Tuesday, March 28, 2017


So I was raped. I haven't posted in a while. I really haven't felt the need to.
   On October 7th, 2016, I was attacked by two men. They got me from behind, I saw nothing but arms, legs and heard some voices. Needless to say, I couldn't give a very good description to police. No one has been arrested. They brutalized me. I was groped, raped and sodomized. DNA evidence was next to nothing. I had some bruises and tearing, but really nothing for anyone to go on. I felt dirty, disgusting and like the whole thing was my fault. I still feel like that. The truth is that it's not my fault. And I did the right thing I reported it. I had the forensic exam, which is pretty horrible in itself. It's really messed with my head, but I'm working on it. If anything like this has happened to you, there are people who will help you. Hell, I will. Find me on Facebook - Sarah Kirby Lopez. Message me. But definitely report it, get checked out. If anyone is hurting you in any way. We're around. We can all get better. I'm OK, and you can be, too. Together, my friend, together.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015


  Life is hard. Marriage is harder. Sometimes you want to throw your hands up in the air and say "Fuck it!".
  However, sometimes you get over that little bitch fit that you threw, you stop, take a few deep breaths, and realize that maybe you're wrong. Or maybe he's wrong, but it doesn't really matter. What really matters is that this is love. Love gets ugly sometimes, we argue, we say things that we don't mean, and sometimes we go to bed angry. That's okay. You'll most likely wake up in the morning, roll over and sigh with contentment. If you're lucky, you'll wake up before he does, and you can watch him while he sleeps. He's so peaceful and cute like that. Maybe you'll snuggle up closer to him, even though the dog is hogging all the blankets and he smells like morning breath. Maybe you'll stroke his face, and feel terrible about the things that you said while you were arguing. Maybe you'll apologize, maybe he will.
The apologies are insignificant, because you've both forgiven each other silently already. Then the alarm goes off. Time to get up and face the day. You're both tired and cranky, maybe you'll argue again, about bills, money, etc. Regardless, you'll kiss each other goodbye before you go out into the world. Maybe you both still have a little resentment against each other.
  Later in the day, one of you will call or text. He'll probably beat you to it, you were really just thinking about doing it. It's just a simple text, to say that he loves you. Maybe he calls you by your nickname, and it makes your heart melt. Now you can't wait to see him at the end of the day.
  You discuss your day over dinner, you figure out the bills, the money, and all of your other life situations. Maybe you have a light hearted bicker over what to watch on TV. Maybe you'll try to get comfortable by draping your body all over him. He'll complain, saying that he can't breathe, then you'll ask him if he  just called you fat. He'll shake his head and tell you that he loves you the way you are. Then you'll laugh at him, because you know he doesn't really think you're fat, you just like to mess with his head.
  Maybe then you'll make plans for the weekend, maybe you'll talk about something important, like who's turn it is to scrub the toilet, or why he has to be so annoying all the time. You get on each others nerves so bad. He drives you crazy, and the feeling is mutual. He accuses you of making him go bald, you tell him that he's the reason that you're going gray.
It's the end of the day. Maybe he falls asleep on the couch, or maybe you both go to bed together. Maybe you get up to a little bit of the nasty no-no, or maybe you just go to sleep with the dog sprawled out between the two of you.
  To some people, this sounds boring. It's really not. It's love and commitment. It's two people accepting each other, with all of their flaws and mistakes. This is just a story about my marriage, not anyone else's. Our marriage, like most marriages, is hard work. It's not a walk in the park. It's a grind, we have to work at it constantly. But we don't mind, because we're soulmates. In our strange, opposites attract kinda way, we're meant to be. I love him, and he loves me. That's the important part. The rest is just part of a story that we'll tell to our kids and grandkids someday.
One final thing, marriage is not for the weak of heart. If you're not sure, if you have some reservations, do everyone a favor and don't do it! This shit isn't for everyone, but it's definitely for me.

Thursday, July 23, 2015

My Sister

Terah, I miss you in a way that no one in their right mind can miss you. People have asked me all my life, "Do you feel
like half of person?"
Well, the truth is... Yes, yes I do.
I feel your presence. Day in and day out. Our birthday is coming up. We'll be thirty four, tomorrow!  I am sticking with twenty nine, if anyone asks.  I'm just a little gray, but I can bleach the absolute crap out of my hair if I feel like it. I'm a hairstylist.
Yeah, we have a brother. Samuel John Kirby. He's 27 now. I used to call him booger butt and punch him while we played Mario Bros. Now he's 6'2 and has what I call death hands. I can't beat up on him anymore. Our sister in law, her name is Kalindi. She is the most amazing mother to our nephew, Benjamin Ira Kirby. He's beautiful, and I wish you here.  This is the part where I start to cry.
I feel you every day.
Love you Terah Ann Kirby,  from your sister, Sarah Rae Kirby Lopez

Monday, May 11, 2015


So, for the second time in six months, I got called a faggot lover. The first guy that did it, said it in person, and I clocked him, right in the mouth. Hey, it was right after a Muay Thai class, I was all amped up. The second guy did it on Facebook. And he's lucky I don't track him down and beat him until he becomes a Sarah lover.
 I hate that word. It's disgusting. It literally makes me sick to my stomach. There's other derogatory terms that bigots use, but I'll save that rant for another post.
 Look, I don't care about how you live, think, feel, or who you love. We are all the same. And we have to learn to get along. It's mandatory.
 I've heard a lot of people saying that being gay is a choice. Are you fucking kidding me? Yeah, I'm sure someone wakes up one day and says "You know, I think I want to be ostracized by friends, family, society and struggle to be accepted in general. Sounds like a plan."
 Uh, no. It doesn't work that way. If you've ever had a feeling deep in your heart that you just had to follow, a deep seated yearning that you just had to go after,then you should understand. Everyone just wants to be themselves. It's easy for me. I'm a straight, white, and almost middle class woman. No one is really discriminating against me. However, if you're gay, bi, transexual, transgendered, or anywhere on that spectrum, the struggle is real.
 They say haters wanna hate, but I'm sick of hate. So the next time you're thinking about using the word faggot, or anything similar, think about this....We all love, hurt, and cry exactly the same. We all want to be happy with someone, and it needs to be the love of our lives, regardless of gender. No one should ever feel ashamed of who they are,  or who they love. Don't like it? Swallow the pill, douchebag.

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Just For You, Ma

Dear Mama,
I post some weird shit on Facebook every year on Mothers Day for you.. This year is a little weirder than most, as you well know.
First off, I love you. More than you know sometimes, and more than I express or convey. I can be a royal bitch, and I know that. I'm sorry. I always thank you for giving birth to me, and putting up with my madness, but this year, I don't want to say thank you for anything. No, this year, I just want to say I'm proud of you. Proud of you for being so damn strong. Proud of you for the life you have lived fearlessly, even when you were scared to death. Proud of you for saying no,  even when I wanted you to say yes,and made you feel terrible when you didn't. Few people have people have ever stood up to me like you. Ma, I'm proud of you for trying to understand me during what is probably the most complicated and perplexing points in my life thus far. Most importantly, I'm proud of you for being a Mom, and a damn good one. Never doubt that, through the good times and the bad. I wish I could be with you this weekend, but I'll see you soon. I love you too much.
Sarah Rae

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Stay Gold

Man, has it really been three years?
I love you, I have since I was thirteen. Listening to Pauls Boutique and License To Ill was probably one of the best things to ever happen to me. Look, my life is a ridiculous mess, but listening to the Beastie Boys is helping me get through it. The day you died, I almost couldn't breathe. I was sitting on a bus, going home to my empty apartment. I was already sad, and then  I found out you were gone. It was like I was in an old folks home and someone stole my oxygen. I thought I would fall apart. I did, I just cried really hard, then I went home and ate ice cream.  I know I don't know you, but damn that shit hurt. You were my John Lennon. Bodhisattva Vow was the business, that was beautiful, kind of like your soul. Very few people on this planet take time out of there lives to do the things that you've done.  Most people will never try to save Tibet with that kind of conviction. Some think that humanitarianism is dead, but I think we both know it's alive and well.
You will always have a place in my heart. And I know I'll see you someday. I'll make you sign an autograph in Heaven. (I'm pushy like that) I said it once, and I'll say it again. Stay gold my friend. See you on the other side. Oh, and to quote you.. There's more sides to me then you'll ever know. Maybe someday we'll sit down, have a cup of tea, and discuss it. I miss you.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

I'm Not Sure (Or Yeah, I'm A Borderline)

I'm not sure if you know me.
I'm not sure that I want you to.
I'm not sure if I know myself, or what I want, or who I'm going to be when I grow up.
I'm not sure that I even AM going to grow up, I might just be a scared little kid trapped in the body of someone who is more than old enough to vote and buy booze, tobacco products, and firearms for the rest of my life.
I'm not sure that I am making the right choices. Am I doing this for me? Or someone else? Is my smile fake and my words as artificial as my hair color? I'm not sure.
I'm not sure if I'm striving for my own happiness, or if I'm just trying to make everyone else content.
 I'm not sure if I should keep taking these pills, or even if they really work. I take them because everyone says I should. They say I need them, that they are the solution to my problems. They say I'll feel better. They say a lot of things.  I'm not sure if they're all true. Medication can't change circumstance.  Of course, I won't stop taking them, because maybe they are right. Like I said, I'm not sure.
Someday, soon enough, it'll be okay. Those are words I hear a lot, but I'm not sure I believe them anymore. I need more tangible proof, something a little more concrete than just an exhalation of breath formed into syllables and sentences.
I'm not sure if I'm asking too much or not enough. I'm not sure if I am walking alone or in the company of others. Or if I should walk at all.
Maybe you're right, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's the other way around. I used to know, or at least I thought I did. Now I'm not sure. It's all so confusing these days. The line between black and white has blurred to gray and I'm just not sure of the answers anymore. I'm scared to be wrong, but even more scared to be right. Because being right comes with a certain responsibility that I'm not sure I can handle at the moment. One thing I am sure of is this... I'm not sure of anything right now. I apologize for the inconvenience and any other negativity caused by this. I spend countless hours thinking and stressing about what my disorder is doing to others. I want to be typical and bland to appease you, not some psyche ward, drama queen nut job that makes you worry and gives you sleepless nights. Please understand, I can't help the way I am. I'm not doing it on purpose, or vying for attention. Believe me, no one wants to live in my overly analytical, anxious, nervous, depressed, sometimes up, sometimes down brain. It's hell. If you are someone who understands and is living this, thank you. If you're not, I'm not sure that you'll be able to quite grasp any of this. But try to open your mind.  Regardless of whether you comprehend or not, enjoy being normal. I'm not sure I will ever get that chance.