#notmypresident

Hey! I’m Sam. I’m twenty nine. I teach yoga. I started a blog some time ago to distract my parents from the fact that I hastily quit my job in fashion, convinced I was the next Carrie Bradshaw, and then neglected it – as I do most things. So here we are. Once an outlet for an angsty brat, this blog was kinda important to me. But alas life moves fast (shout out ferris bueller), and things get lost. Two years after my last post, shit’s fucked up and I wanna talk about it.  To be honest, it depends how many glasses of wine I guzzle (and if I even remember my blogspot password), as to whether or not this is posted… but let’s open a bottle of sauv blanc and find out.

I’ve voted for Hillary Clinton twice. Once in a primary against Barack Obama, and once as President of the United States. Because she is more than qualified. Because she is competent. Because she has experience. Because her husband plays a mean sax. Having proudly cast my vote for Obama twice, I was more than happy to stand with her in this most recent election cycle. Because she is more than qualified. Because she is competent. Because she has experience. Because her husband plays a mean sax (pours second glass).

Living in California, on election night, I felt played. I remember driving home from my last class listening to the radio in disbelief. I taught at 6:30am the next morning, unable to separate my own personal feelings from my job. I couldn’t fathom this reality. And to be honest, I still can’t. In a slew of facebook status's, I’ve voiced my outrage. I’ve asked for understanding. I’ve tried to make jokes. And I was reprimanded by my mother for swearing. So in an attempt to piece my own shit together, here goes.

I have questions. If you voted for Trump, do you have kids? More importantly, do you have a daughter? Is your pussy up for grabs? Is her pussy up for grabs? What will you tell her when you were a part of diminishing her basic human rights? Honestly. I understand money may have been a part of your vote, but what will you say when her rights to her own body are out of her control? What will you say when she asks you why? Why, when you had an opportunity to support her, and her future, you chose to vote with your pocket book instead. Why your wealth was more important than she is. Why she is less than (INSERT ANYTHING ELSE). If you have kids, what kind of planet, kind of environment, are you planning on leaving them? One where climate change was made up by the Chinese? One where WATER is a luxury? One where clean water is a privilege? A country where healthcare isn’t a priority? Where education is a joke? I think that’s what stings most for me, as a daughter of a school teacher. When you support an administration that appoints someone as incompetent as Betsy DeVos, I can’t help but feel insulted. It’s like an abusive relationship. Cut education so no one knows how poorly they’re being treated, or the alternative facts they’re being fed. You take away all of our tools to fight back. So seriously, tell me – a woman with a preexisting condition, who drinks water and went to public school – why you voted as you did, because I need to know.

Did you vote for Trump because of Hillary’s emails? Justifying that is as comparable to switching to Samsung because the iPhone no longer has a headphone jack. THE SAMSUNG LITERALLY EXPLODES but heaven forbid, you buy an attachment for your aux cord. Did you vote for Trump because he promised to “drain the swamp” and you believed him? How’s that working out for you? Or did you vote for Trump because underneath it all, you’re a racist insecure misogynistic bigot with a god complex and no real understanding of politics or the world? (pours third glass).

So congratulations, the asshat you voted for won. Are you happy? Was 1984 a really good year for you? UCLA won the Rose Bowl, and Footloose knocked off Thriller for top album after 37 weeks. Ronald Regan instated the global gag rule, dictating how money should be spent on “family planning.” I wasn’t born yet, but apparently it was rad enough for Trump prioritize it numero uno on his list of executive orders. As were things like travel bans on countries that have shown no threats to security, a refusal of refugees, a complete dismissal of such a basic right as water, and a threat against current trade agreements. But these were all things that you wanted, right?

I won’t stand for this, I won’t. I won’t sit back and watch a president send empty and DANGEROUS threats via twitter, I won’t. I won’t stand for a president who places blame. I won’t stand for a president with zero human decency, who will grab my pussy without even asking. Who will alienate, and divide. Who will take us back in time. WHO WILL COMB OVER HIS HAIR AND SPRAY TAN HIS SKIN LIKE IT’S NO BIG DEAL? No, I’m sorry. I won’t. I can’t.

This man used the election as a pissing contest, and in the process exposed the most disgusting and hateful underbelly of our country. That is what got him elected. And at the end of the day, THAT is what I’m most upset at. That I was so naive to believe we were beyond racism and sexism. We’ve got a long fight to look forward to, and I am SO fired up on Mexican avocados I've onlt begun.

We need to STAND UP for each other. When YOU do better, I do better. There is no scarcity of well being here. Yes, Trump is Our President Elect, but that does not mean we stop fighting. He WILL NOT speak for me. And I will not be silenced.

(pours final glass and clicks publish).

Dear Grandpa

Dear Grandpa,

December 28th came and went and I didn’t even remember. It was a Saturday. I think I worked in the morning. I had just flown back to Los Angeles days before. It’s the 8th and I still haven’t unpacked my suitcase. Last year was different. Last year, we were at Tulocay Cemetery moving your ashes.  My hair was in a fishtail braid. I took a xanax and I cried a lot. Kind of weird to see you reduced to such a small little box. But I guess the important things, the things that make me think of you, like your watch, your glasses, your Brooks Brothers polos, those things are better off with us. My mom wears your watch sometimes. I bet she did on the 28th. Two years ago on the 28th, I was working at Sonoma Wine Garden. I was wearing blue silky sweatpants from Zara. I picked up a Greens 3 from Pressed Juicery on my way. And two years ago on the 28th, you died.

Christmas felt a lot better this year. I think it’ll always be a little odd, but it was ten thousand times better than last year. Last year didn’t feel like Christmas at all. I think everyone was just so sad that you weren’t here. And it’s always easier to be mad, so everyone was mad. That was me the year before too. So mad. Kicking and screaming to see you when no one would let me, not knowing how sick you were. You were so strong at Thanksgiving. Makes me wish I had hugged you a little tighter. But this year was better. This year, we laughed about your chocolate covered cherries. We drank chocolate milk. We missed you. I don’t think that part will ever change.

I’m teaching yoga to little kids now. I bet you’d have rolled your eyes the first time I told you, kind of like when I told you I was destined for rock star greatness and only asked for a drum set on my 17th birthday. But this one seems to be sticking. I bet I could tell you I was joining the circus and you’d buy tickets to opening night. You did get me that drum set, after all. But who’s idea was it to give it me unassembled? That was genius. Days of putting it together left me so frustrated, I think I played it only once. You probably knew that would happen. These kids are pretty frustrating too, but unlike the drums, they have their redeeming qualities. One of them made me a bracelet the other day.

You’re probably thinking only in Los Angeles can I teach yoga to kindergartners as part of their school day, right? But these kids are so cool. We talk about namaste and what it means to them. They say the sweetest things like peace, and love, and best friends forever. I ask them who they could say it to, and often times they tell me they could say it to their dogs, which isn’t entirely off base. Sometimes they say me and I just melt. Yesterday at McKinley Elementary, a little girl asked if she could say it to her grandpa because he had cancer and I cried the whole way home. I think I’m the most surprised that this is what I’ve fallen in to, but it honestly makes me so happy and hopeful. These sweet little yogi babes make me so proud. Hearing them say they’ve been doing yoga since they were five and three quarters melts my heart.

When I tell them to be good bears, I think of you. When the clocks change at daylight savings. And when I hear someone say it’s not the end of the world. When tulips are in season. And whenever I check the mail, I think of you. I think your letters are what I miss the most. So I guess I thought I’d write you one of my own, and I hope it finds you in peace.

              xoxo samantha

#tbt Remember when we went to Bottle Rock?

If you’re virtual friends with me on any number of social media outlets you’re probably well aware and definitely so sick of the fact that I went to Bottle Rock last month. But can we talk about it for a second? I had a really great time. I think everyone did. I actually think it’s kind of hard not to have a great time when you combine great music with great wine and great weather. Seriously, how great was the weather all weekend? And sleeping at your parent’s house? You just can’t beat it. I think it’s really neat that all of this happened in Napa, at a place I last associated with livestock, funnel cake, and underage drinking out of water bottles in line for the zipper. Even on Sunday, when all eighty seven thousand days of Bottle Rock were finally catching up to me, I didn’t want to leave. It’s honestly a little sappy, but I was kind of in awe. So indulge me for a second – or don’t, it’s a free country. But I’m going to talk all about my experience at Bottle Rock, if for no other reason than because I just don’t want to forget it. And my name’s in the headline, so that kinda means I can do whatever I want.

The coolest and smartest thing I’ve ever done has been surrounding myself with people cooler and smarter than I am, and this weekend that couldn’t have been truer. So let’s start on Wednesday, because that’s when my weekend started. My friend Lacey is an in flight team member at Virgin so she threw me on a flight Wednesday morning. There is never a dull moment with me at LAX and this trip was no different. I don’t check bags if I don’t have to, because I usually don’t arrive at the airport with enough time allowing me to do so, but considering my carry on was solely full of footwear, I allotted time to check a suitcase solely full of cut off shorts and crocheted tops. Turns out, I didn’t even need to because my flight was delayed. And delayed. And delayed again. Which was fine because after going through security I really needed a bloody mary. But then it wasn’t delayed? And my name being paged through the Virgin America terminal was what ultimately broke up Daniel and I, my airport bar boyfriend who was traveling to Vegas for business. So I ran to the gate with a bag of Jeffrey Campbell platforms that I never even wore only to sit on the runway for an eternity while Chloe circled at SFO with her jet lagged parents waiting for my arrival. But once I landed and got to Napa, I almost wished I had utilized the delay to sleep, or drink water.

Changing in to a screen T that read home is wherever I’m with you, you know like Edward Sharpe, a black and white banded mini skirt, black hi top chucks and a flannel, we kicked off the festivities tailgating out of an old school Mercedes that doesn’t have seatbelts with a fridge pack of Stella. Because, you gotta look and act the part, you know? I had zero idea of what to expect, considering the last time I was at the fair grounds I was blasting Ashlee Simpson’s Pieces of Me in Lexi’s Jeep in the summer of 2004, but I was excited. Our friend, and driver of said Mercedes, had designed the massive guitar entrance and speaker box sculptures and his excitement only fueled mine. Macklemore was our priority, with a pitstop at the beverage tent with the shortest line, because obviously we were parched. The tent we stopped at was cash only, which left me concerned for the rest of the weekend, but luckily that was a rarity. With a beverage in hand, we enjoyed the show. And it was everything. I expected the set to be short, considering they don’t really have many songs, but I really didn’t expect them to rock so hard. With only one minor altercation, (some fourteen year old girl told me to go eff myself? I told her I surely didn’t need to), I’m going out on a limb and placing it in my top five. Hearing the crowd singing along to Same Love honestly restored my faith in humanity. I get the goosies just thinking about it. It’s so awesome to me that such a mainstream band can make such a statement and have all of their fans singing along. Whether or not they even understand the lyrics is neither her nor their, but cool none the less. We left the festival and grabbed dinner at Morimoto because hellooo it’s day one and we had to take it easy. Bottle Rock is a marathon not a sprint.

Thursday was super interesting and very aggressive. Chloe had scored me a volunteer wristband for Thursday because I had only purchased a three day pass. Her friend’s band was playing Thursday morning on the local stage and had asked her to recruit fans by passing out bracelets. Obviously, she couldn’t do this on her own. Hence, my volunteer wristband. DeLuna was awesome. And we made some pretty cool friends in line because we arrived at 11 and doors didn’t open until noon. The only shitty part about Thursday was that when I got dressed in the morning I was under the understanding that I could leave the festival and come back. So I threw on a black maxi dress, fringed moccasin boots and the same flannel from the night before. When trying to exit – no such luck because the policy had changed seven times since I had first entered. I accepted it and moved on. Nothing some red lipstick can’t fix. And shout out to my mom for bringing me a phone charger and Chloe a pair of socks. It was on Thursday that we were introduced to the Lorenza tent. They poured a delicious rose and had partnered with Free People, where we were DIYing ombre glitter wine glasses like nobody’s business. Obviously after a few glasses, chalking my hair pink sounded like the best idea ever. Accept my hair is completely bleached with peroxide and so the tips are now stained strawberry blonde, but whatever it’s fine.  We frolicked in the grass like gypsies and had the time of our lives. We saw Primus? We saw a lot of friends? I had a balloon tied around my wrist that said hott so that no one could lose me? I wore sunglasses late night? After a tour of downtown Napa, and talking some gals out of eating at Asia Café, we ended up at Dim Sum Charlie’s and my staple flannel still smells like a campfire. But Bottle Rock hadn’t really started yet, so I guess none of this really even counts.

We meant business on Friday. And we dressed for it, let me tell you. Cut off daisy dukes. Fringed boots. Pucci print headband. A tank top with tigers on it?? And pink hair. We parked a car at Eden’s dad’s house and walked to the fairgrounds. Conveniently enough, there was a liquor store on the way, where we purchased Pringles, a tall can, and Pepto Bismol, because, you know, festival food. After dancing in the grass and sufficiently draining Lorenza of rose for the second day in a row, Eden headed to the airport, and Chloe and I headed to The Black Keys to stake out a spot. Blues Traveler, Alabama Shakes, The Shins. The Flaming Lips, WHATEVER. They were great. I’ve seen The Black Keys before, but seriously, unreal. Next Girl is my absolute favorite Black Keys song and for that to be the second song of the set left me on cloud nine the entire time. Friday night brought an interesting dynamic, in that we were herded out of the fair grounds like four H cattle in to the streets until we found ourselves at Fagiani’s with everyone I’ve ever seen in my whole life. Which is always super fun and not crowded at all.

Saturday was maybe one of the top five best days of my whole life. I can’t necessarily name the other four days, but I’d like to reserve them for things like the O-Town concert, my best friend’s wedding, the Spice Girl’s reunion, things of that nature. Our day started a little later. Because of Friday. But after breakfast at Grace’s Table with Whitney and Lucas, two of my dearest friends, and a Minnie Driver sighting, I was back in action. Eden made a pick up from the airport the night before and we were reunited with friends we had made at Easter, which is a long story in itself that I should probably explain, but remember when I said this post was completely self gratuitous? I already know the story, so I’ll digress. Saturday was awesome. Our friends were trying to acclimate themselves to the area, so they picked up a case of every Mexican beer known to mankind and we listened to Lorde on repeat until we ventured to the festival with tiny Pacifico’s in hand. I paired white chucks with hot pick cut offs and a white tank, with a cable knit sweater around my waist because sometimes I like dressing like a dad. The pink shorts really made the pink tips in my hair pop. Kings of Leon was basically my entire reason for purchasing a pass, so I was SO happy all day with anticipation. I’ve kinda tried to see them 92034720 times (the last time my ticket was refunded to me because the lead singer walked off stage after three songs at a concert in Texas only to check himself in to rehab), so Saturday was super important to me. Bad Religion was cool. But only because I was already there, chatting with my cousin, running in to people I hadn’t seen in ages. Jane’s Addiction was kind of bad ass. And Perry offering dating advice, telling the men in the audience how to treat a lady? What a keeper. But then he chugged a bottle of red wine on stage, so maybe no. But can we get back to Kings of Leon? After staking out a spot, we had some time to chill. Chill in a cuddle puddle, taking the most hilarious photos and bartering with each other for sea shells, bobby pins, and peanut m&m’s because that’s what we were using as currency and we’re amused by the dumbest things, until the show started and I seriously lost my mind. I can’t even put it in to words. So I won’t even try. Obvzzz I’ve turned the set list in to a playlist on Spotify and have been listening to it twenty four sevs in an attempt to recreate this indescribable night, but no such luck. Every song was my favorite song. The weather was so great. I couldn’t have asked for anything more. Truly. Saturday night we ventured to Oenotri to hear The Buttercream Gang, then to Downtown Joe’s because you can’t escape that place, and on the late night I found myself back in a booth at Asia Café drinking a Tsing Tao. We called it a night when the fire marshals arrived and my beer was swiped off the table because it was after two.

Super convenient that Mother’s Day was on Sunday because I could kinda kill two birds with one stone while in Napa. A little preoccupied with the events of the weekend, I arrived at home on Sunday morning in the clothes I left in the day before and without even as much as a card for my mom, completely taking me out of the running for favorite daughter ever. Luckily when my mom realized no one had picked up the breakfast she had outsourced to Emmy Lou’s, I was able to jump in and save the day – semi but not entirely redeeming myself from my poor showing prior. Breakfast was delish. My champagne flute was never empty. I was able to spend the morning with just shy of a dozen of my dearest family members and some of the most fantastic mommies on planet earth, imho. After breakfast I changed out of the cutoffs and into a tie-dyed hi-lo dress with slits so high it prompted my mom to double check I was wearing appropriate undergarments, fringed moccasin boots and a turquoise headband. My friends were obviously dressed to the nines as well, as we were all weekend, which prompted a lot of people to give us their opinions on our wardrobes whether we wanted them or not, but even more so on Sunday. Those girls are terrible, said a girl probably wearing a polo tucked in to khaki shorts in the VIP beer line. But whatever, looking the part is like half the battle. And we were at a music festival. I mean, you wouldn’t go to Spain without a pair of Manolo Blahniks. Or to The Hamptons without a Saint James nautical striped pull over. Would you? The bands on Sunday weren’t necessarily my favorites of all time. I love the two GROUPLOVE songs currently on the radio. It’s hard not to like Train. And we finally found the illusive Whole Foods Food Court and sat by a fire pit eating barbequed oysters from Villa Corona with what felt like front row seats for Zac Brown Band playing on a jumbo projection screen. Sunday night brought me back to Fagiani’s, where I met a young, barefoot couple who tried to smoke a joint and then successfully bartered their bar tab down from $40 to $20. I’m not going to say I was envious, or a little intrigued, but maybe something to aspire to?

And just like that, Bottle Rock was over.  A month later and I’m still relishing in one of my favorite weekends to date. My hair is back to it’s normal color. My voice has returned. And I can’t wait to do it all over again next year. So thanks for indulging me, mom. Here are a few photos I might have been too hungover and exhausted to show you while I was home. It's too bad we didn't duck face in any of them. 

Until next year...

Hi there, stranger.

You guys, people are so good. I kinda always knew that, but sometimes I have reasons to doubt, you know? Like the neighbor who continues to report me for locking my bike up in the parking garage, the people who continuously send me facebook game requests, and the woman in line in front of me at Starbucks wearing Luis Vuitton printed jeans. But overall, people are cool.

A couple of weeks ago, I lost my purse at a bar in Venice. Whatever, it’s fine. Shit happens. I carry absolutely zero cash and I doubt my debit card would even support a round of tequila shots for the lucky individual that found it so I wasn’t entirely concerned. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world, except also in my purse were my car keys, all forms of identification, and the most perfect matte shade of oxblood lipstick. Still not entirely the end of the world, except they were my spare set of keys because I already lost the first set at the turtle races. I was carrying my passport because my driver’s license was expired, the replacement was somewhere on the floor of The Hudson, and I hadn’t made it to the DMV since it’s disappearance in October. And there is no way in hell I’m able to justify spending $24 on a Nars Lip Crayon twice. So there I was, without transportation, identification, and with pale lips. Ugh.

It was probably pure denial, but I never cancelled the cards or replaced anything. I guess I figured that once whoever had it realized oxblood is a really hard lip color to pull off they’d return it to me. My name and home address are on my ID and I’m not really that hard to track down.  But after I refreshed my facebook messages 89435679205 times, I started to freak. Then laziness took over and I decided to wait it out and think good thoughts. That’s when my sister sent me a photo on what is now one of the greatest days of my whole life, second to hanging backstage at an O-Town concert in 2001. She sent me a photo of a handwritten note, addressed to me from a man who had found my purse, listed everything inside, and was looking for a local address to return it. Seriously. A guy found it. Wrote a letter to the address on my driver’s license. And wanted to return all of my belongings. I shit my pants.

After contacting this guy, we arranged a time to meet. While nothing could quite compare to giving me my whole life back in the form of a cheap H&M envelope clutch, this guy decided a drink on a Friday night would suffice. While I am now more than ever convinced people are generally pretty cool, I’m also a freak. So naturally I wrote down everything I knew about him in a note entitled In Case I Am Murdered. I assigned friends times to call me to ensure I was still alive. And I only put 30 minutes in my meter for a quick getaway. What? This person knows my home address, for goodness sake! And for all I know he’s a serial killer who stalked me, stole my purse, contacted my family and was setting me up this whole time. I think I watch too many crime shows. But you guys, after meeting this sweet man, who based on his handwritten note is obviously too old to be facebook savvy, I could not have felt more like an asshole for being so paranoid. Seriously. He drank white wine. He read my palm. He thanked me for our paths having crossed. I just can’t even. You’re welcome for being a hot mess, sir. It was my pleasure. Anytime.

Obviously I wanted to tell you all about it. So I thought, Oh heyyy I have a blog where I can post embarrassing things like this to share with the world. I do? Yeah, I guess I do. Man, it really has been that long. But I mean, I talk to my mom nearly every day so she pretty much knows what I’ve been up to. But in the off chance you’re reading this and you’re not my mom (Hey, Grandma!! Can’t wait to see you at Easter.), I’ll fill you in on things as of lately.

For starters, I got an iPhone. And I haven’t even lost it, or broken it, or anything like that. I didn’t do it by choice. My friend Alex told me he wouldn’t hire me until I had a reliable phone, and contrary to popular belief I actually enjoy working. And it kinda panned out for me, this whole having a phone that actually works thing. I styled my first credited, solo shoot with the sexiest Russian actor who doesn’t speak English or know my name but kissed me on the mouth so obviously that means we’re in love and I’m moving to Russia. So what if the movie is in Russian. I’m sure it’ll be available with subtitles. Snoop Dogg has a cameo. I actually worked with him a couple of times. And with these guys for their first single. The song is super catchy. And I assisted on this one. I cruised in boat through the marina, styling a guy in a white Tom Ford tuxedo while he splashed about on a jet ski. Then I dried it with a blow dryer, and put it back on him, which I’m pretty sure is illegal in the wardrobe rule book. You don’t do that to Tom Ford. But he looked great. Like, really great. Then I switched gears and styled some video vixens in “sexy guerrilla warfare” for the Tyga and French Montana song, Thrilla in Manilla, in case you were wondering how versatile I am. I did some work for E! too during award season, typing up what designers the stars were wearing so it could run across the bottom of the screen during the preshow. I guess you could say I like clothes. A lot. But this is Los Angeles, so aside from the entertainment industry, we’re also, like, super trendy and in to fitness. So I got my yoga instructor certification so I can stay current. And once this Lululemon recall is sorted out, I’m sure we’ll be okay. But I’m not going to lie to you, it’s kind of touch and go right now. All work and no play makes Samantha a dull girl, so I did some other stuff too. A couple of my friends got married. And I cried for days at the fact that I’m old and mature enough to have friends who are actually choosing to get married had the privilege of dawning a couple little chiffon numbers and standing up there with them. With the bridal parties came a weekend in Vegas that I probably can’t tell you about, because you know, the rules. A trip to Disneyland. A bridal shower turned roast in Napa. And so much champagne I have a perma-headache. But you guys, don’t worry. I only tripped down the aisle in one of the weddings. So it’s fine. My sister also came down to visit. A couple of times, actually. We went to Jingle Ball and she ran in to people she knew, which made me feel like a super cool big sister. Concerts are fun, so I snuck in to a suite to see the Black Keys. I was legitimately invited to a suite for Muse. And I think I consumed more caffeine than any normal person should, because you know, life. It’s exhausting. But it’s kinda fun too. And it’s nice getting in to a rhythm. So let’s keep this going, yeah? I promise to pick up where I left off so we don't have to do this again. I think we’ve got a pretty good thing going on here.

XO

#obama2012

With everyone and their mom on facebook – no really, my mom is on facebook. And even her mom – it seems like everyone has a soapbox to stand on. Social media is kinda cool that way, especially during a time of crazy important elections. Except when people don’t agree with you. Or they say something you don’t agree with. Then everyone’s all stop filling my news feed with your political opinions blah blah blah and then we’re like I’m right and you’re wrong so shut up. And then everyone’s all, like, angry and stalking people’s pictures isn’t so fun anymore. Because no one wins, really. Except maybe Mark Zuckerberg. That fucker laughs all the way to the bank. Remember when your status had to start with is? And everyone was so mad about it. There were even petitions to remove it and everything. Simpler times back then, my friends. Simpler times.

So rather than stand on my soapbox and tell you what to do, I’m just going to tell you what I’m doing. I’m voting YES on 37 because Dave Mathews told me to and he’s never steered me wrong before. And I’m voting for BARACK OBAMA because I am a decent human being who cares about human rights. It really is as simple as that. Well, maybe not Prop 37 because I think there’s probably a little more to it than the pamphlet I read at Whole Foods would like me to believe. But regarding the presidential election, it is just that simple.

I’m voting for Barack Obama because I’m voting for the candidate who shares my politics and values PEOPLE. I’m voting for the candidate who believes marriage is between any two loving people, regardless of sex. I’m voting for a candidate who trusts me with my own lady parts. I’m voting for a candidate who will allow any brave person who’d like to serve our country do so, regardless of sexual orientation. I’m voting for a candidate who thinks I deserve equal pay for doing the same job as a man. I’m voting for a candidate who believes no one should be denied a basic right like health care. And I’m also voting for a candidate who saved the auto industry, killed Bin Laden blah blah blah whatever. I’m voting for a candidate who cares about people. Sure, these are social issues. But you guys, if we don’t care about each other – we’re screwed.

So I’m voting Obama. I’m voting Obama because I believe he is what our country I needs. And I believe he needs four more years in office. I think it’s absurd to expect him to fix in four years what someone else spent eight years destroying. I also think it’s absurd that in the year 2012 where a candidate stands regarding such platforms as marriage equality and women’s rights can swing a voter one way or another. But that's the way it goes. What I think is most absurd is that there’s a chance someone like Mitt Romney could potentially be the President of the United States, sending our country back decades in time. The thought honestly scares me.

Maybe I’ve lived in Los Angeles too long and Obama’s star studded celebrity following has hypnotized me. Maybe my yoga practice has taken me to higher plane of spirituality. Or maybe the pressed juices I’ve been living off of aren’t providing enough nutrients for my brain to function properly. Or, maybe I just prioritize my politics differently. And I look better in blue.

If we’re still friends, and you’re interested in what I thought about the election four years ago, you can read it below. I think it’s hilarious how apologetic I was. Four years later my beliefs are even more cemented and I’m proud to say I’m not sorry about it at all. I’ve copied and pasted it from the facebook note I wrote after election day - which sounds like a prehistoric medium. But remember, I still use a blackberry. And not using capitalization? How cool and trendy was I?

From my one and only Facebook note, dated November 7, 2008...

jesus loves me this i know, for the bible tells me so

little ones to him belong, they are weak but he is strong. so, i think that song is about all i got out of sunday school. i don't know where other people learned it, but church never taught me to hate or discriminate against people different from me...hmm.



so i've never actually written a note before. i've always thought it was kind of weird. the idea of using facebook a platform for your thoughts strikes me as odd. but this most recent election really has me thinking, and apparently i'm not alone. so now i guess writing a note about all of this makes me kind of unoriginal. but whatever, if everyone's doing it...it must be cool, right?



before you start thinking of your response prior to even reading this, let me stop you. facebook was made for stalking people, not attacking them for their beliefs or debating their politics. i am by no means well versed on the bible, and only slightly better when it comes to politics. at least i can acknowledge it, that is the first step right? however, that has never stopped me from being extremely opinionated. so i'm sorry if i offend you. that is not my intention. take this as merely me thinking out loud...except its on paper. 



i think it's so incredible that the first presidential election i was able to take part in was so historic. the first time a presidential nominee has been a black man, or half black if you're technical. the first time a woman has been on the republican ticket...although she is an entirely different story. if this note thing works out, maybe she'll be my next topic of thought :) with so much on the line this time around, i felt so empowered. and personally, i couldn't have been happier with the outcome. i feel so proud to say that barack obama is our country's president elect. i feel honored to have voted for him. however, i wasn't as happy to hear some of the results later on in the night.



can someone please explain to me why topics like abortion and same-sex marriage are even propositions for the public to vote on? i'm not really down with the idea of people voting on what i can or cannot do with my body and who i can or cannot marry.



i understand prop 4 didn't pass, and i'm so thankful for those results. but what i'm not super stoked about are all the status updates and posts about poor unborn babies. please. i think its really uncalled for. and i think its creepy that some perverted, old, hairy, fat man in nowhereville california has a say on the matter. here's my take. some girls aren't blessed to have a supportive family that would understand and help make such a tough choice. if they aren't able to talk to their parents and get their consent, they'll find other means to abort the child. i mean, marijuana is illegal and people still find ways to smoke that. why would we force young girls to take matters into their own hands? instead, let's provide them a safe environment where their health isn't at risk. and i'm really tired of people thinking pro choice is pro abortion. no one is pro abortion. it's a terrible choice that no one wants to make. pro choice is just that...choice. if you don't agree with abortion, you can choose not to get one. 



prop 8 is a different story. though as a country we have just elected our first black president, i feel like i'm in a time warp. it's 2008. how can separate but equal still be ok? are gays going to have to use separate water fountains too? i just can't understand what the issue is. i'm so tired of people saying that same-sex marriage ruins the sanctity of marriage. divorce ruins the sanctity of marriage. if you don't agree with it, its simple really. don't marry someone of the same sex. i don't see how who other people marry affects anyone other than the couple involved. and i can't understand people who use the bible to justify this saying that god only sees marriage as between a man and a woman. well, according to the bible, god also sees women as inferior to men. we don't stand for that, do we? i don't know how someone can believe in a god that would condemn a person to hell because of their sexual preference. honestly, it disgusts me. the god i believe in is blind to those factors and has an open heart ready to embrace anyone who will let him in. i can't fathom how someone can supposedly live their life for god, while they discriminate against others. it just doesn't seem very godly to me.



wow, who knew i had so much to say? :) again, i'm sorry if i offended you. that was in no way my purpose. and i don't want this to be used as a platform for negativity and debate. this is just facebook, after all. but personally, i feel so fortunate to be involved in this historic election. more so, i feel so lucky to have a loving, open family who will support any decisions i make regarding my body and my partners. i'm so happy to attend a school that registered more voters than any other university, and to live in a community that doesn't stand for hate and discrimination. 



so i'm off to vallejo to marry a girl. they're still performing marriages until the very last vote is counted. who knows, maybe i'll even stop at kaiser on the way and get an abortion or two without telling my parents. 
you know you love me xoxo gossip girl

Blackberry.

This should probably come as no big surprise to a lot of you. But I’m not the biggest fan of technology. Not like I want to go to Burning Man and renounce all of my worldly possessions or anything like that. But like, I went without internet for months because I couldn’t figure out how to recover my password. Or like, I don’t have an iPod because my last iPod decided to delete every single song I’ve ever owned/illegally downloaded since the seventh grade, leaving me with nothing because obviously I never backed them up to my laptop. Or maybe I’m just bitter because I did back them up once, but that laptop was stolen out of my very own car in my very own secured, underground parking structure. Whatever. I’m one of those weird people that buy actual compact discs, reads actual hard copy books, and I prefer a pen and paper to a keyboard any day of the week. Technology and I, we just don’t get along. Case in point: Cell phones.  

While you guys are all so stoked on your new iPhone 5’s, I just received my sixth blackberry in seven months. But no worries, it has MySpace already installed on it so I can stay totally current and up to date with social media. It’s fine. Really, it is. I honestly don’t mind my blackberry. And at one point, my blackberry was super cool and highly respected. I can make spreadsheets, and message people internationally, and play Brick Breaker, and probably do a lot of other really professional and exciting shit too. And don’t forget that the BBM emoji’s were the predecessor to your dumb iPhone emoji’s, so I guess that makes me original or whatever. Try not to be jealous. My blackberry does lots of other neat things too. Like, I had one blackberry that liked to nap. Yeah, nap. Or freeze. But I like nap, because obviously it’s exhausted. So sometimes, it would save all of it’s energy and wait for just the right time to send and receive any messages. It’s like an instant ego boost because I’d receive tons of text messages all at the same time. Those little bells just wouldn’t quit, making me the coolest, most popular girl in school for three seconds every afternoon. I had one blackberry that could read my mind. Sometimes, when it knew I probably didn’t want to talk to someone, it would send them straight to voicemail and never even ring on my end. I wouldn’t even know they called, relinquishing all feelings of guilt for not answering, until I checked my voicemail four months later and learned that somebody needed me to take them to the airport or something else dumb that I probably didn’t care about or want to do anyways. This current blackberry won’t install facebook, or email, or browse the interwebs or send and receive pictures. But it’s cool. I got a cell phone ticket last summer for tweeting and driving, so it’s probably just looking out.

The coolest part about my blackberry  - is that they keep sending them to me. No matter what I do to them, they just keep coming. Seriously. I’ve dropped a blackberry in the ocean, brought it in to a Verizon store, and walked out with a new one. If anyone else is using a prehistoric phone, you know about that stupid white box that turns red revealing water damage? Yeah, well if you leave your phone in the bathroom when you’re showering, steam can do that too, probably. That worked for me, anyways. Maybe they’re aware I’m most likely the last person on the planet using a blackberry so they don’t want to lose my business? But as long as they keep sending them, I’ll keep using them. Unless of course, someone would like to buy an iPhone for me. And subsequently another one in a few months after I destroy the first one. And probably a few more after that too. Maybe I play too rough? Okay, thanks. Love you, mean it. 

XXX Summer Olympics

I just love the Olympics. Nothing like a little friendly competition amongst nations to bring peace to the world and make me sit on my ass for hours on end watching television, right? Totally. I seriously can’t help it. I don’t even know why I’m so invested. You’d think I was an athlete or something. I’m such a complete freak, I even downloaded an app so I could watch Michael Phelps and Ryan Lochte compete in the 200 IM live, as opposed to later in prime time coverage, hours after the race had actually occurred. I don’t know whether I should feel proud and patriotic or obsessed and embarrassed. I’m going with the first one.

Okay, so I guess this is where I have a confession. Yeah sure, I love the Olympics. I’ve had a girl crush on Dominique Moceano and The Magnificent 7 since the third grade. And we all cried when Michelle Kwon was denied the gold in her last Olympic games. But if I’m being completely honest, I just really love swimming. I don’t even know why. I barely doggie paddle. I don’t even get my hair wet at pool parties. Okay, mayyybe I know why. Maybe it has to do with my fish of a boyfriend, Michael Phelps. I said it. Boyfriend. We had a moment back in 2005, so yeah, I’d say things are getting pretty serious. Fresh off his Olympic success in Athens, Michael Phelps and a couple of other swimmers who’s names I can’t remember toured around America visiting swim clubs and inspiring the future generation of swimming super stars. Obviously, I needed to be there? I can’t even write this without LOLing at the sheer hilarity of the situation. Playing hooky from school, my mom, a friend, and I camped out in lawn chairs in the freezing cold at the crack of dawn, 100 miles from home, waiting for a prime spot around the pool to see the guys swim a couple of laps and a chance to schmooze our way in to the meet and greet. Successful on both accounts. The things I do for love, I swear. They swam, we cheered. Some old pedophile mom asked how they felt about older women. They blushed. I asked how they felt about younger women and they blushed more. Then we fell in love. And then he became the greatest, most decorated, sexiest Olympian in history. And I couldn’t be prouder. So you could imagine how I upset I was the past week when everyone was bagging on him. Saying he wasn’t as prepared as he should be, wasn’t as fast as he used to be. Ryan Lochte this, and Ryan Lochte that and blah blah blah. I don’t know if you guys realize, but Michael Phelps could not give less fcks. I mean, did you see his mugshot official athlete badge photo? He said he “just woke up from a nap.” Sure. He’s retiring. And he’s retiring as like the greatest Olympian. Probably forever and always. Now, even if he really doesn’t want to retire, like say he has a change of heart or something, he has to. Everyone has made such a stink about this really not being the end and whatever. And he’s so adamant about it, he can never go back. He probably can’t even swim at pool parties. Poor guy. I feel so bad for him. And his estimated 45 million dollar net worth. And his real life model girlfriend.

So with my boyfriend leaving the sport for good, I guess we’re all stoked on Ryan Lochte now? Who in my humble opinion had a poor showing at these Olympic games. I really don’t know why we’re all so excited about him all of the sudden. Are we forgetting that he’s been around the whole time? I guess it just goes to show you that a new hair cut and a douchebag personality really make all the difference, and can basically get you anywhere in life. You guys, he wears American flag, jewel encrusted grills. And not even in a joking way. He’s serious. His own mom even thinks he’s a douche. She told the Today Show that her precious son is only interested in one night stands because he doesn’t have time for real relationships. I don’t know whether to purchase a ticket to London immediately, or throw up in my mouth. Confession – it’s probably the first one, but I’d never admit that out of embarrassment and respect to my mom and the entire female population. Our boy Ryan even told ESPN that he was looking forward to these games more so than the last because in Beijing, he had a girlfriend. Seriously? I can’t even. Side note – the Olympic Village is stocked with 100,000 condoms. I mean this is the XXX Summer Olympic Games…

It really is incredible what a few years and a hair cut can do. 

(Left, Right). 

So if Ryan Lochte is the future of swimming, I think we’re in trouble. My thoughts? Two words. Nathan Adrian.

So with the games coming to a close, I'm hitting the gym to perfect my ribbon dance. Rhythmic Gymnastics, Rio 2016. You guys, this is happening. 

Three.

Remember that one time when I had a blog? Yeah, me either. But the other day my mom asked me about it and I felt a panic, like I had left my baby in the backseat of the car rushing in to yoga or something. My poor, forgotten blog. Clearly I don’t have children. How about like finding a favorite pair of jeans. Like the jeans you wear everyday of your life. Until maybe one day you decide to wear shorts or a dress or whatever. And then your poor jeans are out of sight out of mind, at the very bottom of the massive pile of everything else you tried on before you left the house. Maybe they’re lost until who knows how long it takes you do laundry and you find them again. But once you do, you put them on, and all is right with the world. Yeah, it feels a lot like that. This blog is a lot like my favorite jeans. Now that I’ve most likely offended all parents of the world, and definitely compared this blog to an old pair of jeans– what I’m trying to say is, I miss you. And it’s nice to be back.

You guys. The other day, I celebrated my third anniversary of moving to Los Angeles. July thirteenth, to be exact. Which happened to fall on a Friday. Even better. Fitting that Friday the Thirteenth would mark three years of my living in Los Angeles. Black cats and superstition aside, I can easily say that the last three years have been some of the best ever. Three whole years. I graduated college on June thirteenth and moved down here exactly one month later. I’ve wanted to live in Los Angeles my whole life. To be honest, when I thought about my future, I kinda thought I’d have a star on the Walk of Fame by now. You see, when I was younger, I was destined for stardom. Like, you guys, I’d have my mom put my hair in sponge curls and I’d pretend I was starring as Little Orphan Annie and perform You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile in my hallway. When I was eight, I made my uncle take headshots for me. For reals. I put on a blue sleeveless polo, to make my eyes pop obviously. Tied my hair in pigtails, to look all American duh. And climbed a tree, because that’s what kids do, right. So I listed my interests – gymnastics, the Backstreet Boys, whatever – compiled my model card and had my mom send it out to a bazillion casting agencies in Los Angeles in hopes of being discovered. Much to my surprise, no one got back to me. A lot of little girls submitted their photos this summer, Samantha. Just be patient, they’ll get back to you, my mom said. Yeah, right. When I was twelve, I chopped off all of my hair to play Christopher Robin in the Napa Valley College’s critically acclaimed performance of Adventures of Winnie the Pooh. Talk about dedication to your craft. I even visited elementary schools and signed autographs. As if I needed a bigger ego. For Halloween when I was thirteen, I dressed up as my idol Marilyn Monroe. Obviously I wasn’t really aware of her biography or how it ended. But any excuse to convince my mom I needed to bleach my hair orange blonde, I took advantage of. 

So flash forward a decade or so, and here I am. And I can honestly say that while I’m not doing exactly what I thought I’d be doing down here, I couldn’t really imagine doing anything else. So while you’re probably vomiting over how cheesy that was, I’m gunna go be super Los Angeles and hike Runyon Canyon, or hang with underage Disney Chanel stars at some new club, or I don’t know, drink a mocha iced blended at the Coffee Bean on Santa Monica Blvd. But don’t worry. While my mom is searcing through boxes of old photos for my homemade model casting card, I’ll leave you with this… and I had braces to boot. Sometimes, I can’t even. 

Mid Twenties.

This is me. I think I'm eight? Have you ever seen a happier birthday girl? Or what appears to be an American themed birthday party, for that matter? Well I'll have you know that the theme of this party was The Olympic Games, and the best part about it is that this was in fact my little sister's birthday party. Yes, those are candles in my cupcake. And yes, I was that obnoxious of an older sister growing up. 

This time last year, my roommate was picking me up from LAX. Fresh from a pool party - still in a swimsuit and cut off shorts, with tangled hair and sunglasses on my head - my maid of honor Jaclyn and I had just flown back from Las Vegas. Because that’s what you do when you turn twentyfour. You have a bachelorette party in vegas. Things like that are okay in your early twenties. But you guys, an entire year has passed since that day and in a few short hours I will be turning twentyfive. A quarter of a century. No longer in my early twenties, twentyfive is straight mid twenties. Like no joke. After tomorrow, I will be closer to thirty than I am to twenty and that makes me want to cry. And then apply a wrinkle serum around my eyes to prevent crows feet and talk about the importance of sunscreen and how much cheaper gas prices were back in my day and I DON’T KNOW ISNT THAT WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DO WHEN YOU’RE OLD OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT? I’m sorry. This is all very new to me, this whole mid twenties thing. And if you couldn’t tell, I’m kind of freaking out about it. I experience a twinge of this every year and usually it’s remedied by a fabulous celebration and a killer pair of shoes. But I don’t know about this one, you guys. Twentyfive has a certain sting to it.

It’s not like I’m upset about growing older. I’m thrilled about growing older.  Being old is cool. You can do whatever you want when you’re old. You could eat Oreo’s and chocolate milk for breakfast if you wanted to. Because you’re old and you can make your own decisions and all that stuff. But you guys, that’s the problem. I ate Oreo’s and chocolate milk for breakfast. And I just don’t know if that kind of behavior flies when you’re in your mid twenties. Early twenties, sure. But mid twenties, not so much. I think that’s what freaks me about this birthday so much – not necessarily the age, but what goes with it. Growing up, this age felt ancient. But also growing up, I told my mom I wanted to work at Victoria’s Secret so I could wear a black pantsuit everyday, (because obviously that is only profession that wears such attire?) so maybe my opinions as a child should be null. You guys, people are married at this age. People have babies at this age, on purpose. And that is crazy to me. So I think I’m going to start with a wrinkle serum. That seems more my speed. And it doesn't cry or require me to change a diaper. And besides, what says welcome to your mid twenties more than an anti aging skin care regimen? Nothing. Nothing is more welcoming than an anti aging skin care regimen.

Book Club: Hunger Games

Okay, so I’m jumping on the trendy bandwagon. This should come as no surprise as most of my life is spent riding the trendy bandwagon, so I have a question to ask you - are you Team Peeta? Or Team Gale? This is serious. You guys. Hunger Games has completely taken over my life and there is nothing I can do about it. And I don’t think I even would do anything if I could.  It’s that bad. Obviously I had been ignoring others’ suggestions to read the series for quite some time, opting instead for such classics as Skinny Bitch and the spring issues of InStyle and Vanity Fair. But the second I heard the trilogy was hitting theatres, you can guarantee a copy was in my hands faster than you can say OMFG LIAM HEMSWORTH.

If you haven’t read the book or seen the movie, please reevaluate your life choices and our friendship in particular read no further, as I would hate to ruin any surprises. But seriously, why haven’t you read it? Lenny Kravitz is in it. He even read it and, correct me if I’m wrong, he doesn’t seem like the reading type. For those of you who have, holy cow is it incredible or what? What district are you in? This is of course assuming you’ve visited the official Panem website and identified yourself. Which is super nerdy and I’m not saying I have or anything like that. But if I did, I’d be a Trawler from District 4 and I may or may not receive personal emails from President Snow. Just saying.

My sister says I have a problem. All because I compare my dire need for an iced coffee to the severe dehydration experienced in the games. And I liken momentary hearing loss to my ear drums being blown out by land mines. And obviously the side braid is now referred to as the Katniss. And I now measure love by whether or not I would volunteer myself as tribute. And for my sister, my little Primrose, the answer is of course a resounding YES. I don’t see anything wrong with this. It’s not like I’m obsessing over glittery skinned vampires or whatever. But seriously you guys. Team Peeta or Team Gale? Just when I think my heart belongs to the strong and silent Gale, Peeta will do or say something so romantic my heart melts. Then I’ll be reminded of Liam Hemsworth and I’m back at square one. And then reality will set in as I realize these are fictional characters we’re talking about here and question whether or not my sister was on to something. In related news, I was up until 4:30 reading Catching Fire, the second installment in the trilogy and I may be delirious from lack of sleep.  The odds are definitely not in my favor today. 

If I did visit the official website, and if I was an official citizen of Panem, this would be my identification pass. Key word is if. 

Baking Powder

You know those people who can just whip up things in the kitchen? Like, oh I have x, y and z so I’ll just pull together this incredibly delicious gourmet meal in matter of seconds. Yeah, I hate those people. Okay, hate may be a strong word. Envious of may be a better option. I’ve never been the best at navigating the treacherous roads of the kitchen. But what I lack in skill and ability, I more than make up for in appetite and enthusiasm.

When I moved in to my own charming place in Los Angeles, the kitchen proved to be one of the hardest obstacles. I mean, I had nothing. Have you ever tried to stock a kitchen from nothing? It’s harder than you may think. Once I had all of the appropriate utensils, I decided to start cooking and opted for a buy as you go philosophy. The very first thing I made were cookies. Obviously. So I guess that means I decided to start baking and not cooking? Tomato/Tomato. I googled “Healthy Cookies” (I know, who was I kidding?) and came across these essentially healthy chocolate chip cookies. They are butter-less, flour-less, egg-less, and sugar-less that call for what I like to refer to as a banana batter. And that sounded super delicious to me? So I skimmed the directions and headed to the store with a list. You guys, you absolutely c a n n o t skim when it comes to baking and allow me to tell you why. Did you know that baking soda and baking powder are not the same thing? Yeah, they’re not at all. The recipe called for powder, but while cruising the baking aisle I saw soda and thought Tomato/Tomato. No. It’s like tomato and whatever is so completely and utterly not tomato it’s not even funny. But of course I didn’t realize that until the first batch came out of the oven. Eating one tasted like swallowing a salt lick. And it wasn’t until I was so discouraged I called my mom and gave her the play by play, that I realized my mistake. But since I have realized the error of my ways and made the easy switch, these little nuggets have easily become one of my favorite treats. The oats give them texture, the coconut makes them sweet, and the banana keeps them tender. Use gluten free oats if you’re trendy, or have an allergy to gluten. And carob chips instead of chocolate if you’re vegan. And you guys, you don’t even have to feel guilty. In fact, they’re kind of good for you. So have at it. Just remember to use baking powder. Ugh, such a rookie mistake. 

Nikki's Healthy Cookie Recipe

recipe and image via 101 Cookbooks

You can use unsweetened carob, or grain sweetened chocolate chips. You can make your own almond meal by pulsing almonds in a food processor until it is the texture of sand - don't go too far or you'll end up with almond butter. Or you can buy it from Trader Joe's, as I obviously did. And lastly, be sure to warm the coconut oil a bit - enough that it is no longer solid, which makes it easier to incorporate into the bananas. If you have gluten allergies, seek out GF oats.

Ingredients

3 large, ripe bananas, well mashed (about 1 1/2 cups)

1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup coconut oil, barely warm - so it isn't solid (or alternately, olive oil)


2 cups rolled oats
2/3 cup almond meal
1/3 cup coconut, finely shredded & unsweetened

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon


1/2 teaspoon fine grain sea salt
1 teaspoon baking powder


6 - 7 ounces chocolate chips or dark chocolate bar chopped

Directions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees, racks in the top third.

In a large bowl combine the bananas, vanilla extract, and coconut oil. Set aside. In another bowl whisk together the oats, almond meal, shredded coconut, cinnamon, salt, and baking powder. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and stir until combined. Fold in the chocolate chunks/chips.The dough is a bit looser than a standard cookie dough, don't worry about it. Drop dollops of the dough, each about 2 teaspoons in size, an inch apart, onto a parchment (or Silpat) lined baking sheet. Bake for 12 - 14 minutes. I baked these as long as possible without burning the bottoms and they were perfect - just shy of 15 minutes seems to be about right in my oven.

Makes about 3 dozen bite-sized cookies.