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My brother, Matt, called me yesterday. He rarely calls me, typically his wife is the one who calls. Despite being out to dinner with my other brother, Ben, I took the call thinking it may be an emergency.

Matt: “Thought I better call and inform you that your nephew is now a NASCAR fan, and he really wants to go deer hunting.”

Me: “That kid is fired! I need a replacement nephew. I liked it much better when Carter liked Dancing with the Stars. Seriously, you and Holli better get knocked up ASAP and give me a different nephew. Or else.”

Matt laughed, but little does he know I am not kidding. NASCAR? Unacceptable. I’m not too worried about the deer hunting bit. Carter is such a sweet, sensitive little tyke there’s no way he’ll grow up and kill animals. He’s terrified of my dog, and she’s tiny. It would be difficult for him to get close enough to an animal to kill. But this NASCAR thing, is very serious. I HATE IT! His obsession with cars is understandable, he’s a boy kid. However, I think the love of cars needs to stop at his race car bed.

Also, spending time with his uncle Ben needs to be limited, and with adult supervision. Otherwise Carter will grow up with a mullet and drink beer in cans. I can’t think of anything worse.

“Sarah, what happened to your knee? Those bruises are awful.”

“I feel down the stairs.”

“Again?!”

“I don’t think again is necessarily the right word. They were different stairs this time.”

“Where?”

“At work. The heel of my shoe got caught on my cuffed jeans and before I knew it I was falling.”

“That totally sucks. Did anyone see you?”

“No one that matters, just some asshole that happened to be walking down the stairs too. He moved aside and let me fall.”

“What a jerk, have you dated or something?”

“No… not yet.”

I am considering renewing my faith in Jesus. When Arlo decided to ruin my Friday night plans by getting a date, I did what I do best: I used guilt. When that didn’t work I went home and prayed. I prayed to every type of Jesus I could think of: hot Mormon Jesus, dead Jesus, baby Jesus, cross Jesus, resurrected Jesus, carpenter Jesus and every other Jesus imaginable.

And guess what?!

It worked; Arlo’s date canceled. Either I’m magic, or there is a Jesus after all. I’m going to investigate further by praying for a skinnier ass, new shoes and a boyfriend. I’ll keep you posted.

They send my brothers on missions. Chady-bear turns 20 tomorrow and I can’t see him because he’s in a foreign country serving God or something. And to make matters worse it’s against the rules to phone him.

It’s the little things in life that make me smile–like chasing tail at the office:

Dear Internet,

Please stop emailing me about Hillary Clinton. I read the news; I watch CNN; I refresh my Internet browser OCD style when it comes to news. With that said, I’m fully aware that Obama is rocking the nation. And guess what, dear Internet? That makes me happy.

I don’t have to explain my political views to you, but rather than reply to the 42 emails in my in box let me go ahead and do, just that, explain.

I’m a Democrat. A proud one. I grew up in a very conservative Republican home, so unlike some people I know, I picked my political party. I wasn’t raised a Democrat. I became one. A choice that I’m very proud of, so don’t give me shit.

I think Obama would make a fine president. In fact, I would be thrilled to see him in office. However, I voted for Hillary, because I am a woman. Like many women today, I remember growing up wondering why a woman couldn’t be President of the United States.

So, when finally a woman is on the ballot did you really think I’d not vote for her? I mean, really? I’m not a feminist by any means. I like men to do stuff for me. And not just in bed.

This is why I voted for Hillary Clinton, but would be just as happy at to have someone like Obama running our country. He bring passion and not just a last name. Plus his wife is pretty hot.

So back off, would ya?

Love,
Sarah

This week’s “The Dating Years.”

I met the perfect guy for my brother. That is, if my brother weren’t adamantly straight and currently dating a woman that I actually like.

I recently met a man who, despite being fantastic, is as far from my type as possible. This is causing me more stress than it should. I need to learn to relax and go with the flow. Keeping a running count of our differences is not only time consuming at this point, but also keeping me up at night.

First off, he drives an SUV. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with driving an SUV, I just don’t. I can’t seem to justify the cost of filling one with gasoline. I keep my cars economical, but can appreciate those who don’t. Mostly I appreciate them on snowy days when my great gas mileage car can’t make it out of the driveway. My brother, on the other hand, not only appreciates an SUV but has the knowledge to discuss things like lift kids and tire size. Things I know nothing about, and probably never will.

In this above-mentioned SUV his radio presets are rock, KBER to be specific. I only recognized the call letters because the same station happens to be one of my brother’s favorites. My car radio is either on a local NPR station, or on a music station that is more likely to produce bad 80’s pop music. Not necessarily because I like that music, but generally hearing Paula Abdul on the radio makes me giggle.

Last weekend, after dinner, we made our way to the dive bar Ex-Wives Place. I love dive bars, but for some reason haven’t spent a lot of time at this particular one. My brother, of course, has on a weekly basis.

And if that weren’t enough, the new guy invited me to a NASAR party he was hosting. I hate NASCAR with a passion. The “sport” makes no sense to me. I don’t understand why watching cars drive really fast round and round in a circle is entertaining. I can barely tolerate watching real sports, like football, on TV let alone four hour car races. My brother digs NASCAR. So much that he’ll often lie and tell me he has to work on Sundays only to find he’s really sitting home on his couch glued to the TV watching these dumb races. (Un)fortunately I had other plans for the big party and wasn’t able to attend. I considered sending my brother as a surrogate, but thought better of it. My brother teases me non-stop and so far so does this guy. I don’t want them spending quality time together finding more reasons to mock me.

So if/when I let the new guy and my brother meet, I imagine they will have loads to talk about. Lots and lots of stuff that makes me want to stab my eyeballs out with a fork. But since this guy isn’t too hard on the eyes, and a lot of fun to be around I’ll probably keep him around. At least long enough to fine one thing we have in common, besides my brother.

Dear Carter and Hannah,

Happy fourth birthday! The last four years have flown by–you’re growing up too fast. I wish you didn’t live in Utah County, so I could see you more. Twice a month isn’t nearly enough. I feel badly that the only time I see you are when your parents are gone. Remember I’m there because I want to be.

Carter, I’m so happy I didn’t throw you out the window the first time I babysat you. Trust me, I was tempted. You cried so much, more than any baby ever, but my friend Alecia was with me and she talked me out of doing it. You owe Leash your life.

I love you Buddy. More than I ever imagined I could love a small child who likes to play big trucks and wear animals on his clothing. You’ll always be my buddy.

Hannah, you’re everything a little girl should be: cute, pink-loving and spunky. You never stop making me laugh, especially when you attempt to have an adult conversation with me. You use vocabulary just slightly beyond your comprehension, much like your Uncle Ben.

I love you Hannah Gatanna more than the color pink. And you, of all people, will understand that’s a hell of a lot.

I have a Starbucks gift card for both of you in my purse. I couldn’t bother giving it to you on your birthday because Grandma Myrna might have been angry. And I don’t want to anger her. She calls pregnant people fat, so can you imagine what she would do to me if provoked. I’m sure you understand.

I love you two more every single day. You’ve brought our family together in a way that I never expected. I would do anything in the world for you, and would do whatever it took to protect you. You’re the closest things to true love I’ve ever known. Thank you for letting me be your Auntie.

Love, Aunt Sarah

I received a letter in the mail yesterday from the Utah Department of Health. This shouldn’t be a huge deal, but with my imagination and anxiety it was.

I walked into the house and sat on my couch just staring at the ominous white envelope, imagining the very worst. I couldn’t bring myself to open it. Once that letter was open whatever bad news it had to offer would be real.

Was this about the flu shot I stole last year? Some co-workers and I went to the offices next to ours and pretended to be employees, when they were offering flu shots free. I talked myself out of thinking it was wrong when my very Mormon friend, Kirk, didn’t seem bothered by it. If there was a place in Mormon heaven for him, then surely I wasn’t going to end up in hell over this one little thing.

There was that sketchy boyfriend with all the tattoos from my early 20s. With that much body art it’s entirely possible he contracted some fatal disease from a tainted needle. I haven’t heard from him in years—he could be dead for all I knew. At this point I felt numb all over.

Numb extremities are never a good sign. After a quick online consult with WebMD I decided I was dying. Diabetes was the number one search result. My father is a diabetic, and somehow the health department was able to diagnose me before any doctor had. I jumped up and ran into the kitchen. I was bound and determined to eat every last drop of sugar in my apartment before finding out I was indeed a diabetic, and that I was forever banned from sugar.

One zillion calories later I knew it had to be done. Whatever was inside that envelope was something I could deal with. Something I had to deal with. I was ready.

I opened the envelope and found a copy of my birth certificate. That’s riiii-ght, I ordered it online last weekend when I couldn’t find the original.

Now, I have a birth certificate, enough calories to double the size of my ass, and lastly an understanding that while the health department can’t diagnose your insanity, they can certainly be the cause of it.

I drove to the country for the day to help celebrate my grandpa’s 80th birthday. Of course, I had to drive by my old stomping grounds. I saw this and couldn’t help but laugh. I wonder how much the prom dates are being sold for. I’d love to get Arlo one for his birthday.