The attack of the gullible facebookers

"ANOTHER CHANGE IS COMING...On September 30th, 2011 Facebook will start charging you for your account. To avoid this, you MUST get NAKED, stand on your dining room table and do the Macarena, all the while singing ”I Will Survive”. After filming and posting it to your Facebook wall and YouTube, then, and only then, will Mark Zuckerberg come down your chimney to tell you that your account will stay free. Pass it on, it must be true because someone on Facebook posted it."   (All I have to say is 'Amen!')

Case in point:
"FACEBOOK JUST RELEASED THEIR PRICE GRID FOR MEMBERSHIP. $9.99 PER MONTH FOR GOLD MEMBER SERVICES, $6.99 PER MONTH FOR SILVER MEMBER SERVICES, $3.99 PER MONTH FOR BRONZE MEMBER SERVICES, FREE IF YOU COPY AND PASTE THIS MESSAGE BEFORE MIDNIGHT TONIGHT. WHEN YOU SIGN ON TOMORROW MORNING YOU WILL BE PROMPTED FOR PAYMENT INFO...IT IS OFFICIAL IT WAS EVEN ON THE NEWS. FACEBOOK WILL START CHARGING DUE TO THE NEW PROFILE CHANGES. IF YOU COPY THIS ON YOUR WALL YOUR ICON WILL TURN BLUE AND FACEBOOK WILL BE FREE FOR YOU. PLEASE PASS THIS MESSAGE ON IF NOT YOUR ACCOUNT WILL BE DELETED"

I would date you, except for the fact that:

1. You declare your love through Facebook chat. Or send me a text message.

2. You call me and scream "I LOVE YOU!" in my ear, and immediately hang up.

3. You have kids. Worse, when they check their age box, it is scaringly close to mine.

4. Your idea of Church activity is showing up for activities where there is free food.

5. Grammar mistakes exist in your writing in such an amount that I lose count after the first couple of lines. For all that's holy, read a little! 

6. You bit the back of my neck once while walking behind me.

7. You claim to speak a second language, and then leave me a voicemail that I cannot even remotely understand, because it sounds like 5 different languages at the same time. Along the same lines, you should know that Google Translate is not 100% accurate.

8. You wait until I leave town -or the country- to ask me out. How exactly did you think that was going to work out?

9. You tell me I'm too intimidating for you. Well, that's flattering!

10. You want me to pick you up and drop you off on our first date. You live in the slums.

Not a white Latina

People keep telling me I'm the whitest latina they've ever met. While that may be so, it's probably because I don't really fill common stereotypes attributed to latinos. Here's my latest list.

Why I am not the stereotyped latina; or, stop generalizing!

1. First of all, which century do you live in to think that just because I'm from Central America, I live in the jungle? Heck no! I've always been a city girl. There's close to a million people where I lived. I was raised eating at Pizza Hut, Burger King, Wendy's, Taco Bell and all that junk. I ate at Friday's whenever I felt like using my dad's credit card. No, I've never seen a cow up close, and have only seen horses at shows.

2. No, I don't like salsa, merengue, or bachata. Reggaeton makes me want to hurl. I enrolled in a salsa school (not so long ago, I may add) just so I could perform decently at dances. I can still shake my hips, and go through the motions, but no, no latin blood in these dancing veins.

3. No, people, I do not like warm humid weather. It destroys my expensive hairdo, keeps my face in a state of endless exfoliation, and prevents me from daily physical activity, since sweating all day is not my idea of a preferred lifestyle.

4. I do not like spicy food. Even excessive amounts of pepper send me on panicky races for the nearest water dispenser.

5. On that same note, I do not like greasy food. My mom became an extremist vegan when I reached my teens. So we were always eating a lot of vegetables, tofu, soy milk, barely any meat (maybe fish, chicken or lean meat a couple of times a week). She also decided salt was the incarnation of the devil, and totally flavorless meals became a part of my daily diet. So no, I don't know exactly what the typical Honduran eats.

6. Oh yeah, I'm also not a big fan of tortillas. If anything, we would sometimes eat our meals with regular white bread; that is, until Mom decided whole-grain bread was best.

7. I hate novelas. My dad forbade them in the house, labeling them as a stupid waste of time and brainwaves. I totally agree. I loved MTV.

8. Except for my dad, soccer was never a major event in our house. The only way we'd know Honduras was playing was when we heard the neighbors screaming at a missed goal or celebrating a victory. I remember my mom watching the final game of a World Cup once. Actually, the first time I watched a whole soccer game (and even that's debatable, I spent quite some time at the concession stands enjoying the variety of hot dog styles) was in Denver, about 6 years ago. My host thought I'd enjoy a soccer game, little did she know!

I need to get somewhere else right now. There might be a sequel to this post.

Happy? Mother's Day

Being a single LDS woman, I am a little cynical about this "holiday".  I am telling you, even if I was a mom or a grandmom, there are certain traditions that make me almost hate the day.  Let me explain further:
1. Why the flower pins?  Today at Church all the mothers resembled a flower vase, they were wearing at least 3 pins.  One sister offered me one; I kindly refused. She insisted, thinking I felt bad about not being a mother. She doesn't understand, I'm okay not looking like a blossoming tree in the middle of spring.
2. Mothers always say every day is Mother's Day, all the work they have to do, it never ends, it's so hard, blah, blah, blah (again, I'm very cynical about this, I know).  Then why insist on having a day for themselves, then?  Why do all the talks in Church have to revolve around motherhood? Wow, up until now I had not realized I was so bitter about this. Hum, I guess I am (shrugs shoulders and keeps going, that's how little I care).
3. In my personal experience, I wonder why don't we make as big a deal about Father's Day. Fathers are awesome.  I know I got the best dad in the world, and I resent the fact that we don't celebrate them as much.  Is that some sort of sexism?

Wow, this kinda turned into a sort of hate post.  I wonder why I'm so angry these days.  Well, I'm not really angry. These days are actually very exciting.  Forgive me, my avid readers.  I will be a ray of sunshine next week. Word.

Pay up, you little liar!

This is a hate post.  I know, not they best thing to do on Sunday, but I need to get it out of my system.  While on a road trip, this dude confessed that he had no money, and would I pay for him, and he would pay it all back to me next week.  Since he is an active Christian, I trusted him, and covered all his expenses.

I will not go into details, but a month later, he still has not paid me.  He comes up with the most pathetic excuses to explain why he has not paid, or maybe to inspire simpathy.  Sorry, I have none of that for liars.

I guess the story is not that juicy if I do not explain it carefully, but trust me, it has got me all worked up.  Also, thanks to a challenge posted by a friend not to use contractions today, this post has been more difficult to write than usual.

On foreign accents

Friday evening, my best friend and me are having dinner at a Denny's in Kingman, AZ.  As we get up to leave, the American couple sitting in the booth behind us, ask me: "Buenos Aires?" I answered: "No", then pointing to my friend, add: "But she is."  Then, they ask: "Where are you from?" I said: "Honduras".  To which they finish with: "How do you have that South American accent?"

Last Saturday, another friend went with me to a Festival on campus. As we were enjoying an Austrian lunch, a senior couple sits at the other end of the large table to have their own meal.  In the midst of my mixed (Spanish-English) conversation with my friend, I decided to be friendly, and asked the couple what they were eating.  After a while, we know that he is a Vietnam war veteran, and that they enjoy and know a lot about Turkish food.  He then says: "I heard you both speaking Spanish. Where are you from? (Then looking directly at me) Argentina?"  I laughed hard and corrected him, because he is like the 100th person this year to think I have an Argentinian accent.

What can I say? Accents really stick to me, which I guess is good, when trying to learn and speak new languages.  Maybe I should add Argentinian Castilian to my list.

Confessing how geeky I really was/am

When I was a teenager, I was a faithful reader of the Spanish version of Seventeen. It probably cost me half my allowance, but I bought every issue for a few years.  I sent the magazine a brief profile that they featured a few months later in their pen-pal section. And so it was that I got about 50 letters from girls all over the world (even one from an ex-Russian country). Some of those letters were in English and, because I had written in my profile that I collected currency from over the world, I got some weird-looking bills in the mail.  I answered most of those letters, got a few pictures, sent a few myself, and continued writing with a few of those girls for at least a few more months.  Then my laziness got the best of me, and communication drastically ended.  I wish I hadn't; maybe I'd have a friend on the other side of the Berlin wall.

Debunking myths about women

I'm not the observant type. But even I have noticed some untruth in a couple of general conceptions about us ladies.

First of all, women do not take longer than men to get ready.  I have two brothers, and I was always the first out the door on Sundays before Church.  Men are even more obsessed with hair than women are, judging by the amount of product they put on before leaving their house.  I mean, I forget to brush my hair most days, but since my hair always has that despeinada look, most people cannot tell.  How much longer would it take men if they had to wear makeup, wear pantyhose, or had long hair?  Seriously, guys, how long does it take to put on a tie? Or to find the best socks to match those black slacks? Note: the rule does apply to a Friday night out.  It takes us forever to figure out which outfit disguises best our imperfections, and don't get me started on accesories.

Second and last, men love gossip as much as, if not more, than women. I don't mean to sound discriminatory in any way, but Mexican women may be the only ones to who this formula applies. And what is the deal with novelas? Seriously, have you not anything better to do with your time? I mean, read a little something, take a walk around the neighborhood to shed off the fat you just had for dinner.  Sorry this just turned into a hate post, novelas have that effect on me.

Keep posted on a future post about debunking Latin myths :)

Have you ever driven in the rain/snow without windshield wipers?

I have. Crazy weekend in Utah it was.

Today, Sunday, April 10th, I want to elaborate a bit more.  As we were driving to Cedar Hills from SLC on Saturday evening, it started pouring. Suddenly, the left wiper breaks, and we're in the middle of the highway.  We get off, and into Ikea's parking lot (we went inside the store and bought some cholocate, we owed it to the store ;) and found out there was an Auto Zone not far from there, but we had to get on the highway again.  At one point, we stopped at a red light, and my driver friend decided he could wipe the windshield with a tissue while we waited. So he courageously took his left arm out the window, and cleared a whole square inch from the very bottom, which was of course, useless. Still, he felt he had been succesful, until the light turned green again.  Then, a stroke of genius hit me (yeah, those happen to me sometimes), and since the right wiper still worked, I kept giving him directions, until we finally got to the Auto Zone.

Through all of this near-death ordeal, our other friend was sleeping peacefully in the back.

Don't make me eat, please!

I remembered today a story from my childhood.  I didn't like to eat much, so my parents decided I would stay on the table until I had eaten everything on my plate. That resulted in a third of my first childhood years spent in the dining table, while other children played outside.  I even remembered falling asleep on the table several times, as I wasn't allowed to leave it, and being woken up abruptly by one of my parents to force food into my mouth (through my tears, may I add). They apparently thought I had to eat to stay alive. I know, right? Go figure.

As I reflected on that story, I think my parents did a good job, as nowadays you would probably have to beat me to stop me from eating.  As usual, I blame my parents from everything that is wrong with my life :P