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

A microphone was all that stood in the way of the best day of my life

If you've known me for more than a couple of minutes, you know that I love U2, and that I have the biggest crush on Bono. I'd do a lot of things to go to their concerts, really don't care how much tickets are worth, and have engaged in a lifelong journey to get all of their CDs. I saw them in their Vertigo tour in 2005, and I am actually driving to Denver in June to see them again in their postponed 360 degrees tour.

So imagine my excitement when I found out an impersonator band of the best band of all times was playing here in Vegas, at Fremont Street, and free!! I logged in to their website, saw a couple of videos, and noticed that Bono's impersonator looked, dressed, and sang a lot like the real thing. So I grabbed the first victim I could, and went to their concert last Thursday night (which was also St. Patrick's day, and so crowded it was difficult to walk). I was right below the stage, singing all the lyrics, screaming and jumping for 2 straight hours.

Again, imagine my deepest satisfaction when "Bono" came down the stage, stood in front of me, and put the microphone between his face and mine, as he was singing...I don't know, I wasn't paying attention to the song, but to his close presence.  He kept flirting with me for the rest of the concert, and I thought I was in heaven.  Even though I had to wake up early the next day, I couldn't sleep, as I had just had the best day of my life, and couldn't scream it out to the world. But at least I'm blogging about it :)

If the real Bono ever reads this, please, honey, make my day, and finish what your impersonator didn't last Thursday.

Au revoir, Canela!

I learned last week that our family dog, Canela, had passed away last month (judging by the speed with which these type of news get to me, you'd think we'd gone back to pre-email days).  Canela was a mix of Dalmatian and callejero (street dog), so she was kinda cute.  Aside from a pet tarantula, Emma, that I had to free into the wild a couple of days after I got her (my family refused to have her in the house, and/or to feed her while I was away in my frequent business trips), I have never had a pet, and neither have my brothers.  My family has never been into house animals.  In fact, Canela was not our pet, she was my grandma's, who lives in an apartment behind my mom's house. 

So Canela would not receive the usual pet treatment with us.  I'm ashamed to admit that we were a little mean to her, but nothing cruel, really (I mean, we're still human).  However, Canela was kept in total isolation from other animal life. And so it was that my brothers and I taught her to smile, in exchange for petting her a bit.  Now, have you ever seen a dog show you his/her teeth? Not exactly an enticing sight, but Canela had been programmed to think that "smiling" was a good thing. So whenever we had visitors, they would completely freak out by the statement that she wouldn't bite.

I even have a picture of her "smiling".  I'll look it up and post it.  I'll miss that freak dog.

Post-it, or, how obsessed do you think I am?

Sometime in the middle of my Institute class this week, someone opened the door, quickly placed a post-it in its corner, and left. Nobody caught a glance of who it was.

Intrigued, I walked to the door, and realized the post-it was from one of my students, who had to leave a couple of minutes before "the incident". Some of my other students curiously asked who it was from, and as I told them, they rapidly insinuated that this guy must like me, leaving notes and all that. They kept bugging me until I turned red (if you know my skin color, you know turning red is not an easy feat), and kept at it for a while.

It all takes me back to middle school. I wouldn't be surprised if next time they saw me, they start chanting Karla and So-and-So sitting on a tree... Seriously? Us LDS YSA need to get on with the program sometimes.