, but it’s worth a try. I have faith that one day Ben will come through and honor my request.

When I’m not feeling the dive-bar scene, here are my favorite restaurants to grab drinks at:Desert Edge Pub is my home away from home. I’ve been frequenting this restaurant as long as I can remember. I’m almost positive the wine selection is from a box, but it doesn’t bother me one little bit. As long as my wine is red and doesn’t taste like vinegar I’m happy.

Wine at the Frida Bistro is excellent. My friend Scott Cunningham introduced me to their wine list and since he’s a wine broker I trust every recommendation he makes, even if he does discourage my Yellow Tail addiction.

Gracie’s is a perfect spot for happy hour and dinner, with one exception. I leave the minute I see an Ed Hardy or Affliction shirt. I’m allergic to rhinestone-wearing douchebags. This crowd typically arrives in the 9 to 10 p.m. hour. Leave immediately, unless you’re the one wearing above-mentioned “designers” in which case you should also leave immediately and head straight to Banana Republic.

I’m saving the best for last. My all-time favorite watering hole is my house, more specifically, my couch. Most nights you can find me there with a glass of Yellow Tail Cabernet Sauvignon … sans pants. For me, home is the best (and safest) bar of all.

That’s What She Said: A Request to Bring Back Summer

Sarah — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 03:16:54 +0000

Published for Now Salt Lake on September 7th 2011

Dear Mother Nature & Father Time,

Monday was Labor Day, which symbolizes the end of summer. Consider this my formal request to reschedule fall. I’m not asking to skip fall altogether, just push it back 2-3 months. I know, it’s highly unorthodox but I have reasons. Good reasons.

• I didn’t attend one Twilight concert at Pioneer Park. (The horror!)

• I didn’t buy patio furniture for my backyard. (I saved money, but still … )

• I didn’t lay sod in my backyard. (My brothers are more than OK with this one.)

• I didn’t host a BBQ and I only attended two. (Unacceptable!)

• I didn’t spend nearly enough time wearing jorts. (My friend Jeremiah is OK with this; I’m not.)

• I only used my new hiking shoes twice. (I need to get my money’s worth.)

• I didn’t once use my Wine Rack sports bra to smuggle wine into concert venues. (Tragic, I know.)

• I didn’t wear my white jeans enough. (I grew up in the peak of white-jean fashion, therefore this is a valid reason.)

• I didn’t once lay out by the pool or float down the river. (My pale white skin is proof I need additional time in the sun.)

May, June and July passed in what felt like a two-week span. I neglected summer and I know I only have myself to blame, but I was busy basking in the happiness of a new relationship. So you’ll understand that laying out by the pool wasn’t at the top of my to do list. I’m not accustomed to summer passing so quickly. When I was a kid summer had a way of dragging on. Living in the country meant there was only a handful of activities and it didn’t take long before I was ready to go back to school. The thought of not enjoying summer sickens me now, but as a kid I was a book nerd and my happiness was limited during the summer to a weekly trip to the bookmobile whereas in fall and winter I had daily access to a library. My love of books still exists. For example, I always take a book and issue of Newsweek to the pool.

I’m positive there are a handful of Salt Lake City residents who agree with me. Do me a favor though, and don’t talk to the ski nerds. The last thing I need is the two of you being talked into skipping fall and moving straight to winter. That would be the final straw and I would pack up my belongings and move to a warmer climate, in which case my mother will come after you. She complains she doesn’t see me enough as it is. If I moved to a warmer state she’s be pissed. Trust me, an angry Mormon mother will turn your world upside down. No one can tolerate that much guilt. Save us all and give me two months to catch up on summer.

Sincerely,

Sarah

That’s What She Said: How Piano Lessons Led to Prozac

Sarah — Mon, 05 Sep 2011 01:52:43 +0000

Published for Now Salt Lake on September 2nd 2011

I’ve always admired girls who rock. In fact, I tried to be one of them. There weren’t a lot of options when it came to music lessons in the country, so I tried my hand at the piano with the grand idea of being a famous pianist.Sadly, I had no talent and more specifically no rhythm. My piano teacher refused to give up on me and thought it would help if she tapped the beat on my back. I’m sure the tapping was gentle, but I was convinced she was beating me. My mother’s solution was a maroon metronome, which didn’t help. To this day, the sight or sound of a metronome gives me a fit of anxiety. However, I didn’t give up … mostly because my mother wouldn’t let me. She still held onto her dream of a musical daughter, so I stuck with piano lessons.

A few years passed and I still wasn’t any good, but convinced myself I could be an amazing keyboardist. Remember this was the late ’80s and keyboard riffs were all the rage. I continued my music lessons and planned my rockstar future. I crimped my hair, spent my allowance on hot pink legwarmers and named my future band the Prozac Barbie Dolls. I didn’t fully understand the implications of the name, but loved how the word ‘Prozac’ sounded after seeing an article about it on the cover of one of my mother’s nursing magazines.

This was the year Santa brought me my own electric keyboard. Unfortunately he forgot to bring my mother a lifetime supply of Advil and Prozac and this was also the year I quit my piano lessons. My mother gave up her dream of a musician daughter, and I gave up my dream of becoming the lead singer of an all girl band.Seven years of lessons and thousands of dollars spent and all I got were a couple lousy mnemonic tools to remember piano scales. But wait! I also ended up with an appreciation for other girls who COULD rock.

Enter my fanatic girl band phase where I only listened to music from The Bangles. Eventually I moved on and started listening to additional all girl bands: 7 Year Bitch, Indigo Girls, Azure Ray, Spice Girls and Au Revoir Simone have all remained some of my favorites.

I wasn’t able to fulfill my mother’s dreams, but who knows, perhaps someday I’ll have my own daughter who aspires to be a musician. Until then, I’ll continue to listen to other women who rock.

That’s What She Said: Save Me From My (Country) Self

Sarah — Thu, 25 Aug 2011 01:14:09 +0000

Published for Now Salt Lake on August 26th 2011

I think I might be in the throes of a weird midlife crisis. Hard to believe since I’m ONLY 35 years old, but it’s true. Everyone I know that has suffered from a midlife crisis has visible personality changes and their personal tastes change. I diagnosed myself online and I can relate to each of these symptoms:

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.

Sarah Bellum's Tales of Wit and Charm » That’s What She Said

That’s What She Said: A Wino’s Tips to Getting a Drink in SLC

Other posts you may enjoy. Or not, whatever.

That’s What She Said: A Request to Bring Back Summer

Other posts you may enjoy. Or not, whatever.

That’s What She Said: How Piano Lessons Led to Prozac

Other posts you may enjoy. Or not, whatever.

That’s What She Said: Save Me From My (Country) Self

Other posts you may enjoy. Or not, whatever.