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I saw the weirdest billboard today. I was driving from Provo to Salt Lake City when I saw it.  It was a picture of a Utah license plate, but instead of ski Utah it read “Sedate Utah.”

What the fuck?

I think it was a billboard for a dentist, but still it just seems odd. I almost pulled over to take a picture, but speaking of sedated I was too damn tired. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted—family emergencies can do that to you. Everything is going to be OK, but it’s not something I feel comfortable talking about.

Also, I think it’s important to know that waiting rooms are the perfect place for ‘your mom’ jokes. It totally lightens the mood.

My baby brother, Chady-bear, is currently serving an LDS mission in Japan. When he decided to go on a mission my first thought was that he would try and force Mormonism onto me. My second thought was who the hell would wash and vacuum my car once he left?

My car is filthy, and luckily so is my soul. I haven’t received any preachy letters with scripture quotes and guilt trips. Instead he tells me stories about his experiences in Japan, which I find far more interesting than gospel stories.

He’s due home this summer. And just when I started getting excited to have my baby brother back he had to go and do the unthinkable. His last letter had a religious themed message to it, well not so much the letter as the enclosed picture.

In this case, a pictures really isn’t worth a thousand words–just one word, and a bossy one at that:

When he gets home I’m going to have to sit him down to discuss his poor choice of facial hair, just as soon as my car is clean.

This weekend my parents celebrated their 34th wedding anniversary.  I remembered while I was having drinks at the pub, so instead of calling and slurring my words I text messaged my mom.

“Happy anniversary!  Thanks for getting married and having all the crazy sex it took to make me!”

My mom has a great sense of humor so I knew she’s shake her head after reading it, but secretly find it funny.  Expect there was a slight problem.  My mom and dad’s names both start with the letters KA and of course they share the same last name.

In my haste to send the message I inadvertently sent it to my dad, which would be OK if he had a sense of humor.  He does not.

I’m really hoping my dad’s phone doesn’t have text messaging, but I’m too scared to call home and find out.  My plan is to avoid my family for the next 34 years.  It’s safer that way.

My brother, Ben, and I are in the country for the holidays.  The country, in case you don’t know, is the most boring thing ever.  When we complained to my mother about how bored we were she suggested we do her hair, go caroling to the neighboring cattle or read Christmas stories to one another.

Umm… no thanks.

Instead we opened a few presents.  One of which was from my grandmother and contained a package of needles.  I’m not really sure why, but it was fun nonetheless.

The needles resulted in all sorts of Nielson madness.  Next year I’m asking for surgical tubing.

The last part of the video is by far the best–Ben always makes me laugh. His concentration in this video is remarkable, but not nearly as funny as the other.

After asking my niece Hannah what she wanted for Christmas I found her twin brother, Carter, and asked him what he wanted. He too wanted a scooter. Which is why I have a new favorite: my nephew Coltin. He’s didn’t ask for anything extravagant, so he’s in and the twins are out.

This is my brother Ben holding Coltin. I tell you this because otherwise you may think he’s just some random guy off the street we let hold the babies in our family before kidnapping them.

I’m thankful for a brother who is teaching his son how to throw down gang signs while riding around on my little pink scooter.  I’m also thankful for the people who didn’t point and laugh at them like I did.

I’m also thankful for the rest of my crazy family.  Without them, I’d be sane.  And really who wants sanity?  I sure as hell don’t!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!  Enjoy the time spent with your family, also eat pie for me since I’m off sugar and stuck flying today.  Please note: I hate pumpkin, cherry and apple pies.  I like pecan and berry pies–warmed with vanilla ice cream.

My good Mormon parents are drug runners for Jesus. There’s no other logical explanation for their yearly disappearance to exotic locations like Columbia–that was the location for the trip last year. This year they are in Thailand. Suspicious, right?

What’s more suspicious is the fact they travel during the holidays.  Last year I was forced to make my own damn mashed potatoes while they were gone.  I can’t help but wonder if there’s some sort of buy one kilo get one kilo free deal going on for Black Friday.

It’s very likely they’ll end up in a Thai prison, but luckily I’ve seen the movie “Brokedown Palace” so I know exactly how to get them home.  And once I do, I plan to blackmail them for extra Christmas presents.  I have a feeling their Mormon bishop won’t be as understanding as I am.

While I wait for the phone call alerting me to their prison sentence I’ll continue to miss my mommy, just like I do every time she leaves the country.  I’d obsess over the fact I’m a 33 year old momma’s girl, but I think this behavior is a lot healthier than when I was 16 years old yelling about how much I hated her every single day of my life.  Hormones are a motherfucker.

There will obviously be a movie about my parents prison experiences, and when there is I’ll be sure to remind the producer to include the scene where the loving daughter listens to the last few voicemails her mother left over and over, because she misses her so much.  See, Internet, I AM A GOOD DAUGHTER!

Seeing mom-and-pop shops close are always a little difficult to see, but this particular instance is downright heartbreaking for me. Take Five was my grandma’s favorite place to take her grandchildren.

As a child I spend two weeks out of every summer in Murray with my grandma. No brothers, no parents, just grandmother and granddaughter bonding time. These two weeks were my favorite time of the year. Twelve of those fourteen days were exactly the same: each morning my grandma and I would drive to Take Five for her morning Coke and a milkshake for me. I ordered vanilla every single time. My grandma, bless her heart, tried time and time again to talk me into ordering something more exciting than vanilla, but I always refused. I liked the comfortable feeling of the exact same taste day after day. Vanilla was my safety net.

Since her death I’ve learned that the reassuring flavor vanilla is still great, but sometimes you need to spice things up with another flavor. Last weekend my brother Ben and I went to Take Five for the last time. I ordered my milkshake and this time, just for my grandma, I ordered chocolate, and you know she was right. It was the best fucking milkshake I’ve ever tasted.

Dad: “Am I in trouble with you?”

Sarah: “Not that I know of, why?”

Dad: “Well I gave your number out.”

Sarah: “Bathroom stall again, or someone I actually know this time.”

Dad: “A guy that you worked with the summer you graduated high school called looking for you.”

Sarah: “Well that would explain a random text message I got from your area code that used numbers for words.  Do me a favor and don’t give my number out to people who speak twelve-year-old girl, and are unable spell simple words.”

Dad: “I thought you liked that text messaging stuff.”

Sarah: “ I do with friends and people who can type real words.  Dad, just don’t give my number out to anyone please.”

Dad: “Well I guess I’m lucky your mom has the number on the fridge since you don’t give it out.”

Sarah: “Anyone involved in my conception can have my number, at least for now.”

Dad: “Noted.”

The text message in question was:

Whatthe hell u been up 2 good looken?

I didn’t reply for obvious reasons, yet he felt the need to follow up with:

Hello r u ther?

Seriously?  I’ll be calling my dad back tomorrow to let him know he is indeed in trouble, and the only way to make it up to me is to buy the guy a dictionary.  For adults.

Saturday night Ben and I went to my uncle’s house for a family dinner.  Since it was a birthday dinner I knew there’d be cake, so we actually arrived on time.  The things the Nielson kids do for cake is ridiculous.

My uncle overheard Ben and I trying to figure out a time to go buy a scooter helmet.

Uncle: “You’re not riding with a helmet, Sarah?”

Me: “Not yet, but I’m driving really, really slow if that counts for anything.”

Uncle: “If you were my daughter I’d divorce you right now.”

Me: “You can divorce me all you want, but I would still show up for dinner.  You cannot get rid of me.  My dad’s been trying for over thirty years without any success.”

Everyone looks over to my dad and he nods in agreement, “You can’t get rid of this one, she’s here to stay.”  The sparkle in his eyes told me he was happy I wasn’t going anywhere.