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the 55th random act of beauty: what makes a man

(in collaboration with the White Ribbon Campaign)

Man power!



Why We Self-Publish

As nothing that I say can really be taken as fact (unless you perceive it that way), let me offer my humble yet not humble opinion on the subject.

I am bored.

I have a need for self-assurance.

I like attention and compliments.  

I need to feel important to the world.  

I am scared.  Lonely.  Insecure.  

Now I will not digress into some bullshit about how this stuff doesn’t apply to me, or how I am so confident, or how I love myself the way I am.  

Because that would be a flat-out lie.  

I no longer feel the need to kid myself on this issue.  I am addicted to the life that I have created for myself on the Internet.  It makes me feel liked.  It reassures this side of myself that will always have a sense of self-loathing, only to bring me back to that place where I need to post one more photo to get more likes (but only one more… I promise this time).  I am so fucking bored.  I try to fill my time and energy with useless things.  As much as this consumerist culture will beg to differ, things really do not make any happier.  It is often better to experience than to have.  And to have a lot… that just makes the experience of life exponentially harder.  

Don’t get me wrong, I like things.  Nice, quality things.  But there is a difference between quality and quantity of the things you buy and own.  I can go spend $30 on two bottles of System Jo body shave gel, but it will probably last me a little less than a year and I don’t waste razors because I only need to shave once or twice a week, tops.  That’s an example of quality.  Quantity means spending $100 on new books at Barnes and Noble when you already have a bookshelf at home full of books that you haven’t even bothered to crack except when you were looking at the synopsis.  

I can’t say I’ve been perfect.  I’ve done both of those things.  And I’m totally guilty for being a material hoarder.  But the thing that’s really forced me to see this from a new perspective is the amount of moving I have done in the last 2 years.  

I just moved to Salt Lake from Boise about 4 months ago.  I remember the moving process very clearly, because I ended up selling/giving away about 1/3 of what I owned, if not more.  And I still had so much stuff to take with me.  And now I am in that process again because my apartment is being sold.  Having downsized already has helped, but it’s not enough.  

The excess (and I mean the true excess) must go.  

I’m not going to be an asshole and throw it all away.  There are plenty of people out there who would love the items I own.  It can be so easy to forget that there are others who don’t own anything outside of the clothes on their backs.  And being able to see that and really understand it is a good start towards freeing yourself of the “stuff syndrome.”  

How this relates to social media?  Get rid of the excess.  You don’t need 150 profile pictures, all of them cleavage shots with your lips pouting.  You don’t need 900 friends.  I can’t say I know 900 people, can you say the same?  You don’t need to post your every thought and action for the world to read and supposedly be in awe of your greatness.  Stop telling us the dirty details about your career, your boss, your friends, your family, your significant other, your kids, etc.  PLEASE STOP THE FACEBOOK FIGHTING.  It’s getting real old.  

Most important thing I think about this whole subject?  We often get so concerned with what we have (stuff, friends, social media, the like) that we forget to actually live.  Because those who really are living the dream don’t have the time or the need to broadcast it to the world.  They have what they need and they do what they want.  

That’s what we should all strive for.  



That was me on my 21st birthday.  

That was me on my 21st birthday.  

Come December 17th… My hair will be lookin’ fiiiiiiinnee.  

Come December 17th… My hair will be lookin’ fiiiiiiinnee.  









(Source: ghoulgars)

When even your fat jeans don’t fit… :/

Ok, maybe not that dramatic (I am known to dabble in the theatrical side of life), but seriously.  Why does fast food have to taste so good?  If I had to choose one sin out of the seven deadly that I commit on the daily, it would have to be gluttony (although lust and sloth are a close second).  The fact that I am not 300 lbs. by now is shocking, even to me.  

Good news: My metabolism is still going ok. 

Bad news: I crave chocolate all the time.  And cheeseburgers.  And gyros.  And pasta.  Cheese, alcohol, carbs, melting anything, and did I mention CHOCOLAAAAAATE??  *insert the crazy chocolate fish from the “Chocolate with Nuts” episode of Spongebob*

Back to the point, a gym membership lingers on the horizon, given that I consistently have cash flow.  I am simply dying to hit the weights again.  

This goes into another interesting tangent: weightlifting and women.  I have been into weightlifting for the last 2(ish) years and I can say for a fact: Weightlifting has not made me look like a man.  My ass was perkier, my waist thinner, my boobs lifted, my legs defined, and my shoulders tank-top-worthy.  Not to say that those things do not look good now *inflating ego with hand pump;* it’s that they’ve gone… well… soft.  And me no likey.  

So where does this leave me now?  At home, drinking tea (yay), watching My Week With Marilyn, occasionally reading The Secret Life of Marilyn Monroe by J. Randy Taraborrelli (noticing a theme? lol), frantically filling out random Post-Its, and looking at my kitchen cupboard full of NINE healthy cookbooks.  Why I refuse to cook myself a healthy meal on the reg is beyond me.  

To conclude, my ass has seen better days.  And it will be looking even sexier in T-minus 2 months.  I have new adult things I need to buy, too (not THAT type of adult, you perv), so a sexy bod for new clothes to match will be a must.  Yes, my materialism is showing, but hey I’m American.  

Reason #1 why it’s great to have a Capricorn Moon: impeccable taste and style.  

Until we meet again, the lunar eclipse into Aries will be this Friday.  Prepare for the world to fall into chaos (muahahahaaaa).  

<3 Sara

Is it too late to admit my bohemian disorder is no longer in remission O_O  Gotta love being from the country.  

Is it too late to admit my bohemian disorder is no longer in remission O_O  Gotta love being from the country.  



The truth is… I’m missing something.

What is love?  I mean… really.  What is it?  Is it some fairytale that we’ve been conditioned to believe?  Something easy and always happy?  I’m sure we all would like to think that, put our faith into it, and get our daily dose of it right on our front steps.  

But that isn’t how it works.  As much as I would like to say that my views on love have a sense of eternal hope and joy, I would be lying.  Maybe it’s a cliche thing to say how hard it is.  How much it hurts.  And how much you wish it would all go how you pictured it would.  But you don’t realize how true those words are until you experience them yourself.  

And the question then becomes: what constitutes love?  Can I define it?  Can anyone define it?  My heart maybe knows that, deep down, I have no idea what it is.  Maybe it does know.  

Because I have felt a true caring for a man.  I want him to be absolutely happy in every way.  I want to see him smile and be all that he can be.  I love how generous he is, his creativity, his smile, the way he thinks and dreams, his sense of humor, … just everything about him.  Even the things that make me frustrated, because he wouldn’t be who he is without them.

Is what I’m feeling true, or a projection of my ego upon him?  He seems to believe the latter.  Which makes me wonder if my love is true or an illusion.  Am I just infatuated?  Am I just wanting something out of him instead of feeling that sense of selflessness wash over me like cool water on a hot day?  I can’t say that I don’t question myself.  It is entirely possible for me to be delusional and hopelessly obsessed.  

I just wish I knew what to do.  It’s hard to remain friends with someone who will never want you that way, despite all the history.  He is the first man that I have ever loved, and I want him to be the last.  I want us to walk around downtown, talking or not talking (depending on if we’re trying to be young or old).  I want us to hike the trail near his place and hold hands.  Reminisce about the memories from years ago.  I want to scratch his back because he likes it.  I want to sleep on his hardwood floor every night, tossing and turning to find a workable position.

Because I would rather be miserably trying to sleep next to him than comfortably sleeping in my bed without him.  

Is that selfish?  Is that me trying to fill a void in my life with any man’s attention?  I would like to think not.  Because I don’t want anyone otherwise.  I am too busy with my own life to really be with someone in the way that I should.  For him, though, I would make an exception.  

He’s unique and amazing.  Beautiful in every way.  I can be myself with him.  We balance each other out.  

And it pains me to know that he will never see me that way.  Or recognize that what we have will probably never be matched anywhere else.  I know that for a fact.  I may go off, find another man to marry and settle down with, but he will never understand me like this man does.  

Maybe I just tell myself that so I can feel confident and hopeful for something.  I don’t know.  But what I do know boils down to a simple three words: I am heartbroken.  



#shameless #popmusic #lovebeingagirl #itssatirepeople