I bet Audrey Hepburn had bad days too

On being a woman

1:18 PM

Today is National Women’s day. Or something about women anyway. . . Don’t remember what the exact name is. I would google it, but I just spent the last 20 minutes googling how to spell “tiered” because believe me, that is not at all intuitive spelling, and when you type in “teared, but not tear, but like layers,” even Google has no idea what the heck you’re talking about.

I am a feminist. In the traditional sense. OK, not in today’s traditional sense, but I am a feminist in what I believe to be the truest sense of the word. I love being a woman. I love getting dressed up. I love making people’s surroundings feel like home. I love beautifying the world around me, drinking anything pink or with an umbrella and empathizing so hard that the empathize-y starts to cry before they even know it. What can I say?

Every woman should have the right to vote, work, read, go to school and do whatever she pleases that is morally right. I don’t believe there are too many people in America who believe otherwise. Yes, there are some, but I believe there are few, and I like you, believe they suck.

I don’t waste time wishing or pretending I’m “tougher” than I am, that I can lift a box easier than most dudes or am less sensitive than the average man. And quite honestly, I am starting to despise what our world is now depicting as the average feminist — This woman who is disgusted by not only traditional roles, but the personality traits that are threaded into our DNA. How is this feminism?

This is me being a girl, or something.

I remember starting my job at Deseret Digital, feeling somewhat inadequate, if not, utterly inept. I felt like I was small, because hello, I am, but I also felt girly, and I felt that I would never be taken seriously by anyone, especially any man. And to be honest, I’m not totally sure I was taken seriously by most people.

One day, after months of perhaps adapting the philosophy of “fake it till you make it,” after crying in front of my boss and wanting to die, I talked to a fellow coworker about my embarrassing moment. He told me about Facebook’s COO Sheryl Sandberg’s speech to Harvard graduates. In it, she spoke about minimizing her womanhood in the workplace. And how she recognized she was who she was, and furthermore, that women should feel free to cry in the workplace. That it’s OK. That those feminine characteristics should be welcomed in an organization. This powerful woman was defying all that Cosmo had taught me. “Never cry at work.” “Don’t show any signs of weakness.” I like Sheryl’s take much more.

My sensitivity, ability to empathize, and own up to things I didn’t understand actually made me a better employee. Parts of my personality I thought were weak, because Cosmo told me so, actually made me a little more irreplaceable in the workplace. And I believe that many of my character traits have a lot to do with well, being a woman.

Looking back, once I had embraced womanhood, I became that much better at my job, and most importantly, I started to thrive as a person, and therefore started to love what I do.

I know this isn’t earth-shattering, but to me it’s something. And maybe to you it’s silly, but again, to me it isn’t.

I hope today women around the world can see how far we’ve come, and also, what a privilege it is to be who we are. I hope we all honor the women around us, and also honor those men who support, encourage and embrace who we are as well. Here’s to holding the X chromosome, and here’s to crying at work.

Gunnar and Sarah's Hell

9:14 PM

In writing this, I can understand why Dante dedicated an entire book to the origins and depictions of Hell. Gunnar and I think we're hilarious. Such a good way to explore our creativity. Simply put: This would be Gunnar and Sarah’s personal Hell.

Who’s your roommate? Good question. You know the person who with every story you tell has a better, cooler, or worse story? That’s your roommate.

This roommate always forgets their wallet.

This roommate calls you out in front of all the other cute Hell residents.

And if you ever start getting interested in another Hell resident, your roommate catches wind of it and starts to date them instead.

This roommate laughs with food in his/her mouth.

This roommate is not the worst person in the world, but annoying enough that you want to step on a Lego, just to start thinking about something else.

Also, Hell has a tendency to rain Legos.

In Hell, you wake up feeling like you downed half a bottle of Nyquil three hours ago. And you feel like that pretty much all day.

First thing in the morning, you have to fill out job applications.

You get to fill out your past job experience and reference information, all written by hand. Over. And over. And over again. When you died, you thought that you wouldn’t have to worry about that address of your first job — that address which for whatever reason, you had to write down on every single job application on earth. That useless, useless address, that you know for a fact doesn’t matter to anyone, maybe even especially your future employer.

After paperwork, it’s recess. You get to choose between getting in and out of cars wearing a pregnant suit, scraping ice off monster truck windshields with cassette tapes, or hanging out at the DMV.

And now, a doctor’s appointment. That means more paperwork, but you’re just filling out your insurance information and medical history. Not a big deal, right? It’s just, you won’t have your insurance card, and you’ll have a crappy pixelated photo of it instead that you get to work with. (This is actually my reality, in case you’re wondering.)

This will be for a doctor’s appointment that will be five minutes with a nurse who isn’t cute and two minutes with a doctor with weird, questionable hands who gives you a “prescription” for saline solution and recommends you drink “lots of fluids.” In the words of George Costanza, “Touch this, feel that, $75.”

Great news! There are treats in Hell. Options: candy corns and 3 Musketeers. For good behavior, you might be rewarded a Crunch bar, cherry Starburst or banana Laffy Taffy, but only if you’re willing to watch a person rummage through a clear bag full of all your favorite candy to retrieve it.

Next, you have the options of apartment hunting, getting your oil changed, shopping for windshield wipers, calling people from high school you haven’t talked to in 25 years to “see how they’re doing,” trying on jeans, and/or returning items you bought online.

For nighttime entertainment, you’re probably thinking, “Oh, infomercials.” You wish. In Hell you get to listen to a summer salesmen pitch to you not only security, but all the reasons you too should join their sales team. And also, they give you a slideshow of their last cruise all as they shout stuuuuupid inside-joke banter to a fellow salesman in the back.

There is YouTube in Hell, but all the videos are of Peking Opera and local business commercials.

And of course, you do have free-reign on all the radio commercials of your choice.

And finally, any time you get to meet up with old friends, they have to call you first. They’ll usually take you out to lunch, and they might even compliment your shirt you got at Kmart. You get excited to play with your friend. You are served a diet, caffeine-free Coke and lukewarm water (because, Hell) only to find out that your friend just wants you to join in on their multi-level marketing business. Sweet.

So, maybe it’s time to do some good deeds. Because I’ll be damned if I have to listen to one more second of Peking Opera.

In striving for perfectionism

7:43 AM

I’m not a perfectionist. About most things, actually. I don’t measure a lot of the time when I cook, (even though I really don’t know what’s going on) I’ve already stopped apologizing when my apartment isn’t clean when people come over, even sans kids, and I was almost always cool with getting a “B” in school.

Here I am in Hawaii. And I love it here. I’m not going to pretend I don’t. The thing about living here, is you get to learn a lot. I don’t know why. It’s like taking an accelerated course on life lessons.

Sometimes, maybe especially while living here and being married, I feel like I was given a magnifying glass just to help me see all my problems. Not because Gun points out my flaws. On the contrary. But when I got married, I saw that some of my personality quirks — my inability to often go with the flow, shutting down at the slightest hint of hunger or fatigue and my need for alone time from literally everyone but Gunnar — all turned out to not so much be personality quirks, as real challenges that can make two people’s lives harder.

When Gun shuts down, it’s like a quiet computer just whiring itself to sleep, silently and almost without notice until you look over and see it is indeed, fast asleep. All kind of out of the blue.

When I shut down, it’s like a computer overheating and then a “PEW!” sound, and then a crash sound, with little keys spouting off each and every direction, until finally after the explosion all that is left is the faintest hint of a computer with tiny flames coming from the bottom, while producing this quiet “hissss.” Absolutely broken, at least for a time; probably until the husband looks up on YouTube how to fix it, if not salvaged by a mother, a sister, a friend or simply a prayer.

That probably made me sound like I have some insane rage problem. I don’t. All I mean is that when Gunnar is done with life for the moment, he simply falls asleep, while I have a very small but very real nervous breakdown. Gunnar’s coping is probably more ideal, although mine is much more theatrical and it makes us laugh more later. Sometimes even in the moment.

Oh, what I would give to be perfect. Now. And I know how ridiculous it sounds. But isn’t it often how we feel? Don’t we neglect to pat ourselves on the back when we do something outstanding in one area, because we failed at something else? Is that how it should be? I’m asking. Because I don’t know. I don’t know if I should waste my time celebrating my small victories, when I have so much I need to work on. I know we all do, and blah blah blah, but I have soooo much I need to work on.

What I’m truly saying, is I’m not perfect. (I know, you're shocked.) And quite honestly, I’m not OK with it. We read these things all the time about people being so happy with their imperfections. That sounds nice. That’s not how I feel. I can’t stand my imperfections. I detest that I’ll often say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Hate that I’ll sometimes, maybe even frequently, offend someone, because in that small moment I forgot what it was like to have manners, or at least thought what I had to say was funny. I wish I was more hospitable, giving, loving and acted more like an adult than a six-year-old. I wish it all the time. Quite honestly, I probably waste my time wishing instead of doing. Add that to the list.

I don’t write this for pity or for others to tell me how great I am. I know I’m great. Gunnar and my mom tell me plenty. And I know I have good qualities too — like, I know there’s a 90 percent chance I can gleek better than you — and heaven knows, I have come a long way. But in case you’ve felt this way, this longing for being “on it” all the time, for reacting appropriately even in the hardest moments, for functioning on photosynthesis, I want you to know: Me too.

Why electing Donald Trump for president is basically like electing a Bachelor contestant

3:23 PM

Why electing Donald Trump for president is basically like electing a Bachelor contestant

I've actually heard of this person before he ran for president

This probably doesn’t bode well for me, but you have to admit, there is validity here. I used to watch “The Apprentice” right before watching “The Bachelor” on some Canadian channel growing up. And I remember thinking “Wow, Donald Trump would make a great president one day.” Oh, wait. Literally NO ONE EVER THOUGHT THAT EVER.

2. He’s loves gossiping and is denial about it

Too easy. In his GOP debate, Megyn Kelly posed a question about his continual unapologetic sexist comments. Which is fine. It’s a fair question. And it’s fair for Trump to be a sexist narcissist. It’s all fair. It’s America! Freedom of speech, baby. May it always stay that way.

But my favorite part of his response is, “Honestly, Megyn, if you don’t like it, I’m sorry. I’ve been very nice to you, although I could maybe not be based on the way you have treated me, but I wouldn’t do that.”

And we’re all:
via GIPHY

Pretty rockin’ answer. Everyone loves someone who can take it without the need to dish it out. Go, Trump!

That is until right after the debate when he continues to belligerently attack her on social media, even alluding to her maybe being a little PMSy during the debate. Awh, yes. The high road.

Which reminds me of, I dunno, every Bachelor villain on every season. Giving an example of this would be like giving an example of a time we’ve eaten watermelon in the summer. But off the top of my head… Michelle Money (I love her, but let’s call a spade a spade: Homegirl can run her mouth when she wants to, but thinks she’s a saint.)

3. You don’t want him to not get a rose, or elected, because he is so dang entertaining

This is for the same reason I cried when I found out Ashley I got sent home on Chris’ season. Did she belong with Chris? No more than I belong with a seahorse. But no one wants a crazy cat to leave a TV show.

So why not elect Trump? He’s so entertaining, he gives it to us straight, he isn’t concerned about being politically correct, loves to dish it out but can’t take it. All good things when negotiating international affairs.

4. He shouldn’t be allowed to speak without a PR agent present

You know how we’re all like, “Who really wrote this?” when our president delivers a speech? Well, I’m sure we’ll always know who wrote Trump’s because he’ll be the first president to use the word “hooker” in a public address.

Just like our friend Joe in Bachelor in Paradise, who decides to say, “She’s not very smart, is she?” about the beloved widow, Jeulia on the TV show. Heaven help him and anyone he might ever date or buy a drink for.

5. He takes the time to answer hate tweets on Twitter

Who wants a president who has better things to do than answer haters on Twitter? Not me!

Awh, it's been too long since I've heard a politician use the word "bimbo."

The sweetest.

Our beloved Joe, taking the time to answer our thoughtful tweets.

My thoughts on Caitlyn Jenn — oh wait, no one cares

11:56 AM

I’ve been told either to my face or through some sort of ill-constructed grapevine that I am judgmental. It definitely used to hurt my feelings — heck. It still hurts my feelings. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in this area, and I really regret those choices. I’ve what I thought was “called the kettle black” on multiple occasions, but really I was just passing judgement on something I didn’t know much about. After years of denying it, I’m fine with saying that I have been and still am on occasion judgmental.

Now, I’d just like to give you a second to admit the same thing. We’re all judgmental. We are. That in itself, I’ll admit is a judgment. But it’s an astute one.

Once in high school I met my friend’s boyfriend. We interacted for about 20 minutes, and in that short period of time, I managed to offend him three or four times. I think I made a clear (fine, it might have been a little racist) joke. And by racist, I mean it was probably about how I owned a Chevy Impala but wasn’t a Mexican. I don’t know guys, probably not something you say to someone you’ve known for 20 minutes, but also probably not something you cry about.

Given this was years and years ago, I don’t remember the details, but I do remember him saying, “It’s fine — I think you’re a little judgmental — But like.” And I’m like, K, but you’ve known me for a whole 20 minutes and you get to call me judgmental?

Maybe he’s right. Like I’ve said, there’s a good chance he probably is, but goodness, isn’t asserting that someone else is judgmental also exercising judgment? You’re dang right it is. And that’s fine! It’s just super ironic.

And my friend caught onto this too, and she made him apologize for that exact reason. Oh, the boys we put up with in high school.

With all this Bruce/ Caitlyn Jenner, “You’re being judgmental!” “No you’re being judgmental,” talk out there, it’s easy to think that one person is more in the wrong in this area of unrighteous judgment. I won’t go into my thoughts on Caitlyn’s life, because quite honestly this is how I feel about it:

Which, can I also just come out here and say that I’d like to judge our entire generation for blowing up my newsfeed with Bruce/ Caitlyn Jenner, “What color is this dress?” and “Fifty Shades of Gag Me,” leggings, and other completely useless, mind-numbing information, when whole countries are falling apart? No thanks to Facebook, I know that Nepal had an earthquake a month ago. Thank you, world for taking more of an interest in a pop culture figure changing his genitalia rather than caring about thousands of dead/ and or homeless people we share this earth with. If you aren’t stressed about this, I don’t know what to say to you.

Then again, I don’t know what to say to myself, because I’m clicking on these articles, and fueling it. It’s a vicious cycle I need to excuse myself from, but in the meantime, I’ll just judge the world and judge myself.

You’re welcome to join me.

4 tips to help you graduate from the single life

7:27 PM

When I got married, I was really happy (duh- hopefully duh) and at the same time, I felt a struggle, because I felt that a part of me had died. A very silly, frivolous, but real part of me was gone and was never going to come back.

When my friend came home from her mission, she was a little lost. She knew that she needed to start the new stage of her life, but she struggled to adjust and acclimate to life as a Mormon muggle. She said, “Being a missionary was the only thing I felt that I was good at.”

And I’m entirely serious when I say I’m not great at a lot of things. I’m not a mathematician, domestic goddess and will not win awards for much else other than record-breaking phone calls to a mother in one week. But I think I was great at dating.

Dating? Are you serious, Sarah? I’m dead serious. And I’m not bragging. In fact, it’s one of the lamest, most useless things about me. It’s up there with my ability to gleek on command and function just fine off Starbursts and chocolate covered pretzels.

I’m not going to go into details, but I am going to say that I feel like I was good at it. I know I’m not a 10. I’ve seen 10’s — mostly when I walk into Victoria’s Secret— but nonetheless, I kind of knew how to date without hating myself, and usually the dude didn’t hate me. It happened for sure, but not without significant mistakes made on my or his end.

Sometimes single people around me think I can’t possibly know anything because I’m married. OK, not to be rude, but that’s one of the most bizarre, irritating accusations I’ve ever had thrown at me. So I’ve made a list— the bastardization of all journalism— of advice for my single friends.

- I’m also not going to put a conclusion on this, because conclusions are the rudest. So the abrupt ending is by design -

1. Ladies and Gents: Don’t text on a date.

Do you like the person you’re with? At all? Don’t take a peek at your phone. In fact, if I knew for a fact the person wasn’t a serial killer, I left my phone at my apartment. If you have to answer your phone or text someone back at all, make a big deal about how you hate to answer your phone, and you don’t normally do this, but your cat at home died and your mom is going through menopause, and you’re worried about her, and seriously, I’m not even kidding. It goes a long way.

And likewise, if you want to send the signal that you don’t like the person, take out your phone. Tweet the night away about how you should never get Diet Dr. Pepper instead of DP straight up. SnapChat your ex and tell your date about it. Double-tap to your heart’s content! But for the love of all that is holy, do not look at your phone if you like the person you’re on a date with.

2. Boys: You’re bragging, and it sucks

There are very few things that will turn off a secure girl faster than the not-so-confident-yet-still-manages-to-be-cocky guy. One word for you: Woof. If she knows you were the captain of your high school basketball team on your first date: you’re doing it wrong. If she knows you have a scholarship at the end of your first date: you’re doing it wrong. If she knows any prestige having to do with yourself at all, and not because it came up naturally on your first date, she will think less of you. Simple as that.

A girl's reaction when she gets to listen to a boy up-talk himself all. night. long.

One of the funnest things about being married to Gunnar, is I’m still finding out all his little accomplishments. Like about him getting an award with other boy scouts for rescuing someone on the side of a mountain. And I actually found that out because it was an article his mom saved in an old desk drawer at his parents’ house. You wouldn’t believe how high-pitched and annoyingly googley-eyed I got when I found that out.

Guys, I had pretty much zero idea that Gunnar was smart. In fact, I took a huge leap of faith on that one. But my gosh, if our kids are brilliant at all, it will be thanks to their dad. And you know what? I didn’t know these things, and I married him anyway. Had he went out of his way to tell me his GPA, opportunities he’d turned down, awards given, I would have probably rolled my eyes and drank milkshakes with someone else. Let the girl find out organically, and she’ll think it’s you’re the raddest.

3. Girls: Let go of the idea you put in your head

There are some people who end up with the kind of person they always imagined they would end up with. To those people, I say that rocks. Those people are probably a lot smarter than the rest of us. And by the rest of us, I mean most of us.

Gun had my non-negotiables. Annnndd… that’s about it. I wanted a dark haired, tall, older, future businessman. I ended up with a blond, vertically challenged, 22-year-old, future saver of children, or something else entirely noble. And I’ll be real. Some of those things caused me to hesitate. Can you imagine? I would have been a dang fool.

I’m finding everyday that a lot of things that I wanted are some of my favorite things that Gunnar isn’t. As far as looks, I’m more attracted to this guy than anyone I have ever been with. And as far as his career choices, I’m seeing more and more that I would probably not jive with a businessman like I thought I would. Weird, huh? Follow Elsa’s lead, and set those shallow notions free.

4. Boys and Girls: Don’t talk about yourself

I mean on the first date. And any boy I’ve gone out with who’s reading this is probably thinking, “What the fetch?! She talked about herself all day long!” Probably. But I definitely tried to get to know whatever homeboy I had in front of me. Since I’m a talker and a half, I had to physically restrain myself from hijacking every conversation.

I went on a date once with a guy where I knew where he was from, how great he was at skiing, what he did for a living, his opinions on public schooling, how fashion forward people from his high school were, so on and so forth, and at the end of the date, he knew I was from Washington. I wanted to give myself a high-five and also get his address to send him, “How to Win Friends and Influence People.”

If you talk about the other person all night, they’ll think you’re the most interesting person they’ve ever met. And *bonus*, if they are a conversationalist, you actually won’t be listening the whole night. Kinda cool how that works out.

It's fine, because IKEA

1:05 PM

For the past three months, I've had the same problem at work that resurfaces at least twice a month. Some of which have been user errors on others’ ends, and some of which on my end. To tell you the honest truth, half of my job I’m typing things I don’t really understand and hoping some recipient knows what it really means. This is my life right now.

These continual errors have resulted in me doing hours of math. Math. Math. Simple math, yes, but math nonetheless. K, I’m a Comm major, which means I took one math class in college and got a C and was STOKED about it.

My boss told me that I need to manually produce some numbers, again, and before I could stop myself, my eyes weld with tears. It was embarrassing, because you know, I was tearing up, and also this kind of error is seriously not a big deal— for normal people. People who when they think of the worst thing in the world don’t typically think of their freshman algebra class. That was when I decided to write this blog post about failing.

Occasionally I think I’m nailing the life thing. Usually it’s after I make the tunnel all three laps on Koopa Troopa Beach. Because I don’t own Mario Kart, nor N64, and am actually not much of a gamer at all, this satisfaction rarely comes, and I have to settle for little victories, like remembering to floss once every other week.

Being a grownup is hard. Sixty percent of the time, I’m confused and asking people what 401k means. The other 40% of the time, I forget that being a grownup insinuates responsibility and am buying golden Oreos and sampling makeup at Sephora. Instead of, you know. Changing my car’s oil.

The first day of my job at Deseret Digital, I saw a clip on one of the TV’s of Rachel Ray. There was an 11-year-old boy on it who had written a cookbook. It was a best seller.

It should have been at that moment that I realized that I pretty much have nothing to say for myself. What the heck have I done? If I were to write a cookbook, it would look like this:

Table of contents:

Quesadilla

Cereals

And OK, just because I can’t write a cookbook doesn’t make me a failure, right? Of course.

And at the same time…

My boss is judging for a scholarship given at work and one of the girls welded a trailer. A 17-EARY-OLD GIRL WELDED A TRAILER. With blonde hair. And a 4.0. And she looks normal and nice, and I bet we would be friends. Meanwhile, this would be an average journal entry for me at this point in time:

Dear Diary,

I made no friends today. I gave Chad half my cashew. Gunnar and I walked around IKEA for two hours and didn’t buy anything. We made big plans to binge watch “The Office,” but ended up falling asleep with our shoes on at the foot of the bed instead.

Love,

Sar

Just some IKEA trip when I couldn't find Gunnar for five minutes. Apparently duvet covers are the worst?

Now, before you think I hate myself, this is the conclusion I’ve come to:

It’s much easier to say, “Look what they’ve done. Look what they have,” than it is to be content in your current situation and not feel like you’ve done enough, worked enough or are enough. I could compare myself to a blonde anomaly, or I could find pure joy in walking around IKEA for two hours to only buy a cinnamon roll. Because quite honestly, I fall asleep very happy and wake up just as happy.

In a world of comparisons, maybe we should make the choice to be content with our failures. Because when did dwelling get anyone anywhere?

To those of you who feel like a failure, and often: ME TOO. But let’s fail together, yeah? I mean we’ve made it this long without falling off a cliff.

That’s all.

I bet Audrey had bad days too 2

I bet Audrey Hepburn had bad days too

On being a woman

Gunnar and Sarah's Hell

In striving for perfectionism

Why electing Donald Trump for president is basically like electing a Bachelor contestant

My thoughts on Caitlyn Jenn — oh wait, no one cares

4 tips to help you graduate from the single life

It's fine, because IKEA

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