I bet Audrey Hepburn had bad days too: 2015

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.

Just sitting here waiting for wifing skills to show up

5:40 PM

After getting married I waited for what my best friend Niff calls the “gift of wifing” to be placed upon me. As I approached marriage, I started to get a little concerned because I thought maybe wifing skills would start trickling in as I approached wifehood. I’m actually not kidding.

A week before marriage I’m literally thinking, “WHY DON’T I KNOW HOW TO COOK AN OMELET?!” Real. Thoughts. And that’s a real thing I still can’t do.

And then I got married and it STILL didn’t kick in. You’re probably reading this and thinking, “Shocking.” And yeah, you know what, it shouldn’t have been, but it was. The gift of wifing isn’t a thing, guys. It’s not.

Last Monday Gunnar and I put up curtains. OK, Gunnar did and I jumped on the couch. Also, it was Gunnar’s idea— I would have never thought to do something like that. And he said, “Gosh those curtains need to be ironed.”

And I’m like, “Oh yeah… right. I would have totally noticed that even if you didn’t say anything, and by looking at it I can tell even more that they need to be ironed.”

But everyone here— me, the guy sitting next to me on the train, my husband and anyone who has lived with me knows that I wouldn’t have thought of something like that. There’s no way that would have crossed my mind. In fact, I wouldn’t have thought about buying an iron, but LUCKILY my awesome aunt and cousins got me an iron, so Gunnar lucked out, and doesn’t have to iron things with my straightener. I mean I don’t have to iron his shirts with my straightener. Crooked face.

Quite honestly, if someone were to read some of our conversations, they might think Gunnar is more like the wife, and I’m like the pet or the six-year-old. Except for Gun also has all the characteristics of masculinity you would look for in a husband.

I suggest muddy buddies for breakfast (what’s a blog post without mentioning muddy buddies?) and he’s the one asking me if his shirt looks wrinkly. Seemingly, there’s no real correlation, but when you think about it, there’s childhood and adulthood colliding into the bond of marriage. Except the childhood portion is coming from the 24-year-old carrying the X chromosome.

Yeah, this picture is gross, but this was taken at 5am with us eating ice cream while watching "the sun rise" only to realize we were looking west for the sunrise all morning. Concerned? Pray for us.

All in all, I still don’t know what’s happening in life— Something I also thought would magically occur with marriage. I’m starting to wonder if the only person who really knows what’s happening is the Susan on “Miracle on 34 Street.” And also, she’s fictional and four years old.

I suppose I want my friends to know, single, married, whatever, two things:

1. Don’t expect wifing skills to embed themselves into your DNA. Learn from my mistaken assumption.

2. Maybe don’t panic, like I did, when you realize they don’t come. Like when last Sunday I made pizza— PIZZA— and if I had dropped it on the ground, it would have shattered in a million pieces. It was. That hard. My cooking has shown to defy all science. Sarah of December 2014 would have face planted into the bed and stained the comforter with mascara. Sarah of January 2015 almost cried, but put on a brave face and let her husband have a doughnut for dinner.

Sorry, mother-in-law. Sorry, young women’s leaders. Just sorry.

Along this mess of thoughts, non- thought provoking, but real to say the least, has led me to be OK with the fact that I have to learn these things, and they aren’t placed upon me. And I’m just lucky I have a husband who’s stoked to have a doughnut for dinner.

I bet Audrey had bad days too 2

I bet Audrey Hepburn had bad days too

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

Just sitting here waiting for wifing skills to show up

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