I am Blogging.

Take notice.

OH HELLO THERE.

So I was doing this thing where I waited until I got my mission call before moving forward with my life in any way.  Because the thing came not one, but two whole weeks (14 days!) later than I expected it to.  So, when you are expecting life-altering news that will change the direction of your life and you wait an extra 2 weeks longer than you think it, will, you start waxing weird.  What is this thing called life?  How do people fill their time?  What things should I be doing right now?

The point is, Bahia Blanca, Argentina.

Doesn't just reading that make you want to smile and be me and go serve people for 18 months in Argentina?  Seriously, if I could've picked where I went, this would have been close.  (That sentence didn't end quite like you expected it to, did it?)


The other day Luc said to me, "Gigi, you are so weird.  Like, you're never normal."  I have told this story to various people in my life to see if their opinion would vary from Luc's.  It hasn't happened yet.

I bring this up because little Lucas and I had a bonding experience a couple weeks ago.  We drove to Utah to go see Adri and Marcus (who is a college boy now!) and we just had sibling bonding moments left and right.  Well, kind of. I mean, we did drive up together, and help Adri move, and go through a scary haunted circus thing, and see Grouplove in concert, and eat a billion pizza, and jump on a trampoline, and then on the way home we hit traffic.

And we got stuck next to bees.  Like a truck full of hives with nets around it all and bees.

We were just trying to pass through Arizona.  In one-billion-degree weather.  In my un-airconditioned car.  So we had the windows down and sooner or later ... you guessed it, A BEE FLEW IN MY CAR.  And landed on my leg.  And slowly walked down.  And I was screaming.  And laughing.  And freaking out.  And I told Luc not to hit it because I didn't want to make it mad.  So I just giggle-screamed as it crawled down my leg and slowly made it's way to the bottom of my foot and then it flew off and I had no clue where it was but THERE WAS A BEE IN MY CAR.

Eventually it flew out and all was right in the world.  Except that we were now driving in a billion degree weather with the windows rolled up.  We eventually inched past the semi full of bees and Luc even got out and jogged for a while.  He was keeping up with me pretty well.  And what's better than a picture of your brother jogging on the freeway?

Not much, that's what.

Adventures in Chavez

Sometimes when I actually work at home instead of going to school to do work, I get really weird about the fact that I haven't left my house all day.  I would do really bad in solitary confinement.  However, I think Adri would do worse.  Just sayin'.

(Also, but not really related, this is a hashtag free zone.  Because there are fewer and fewer of those left on the internets.)

OK, but anyways.  I was feeling extra adventurous because I have done so very little exciting things this week.  And I went to Chavez.  AKA the Mexican grocery store that you have to drive pretty much extra far to get to, but that is probably a good thing because they have a PANADERIA SECTION.

I grew up on pan dulce.  Pan dulce is like my dad playing basketball with a bunch of his friends on Saturday mornings in the gym of our church and then on the way home there is what seems like an endless supply of fresh, warm, sweet pan dulce.  They had pan shaped like pigs and the pumpkin-filled empanadas that I never see anywhere and the classic kind.

FOR THOSE OF YOU NOT IN THE KNOW: Pan Dulce is literally spanish for sweet bread.  So a panaderia is like a Mexican bakery.

I bought two for myself (my roommate is gluten-free, possibly for the rest of her life, so I couldn't buy a lot because I would eat literally all of them.), but I quickly gobbled the first one up, and only before eating the second one did I think I should take a picture.  It is natural to want to document everything ever, right?  Especially food?

Oh, it reminds you of a turtle?  That's alright, it reminds almost everyone of a turtle.  

That was my breakfast yesterday morning. Better than wheaties, that's for sure.  The real point of this story was to say I bought 60 eggs.  No, that wasn't it!  That was just something that happened that I just told you about for no reason.  (I will be that lady who buys in bulk, probably forever.)

THE REAL point of this story is that all of the people spoke to me in Spanish!  Like I was one of them.  I mean, I halfway am, but all my life I was told that I look white.  And now I am refusing to believe them!  It was like, "Are you finding everything alright?" EXCEPT IN SPANISH.  (sidenote: I get asked this question 9/10 times that I go to the grocery store because I stand staring at everything I buy for like ten seconds before I put it in my basket like I am trying to see into its soul.  I mean, you should really try to get to know they things that you eat, no?) And then when I checked out, the guy was like "hola" and from there the whole conversation was in Spanish and I just about died from Mexican-ness.

Oh, what has my life come to?

Loosely Related

Surprise! I am blogging!

Today I took the bus home from school where I had been working/spending time outside of my house.  (Working from home starts to feel awfully prison-like when you have no car, but then I think any summer job starts to feel awfully prison-like).  Everyone on the bus got off at my stop, which always leaves me wondering about what a driver does with an empty bus.  I suppose the answer is that he keeps driving his normal route in his normal way, but I like to pretend that he dances across the bus and invites his friends to have a tea party with him on the bus or something to just completely abuse the bus driver authority.

A little woman who got off the bus with me was met by her husband waiting at the bus stop to walk home with her.  There was just something about it.  He was wearing socks with sandals and he took her backpack off her back and wore it for her.  And they met each other with huge smiles.

In other news, I had a dream last night that I was on some sort of reality show that took place at a camp where there were an equal number of boys and girls.  And every week one of the girls murdered one of the guys and whichever girl everyone thought did it had to go home.  We had this challenge where the girls had to kiss one of the guys, and this girl murdered the guy I kissed and I was really upset because I thought I was going to be sent home since he was the guy that I kissed.

Lastly, there are a lot of girls from my high school choir who are either recently married (including my beautiful best friend) or they are engaged.  It's like they put something in the water because the choir was small (about 26ish people half of which being girls) and 4-5 of the girls are married/engaged.

and those are my thoughts about love.

Picture:

FINGA NAYYALS

For a class I took, we watched a lot of movies.  Specifically Urban films, which I suppose is a film that takes place in a city.  We were supposed to be analyzing the music (it was through the music department) and one of these movies was Spike Lee's "Do the Right Thing."  (I will eventually get to the point, bear (bare?) with me).

There's this scene, where Spike Lee is stopping from his pizza delivery job to get some lovin from his Puerto Rican girlfriend and it's blazing blazing hot outside and he takes a piece of ice and rubs it on her neck and says, "Thank God for the neck" and then takes the cube to her lips and is like "Thank God for lips" and wipes it on her thigh and says "Thank God for thighs" and then takes it to her kneecap and I started busting up laughing because among all the sexy body parts Spike Lee chose to bring up the kneecap??!!  And my class got to hear me laugh at something that's not supposed to be funny for about the billionth time.  But of course after that he thanked God for more private body parts (only one movie in the whole class had breasts in it, and I chose to bring it up on my blog), and my inappropriate laughter turned into awkward/nervous laughter because that is how I handle seeing other people's naked bodies and also I have the maturity of a 12 year old when it comes to those sorts of things.

The point of all of this is: Thank God for fingernails.  (Aren't you so glad I took forever to explain the context on that one?)

I spent an inordinately long time painting my fingernails last night.  And I'm not even done.  I would give you a tutorial, but I think you might just get the point if I say wait until the last coat is reaaaaaaalllly dry and use scotch tape and remove it immediately after you paint it.

I messed up about one thousand times, but it's really cool and architectural looking now that it's ish done.

And now, when I go to any of the three meetings I have tomorrow, my respective supervisors will not be wondering why I don't know enough about income tax in California, or why this excel graph looks exactly like the last one, because they will know that it is because I spent literally hours trying to get my fingernails to be "really cool and architectural looking" because working from home is apparently a terrible idea for me.

Which is to say, the work gets done, but only in between coats of fingernail polish.

Talk About This and That

We're not going to talk about the fact that my car died again on my drive back to Stanford.  And how Lolita might be dead forever.

We are going to talk about how the tow truck man was talking to another tow truck man, but then reprimanded him for using foul language because there was a lady in the car, and how he opened the door for me.  Gentleman do exist, they are just older than my father.

We're not going to talk about how much money I spent to get a plane ticket back to San Jose or about how I sat down on the plane and just cried.  Just cried and cried and cried and avoided eye contact with anyone and everyone.  Or about how I'm a dummy and booked the shuttle for the next day.

We are going to talk about the fact that a homeless man gave me his bus pass for less than the price of a ticket and then told me all about his deceased wife.  And then we'll discuss how the bus driver and I got to be really good friends on account of the fact that I had been on his bus for about an hour by the time I got off.  And we are going to talk about how good it felt to come home and shower and eat cereal and just lay in my bed until I fell asleep, feeling for the first time in this entire day that I was where I was supposed to be.

And then, I'll tell you that that was a day of sadness and today is a day of happiness, and that there are always a billion things good in my life.  Like the fact that even though my car blew up, I made it safely to the side of the road.  And that I was only an hour from home and my hero-dad raced over to save me.  And that smart phones make it so that when you book a shuttle for the wrong day, you can figure out how to cheaply get back home in approximately one minute - perfect timing for catching the bus you need.  This summer is going to be good, my friends.

If nothing else ever, this summer is going to be good.

How Embarrassing

Anecdote time, y'all!

One Saturday night, I went to the grocery store and I ran into no less than 7 people from church that I know, who all know each other, all at the same time.  At the time I had only feminine care products in my basket.  I was not embarrassed.

One Saturday night, driving home from the grocery store, there were some road flares and a cop in the middle of the street and I stopped because everyone in front of me was doing it.  When I got there, the police-man was cayuute.  I mean he was probably a 7/8 out of uniform, but in uniform he was a 9.  And when he waived me forward, I stalled my car hard, and it was totally because he had distracted me with his polices charm.  I started my car again and looked at him to realize that he was sort of half-laughing at me and I just about died.

I do not not not get embarrassed easily.  I do stupid/awkward things all the time.  It is just part of my personality.  Which is why this moment sticks out in my head.  I feel like I was the pinnacle of a young girl getting flustered over a pretty face and the cliche of it all just made me want to bury myself.

But, as embarrassed as I was, I am over it now.  I have learned that most embarrassing moments are moments that other people think are funny for about two minutes, and then promptly forget.

$50 on 5

Oh, I owe you a few stories, and maybe an explanation.  There are just so many emotions that this cold heart of mine does not want to relive.

I keep going home.  In the seven weeks that have occurred in this quarter, I have gone home twice.  That's a total of 24 hours of driving.  Just me behind the wheel, driving driving driving.  Which is probably why I haven't been doing anything as often as I'd like.  I'm behind in school, in blogging, and I think today I just finally caught up on all my sleep.  So here we go, me attempting to get back into blogging.  I think I'm afraid that I'm no good at it anymore.  Not that I was great to begin with, but that homeless guy/little girl I babysit post was one of my favorites of all time.  That was two trips home ago.

The last time I went home, I left for my drive at like 740 PM.  Except at the gas station before I left, I locked my keys in my car.  Yes, my only key to my car, trapped right inside my car, visible.  I had no phone, only an ATM card that I had grabbed in order to pay for my gas.  So I ran into the gas station and borrowed the cell phone of the man working there to call triple A, only they couldn't find my membership record so then I called my dad so that he could drop everything and take care of it remotely for me.  (I have a really outstanding father by the way).

AAA didn't get there until just after 9.  So in the mean time, I had so, so, so much time to talk to the man working at the gas station and to keep myself from crying because it had already been a long day and I just wanted to be home already, and I don't handle these things well, as it turns out.  I can't remember his name, mostly because I never quite pronounced it right.
But the man was from Nepal.  And in Nepal, he had gotten his college degree in Economics and then after graduating, he got a visa to come to the United States, and without thinking twice, he and his wife and child moved to this here US of A.  And when he got here, he tried to take some college courses and some English languages courses, but he had to make ends meet, and he took a job at ARCO to get some money and to help his English.

This man told me that he knew all of his numbers very well.  After 5 years of living here, his son had near perfect English, but he and his wife still struggled.  And when he got to this job, he learned that the only thing that people would say to him was '$30 on 4" and "45 on 7 please."  No one ever said more than that.

I would have cried for that man, except that by the time 8:45 rolled around he started asking if I had a boyfriend and if I was on facebook and if I liked to go out to the clubs.  It got weird fast, and I made excuses to go clean my windshield.  But still, I had to think about him.  I don't realize sometimes, that I am literally living a dream.  I am a Stanford student with a bright future and I'm studying Econ, a topic that just seems right sometimes.  In fact not only am I living a dream, but when I was in high school, this was my dream.  Only now I have new dreams.  Too many dreams that don't quite meld together very nicely.

I think my point, or my realization, was that dreaming is good, but living is more important.  Or maybe that happiness is not going to happen all of the sudden if a dream comes true.  Life is not a waiting game til the next thing you want happens.  Every moment is not a stepping stone, it is a time, right now.  Today is a day; 24 hours where I can decide to live a happy life.  And there is so much to be happy about.



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P.S. Look for me on my sister's blog.  I will be posting there ish-regularly and if I'm not there, than you can just admire how much cuter her blog is than mine.  No, but seriously, her blog is so cool.

Melt my Heart

I had the opposite of that moment I talked about the other day.  where everything felt right.  Instead, everything felt wrong.  I was walking through downtown Palo Alto which is a bizarre place.  It just seems to want so badly to not be  Palo Alto, but it is.  As a drunken man stumbled past me, I felt the seed of anxiety get planted somewhere deep in the pit of my stomach.  The opposite of awesome for me is anxious.  It is the worst emotion I can think of.
Anyways, I was almost back to my car, when a homeless man and I made eye contact.  Do you ever step on a grape when you're barefoot and halfway through you realize what you're doing, but at this point you can't help it and your doomed to have a smushed grape on your floor/foot?  Or you're driving sort of absent-mindedly and you realize the light is yellow, but you don't want to slam on your breaks so you go through, but as soon as your car has passed that threshold of the crosswalk line the light turns red and before you know it, you've broken the law?  As I made eye contact with this man, I realized I had somehow done wrong.  He looked into my eyes and he hated me.  I could have anticipated the words if I hadn't been hoping they wouldn't be said, but they came out of his mouth anyways, a loud, "F**k you."

1.  I think I look like a white trash Mom in this pic.  2.  This pic gets somewhat relevant, I promise. 

I spent Friday night babysitting, which is like paying me to eat cookies.  Literally, I was being paid to eat their food.  And watch their 3 1/2 year old little girl.  I'm not always the best with little girls, but in general little boys love me.  I just have more practice with them, I suppose. 
But we bonded, mostly over our knowledge of Disney princesses (girl was showing me up - she could differentiate between Flora Fauna and Merryweather from Sleeping Beauty) and our mutual enjoyment of dancing in the middle of living rooms to Vampire Weekend songs. 
An hour into it, she kept accidentally calling me Mama.  Which I suppose, meant she identified with me, liked my company, and saw me as an authority figure.  Two hours into it, she stopped playing, stared at me, and said, "I'm so glad to spend time with you."  It was very cute, and as one who does not spend much time in affectionate environments, it was sort of a surprise.  About three hours after she had met me, this little girl stopped again to tell me she loved me.  I hesitated for about half a second before I told her I loved her too. 


I am, in general, very stingy with giving my emotions out to others.  It takes me more than three hours to love someone, and much longer than that to tell them about it.  Negative emotions, which I am probably (wrongly) more liberal with, still take me a bit of time to develop.  I have never hated someone with one glance, which is probably a good thing, but I still think there's something to letting yourself feel.  I recently told me roommate that I had never cried over a boy.  She thought that was really weird.  Which I suppose it is.  I am more ready to give away my kisses than I am to give away my feelings. 
But in the moment, I realized that I love that little girl.  which says a lot to me about the ability of children to open hearts. 


I think I made all my points.  Gosh, I wish I were better at tying bows at the end of my posts, but I'm just going to leave you with that. 

Rolling with the Punches, Etc.

This weekend Camille-ionaire came to visit.  It was fun!  We went shopping and we attempted to get some work done and we ate yummy foods.  Come visit again soon Camille!

As a result, I got almost no homeworks done.  So much so that on Sunday night I still had practically an entire assignment due the next morning at 9 AM.  Yum!  I am terrible.  Not only did I not do it, but I kept finding every excuse not to do it, because I knew it would only take me about 2 hours of actual effort to finish.  I called home, I made soup, I took a bath, I sen an email to our property manager about some repairs that need to be done.  

And then I had done almost all of it except the last few problems, I was supposed to meet with a friend to check answers and THE UNIVERSE THREW ME A CURVEBALL. I got to my friends place, and my phone exploded.  Which is code for it would only show the LG screen and nothing else regardless of how many times I took the battery out of the back.  But I am, at this point in my life, used to the technologies failing, because I buy cheap things because I am cheap and then they break.  Plus I overuse them.  I just went home, and wrote an email and me and my friend went over everything via gchat.  gchat is the future yo!

Anywhoozzle, at 2 AM when I finally finished this hw and went to sleep, I couldn't fall asleep.  I did that thing where knowing that I have not very many hours to sleep makes me anxious and unable to sleep very well.  But right as all seemed devastation, my phone woke up like it was Sow White/Sleeping Beauty being kissed by Prince frikkin Charming.  And I still couldn't sleep, but now I had a way to wake up in the morning.  And I wake up I did, and with a raging head ache at that.  

I imagine the headache that I had to be something like being hungover.  Because the sun, it hurt my head.  The sounds of the bus squeaking, they hurt my head.  The act of standing up really quickly, it gave me a headache.  Then I remembered that dehydration causes hangover headaches, so before class I quickly drank two water bottles full of water. And the professor decided that today we would get no 5 min break to use the bathroom and when class was over I practically trampled the class to get to the bathroom.  

And then today I went home and slept.  I sleeeeeeeeept.  It was one of those naps where I woke up and suddenly everything was right in my world.  Birds were chirping, flowers were blooming, and I was eating yogurt.  

Before Napping:

After:

My attempts to hide my lumpy parts are becoming increasingly obvious.  

My point here is:  I believe that the best days are the days that go up down and left and right.  They are the days that you remember.  They are the days where you learn what color the little rocks that make up your sand are.  And more than that, I believe in the power of a good nap to change your world.   

Yogurt.  

Ode to a Purse

I bought this purse the other day.  

I think it's actually an overnight bag - it's HUGE.

I was at the Ross cruisin and buying a pillow and trying on clothes to (mostly) not buy when I saw this bag.  And I stared a it for a good minute and a half.  It called to me. I have never had something beg to be bought like that before.  I stared and stared and stared and it was like the purse was trying to persuade me and I was thinking of all the reasons why I should not dish out $25 for this sucker.

I put it away and walked away quickly, because I knew if I looked back I would be a goner.  But the wheels of thought in my brainsicle kept turning.  Think of where you could go with that little beauty.  You could take her to the beach and she could fit your towel and spare clothes and a blanket to lie on and even lunch to eat and a textbook to study from.  And your camera.  Or you could take her to San Francisco and finally see that exhibit at SFMoMA that you've been dying to see and then after being inspired you could eat a sack lunch and wander around the city and take pictures.  And then there's so much of San Jose that you haven't seen and you could probably even make it to Sacramento because you should really visit the capital of the state you live in at some point in your college life....

The possibilities, they were endless.  The purse, she longed for travel and excitement and who was I to deny her her life dreams.  I mean, if I didn't buy her and deem her my Mary Poppins bag of never ending tricks and fun, then what would become of her?

But all of this I suppressed and I got in line and didn't buy her.  And then as I was a person away from being at the front of the line, something overcame me and I left my cart and walked over to the purses and picked her up and bought her.  It was terrible and wonderful simultaneously.  I am afraid I won't get to fully utilize her this quarter so I decided to make her my every day bag so that each time I go to school I have a chance for adventure.  And the ability to bring two meals with me.

I need a job.  

I mean, oh this purse.  She makes me look so cool.

That's a terrible photo.

Independent Woman

When I typed that, I was reminded of this video, which I had forgotten about, and which has very very little to do with the post, but I may or may not have had the lyrics memorized at one point in my life.  But that's not my fault.  One of my sisters had printed out the lyrics and they were floating around our computer room for a couple weeks.  What was I supposed to do?

One of my favorite things to do lately is to go out by myself to somewhere I have never been before and take
pictures.  My photography class has sort of given me an excuse to do that, and it turns out  really like it.  I am a total creeper and I take photos of people I have never seen before.  One girl said to her friend, while I was within three feet and definitely still in earshot "Did that girl just take our picture?"  To which I just kept walking.   Because, it is perfectly legal, and I am perfectly fine with being the weirdo.

That was a tangent.

The main point, is how much I realized I really like to go discover things by myself.  Form my own opinions, see something new, live the high life, etc.  F'reals though, when I saw Walker Evans at our school's museum, one of my friends told me I should have taken her with me.  But the thought didn't even occur to me to ask someone to come with me.  I think it's my way of feeling connected with the world - by going out into it, while still being alone to my thoughts.  It's really awesome, and I really really recommend it.

Here are some pics (of the terrible cell phone variety) of my days discoveries:

1. 
   
2. 
3. 
4. 

In case you were wondering: 1. some more pretty tulips (among other gorgeous plants - I love the colors!) 2. Me messing around with what I thought was a cool scene 3. It's called lawn bowling apparently?  ANd each of those is about 300 plastic shopping bags, but they are art, not regulation balls 4.  Did you make out that rainbow in the sky?  Rainbows don't photograph well

Ah, the spring, she is good, no?

Text Me.

A few weeks ago my phone went on strike. 

On Monday I sent a text and got no response.  I sent many more text messages throughout the week.  Many many more.  And none of them got responses.  It was a busy week, and I figured everyone else in the world was busy too. 

I was starting to get a little bugged.  Why would you just not text me back when I wanted to  hang out with you.  Are you friend-breaking up with me?

On Friday evening I called my dad.
"I guess you didn't think the joke I texted you was very funny.  You didn't even respond."


A light bulb went off.  I tried to send myself a text and it didn't go through.  I hadn't been receiving any calls either.  Everything outgoing was working, but nothing was coming in.  I called my service provider and had my service reset and got about 30 text messages at once.  People wanted to hang out with me too, it turns out.  My roommate had asked if I wanted anything from the grocer store.  So thoughtful.

This whole thing got me thinking...


I've had unlimited text messaging since I was 15 years old.  Since then, I have been able to send any message to any person at any time as frequently as I wanted.  Since then, there's probably been about a month of total time where my phone was not within five feet of me.  I got my phone taken away in high school once for using it in class. I had finished a test early and there was nothing else to do.  

Maybe it's not good.  Maybe I've spent too much of life attached to a thing.  but behind that thing there are people right?  I mean I don't think I would ever communicate with my oldest brother if it weren't for text messages.  Minus 6 months where our main communication was weekly emails, text messages is definitely about 70% of my interactions with him.  So better texts than nothing.  


But maybe I'm getting impatient.  I mean, I texted my mom at 2 in the morning the other night to tell her I had changed the time for a doctors appointment.  I need to be heard, and I need to be heard now.  What I am saying is so important that I am going to tell you it in the middle of class, while eating lunch, in the middle of the night, while I'm talking to someone else in person. 


But most of the time they are not important at all.  Most of the time my texts are just "hahaha that's crazy"  or "Okie dokie, I'll check and let you know" or something to that effect.  Maybe I've been raised in a world where people communicate constantly instead of deeply.  


I hereby resolve to do absolutely nothing.  I mean, I thought about what I could change and I decided nothing.  I like a text now and then.  It helps me know others are thinking of me, if even for a little bit.  




A picture for picture's sake:

Taken from my phone, if that makes it relevant

Cyclical Theory

History repeats itself.

You've heard this too, right?  I've never really been a believer.  Until five days ago.  When I realized I was reliving last winter.  

On Sunday I broke my computer screen.  Yep, yep, you heard me right.  Broken, smokin'.  And this time I am too cheap to fix it, especially when Betty probably only has like 8 months of life left in her.  So, what do you do?  You ask the internet to provide you with an old school computer monitor that you can hook up to your laptop so that she is still functional.  

The same thing happened a year ago (for those of you not in the know about these sorts of things) and it got me to thinking that there is something that I am probably supposed to learn from the set of conditions that I am currently in.  Because things look a lot like they did a year ago.  Namely, school is frustrating and sometimes altogether uninteresting, I feel like I spend all too much time alone and wishing I were at the beach, and I am riding the struggle bus in trying to secure a summer internship for this summer.  

So what is it?  Why am I going through all these things twice?  I am a firm believer in the fact that all things happen for a reason.  All things will work together for my good, if you will.  So what is this good?  

Well I will tell you one.  The computer, she is largely bad for me.  In the day and a half that I didn't have a working computer, I was so productive and so happy.  There is something not good about having a large amount of your interactions with a screen.  Even if there are people behind them.  I mean, to a point it is good, but it shouldn't be the main dish.  

Second, I am supposed to learn to not eat my feelings.  Which I am doing a terrible job of.  Every time I am bored or tired or stressed or (insert emotion here), it makes me want to eat a bagel with cream cheese and raspberries and a tad of powdered sugar.  (P.s. that is possibly my new favorite treat ever - except that nothing can top orange juice).
Also, I am probably supposed to learn that happiness is a choice.  Which is also something I am still struggling with.  I mean part of growing up is realizing that a good grade or a new toy (or item of clothing) isn't going to make you happy.  YOU are going to make you happy.  So if I'm supposed to be making myself happy, am I doing my job?  I've been trying to think more about that lately.  And to remind myself that I've actually got it pretty good.

Dudes, I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Hugh Jackman is entirely too attractive for his wife.

She just looks so .... old.

Clutch

Gilroy.
Aka Garlic Town, USA

I drove home this weekend for the three-day weekend + my birthday is on Sunday.  And I made it as far as Gilroy, CA before I ran into trouble (Gilroy is only like 50 minutes from my house in Palo Alto, and yes, this is another blog post about my drive to and from home).  When you get to Gilroy, you have to get off the 101 and onto this small highway (152), that takes you through a few street lights and past some fruit stands and also there's a section where you have to turn on your headlights even if it's day time.

In Gilroy, the clutch gave out on Lolita. I got off the highway and found that it was very difficult to get Lolita into any gear at all.  It was like trying to do it without having the clutch pushed in.  Freaked out, I pulled over and called my Dad.  I don't know why calling your Dad in a car crisis is so comforting.  He was over 5 hours away, but he was still my hero for the day.  Side note:  I thought I did a pretty good job of sounding not stressed out to him, but apparently he saw right through it.

As I waited for my Dad to figure out where I should get my car fixed, I did the most useful thing I could thing of at the moment:  I did my makeup.  Because, you know, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.  And on road trips, I probably look a little more like vinegar usually.  One call to AAA and a tow ride later, I was standing in a fairly sketchy part of town being told that my car would be ready in 4 hours.  (not to mention $480).

But what else is Gilroy famous for?  Outlet malls.  Literally every brand I can think of has an outlet store in Gilroy.  So after looking it up on my phone, I began the 2.1 mile walk to the outlet malls.  And let's just say that within 5 minutes of walking, I'd been honked at, I'd been whistled at, and I'd walked past a white unmarked van with the word "meth" spray painted on it in gold.  But, after a couple of blocks, it wasn't so bad.  And then..... I made this video:

I should preface the details of my shopping by saying that I had a crappy week.  I was really trying to not be a downer and I made it about as far as Tuesday before I decided I was woefully unhappy and that everything in my life was terrrrible.  Which meant that my only option was to put my nose down, push through, and then be a blob of laziness and birthday bossery this weekend.  But since that was also not going to be easy for me, I decided retail therapy was the only answer.

I started telling everyone in my family about my plight in order to get sympathy and also shopping advice from my oldest sister who seemed to be similarly bored.  Since I hadn't told my Mom what I wanted for my birffday, she had yet to do any shopping, so I texted her to inform her that that would no longer be necessary.  I also was texting my sister basically the entire day.

Text me what you buy
I feel a blog post about today coming on...

To which I responded
Coral pants, striped flowy top, two sunglasses, tan belt, chunky necklace, lacy underwears
What else are you supposed to do with days like today?

To which she responded
Coral pants? Jealous

To which I responded
I am awesome

To which she responded
Yes
Why?

To which I responded

Because of my icee sunglass combo.

To which she responded
Are you on a bus?

So after taking the bus back to Rom's Auto Services,  I once again started a long drive.  Which was filled with traffic that I had planned to avoid and also with pretty scenery that I took bad pictures of while simultaneously driving (I was looking at the road, not the pictures, otherwise, they would be centered photos, and I would be dead)

And that's all I have to say about that.

My Date with the WalMart

Oh to be young and restless.  Just Kidding.

I spent last Friday night at WalMart.  I understand why people hate the WalMart, but I see it as an analogy for Amurica.  (You heard me).  But that's an all-too-economic idea that you could ask me about at another time.

Personally, I sort of have this weird fascination with the WalMart.  It's like so cheap and such good people watching, and also, I feel less like a part of the "Stanford Bubble" when I go to the WalMart.

So off I went, wearing flannel over a Lakers shirt on top of jeans.  And I was WalMart.  I felt it so important that I join the WalMart population that I actually stopped in the Mickey D's (McDonald's) of the WalMart and ordered a hot fudge sundae.  $1 Thank You Very Much.  It was entirely too delicious seeing as it's not made of real food ingredients.

And as I sat there inside Mickey D's inside the WalMart eating my processed cow product with sugar I looked around.  There was the middle aged Mexican man who occaisionally stared at me.  This adorable asian baby playing with a toy truck by himself at the table next to me.  A nice black family with a very chatty 12 y/o girl, and another Mexican family with a baby boy whose cheeks were super pinchable.  And me.  I realized that I was the whitest person in that room, and I was loving every minute of it.  Because that pretty much rarely happens to me (but then again, I do spend a lot of time with Mormons).

Oh, the WalMart has its downs, too.  For instance when the middle aged black man approached me in line and asked if I was paying in cash, to which I responded (quickly and probably with large eyes) No.  He laughed and walked away, but I'm pretty sure the laugh was because he realized what he had just done.  I just still don't understand why he wanted to know.

And also the fact that the WalMart got me to buy a blowdryer because mine was broken and then I spent twice as much a I was planning (the blowdryer was like $28 bucks).  But that post is coming later.

All in all, the WalMart left me ambivalent and still fascinated.  I'm sure we'll meet again, although I'm not sure how I feel about that.  

Naked Gymnasts (of the male variety)

I can tell I already have your attention.  Admit it, I'm right.

So here's the thing.  Nakedness makes me pretty uncomfortable.  Not my own body.  I'm fine with that.  I know what it looks like and I'm not particularly embarrassed by it.  It is what it is.  But I do noooot particularly feel comfortable looking at other peoples bodies. That's their business, and when someone is a complete stranger, I would rather not see that much of them.  

But I rented this locker, right?  So that I wold better be able to keep my resolution that was about moving.  So that I could have a place to put gym clothes and to shower so that I could go throughout the rest of my day without either smelling bad or going all the way home just to come back.  

Except that the building that my locker is in is called the Ford Center.  Which is used by exactly three sports groups.  1.  the crew teams - both male and female.  2. the volleyball players (I haven't seen any of the volleyball boys there) and 3.  the gymnasts.  

And all of these groups wear not very many clothes.  The volleyball players are actually the most dressed.  They wear those little spandex shorts, but they wear full on shirts!  The crew teams (who if you are not an east coaster, are the groups of people who row boats together in races) wear those little spandex shorts and either nothing or sports bras, depending on gender.  

And the male gymnasts!  They are the worst!  They wear those leotards kinda like wrestlers do - and they are suuuuuuper tight.  Except it doesn't stop there.  They roll them down to below their hip bones so that they aren't wearing shirts.  And then, they stand in groups all along my walk through the center and into the girls' locker room.  

But here's the thing, what are you supposed to do in this situation?  Obviously, you can't just stare at the practically naked bodies (really - they are leaving about half a square foot of their bodies to the imagination).  But also I feel like it is equally rude and weird to be blatantly looking away - like I'm saying I DON'T WANT TO LOOK AT THAT (even though I don't want to look at that).  So everyday as I walk into the building, I pick a spot on the back wall  in the direction of the lockers and I only stare at that spot.  

It's probably just as awkward as staring at their bodies, or at my feet, but this way, I don't run into any of the machines or anyone.


Anyhooozzle:

A photo of yours truly, because I used to do that more often and people are saying that I'm starting to get soft.  Ok, no one said it, but I like this picture of me and my super messy place.  Such is college, right?

Wherein A Space Heater and Top Ramen Saved my Life

Happy Belated Thanksgiving Everyone!

I had a great holiday and I hope you all did too.  I will get to that part of the story later.

Yesterday I made the drive back to school.  9 hours, my friends.  It was a record.  Traffic and accidents galore!  I know some people who were stuck in it all until 1 in the morning!  But, as with most things that suck, it was made muuuuch better by the presence of a friend.  And good music.  (I think I'm onto some sort of formula with that one.)

OK, but here's the real part of the story.  My little slice of house (well actually the entire house)  got fumigated during the week that I was home spreading holiday cheer.  And besides that, I was gone for an entire week.  Which means: food.  I couldn't keep anything in my house that would go bad after a week (the milk that we bought three weeks before the break started or fresh fruits and veggies).  AND because of the fumigation, we had to put any food that we did leave in the house inside a plastic bag with a special tying method.  Then that plastic was to be put inside another plastic bag.  Because apparently they've invented fumes that are harmless when inhaled but not when consumed.  And also they kill termites.

Point two about fumigation (I had to start a new paragraph because let's face it, I am easily distracted.): They had to turn the gas and pilot light off in our place for these fumes (apparently they are flammable?)

So back to the drive back to school.  After driving for more than 3 hours, especially where rain and/or traffic is involved, my makeup gets droopy, my emotions get funny, and that spot on my shoulder starts yelling at me to lay down and possibly take a nice warm bath.  But when I got home on Sunday night, my house was an ice box.  Literally an ice box.  And the emergency make-your-house-warm people wouldn't come to my house because this was not an emergency.  Frigidness under exhaustion is apparently not a good enough emergency? I would like to see the people try it.

But I was prepared.  And proud of myself for driving for 9 hours without shedding one tear.  And I was full of optimism.  And my optimism paid off!  Because for some reason our bedroom sink was giving hot water. Like enough hot water for me to wash my hair and face and wish that my body fit in my sink.  Which it certainly wouldn't.  Tender mercies of the Lord, I tell you.  If you're the praying type, I highly recommend saying thanks for hot water next time you get the chance.

It's a little strange how I become so emotionally attached to objects that I feel have saved my life.  I now call him Mr. Kevin.  

As I blow dried my hair, I plugged in the space heater I had borrowed from home because I knew I would be sleeping in the cold if I didn't do something.  And then the combined bedroom light and space heater and blow dryer power blew a fuse!  A fuse!
One call home to Dad and some stumbling around outside my house looking for a fuse box later, I discovered the box behind a bush and was back in business.

Oh but back to the food!  I was starving!  9 hours of driving apparently makes you hungry!  And since I had no fresh foods, it was the top ramen that saved me from certain death.  Because even cereal is no good if you have no milk in which to drown it.

That Top Ramen was oddly comforting.  I think it was the warmth combined with the fact that this is the meal I eat every time I have a stomach flu.  Plus I learned where the fuse box to my house resides.  And it gave me an excise to spend the rest of the night under blankets and without moving more than a foot at a time.

So now I just have to survive three weeks of school.  which includes finals week.   yum.

Wax On, Wax Off

The following story might seem like I am trying to induce sympathy, but in reality, I just like telling someone my stories.  Because I am a chronic over-sharer.

Yesterday, I got out the wax. You know, the kind where you remove unwanted hair.  Well, having forgot that our microwave had just minutes before had been an oven (and was still sort of hot), I went about nuking my wax in order to get it hot.  And then I grabbed it by the handle and carried it to the bathroom.  And then when I went to open it in the bathroom, it was explosively hot.  And I can accurately use this word because the wax exploded over my left hand and half my bathroom.  As soon as it was on my hand I wanted to get it off, but I knew touching it would only burn my other hand, so I just shook my hand, confused and in pain.  After about 10 seconds, my hand simply went numb and then I was able to think, and I ran it under cold water.

The orange-y stuff is wax.  The pink stuff is my skin.

I knew I had three things to do, listed in order of importance that they struck me at the time.
1)  Clean the bathroom.
It was halfway covered in wax and I kept stepping in it, slowly accumulating a waxy, tangly wig on the bottom of my foot.  So appetizing.
2)  I had to get all the wax off of my body.
Which mostly included my foot, and also my non-pain hand which had somehow also acquired a significant amount of wax.
3)  Heal my hand, make sure I didn't get it infected.

For about forty-five minutes, I took a fork and scraped the wax off of every linoleum surface in my bathroom.  About every 12 seconds, I would remember my pain-hand which would then scream at me until I doused it in cold water, which gave the most instant, gratifying relief I have ever felt.

After getting extremely frustrated that I was not going to be able to get all the wax out of my bathroom before my roommate got home (Did I mention I was home alone during all of this?), I decided I should at least try and get myself cleaned up.  My clothes also had some wax, so I carefully took them off and got in the shower.
It seemed like such a smart idea at the time, but as soon as I got into the shower I realized all I had done was make it so that either my hand hurt incredibly in the warm water, or that my body revolted in disgust from the cold water.  Oh and now the shower was all sticky.  Like seriously.  So I got out, and immediately started scrubbing the tub, which didn't work.  But my feet were pretty clear of wax, so I figured now was a good time to try and clean the floor again.  Which also didn't work.

Frustrated, and remembering that I was still naked from my shower, I decided clothes might be good.  And holy crap, my hand hurt!  But I couldn't even put anything on it because it was still covered in wax.  Literally, some parts of it were about a quarter inch thick.
Oh the pickle I was in.  Pain, mess, stickyness, inability to touch anything without increasing the mess.

Finally, I thought, I should just take care of my hand.  And so I got a mixing bowl, and filled it with water and half of our ice supply.  And left my hand in it for about two hours until it felt like it was going to fall off while I called my mom, realized she couldn't come help me, and watched the Incredibles.  And cried.  In all of this, I didn't cry until I realized that no one could come fix it for me and that my hand would hurt and my bathroom would be sticky for a couple of days.

At this point, I considered going to the hospital, because oh yeah did I not mention the part where I took my ring off and some wax and skin came off with it?  But then I realized no health insurance plus no money equals no bueno.  And I took about a billion drugs, and explained it all to my roommate when she came home, and took a second shower (which actually helped clean up the shower because the hot water melted the wax off) and decided to go to sleep.

And every 1-2 hours as I slept I would get woken up by the feeling that my hand was on fire.  So I got new paper towels and new ice cubes and thank goodness my roommate brought an ice pack to college.  But it was the crappiest sleep I've ever had.  I practically OD'd on ibuprofen, but I survived the night, decided today was a sick day, and have since done most of the homework I was supposed to do last night.

Oh, also, apparently half a bottle of baby oil will get wax off of your hand, but not off your linoleum floor.  I still don't know hat gets wax off of your linoleum floor.

Oh and my hand is totally fine today.  It's just like I burnt it on a curling iron or something.

A Gamboa Classic

Have you ever heard of giving someone the BOD?  Generally, it means to give someone the Benefit Of the Doubt.

An Evil Genius!!

Okay, okay, I'll explain!  In my family, we have a couple classic stories from the childhood of some of our siblings.  There's the brown sugar story, which has to be told by Camille (I wouldn't even try to explain this one - it has to be experienced), the fudge story, and there's the BOD story.  (There's probably a few others that I'm forgetting too.  They probably involve scars and getting lost as a child.)

This story is probably only funny if you know my little brother Lucas, but I tell it all the time and people find it funny sometimes, so here we go.  

Gamboa family tradition: When you turn 7, you've somehow earned the right to a trip to Disneyland with Grandma.  No one knows why, other than my Grandma has done this with all of her grandchildren, and simply because Disneyland is awesome.  Anyways, by the time my youngest brother was 7, my Grandma was having a little bit of trouble getting around (not to mention going on rides), so she just gave my sister Camille the money to take Luc to D-land.  (Which is actually totally not fair because Camille got to go to Disneyland.  Boo).  

Anyways, as such folk lore goes, I've lost a little bit of the details of the story, bit the gist is still there.  Which is that in some line, Camille and Luc were stuck by some kid who was being really annoying.  As little kids tend to do after a days worth of walking around an amusement park.  Anyways, my sister turns to Luc, and in an inspired teaching moment that she had as a 17 year-old big sister, she tells him to give the kid the BOD (obviously meaning the Benefit of the Doubt).  

Luc, being at the ripe maturity of a seven-year-old, didn't get what that meant.  So when Camille asked Luc if he knew what that meant, he thought for a second, then turned and said, "Beating Of Death?"  in a moment of pure Disney magic.  

So now, whenever my family deems that someone deserves the BOD, there's always that sort of question in the back of our heads about which one we'll give.  

Back To School (Year 3)

If you wouldn't terribly mind, could you listen to this song as you read this post?

Let me tell you a little thing about my hometown.  In my hometown, the first week that school starts is always the start of a massive heatwave.  It's like Summer's defiance of school.  Because Summer gets angry that there are no little children to watch cartoons until noon and go to the beach and get sand in their swimsuits.  Instead of sprinklers and popsicles there are backpacks, and pencil boxes, and tags to be taken off of clothing.

This year I've just been sitting back and watching the whole city settle into it.  New routines, new teachers, new friends, and for my brothers and I'm sure many other boys across the city, video games and pool side lounging are replaced with homework and staying after school for practice.  And every year, even though there is always a lot of dreading and sighing and tired eyes early in the morning, it feels good to go back to structure, to go back to activity and teachers and a sociability.

I'm starting to get really excited for this new school year.  Can you tell?  Things are finally, finally falling into place and I feel like there is a great year coming up under my toes.  I remember growing up, I met every year with a few nerves in my stomach and a few of those sighs that I mentioned before, but always excited to become immersed in something.  To get lost in my day and spend time studying and accomplishing.

This year feels different.  It feels like I'm losing a few of the safety nets that I grew up with.  But at the same time, I have that same little nervous feeling that I used to have growing up.  A little worm in my stomach that wiggles around and makes me antsy.  I think I'm more nervous for this year than for any other year of college.

But that's also because I'm sooooo excited!  Yesterday I made the drive back to school and let me tell you, it was actually kind of awesome.  I know, this coming from the girl who had an emotional explosion last time time I did this drive.  (I think the key to a good road trip is good mixed CD's.  I burned myself one and forced a friend of mine to burn one for me and I survived it all.  But that is just a side note.)

I was sad to leave Upland more than usual this year.  Sad to leave my family (even though they will hardly notice I'm gone once my Grandma moves in on Saturday).  But the exciting part is that I moved into my new apartment yesterday, and it feels like home too.

Please excuse my face.  No makeup and 6 hours of driving without air conditioning in a fairly hot environment will do that to you.  Or at least it does it to me.  Also, that is a strand of hair, not a crazy eyebrow.  

It's a little space to call my own (well, mine and kristin's) and it has couches and a bed and hardwood floors and a little makeshift kitchen and so many little things that make it feel like it's mine that I will tell you about later.  I feel like this little space is the start of a lot of good things.  The start of a year that I think I will look back on for the rest of my life, hopefully with smiles.

Home is wherever I'm with you.