In the Wake of a Trump Presidency

Last  night like millions of Americans, I could not help but cry.  Three times to be exact.  They were tears of sadness, frustration, and anger.  I don’t think many of us went into last night believing it would end with an orange as our 45th President, but it did.

Like many others, I’m not quite sure what to say.  There is a stillness in the air, and a numbness in my hands, feet, and heart.  But, I decided I needed to say something.  So, I write.  I write to quench the fear and anger.  To try and make others feel love and hope in a difficult time.  I write to show my solidarity, and my willingness to fight now more than ever.

What breaks my heart about the results of last nights elections, is the emotional pain that it is causing.  Never, have I seen so much fear in my friends and family.  We are not upset simply because we don’t like Trump, we are upset because we feel we have reason to fear.  I fear for the safety of the people in our great country.  Trump has shown sexism and racism, not to mention making fun of the disabled, anti-Muslim views, and is generally rapey. These are traits that I don’t want anywhere near my president.

I do not hate Trump supporters. Hate is the last thing we need right now. I am merely disappointed that people are willing to look past the horrible things this man has said and done. What does it say about us as a country that we would vote for a man who bragged about “grabbing her by the pussy”, frequently makes inappropriate comments about his DAUGHTER, and wants to build a fucking wall to keep people out.

I have respect for the Muslim religion. I spent 3 weeks in a hijab and I do not believe we should criminalize a whole religion. I’ve had friends suffer from eating disorders that brought them close to death, and yet our next President has no problem calling women “fat, pigs, slobs”. If I had to count of my fingers and toes, I wouldn’t be able to reach the number of women I know personally who have been sexually assaulted, so when you disregard a man bragging about sexual assault, try and look those women in the eyes. Every fucking day we reach for equality of sex, religion, race, and sexual orientation. Today I fear, we have lost hold of the rope again.

I am afraid for myself and all other women. We want to break the glass ceiling,  but our hammer got replaced with a sexist shitbag. Minorities everywhere are fearing deportation from lives they rightfully earned. But hey, at least the KKK is happy!

The only way to beat this stomach punch, is to stand back up, and fight.  Now, is a better time than ever, to join hands, and shout a little bit.  Fight for our environment, minorities, the disabled, women, and every other person who needs us right now.  Trump has a way of provoking fear inside of us all.  Don’t let it take you over.  Love Trumps Hate, WE trump hate, WE love, WE must.

Now is not the time to wallow in self pity and shrink in fear- even though it may seem easier.  Take your anger, and let it fuel your fight.



For the Men I Missed in My Life

I have grown up without the presence of Grandpas in my life.  My Grandpa Lyle passed away before my parents were married, and my Grandpa Louie when I was a year old.  I never got to know either of them but I wish I could have.

As a kid, this never bothered me.  I was oblivious to the missing pieces in my family.  I knew that my mom would get sad on Grandpa’s birthday every year, and that the notes my dad had from his own dad were priceless artifacts to him.  To me they were just disembodied voices and pictures on mantels.  I didn’t know how to love them or miss them.

A few years ago, I began to notice the missing pieces.  Weirdly enough, it didn’t set in until I started spending time with my then-boyfriends family.  He was so close to his grandparents, and especially his grandfather.  I realized that I had never known two men who might have taken me fishing, tortured my boyfriends, and told me stories of the wars they had seen.  I’d never seen my Grandmas in love or my parents talking with their dads-like I do on a daily basis.

I began to miss two people who I didn’t even know.  I couldn’t pick out their voice or see how they would sit on the couch watching tv after work.  I’d missed out on a piece of my history, and it bothered me.

For the first time this year, I spent a few minutes of my Memorial Day thanking my Grandpas for their service.  In that moment I felt closer to them than I ever had before.  I could almost feel them there in the room with me.  They were chuckling at me because there was “no reason to cry”, they were always right there with me.  And I believe that now.

From that day, I’ve began making an effort to know them better.  Asking my mom about Louie, and finding the pictures we had together; me as a baby, and him with a giant smile on his face.  Learning more about Lyle’s past, and trying to find the characteristics my dad remembers so fondly of him, in myself.

I hope they are watching, from wherever they are.  I know they are smiling, crying, and laughing along with me.  Watching me fall and helping me up without my knowledge.  I know they are proud of me, of everything I have done.  In my heart, I know that they were there standing along with the rest of my family at my graduation, sitting in the backseat of my drivers test, and standing along with the crowd at every performance.  Grandpa Louie smiles every time we drive his truck with the new “Chapman Dad” sticker on it, and Grandpa Lyle sits with Rhia on the stairs, waiting for everyone to get home safely.

These two men have changed my life without even being here.  They inspire me to live more honestly, and to love fully.  Every day, I wish that they could be here in more than spirit, but I know that someday I will get to meet them.  Someday I will get to sit down on the couch, and hear the voices of my grandpas, and get to meet the other pieces of my family.

Manic Pixie Dream Girl Me Up

“What do you want to be when you grow up, Sarah?”  The teacher asks her young pupil.

“A Manic Pixie Dream girl, that’s what I want to be”.  The girl replies, longing in her deep blue eyes.

The Teacher looks away, pain written on her face.  Etches of longing trace her angular face. “If only we could all be such… If only”.

Urban Dictionary defines Manic Pixie Dream Girl (MPDG) as : “A pretty, outgoing, whacky female romantic lead whose sole purpose is to help broody male characters lighten up and enjoy their lives.” Oh but she is so much more!  A MPDG is a holy creature, and truly unlike any woman you have, or every will, meet.

She smokes too many cigarettes, but it only makes her raspy voice HOTTER.  When she sees you, she sees who you really are; the Vonnegut, the Hemingway, the Woody Allen, and every other DEEP/ DARK/ DAMAGED artist you see yourself in.  Your MPDG doesn’t shower everyday and that only brings out the oaky scent of her skin.  When you are with her, she is never fully there for herself, but she is there for you.  She is lost, but only because she has raced down every alley way in your small town.  And, yeah, she’s amazing in bed- just gives and gives and gives.

Sounds like a dream.  Yeah, no.  Fuck y’all and your Pixies, give me real women.

When I was an underclassmen in high school, I had no idea what a MPGD was.  I read books full of them, but finished the stories unaware of what I was reading.  Characters like Alaska Young, Summer (500 Days of Summer), and the chick in “Garden State” are all brilliant examples of MPDG’s.  They are brought into being purely to help some guy get his shit together.  I remember loving Alaska in “Looking for Alaska”.  She was so COOL.  Alaska was smart, brazen, read a lot of books, and had a habit of making everyone love her.  That sounded amazing to me at this time in my life.  I wanted to smoke cigarettes for the looks of it, spur on adventures, and make boys cry cause of how much they wanted me- but couldn’t have me.

Now I see a different Alaska.  I see a different sculpture than I used to.  I see something created for the image, not the reality of the thing.  It’s like with ancient sculptures where the women are all um… shaved down there, and it’s just accepted as such.  When in reality I pretty sure razors weren’t a thing yet, much less bikini waxes.  But still, the statues are made that way to be pretty and inspiring, seeing as they are works of art in themselves.  MPDG’s are works of art, much like the statues.  That is the lovely part about them.  Seeing as they are art, all they really have to do is be beautiful, and make you think.  Make you discover.  But they don’t think.  They smoke, whisper, and break down by the end of the story.

The problem with the MPDG is not the lung cancer she is bound to get or her infidelities, but the lack of body to her.  She is nothing more than smoke and dust in the end.  A few great lines and a few steps behind you.  A character brought to life, to make someone else find their life.  What a horrible way to live.

As appealing as these characters can be, we can’t wish for them to appear in our own lives.  Sometime, I wish a guy would show up (yes MPDG’s can be men, just not as common) and fix me.  He would guide me on the path to salvation, and at the end there would be no need to thank him, because that was his purpose after all.  In real life, no ones purpose is to fix you.  Alaska isn’t going to come and die for you to realize how to live, Summer isn’t going to like the same Smiths album as you, and Keira Knightly isn’t going to turn Zach Braff into a fun guy.  It’s all fiction, designed to ignite the flame in you.  To make you crave this mystical woman who would satisfy every part of you.  Don’t, save yourself, don’t let the girl with the ukulele do it for you.

MPDG’s exist for others, and that is no way a character or a human should every live.

How to Deal

No, this is not a guide for avid card dealers or people looking to learn how to count cards.  This is self-help guide from a very unself-helpful person.

Yeah, you heard me.


Actually you can do whatever you want, I just have some thoughts for you.

Very few people know how to deal with themselves in moments of weakness.  My Psych professor would say this is because we will never really know who we are, hence, we don’t know how to be there for ourselves very well.

How to Deal:

  • Calm the fudge down.  Seriously, crying and kicking air conditioners that keep shutting off (I made my toe bleed) will not help you be okay.  Everyone calms themselves in different ways so find yours.  Maybe its listening to John Mayer, yoga, or watching 90’s sitcoms; find yours.
  • Get a big ol’ pint of Phish food and go to town.  (If you are vegan, sucks to suck, no one likes soy ice cream.)
  • Listen to 1985 by Bowling For Soup, and remember when you were little and heard the r-rated version for the first time and feel that little baby rebel inside.
  • Don’t tell my parents I said this, but I think cussing helps a lot…
  • Mediate if you want, or just listen to music in the dark.
  • Post passive aggressive tweets to delete in an hour.
  • Cry a little, not a lot
  • Remember bathrooms are great places to chill if you just can’t deal.
  • I recommend listening to “Defying Gravity” and then try to do so (don’t jump off buildings though, doesn’t work).
  • Find a roof to look over the world you are in.  Look at the lights and cars driving past. Feel small then big then small again.  Appreciate the beauty, fresh air, and starlight for a moment.
  • Take the time to find the Big Dipper  at night.
  • Take a shower, it’s easier to deal when you don’t smell homeless.
  • Watch “Friends”.
  • Read “Harry Potter”/re-read “Harry Potter”/
  • Go for a walk.
  • Follow the butterflies.
  • Clean, sometimes it’s good to clean something that’s under your control.
  • Write about it, it helps.
  • Read my blog
  • and finally… EAT POPTARTS

Thank you for pretending to read this.

Marriage Advice from a 19 Year Old Who Has Never Been Married and is Completely Unqualified

This past weekend, two of my favorite people tied the knot! Adam and Aimee, I’ve been thinking a lot about you two since the wedding and felt the need to say something. This was the best way I could do so.

I know that I am an unmarried, single, 19 year old.  However,  I feel as though I have some good advice up my sleeve. I guess you can decide that though…

Here goes nothing!!!

First of all, remember how happy you make each other, always. Because at some point Adam you are going to do something stupid, and Aimee you will too (maybe not though you are basically perfect). In those moments of anger and frustration, remember the happiness and live on through that.

Get a dog. I highly suggest this because all of the best couples have dogs. Plus dogs are like children but honestly cuter, and less work- plus they do what they are told.

Always talk it out. Be honest because you guys aren’t in middle school anymore. Be adults in your relationship. Be honest, don’t hold things back, and maybe have a talking stick if you think it might get heated.

Fight if you need to, it’s healthy. Just remember to kiss and cuddle afterwards.

Cayla is a really cute name for a baby, think about that in the future.

Have a life together, and a life apart. You are two wonderful souls who flourish together, but remember that it’s good to have a life of your own too. Be each other’s best friends, but don’t forget your other friends because we like you guys too.

Go to concerts, travel the world (maybe not in a van anymore), meet new people, eat foods you’ve never tried before, live somewhere different, step out of your comfort zone, adventure together- always.


Finally, always remember to love each other first. Love each other’s flaws and talents. Love the things they have made themselves into, and what they are without trying. Love emu sounds and shaky hands. Love it all.

I’m so excited for you two, congratulations again.

Things That Make Me Angry

I don’t consider myself an angry person.  For the most part, I keep level-headed and am often the person who helps solve arguments.

Recently, however, I’ve developed a deep, deep rage inside of me.  I don’t have any idea why!  Maybe I’m old enough now to see the injustices of the world,  my hormones are acting up, or I’m just bored af.

To help release my anger, I decided to write it down in a way that I hope humans enjoy.

  1. Grumpy people at ice cream shops
  2. Ads on Youtube
  3. Political Posts on Facebook
  4. When those special headphones for iPhones break
  5. The ending of “How I Met Your Mother”
  6. Assholes (the people, the body part is needed to poop so I’m not angry at that
  7. When Taco Bell’s Freezy machine is broken
  8. A menu with a lack of vegetarian items
  9. Animal testing
  10. Saggy pants – JUST STOP
  11. Old men cat calling me and my friends
  12. Boys
  13. Girls
  14. Humans in general
  15. Cats… sorry not sorry
  17. When doctors make you take pregnancy tests, like come on dude
  18. Sarah Palin
  19. People who  ask to sample vanilla
  20. Tall people at concerts
  21. Bad teachers
  22. The fact that I got a B in Study Hall in Middle School
  23. Sexism, racism, ageism, homophobia
  24. How many mornings I wake up to news of shootings
  25. How nothing in this town is open past 10
  26. Children
  27. Children on airplanes
  28. People who eat tuna on airplanes
  29. LA traffic
  30. College Tuition
  31. #AllLivesMatter #Stop
  32. People who think Harry and Hermione should have gotten together
  33. Ross after season 4
  34. When white people say the N word- just stop please.
  35. Fake people
  36. Fake burgers
  37. Stupidity

Alright I feel better, have a glorious day.


A Loveless Letter to My Anxiety

Dear Anxiety,

You are not welcome here. Sadly, unlike a vampire, you can come in whether I invite you in or not.

I’ve always been an anxious person. I get stressed easily and intensely. Overthinking is a hobby and expecting too much of myself is my favorite pastime. With a history of anxiety in my family, and my own personality type, I should have been expecting this.

Anxiety hit me like the T. Rex hit the cool car thing in Jurassic world: crushing me and making small children scream.

This past year anxiety has become a part of my everyday life. I never understood people who would get debilitating anxiety in classes and such and became unable to function, but now I do. Now, I can find myself in the most mundane of situations and suddenly be overwhelmed with crushing anxiety.  I can’t breathe, I can’t think correctly, and suddenly every fear I have no matter how ridiculous seems bigger, badder, and a hell of a lot meaner than ever before.

I shut down. To the people who have had to deal with me at these times; thank you, and I’m sorry. See, I don’t like who I become when it hits. It’s not me. It’s like something evil takes over me when an attack happens. I am not nice, I am not fun, and I’m sure don’t look even slightly pretty.

My anxiety is something I’ve tried to keep mostly to myself, only talking openly about it with close friends and family. It’s something you wouldn’t notice unless you were around all the time or caught me when I had an anxiety attack. I like to think I hide it well. Recently however, I realized it was a bigger problems than I thought, when as friend asked me if “Happy Cayla” was coming home soon. It kinda broke my heart, and made me realize that to face this better I have to be open about it.

Everyday I work on dealing with what now affects me daily.  I’ve been given lots of helpful suggestions, some work, some don’t, but at least I’m trying.  I will not take this lying down, and become someone else because of my disorder.

If anxiety were a boyfriend, he would be that asshole who tells you that you would look better if you wore makeup, says he should be your only friend, and makes you feel bad about achieving anything. Sadly, it’s not as easy to dump anxiety as he would be.

Anxiety lingers morning, evening, and night. It hides itself in the stuffed animal by my bed, and in every text not returned. It tells me that no one cares, that I can’t do it, you’re doing it wrong, and you don’t matter. It makes me feel weak, lonely, and a little bit insane at times.  It makes even the smallest decision impossible, and one shitty argument turns into hyperventilating and sobbing. It’s like a car crash, you can never really be prepared for it, and it happens with no warning.  Anxiety attacks feel like being in a plane that makes an emergency landing on water but forgot to provide flotation devices.

Anxiety can go fuck off ( yes Dad, I said fuck, sorry). Go to hell and hit up Hitler, and make him feel worthless, not me. You are not welcome in my body, mind, or spirit. I will not let you win.

I am not what my anxiety tells me I am. I’m strong, confident, and sometimes people laugh at my jokes (score!!!).  My fight with you is still going on and I know that. But you do not own me, and I’m going to work everyday to make sure that’s true.