Monthly Archives: January 2014

DO Date a Girl Who Travels

Well said.

the thai chronicles


Recently a blog post went viral, translated into 16 different languages the post was called, Don’t Date a Girl who Travels. Wonderfully written and accurate in the description of an independent woman who can’t be tied down, a woman meant to explore, a woman who should not be held back.

I read this post and smiled, recognizing many of the values identified as ones that I have discovered in my own life of travels. It’s tone empowering, fierce, a life lived unconventionally, a women wisely choosing to follow her own will, not that of someone else’s.

Yet I couldn’t help questioning; Why not chase life right along with her? Why has an article celebrating a passionate woman ended with a proclamation to let her go? Why is confidence and daring curiosity in women so often paired with solitude?

So, here goes my response…

Do date a woman who travels.

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The Dick Pic.

Disclaimer: Do not get too excited, this “Dick Pic” is not what you’re thinking it is. At all. 

Typically, I would describe myself as a rather serious and mature young woman. I am driven, motivated, and hardworking often to excruciating and unnecessary levels. But today, I became a 12 year old boy-that is, maturity wise.

1 hour into my horrendously dull 1 hour 15 minute science class, the professor drew a diagram on the board. Now, this story is slightly lack luster because I was trying so incredibly hard to stifle my laughter that I don’t have the slightest clue what the diagram was meant to represent. Something about DNA/RNA, something boring as fuck.

All I saw was a dick.

While she obliviously continued her lecture, adding what my mind viewed as little ball hairs to her biological depiction, I did everything I could to keep my shit together. I bit my tongue, my cheek, I faked a cough, I looked away. All of said attempts failed tragically. Over the past five or so classes, I’ve bonded with the dude next to me over the exceptionally boring nature of the class lectures and we again bonded over our immature brains that we

  1. could not turn off
  2. could not mask with maturity

“Do you see that?” he whispered. “Um, yeahhh.” I spoke my words to the top of the table without making eye contact. Surely, if I looked at him, I would lose it all together and burst into laughter and hysteria. I only had to attempt to maintain my composure for about 3 minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I could feel the red in my cheeks. Dear God, how old am I?

Unfortunately, I did not get a picture. After the explanation she erased the giant chalk penis and moved on.

Moral of this story:

  • it is ok to occasionally act like a 12 year old boy
  • bonding with your neighbor is always worth it
  • there is value in being able to take sneaky iPhone pictures unnoticed
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What do you want to be?


Ever since we could comprehend this sentence, we have been asked-

What do you want to be when you grow up? 

I think we all can relate to the notion that sometimes, we just feel different from everyone else. I sat “indian style” on the colorful rug in my pre-k class. The humid New Orleans air was thick and salty. I ran my fingers over my skinned knees searching the depths of my young four year old brain with a quickening anxiety. It was almost my turn.

Two kids away a girl who I very fondly disliked was sharing her future life with the class. Her name, ironically enough, was also Sarah (but with the dreaded H).  I can still feel my blood start to boil to this day thinking of Sarah. She was the “perfect” type. Her hair always soft and flowing in light, bouncy curls past her shoulders. Her socks always matching her dress. She drove me nuts, my hair fell in a mess of stringy, chronic knots, every Friday I was allowed to dress myself and boy-it was wild, and I was lucky if my socks fucking matched each other. Sarah was the kid that came out of the womb 40 years old. Wise, kind, and still; all the teachers loved her.

“I would love to grow up and run an orphanage for children who don’t have their own mommies and daddies,”

WTF- I didn’t even know what an orphanage was, let alone did I aspire to do something so noble at the royal age of 4. Finally, it was my turn and the best I came up with was “I want to be my mom!”. 

Most kids go through phases. Fireman, doctor, veterinarian, teacher. Just like fashion trends, new aspirations typically come and go with time. I don’t remember any of my own particular phases… Teacher, ya I did kind of always want to be a teacher. But my mother was a teacher for 25 years, so is that cheating?

Anyways, my point is that this question has literally been asked 1 trillion times and now, as a senior in university the rate of being asked such ass backwards, straight from hell question like this is off the charts. STOP ASKING. I still don’t know, honestly.

Maybe if our society stopped asking WHAT do you want to be and started asking WHO do you want to be, maybe then I’d have a more creative and authentic answer. Who do I want to be?

I want to be free, loved and loving, happy, and whole. I am limitless in what I can be. 


Ice in Hipsterville.

Ok, so in attempt to maintain my anymonity I have created a fictitious city in which I live; Hipsterville. One hint about Hipsterville is that it is a city where there is over 300 days of sunshine a year and the average annual temperature is about 80 degrees F. That is why it is exceedingly odd that there have been TWO ice days in the past week.

It’s 28 degrees F. outside and I have not left my bed. WOOH.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays I have three classes back-to-back. But today, the professors for my first two classes canceled for our safety. In Hipsterville, we cannot drive in the ice/snow/sleet/rain. Myself included. These cancellations give me four hours back to my day and I’m seriously weighing my options for day drinking (I guess technically it would be morning drinking).

The only things saving me from my foolish ideas  are that my bed is warm and the fridge is a good 20 steps away.

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Downward spiral? I think yes.

Yesterday, I got drunk in the library. That, my friends, is a new low.

But really, it was fun. I hung out with my good friend Avery and drank Woodchuck and bitched about life. After two, I took off to the library to ya know, be studious and shit. I took a seat next to Brittany and handed her a Woodchuck, because yes-I had them in my backpack. Brittany and I proceeded to wrap our cans of Woodchuck in paper towel and continued to “study”.

With four Woodchucks pulsing through my bloodstream, I finally gave up, took a walk in the cold to wake up and regrettably drove home. At home, I poured a bubble bath, continued to drink one final Woodchuck and then thought about crying. But that is as far I got, just thinking about it.

Things suck right now. It’s really frustrating that I automatically try to be positive because sometimes I just want to be like YES-THIS FUCKING SUCKS RIGHT NOW. And have that be ok. So in honor of that, here is a list of everything that currently fucking blows.

  1. I did not get into JET
  2. I’m still expected to study for Japanese
  3. Dexter’s birthday is tomorrow and I feel guilty and literally confused about if it’s mean to not say Happy Birthday-WHY?
  4. He cheated so I know its ok to not say happy birthday. Repeat, he cheated.
  5. I have a cold
  6. My colleagues probs don’t like me
  7. My mother’s degenerative disease is worsening and it’s an unspoken rule that no one speaks of it…
  8. So naturally, my mom hasn’t even texted me in like, four days.

Automatic guilty feelings! It feels so wrong to be negative or to admit what’s wrong! 

But ultimately, it’s ok to voice that things are hard. Being positive all the time is exhausting.

And that my friends is why I am currently drinking ANOTHER Woodchuck… ANNNND goodnight!

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Flirting Lesson #1.

We went out tonight and lit the town on fire!

SHOTS! Just kidding, I drove.

But still, me and my hilarious friends Susan, Nadia, Savannah, and Jessica hit up some rando bars in the infamous bar scene that is internationally known here in Hipsterville. I enlisted Savannah, the flirting queen, to teach me a thing or two about how to chat it up with the 20-something aged men.

“What you need to do,” Savannah oozed the details of Flirting Lesson #1 with confidence “is to look up at him and when you start to smile, lick  your lips a little. Supposedly, when you look up at him, it reminds him of the look you give him when you give him head”. Laughter erupted from all of us. “But really though,” Nadia chimed in “I read it in Cosmo”. BAM. Instant credibility! “It is like the bible after all” we all mocked Legally Blonde in unison.

Sarcastically, I looked up at Savannah as she instructed and dramatically licked my lips. “It looks like I’m having a fucking seizure”. More laughter. This was going to be fun.

Here is a play-by-play account of what happened.

Man #1: 

“Hi, I’m Josh,” the ADORABLE cutie introduced himself around my circle of friends, one at a time. He had just come off of the stage after preforming with his small band and I was still swooning over his sexy voice and hipster glasses. Last in the circle, I reached out my hand and  introduced myself.

“Josh,” he said shaking my hand “nice to meet you”. “Hi,” I stuttered. “Hi, I’m Josh”. LAUGHTER exploded all around me. I could feel the red pulsing into my cheeks. WHAT THE FUCK, SARA. I literally have no further commentary on this experience.

Man #2: 

“Excuse me, will you please take a picture of my friends and I?” I cooed at a handsome guy and his friend. Even though I cooed, I cringed internally because of my grammatical error. FRIENDS AND ME DAMN IT! It’s ok, maybe he didn’t notice. After the photo, we chatted the usual small talk. Where are you from? I don’t know, it’s complicated I’ve moved a lot. I just need to come up with a fucking interested lie or something. No one actually gives a shit where anyone is from. It’s just the common opener.

The convo went really well and I was solo-flirting with the dude and his friend like a champ. Look up, lip the lip, bite it a little. YEAH. Even with a bun in my hair, I feel hot.

“What brings you two out tonight?” I asked mysteriously.

“We are on our second date!”


Man #3: 

At the third bar, I made a solo excursion to the bathroom. On my way back I was stopped by a very frat looking man in a plaid button up, khakis, and a black North Face vest. “Hey, hey!” he began. “Don’t I know you?”. “Nope, you definitely don’t,” I spat back, shocked at my own bitchy-ness. Shit, Sara. Be nicer! We chatted the regular small talk. He was a law student at a rich-kid state school a couple hours away here in Hipsterville with his undergrad buddies. After a few minutes I excused myself to rejoin my friends.

“I,” I spoke loudly and proudly “was busy flirting with a man!”.

“Oh ya?” Savannah chimed in. “Did you get his number?” No… “Did you at least get his name?” Crap. NO…

Man #4: 

“Ok, let’s try this again”. Savannah led me up a crowded path to a group of men in suits who apparently had “given me the eye” earlier. A few minutes into this awkward conversation with a gay best-man, father of the groom, and the cute groomsmen I was attempting to flirt, the groomsmen with pulled out his iPhone and began to share pictures of his 8 week old baby.


“So, Sara. You ready to go back and see our friends now?” Savannah outright asked. YUP. And we peaced out.


And that was the fail that was my night! Flirting Lesson #1 wasn’t horrible, but I could use a few more lessons in reading people before I start the actually flirting itself. You know, to avoid the gay men and the dads. #oops.

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You are not the hero in this story.

Dear Dexter,

The reason you were cheating scum doesn’t sound so horrible at first. You just wanted to be there for everyone else, with female genitalia that is. You wanted to help, to listen. You wanted to pull every damsel in distress out of their terrible demise. You tried to save

  • the anorexic
  • the bulimic
  • the grieving
  • the insecure
  • the second best

Even though your “intent” was to save the world, that was merely your MO (which I just googled-it means Mode of Operating FYI). Yes, you sought after those who needed saving, but your true intentions were to be needed; be the hero and knight in shining armor. You didn’t attempt to save these girls for their benefit, you did it for yours.

This is the reason why I view you as a predator. You prey on those who are vulnerable and those who you gauge as “weak”. You saw my weakness when we began our regretful endeavors two years ago. I had just resurfaced from a terribly oppressive and emotionally abusive relationship and boy, did you swoop in and save the day. But soon enough, I healed the wounds inflicted from the boy that hurt me before you. Once I lacked the need to have you as my hero and you became my equal, my partner, you had to take every opportunity to bring me down. You

  • told me about the people who didn’t like me
  • made me question my friends and challenged my morals
  • cursed and shouted, calling me names like slut and whore
  • repeatedly pushed me to seek treatment for disorders I DO NOT have
  • suggested I had MAJOR emotional disorders, you even tried to accredit it by saying your “therapist” said I did. LOL

Confession: I am totally that girl who loves the Pinterest Quotes board. I came across one the other day that is directly applicable to your shitty-ness.



So Dexter dearest, I hope you enjoy living in my shadows. Fuck off now please.


Sara Wildes 

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Wild. Sara Wildes.

28book-articleInlineWild, by Cheryl Stayed is the first book I have read in its entirety for like, a year.

I loved, loved, LOVED this book! It couldn’t have found me at a better time in my life either. Cheryl has lost herself after the death of her mother, her affairs and consequential divorce from her husband, and experimental drug use. She decides to find herself on the Pacific Crest Trail and backpacks 1,100 miles.

‘Cause she’s a bad ass BITCH, BITCH, BITCH. 

In the midst of her divorce, Cheryl has the opportunity to chose her last name. She literally chose the name Strayed as a representation of the trials she recently had endured. She strayed from herself, her family, her husband. She strayed from what she knew and took a wild leap of faith and set out to adventure on a hike from Mexico clear to Canada.

Wild is coming to a big screen near you soon! Reese Witherspoon will play Cheryl. I couldn’t think of a better fit! I cannot wait to laugh my ass off at Cheryl’s crazy mishaps and stories that come out of the trail and I can’t wait to be comforted to know that I am not the only one a “spirit walk”.

Inspired by Cheryl Strayed’s empowerment of choosing her own last name, I created my own penn name, Sara Wildes.

I added an E for emphasis.

Not sucb a random selection, Wildes is actually a family name that I always envied. It encompasses everything I am and everything I want to be. Young. Wild. Free.

So what we get drunkkkk. If you don’t get the reference… get out.

I decided today that if there was a movie that portrayed my life, the celebrity that would play me would be Kate Hudson. She’s fun, sassy, flat chested as shit, and I think she’s really cool. God, if only the Chronicles of the Chronically Confused could be a movie one day. But then again, everyone would freaking know what a mess my life is. HA. As if they already don’t.


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LOLing and Eye Rolling.

Today, a sort-of, super superficial friend informed me of the cray-cray behavior of Dex this past weekend. While I was living the life in Disney World, apparently this kid shows up to this party WASTED. Drove himself there, probably got drunk by himself alone before he went over.

Then in his drunker stupor, he apparently told basically every living soul at the party about his depression and the infamous Sara Smackdown. My story-teller friend looked me dead in the eyes and said “I should really buy you a beer for that.”

“Avery, this shit is spreading like wildfire. I feel like everyone knows,” I texted my go-to-girl in a frenzy. “I don’t know whether to be embarrassed, proud, or worried.”

“Easy answer,” she retorted. “Proud.”

I mean, of everyone I’ve told or of everyone who has heard through other sources, I have gotten exactly zero negative or judgmental responses. For the most part, people are like- BAD ASS, HOLY SHIT THAT’S KIND OF AWESOME etc.

Now, I know Dexter is simply looking for pity and attention. He probably is searching for his next victim. It’s how he got with a lot of the mistresses (to my knowledge). “I’m so torn up over Sara, I need to move on and I’m lucky I have someone like you in my life that shows me how good two people actually can be together,”. Cue make out scene.

I came home today, plopped myself on the couch next to my best friend and roommate of three years, Susan. “Susan, I’m about to give you a big responsibility. If I happen to die between now and graduation, Dexter is NOT allowed to come to funeral and I’m leaving you in charge of that”. “Well in that case,” she snickered in response “I won’t be going to those fitness classes with you because I don’t want to die so that I can fulfill my funeral bouncer duty. Perfect excuse”. Thank God for good friends. So now I’m like… should I just beat Dexter to the punch and out myself as the smack down goddess who punched the shit out of Dexter before Mary, the mother of God at the campus grotto? Or should I just let it come out and wait to be approached… LOL I’ll just keep rolling my eyes at this loser and living my life. LIVING THE DREAM.

Accept not, since I’m home in bed on a “wild” Thursday night with a cold. I’ve got a hot date with Netflix tonight and I’m perfectly ok with that too.

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Don’t let the mind wander.

Currently it is 12:56 AM and I am wide awake, sick to my stomach because I let myself think. I violated commandment number 2: thou shalt not dwell.

How many other girls? How many other lies? How deep does the truth go?

The thoughts rush through my mind like a whirlpool of poisonous liquid that can destroy the very essence of happiness and peace simply on contact. I need to 1) not give a royal fuck and 2) let it all go. But it’s driving me absolutely bat-shit crazy.

Tonight is one of those nights where I’m contemplating letting the air out of the tires of his car just to give him a shitty start to his morning. I’m tempted to text Heather Lynn (name change) and bitch about how she still parties and adores him even though she supported me and listened and agree with me when I discovered he cheated with the original three mistresses. And that was before Dex so cold heartedly threw three more in my face too. Shitty friend move, shitty friend move. Any friend of mine IS NOT a friend of his because they would morally agree with me that he is evil in the flesh.

Sounds extreme, I’m aware. But the levels of lying and the extremity of his actions warrant my feelings and emotions.

Still, the best revenge is being so fucking fabulous no one can take their eyes off of me. 

I’ve won right? Why is it important to me that I win? What is winning, anyway? THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU VIOLATE COMMANDMENT NUMBER 2. You mindfuck yourself and lose a perfectly wonderful night of sleep.

Make it stop, subconscious Sara. Make it stop. Hatred is an emotion that invests so much of your energy and gives you nothing in return. It’s basically like empty calories; a waste.