When girls are little they often dream about being a princess.
They dream of wearing big beautiful dresses. Riding in carriages. Living in castles. Marrying a prince charming.
I too dreamed of being a princess.
...A mafia princess, that is.
Okay, maybe I didn't exactly dream of this when I was very little. I, as most young children, wasn't aware of what a mob even was.
My daddy always watched mobster movies though. The Godfather. Goodfellas. Stuff like that was usually playing in the background of our house.
Eventually I began taking interest in these movies. Fascinated with the mafia culture.
My daddy explained to me the backgrounds of the families, the terminology, what they did.
I was intrigued.
We often went to my grandpa's house after church on Sundays.
I never really saw anything out of the ordinary with my grandpa.
As far as I can remember, he's always been a larger guy, hair always slicked back. Gold chain. Fat gold rings on each finger. Always clean cut, clean shaven. Sitting at the kitchen table with a cigarette and a cup of coffee. Every Sunday. Same thing.
I thought this was totally normal.
Until my Quinceanera.
He sat in the back corner with the rest of the family. My friends would come up to me asking..."OMG who is that guy?!" "Is that a real mobster?" "Can I take a picture with him?" "...Can I touch him?"
I swear it.
Like I said, I never noted anything different in my grandpa. That's just the way he was.
Didn't all grandpa's wear gold rings on each finger?
Didn't all grandpa's keep a gun on their waist?
After the Quinceanera incident, I became more inquisitive. I really wanted to know what my grandpa did. I wanted to hear stories. This was for real.
So he told me some stuff. The stuff he could tell me.
I was beyond intrigued.
That's when my grandpa became the coolest person I know.
Anyway, back to my dreams of being a mafia princess.
I've seen the movies. The Godfather. Goodfellas. My Cousin Vinny. Scarface. American Gangster. The Departed.
...Gangster movies.
I've done my research. The Five Families. Cosa Nostra. the Luftanza Heist. Sammy The Bull, John Gotti, the Gambino family...all that.
So I know what goes on with the business.
People get whacked and everyone is so non-chalant about it.
People are corrupt and it's totally okay.
People burn up buildings, ruin peoples lives, with no remorse.
And this is all because of money. Or someone insulting someone. Or someone not trusting someone.
It's bad. It's illegal.
...And I want it.
They go to the best restaurants and never having to pay, because they own them.
They go to concerts and shows and get backstage passes, because they own the theater.
They walk around town and townsfolk address them by name, because they probably have asked you for favors...and because they fear you.
Obviously the role of the wife is to not know anything. She doesn't ask. She doesn't tell. She takes care of the family. She makes appearances. She benefits.
So why do I dream of being a mafia princess?
Here's why.
Because I imagined myself being part of the business myself. Not being totally subservient but rather, being cunning, powerful, and wealthy.
My ballgown? A fur coat and dripping in diamonds.
My carriage? A black rolls royce.
My prince charming? A sophisticated, powerful boss. Feared, admired, revered.
Anyway, just like any girls dream of being royalty, this dream of being a mafia princess is pretty unrealistic.
It's really a life of gambling. Literally and metaphorically. Waiting for the day the feds come banging on your door at 5 am. And then life is never the same. It's a life of prison visits and being a single parent trying to make a living legitimately.
And once the cops get ya, you lose it all. The life is over.
Not to mention...It's basically a life built out of illegal activities.
...But a girl can dream, right?
Monday, May 2, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
College Sin Fronteras
So I'm in this class for my Hispanic Alumni Scholarship.
...And it is seriously the biggest waste of time.
I mean we do the most pointless stuff, and it's not even a Gen-Ed requirement.
We all hate it. All 50 of us.
So when the teacher introduced this "community based" project we all formulated ways to b.s our way through it.
Let me explain what this project is.
You're put in groups with kids that have the same type of major as you do. You find a problem in the community that hopefully relates back to what your majors are.You analyse the problem, conduct interviews and surveys to investigate the problem, research the problem, create awareness about the problem, hopefully find a solution to the problem.
Awesome.
Each group was rather large, at least 8 members.
Except ours.
We had 4 members. Four girls. The majors? Journalism, Mexican-American studies, Art, and Undecided.
...Right.
We had no idea what to do. We wanted to possibly investigate the decline of art programs in schools.
Yeah, we really had no idea what to do.
After many group meetings, and many meetings with our professor and p.a. we finally decided on an idea.
Problem: Not enough minority students attend college. Often times they aren't well informed about college, and they believe it is unobtainable. They also think that the careers they want to pursue aren't some they have to go to college for. Furthermore, they think to go to college means they have to be a doctor or an engineer, something that might seem out of their reach.
Solution: Find out the barriers students are facing in regards to college. Inform them about our majors, which are usually underrepresented at the grade school level. Target them with their interests to promote an interest in college. Provide resources for them.
And thus, the College Sin Fronteras project was born.
The plan was to go to Nosotros Academy Charter School and present 5 workshops to 15 students.
A little background?
Nosotros Academy is a charter school that is basically minority students. These are the kids who couldn't really do public school. Couldn't keep up with the curriculum for whatever reason. Instead of dropping out...they come here.
Our College Sin Fronteras program consisted of three main ideas. Overcome. Explore. Achieve.
In the Overcome stage, we pinpoint what the students barriers are...the "fronteras" keeping them from going to college. Whether it is money, grades, etc.
In the Explore stage, we present workshops on our majors. Expose them to the possibilities that lie within our fields of study. Basically letting them know the vast amount of opportunities within the university.
In the Achieve stage, we provided scholarship opportunity and financial aid sources to the kids. Help them realize that they too can go to college.
So the first day, we're discussing with the kids about how they feel about college.
"My mom says why should I even think about college when I'm 19 and still in high school."
What?
"Teachers look at me like I don't mean anything, like I'm not going to succeed."
Uhhh.
These kids were receiving absolutely no support.
They didn't have parents at home motivating them.
They didn't have anyone on their team.
I was completely taken aback.
When asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, many responded, "I don't know."
When asked where they see themselves in 5 years, many responded, "I don't know."
They don't have guidance.
They don't have a plan.
They don't know what to do.
My mentality prior to coming in to the school was just to get some research done.
After that discussion, my mentality turned to genuinely trying to make some sort of an impact on these kids lives.
So as the week progressed, they began to open up to us more, becoming receptive to our presentations.
(Not gonna lie, I was a little nervous for my 30 minute presentation on Journalism. 30 min, que??)
Alas, the last day arrived. We made sure to bring in pizza and soda for the kids, just as a little thank you for having them participate in our program.
As we ate, we talked to the kids, on a more personal level.
We asked how old they thought we were.
"22, 23."
They were blown away when we said we were Freshman, 18 and 19 years old.
We even got some of them thinking about college.
“I thought College was boring stuff and that I could not find something that would
interest me. Now I see that I can get a better job if I go to college”
"I'm considering maybe doing Art in college."
The most incredible thing was this:
"I think there should be more people like you guys to motivate us. It supports us and lets us know that people still care about whether or not we go to college."
Wow.
What?
All four of us girls were speechless.
This might have been a slightly pointless class to take.
We might have been completely stressed out trying to figure this project out.
We might have taken hours putting together powerpoints, brainstorming, and going back and forth with the principal.
And it all boiled down to that one comment.
"There should be more people like you guys to motivate us."
That right there made all of us want to go back to the school. (And the kids begging us to come back helped as well.)
That right there made me realize that although I have my own problems, I can use my talents and skills to help other kids who would otherwise really have no future.
That right there made it all worth it.
...And it is seriously the biggest waste of time.
I mean we do the most pointless stuff, and it's not even a Gen-Ed requirement.
We all hate it. All 50 of us.
So when the teacher introduced this "community based" project we all formulated ways to b.s our way through it.
Let me explain what this project is.
You're put in groups with kids that have the same type of major as you do. You find a problem in the community that hopefully relates back to what your majors are.You analyse the problem, conduct interviews and surveys to investigate the problem, research the problem, create awareness about the problem, hopefully find a solution to the problem.
Awesome.
Each group was rather large, at least 8 members.
Except ours.
We had 4 members. Four girls. The majors? Journalism, Mexican-American studies, Art, and Undecided.
...Right.
We had no idea what to do. We wanted to possibly investigate the decline of art programs in schools.
Yeah, we really had no idea what to do.
After many group meetings, and many meetings with our professor and p.a. we finally decided on an idea.
Problem: Not enough minority students attend college. Often times they aren't well informed about college, and they believe it is unobtainable. They also think that the careers they want to pursue aren't some they have to go to college for. Furthermore, they think to go to college means they have to be a doctor or an engineer, something that might seem out of their reach.
Solution: Find out the barriers students are facing in regards to college. Inform them about our majors, which are usually underrepresented at the grade school level. Target them with their interests to promote an interest in college. Provide resources for them.
And thus, the College Sin Fronteras project was born.
The plan was to go to Nosotros Academy Charter School and present 5 workshops to 15 students.
A little background?
Nosotros Academy is a charter school that is basically minority students. These are the kids who couldn't really do public school. Couldn't keep up with the curriculum for whatever reason. Instead of dropping out...they come here.
Our College Sin Fronteras program consisted of three main ideas. Overcome. Explore. Achieve.
In the Overcome stage, we pinpoint what the students barriers are...the "fronteras" keeping them from going to college. Whether it is money, grades, etc.
In the Explore stage, we present workshops on our majors. Expose them to the possibilities that lie within our fields of study. Basically letting them know the vast amount of opportunities within the university.
In the Achieve stage, we provided scholarship opportunity and financial aid sources to the kids. Help them realize that they too can go to college.
So the first day, we're discussing with the kids about how they feel about college.
"My mom says why should I even think about college when I'm 19 and still in high school."
What?
"Teachers look at me like I don't mean anything, like I'm not going to succeed."
Uhhh.
These kids were receiving absolutely no support.
They didn't have parents at home motivating them.
They didn't have anyone on their team.
I was completely taken aback.
When asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, many responded, "I don't know."
When asked where they see themselves in 5 years, many responded, "I don't know."
They don't have guidance.
They don't have a plan.
They don't know what to do.
My mentality prior to coming in to the school was just to get some research done.
After that discussion, my mentality turned to genuinely trying to make some sort of an impact on these kids lives.
So as the week progressed, they began to open up to us more, becoming receptive to our presentations.
(Not gonna lie, I was a little nervous for my 30 minute presentation on Journalism. 30 min, que??)
Alas, the last day arrived. We made sure to bring in pizza and soda for the kids, just as a little thank you for having them participate in our program.
As we ate, we talked to the kids, on a more personal level.
We asked how old they thought we were.
"22, 23."
They were blown away when we said we were Freshman, 18 and 19 years old.
We even got some of them thinking about college.
“I thought College was boring stuff and that I could not find something that would
interest me. Now I see that I can get a better job if I go to college”
"I'm considering maybe doing Art in college."
The most incredible thing was this:
"I think there should be more people like you guys to motivate us. It supports us and lets us know that people still care about whether or not we go to college."
Wow.
What?
All four of us girls were speechless.
This might have been a slightly pointless class to take.
We might have been completely stressed out trying to figure this project out.
We might have taken hours putting together powerpoints, brainstorming, and going back and forth with the principal.
And it all boiled down to that one comment.
"There should be more people like you guys to motivate us."
That right there made all of us want to go back to the school. (And the kids begging us to come back helped as well.)
That right there made me realize that although I have my own problems, I can use my talents and skills to help other kids who would otherwise really have no future.
That right there made it all worth it.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Dear Me, Sincerely, Me.
I'm a sucker for letters. I love writing them. I love receiving them. I'm also a sucker for writing letters to myself.
Let me explain.
When I was younger, probably 12 or 13 or something, we did this thing at church where we wrote letters to ourselves in the future. Basically we were writing about our future spouses or whatever, and we weren't supposed to open said letters until we were getting married.
I still have them. Unopened.
We wrote other letters as well, like time capsule type things.
I still have them. Unopened.
Back in 2006, when I was 14, I discovered this website called futureme.org. It was made for me, I swear. You write letters to yourself, and they're delivered to your e-mail address sometime in the future. Back in 2006 I wrote one. The subject of the email, "Wow your old." Obviously showing my impeccable attention to grammar. It is to be delivered in 2013. I cannot wait.
Since then, I've written an email to myself each year to be delivered around the time of my birthday. As I procrastinated today, I recalled these emails, and pulled them up out of curiosity.
I've always been fascinated with my progression as a person.
Just like every other adolescent girl I went through phases. Phases that were somewhat reflected through these emails.
These emails have started short, and got longer and more detailed as time went on.
The content of the emails started more trivial, and became more heartfelt and deep as time went on.
But as I read the emails, I'll admit, I got a little sad.
Not so much nostalgia, but rather, the idea that my life didn't exactly turn out as I suspected. My dreams didn't exactly come true. My predictions, well, were wrong.
For example:
January 15th, 2008: "I still want to go to UF, in fact I REALLY want to go to UF, and I hope you're getting good enough grades for it."
University of Florida was my dream. I wound up not even applying. Not because I couldn't, it just became unrealistic.
Over time, the people I was once close and devoted so much time to, changed.
This is evident through the emails.
And it makes me sad.
Like I devoted so much time and trust into a relationship that seemingly turned out to be a waste.
And then I think, what if I did something differently? What would my life be like if I handled a situation differently?
What if I never left Florida?
Or what if I went to UF?
And then I think, "what if" nothing.
There's no point to "what if."
It is what it is.
"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."
I'm happy!
I love my life.
I may have redefined my dreams. I may have redefined my goals. I may have redefined my relationships. And through it all, it has shaped who I am as a person.
And I like who I am now.
So I'm going to keep on writing letters to myself in the future.
Why?
Because reading them reminds me of where I've been, who I was, what I've overcome.
They might make me a little bit sad, but more often than not, I find my present self laughing at my past self.
Because let's face it, I've had some pretty silly aspirations.
And at the end of the day, it's really okay that not everything worked out as I wanted them to.
Because if they had, who would I be today?
Let me explain.
When I was younger, probably 12 or 13 or something, we did this thing at church where we wrote letters to ourselves in the future. Basically we were writing about our future spouses or whatever, and we weren't supposed to open said letters until we were getting married.
I still have them. Unopened.
We wrote other letters as well, like time capsule type things.
I still have them. Unopened.
Back in 2006, when I was 14, I discovered this website called futureme.org. It was made for me, I swear. You write letters to yourself, and they're delivered to your e-mail address sometime in the future. Back in 2006 I wrote one. The subject of the email, "Wow your old." Obviously showing my impeccable attention to grammar. It is to be delivered in 2013. I cannot wait.
Since then, I've written an email to myself each year to be delivered around the time of my birthday. As I procrastinated today, I recalled these emails, and pulled them up out of curiosity.
I've always been fascinated with my progression as a person.
Just like every other adolescent girl I went through phases. Phases that were somewhat reflected through these emails.
These emails have started short, and got longer and more detailed as time went on.
The content of the emails started more trivial, and became more heartfelt and deep as time went on.
But as I read the emails, I'll admit, I got a little sad.
Not so much nostalgia, but rather, the idea that my life didn't exactly turn out as I suspected. My dreams didn't exactly come true. My predictions, well, were wrong.
For example:
January 15th, 2008: "I still want to go to UF, in fact I REALLY want to go to UF, and I hope you're getting good enough grades for it."
University of Florida was my dream. I wound up not even applying. Not because I couldn't, it just became unrealistic.
Over time, the people I was once close and devoted so much time to, changed.
This is evident through the emails.
And it makes me sad.
Like I devoted so much time and trust into a relationship that seemingly turned out to be a waste.
And then I think, what if I did something differently? What would my life be like if I handled a situation differently?
What if I never left Florida?
Or what if I went to UF?
And then I think, "what if" nothing.
There's no point to "what if."
It is what it is.
"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."
I'm happy!
I love my life.
I may have redefined my dreams. I may have redefined my goals. I may have redefined my relationships. And through it all, it has shaped who I am as a person.
And I like who I am now.
So I'm going to keep on writing letters to myself in the future.
Why?
Because reading them reminds me of where I've been, who I was, what I've overcome.
They might make me a little bit sad, but more often than not, I find my present self laughing at my past self.
Because let's face it, I've had some pretty silly aspirations.
And at the end of the day, it's really okay that not everything worked out as I wanted them to.
Because if they had, who would I be today?
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
What's On Your Mind?
I got into the habit of not posting.
This changes now.
This could be a result of my laptop being broken.
Yeah, tragic.
It's currently undergoing surgery at the Hewlett Packard Factory.
Although it's been a total pain not having my laptop it's given me some time to think...and sleep.
And what did I think about?
Facebook.
Not that I missed it...but how it's taking over the world.
Facebook.
Facebook.
Add me on Facebook.
Tag me on Facebook.
Facebook.
Facebook.
Everyone has a Facebook.
My grandpa has a Facebook.
Yeah.
And personally I'm a fan of Facebook. Converted to the Facebook World 5 years ago...back when barely anyone had a Facebook. Back when people used Facebook for the simplest reason...to keep in touch.
I miss those days.
People take Facebook way too seriously.
A relationship status on Facebook makes it "official."
Starting drama over Facebook.
Facebook comment wars.
Deleting people as friends on Facebook.
Getting offended if someone doesn't comment, "Happy Birthday."
Getting offended if someone doesn't say, "Thank you." for a compliment on a picture.
Having lectures in class about "Facebook Etiquette."
Posting "vague" status' to prove a point about something or someone.
Poking people.
SERIOUSLY.
My dear friend Stephen made a good point today, in regards to not posting the date of his birthday.
"I don't want 21381765230962 comments from people who really don't give a shit. So when I get one, it's because someone actually remembered."
I mean, yeah, a friendly Facebook reminder that it's someone's birthday because it totally slipped your mind is nice.
But when you use Facebook as your primary form of communication, it becomes an issue.
Here's my rant about Facebook:
It's not my life. Yes I will admit, I have mastered the art of Facebook stalking, but really, who hasn't? My mother has. Please.
I'm not going to delete you as a friend. I'm not going to have "friend sweeps." Why? At some point, you added someone because you had contact with them. I honestly don't care enough to go through the 500 something friends I have to take the time to delete people. If I don't talk to you anymore, if you hate me, if I hate you...I don't take Facebook seriously enough to "de-friend" you to prove a point. It's stupid. I'm glad you care enough about Facebook to take the time to do so, though.
Furthermore, I don't need Facebook to define a relationship. And if you want to have your relationship advertised on Facebook...then don't hide it from anyone. Case closed.
To those who post every little thing about their lives as status updates? Get over it. Some things should be kept to yourselves. You're not proving a point. You're not gaining my sympathy.
OMG HE POKED ME WHAT DOES THAT MEAN!?
Well, I don't know. Because if he wanted to talk to you, he probably would've by now, right? Yeah, I'm not a fan of poking. I won't start poking, nor will I poke back. Sorry.
My english prof deleted his Facebook. He figured if people were his true friends, they'd just keep in contact with him without Facebook.
I thought about doing that for a minute.
But really, Facebook is a great way to keep in contact. I'll admit it. I've been able to rekindle many friendships from Florida or whatever through Facebook. And yeah, it's a great way to share pictures, share news/events...blah blah blah.
But when it gets to the point that it causes drama or whatever? That's when it's too much. And really, we're all guilty of it at some point. (all of us who have a Facebook...that is.)
Anyway, I think I'll go check my Facebook now.
This changes now.
This could be a result of my laptop being broken.
Yeah, tragic.
It's currently undergoing surgery at the Hewlett Packard Factory.
Although it's been a total pain not having my laptop it's given me some time to think...and sleep.
And what did I think about?
Facebook.
Not that I missed it...but how it's taking over the world.
Facebook.
Facebook.
Add me on Facebook.
Tag me on Facebook.
Facebook.
Facebook.
Everyone has a Facebook.
My grandpa has a Facebook.
Yeah.
And personally I'm a fan of Facebook. Converted to the Facebook World 5 years ago...back when barely anyone had a Facebook. Back when people used Facebook for the simplest reason...to keep in touch.
I miss those days.
People take Facebook way too seriously.
A relationship status on Facebook makes it "official."
Starting drama over Facebook.
Facebook comment wars.
Deleting people as friends on Facebook.
Getting offended if someone doesn't comment, "Happy Birthday."
Getting offended if someone doesn't say, "Thank you." for a compliment on a picture.
Having lectures in class about "Facebook Etiquette."
Posting "vague" status' to prove a point about something or someone.
Poking people.
SERIOUSLY.
My dear friend Stephen made a good point today, in regards to not posting the date of his birthday.
"I don't want 21381765230962 comments from people who really don't give a shit. So when I get one, it's because someone actually remembered."
I mean, yeah, a friendly Facebook reminder that it's someone's birthday because it totally slipped your mind is nice.
But when you use Facebook as your primary form of communication, it becomes an issue.
Here's my rant about Facebook:
It's not my life. Yes I will admit, I have mastered the art of Facebook stalking, but really, who hasn't? My mother has. Please.
I'm not going to delete you as a friend. I'm not going to have "friend sweeps." Why? At some point, you added someone because you had contact with them. I honestly don't care enough to go through the 500 something friends I have to take the time to delete people. If I don't talk to you anymore, if you hate me, if I hate you...I don't take Facebook seriously enough to "de-friend" you to prove a point. It's stupid. I'm glad you care enough about Facebook to take the time to do so, though.
Furthermore, I don't need Facebook to define a relationship. And if you want to have your relationship advertised on Facebook...then don't hide it from anyone. Case closed.
To those who post every little thing about their lives as status updates? Get over it. Some things should be kept to yourselves. You're not proving a point. You're not gaining my sympathy.
OMG HE POKED ME WHAT DOES THAT MEAN!?
Well, I don't know. Because if he wanted to talk to you, he probably would've by now, right? Yeah, I'm not a fan of poking. I won't start poking, nor will I poke back. Sorry.
My english prof deleted his Facebook. He figured if people were his true friends, they'd just keep in contact with him without Facebook.
I thought about doing that for a minute.
But really, Facebook is a great way to keep in contact. I'll admit it. I've been able to rekindle many friendships from Florida or whatever through Facebook. And yeah, it's a great way to share pictures, share news/events...blah blah blah.
But when it gets to the point that it causes drama or whatever? That's when it's too much. And really, we're all guilty of it at some point. (all of us who have a Facebook...that is.)
Anyway, I think I'll go check my Facebook now.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Now boarding.
I love to travel.
And I love everything that has to do with travel.
...Even packing. (Trust me, packing is like an art form to me.)
Because traveling usually means vacations.
And vacations mean relaxation.
My most FAVORITE part of traveling though, are the airports.
Really.
And I really don't mind flying alone.
Something about going to the ticket counter. Taking care of business. It's empowering.
The best part of airports though...
People watching.
Airports are the BEST place to people watch.
Last week I went to Salt Lake City.
So I sat in the terminal at Sky Harbor and well, watched people. (And watched a little basketball too...conference championships...)
Anyway.
There were other kids traveling alone. I assume going back to school after spending spring break in Arizona. Or maybe going to spend spring break in Utah like I was.
There were old couples. An especially quirky old couple in quirky clothes. The husband brought back Wendy's...the wife spilled the giant cup of soda. Quirky.
There were families. With copious amounts of children. Why you would fly with multiple babies is beyond me...
There were businessmen carrying briefcases.
There were rich looking ladies with their Louie Vuitton luggage.
Then there were my favorite, the classy adult couples. One in particular, intrigued me. I sat next to the wife, who I noticed had a nice pedicure and a fresh set of Frenched nails. She wasn't the most fit woman, but she certainly aged gracefully. Makeup done, matching jewelery, shoes from Dillards. (I could tell because when changing from flip flops to her nice shoes, I saw the price tag on the sole) Her husband was looking particularly dapper. Blazer, slacks, loafers. Checking his e-mail on his i-phone. A very professional fellow. They were a very classy couple.
I wondered about them.
What was their life like? What did they do for a living? Did they have kids? Why were they going to Salt Lake City?
And then a lady came on the intercom.
"Now boarding first class passengers."
And there the couple went.
They flew first class, who woulda thought?
And that's when I realized.
I want that!
I want my future husband and I to be classy, professional people. People who can afford to travel. People who can fly first class.
Because I love to travel.
And that's when I made it a goal.
I have a list of places to visit. (Brazil, Panama, Italy, New Zealand/Australia, Alaska, Jamaica, Hawaii, India, South Africa, Chicago, New York City)
And someday, I will find a way to travel to all of those places.
My future husband and I...him in a blazer, me in my heels.
Flying first class.
Until then, I'll settle for traveling in the back row.
...with the families with copious amounts of crying children.
And I love everything that has to do with travel.
...Even packing. (Trust me, packing is like an art form to me.)
Because traveling usually means vacations.
And vacations mean relaxation.
My most FAVORITE part of traveling though, are the airports.
Really.
And I really don't mind flying alone.
Something about going to the ticket counter. Taking care of business. It's empowering.
The best part of airports though...
People watching.
Airports are the BEST place to people watch.
Last week I went to Salt Lake City.
So I sat in the terminal at Sky Harbor and well, watched people. (And watched a little basketball too...conference championships...)
Anyway.
There were other kids traveling alone. I assume going back to school after spending spring break in Arizona. Or maybe going to spend spring break in Utah like I was.
There were old couples. An especially quirky old couple in quirky clothes. The husband brought back Wendy's...the wife spilled the giant cup of soda. Quirky.
There were families. With copious amounts of children. Why you would fly with multiple babies is beyond me...
There were businessmen carrying briefcases.
There were rich looking ladies with their Louie Vuitton luggage.
Then there were my favorite, the classy adult couples. One in particular, intrigued me. I sat next to the wife, who I noticed had a nice pedicure and a fresh set of Frenched nails. She wasn't the most fit woman, but she certainly aged gracefully. Makeup done, matching jewelery, shoes from Dillards. (I could tell because when changing from flip flops to her nice shoes, I saw the price tag on the sole) Her husband was looking particularly dapper. Blazer, slacks, loafers. Checking his e-mail on his i-phone. A very professional fellow. They were a very classy couple.
I wondered about them.
What was their life like? What did they do for a living? Did they have kids? Why were they going to Salt Lake City?
And then a lady came on the intercom.
"Now boarding first class passengers."
And there the couple went.
They flew first class, who woulda thought?
And that's when I realized.
I want that!
I want my future husband and I to be classy, professional people. People who can afford to travel. People who can fly first class.
Because I love to travel.
And that's when I made it a goal.
I have a list of places to visit. (Brazil, Panama, Italy, New Zealand/Australia, Alaska, Jamaica, Hawaii, India, South Africa, Chicago, New York City)
And someday, I will find a way to travel to all of those places.
My future husband and I...him in a blazer, me in my heels.
Flying first class.
Until then, I'll settle for traveling in the back row.
...with the families with copious amounts of crying children.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Here's to You: #2
"Was that your bf on the phone?"
"No. That was my uncle."
"Oh. Do you have a bf?"
"Uhh, Nope. Why do you ask?"
"Oh. Just wondering."
That's the first conversation we had. I'm not even kidding. He said "BF."
"Why is your hair two different colors?"
"Well, I dyed it. And now the dye is growing out."
"When are you going to cut your hair?"
"Uhh...I don't know."
That was another conversation we had. He seriously asked me why my hair was two different colors.
Now, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad that he even talked to me. Or acknowledged my existence. I mean, I was the new kid to band, I knew barely anyone in marching band, and I had to sit next to him in concert band...every day.
Now, I'd be lying if I said I didn't think he was kind of awkward. Okay, maybe I was a little bit too...I was the new kid, I was feeling out my surroundings, and I didn't want to say anything stupid or whatever.
Now, I'd be lying if I said that he was like anyone I've ever met, or that based off those first several encounters, we'd be as close as we are today.
He drives me crazy.
I mean that in the best way possible.
He is so competitive. So. Competitive. Especially with me.
2009 National Championship: Florida vs. Oklahoma. We talked trash. We made a bet. Needless to say, I got dinner and a movie.
We played soccer. It resulted in a bloody leg. I have a scar to prove it.
He talks so much trash.
He argues so much.
It's not a bad thing, really. I argue as much as he does. And for some reason, we get some sick satisfaction from instigating each other.
No really, he knows EXACTLY what to say to provoke me. (and vise versa)
Usually it has to do with sports.
He know's SO MUCH about sports.
It's cool though. I know if I say, "OMG DUKE WAS UPSET," he'll know exactly what I'm talking about.
But he never let's me win. Or admits he's wrong. And forget him telling me I'm right.
Drives. Me. Crazy.
It's okay though...I'm the same way with him.
I'd like to say I know him extremely well. I mean. I do know him extremely well.
But he's like a rubik's cube. I think I've got him figured out, and then I'm totally confused again. And it drives me crazy.
He knows me very well though.
He knows what I'm going to throw in an hour long game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, Slap. Which resulted in my left hand being swollen to the point that I couldn't play the piano. (Again. Competitiveness...)
And he knows when I'm upset about something, even when I don't want to admit it.
And he knows, or at least tries, to make me feel better all the time.
Because he's the most hilarious kid I know.
Even if he talks about poop all the time. Okay, not all of the time.
Although, we did sit in Sam's Club one day talking about farts.
But he does always make me smile. And he cracks me up.
He's the right amount of sarcastic. And refreshingly witty.
It isn't always rainbows and butterflies though.
Sometimes we get mad at each other.
Drives me crazy.
But we get over it. And everything is back to normal.
And even when our friends were in World War III with each other, we somehow weren't.
Sometimes he's a douchebag though.
Drives me crazy.
Actually. He's usually the right amount of douchebag...at least in my opinion.
Anyway, I think we might have set the record of the longest conversations ever on facebook chat.
One night, we were talking till 5 am. We had jazz band that morning. Yeah, neither of us went.
Sitting in his car, talking on the phone, texting, facebook chat, skype...talking to him just never gets old.
We originated the Question Game and we even created rules.
Really, I could write a novel about us.
I could talk about when he jumped in the pool in Florida with his phone in his pocket. Or how we spent 3rd quarters together in the stands every football game. Or his church ball games. Or how we texted each other rap verses. Or when we would walk to the spot after 1st hour. Or when we didn't pay attention at all during graduation because we were too busy taking pictures and talking.
I could talk about the time we floated down the Salt River and he tried pushing me off the air mattress. Or when we climbed A mountain one night. Or the times we hit the gym. Or when we played 1 v 1 bball and I beat him...once.
I could talk about all the time we spent this year during POA band season. Every day for lunch and dinner during band camp. Walking around after football games. Driving back from Homecoming at 3 am. Being bus buddies for the bowl trip. Buying t-shirts at the mall in El Paso.
I could talk about lunches at Barro's. Or ordering the same Vito, no tomatoes, sweet peppers, and a Cherry Coke, at Jimmy John's...always. Or baking brownies. Or my mom making him eat a ridiculous amount of pasta. Or when he put on an apron and made me corn dogs. Or how much he loves the cakes I bake. Or how he eats tons of Thin mints at 2 am.
I could talk about the time he came swimming when I was babysitting 5 kids. And the 5year old girl totally fell in love with him. And then all the kids begged me to invite him for dinner because they liked him so much.
I could talk about when we bought sneakers. Or when we watched Seven. Or when we ordered at Carls Jr. then backed out of the drive thru. Or when he did that at Taco Bell because he forgot his wallet.
Most importantly, I could talk about how far we've come since those awkward conversations. How comfortable I am with him. How goofy we are. How he drives me crazy, but how I couldn't imagine life without him.
So, here's to you!
Salud.
"No. That was my uncle."
"Oh. Do you have a bf?"
"Uhh, Nope. Why do you ask?"
"Oh. Just wondering."
That's the first conversation we had. I'm not even kidding. He said "BF."
"Why is your hair two different colors?"
"Well, I dyed it. And now the dye is growing out."
"When are you going to cut your hair?"
"Uhh...I don't know."
That was another conversation we had. He seriously asked me why my hair was two different colors.
Now, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad that he even talked to me. Or acknowledged my existence. I mean, I was the new kid to band, I knew barely anyone in marching band, and I had to sit next to him in concert band...every day.
Now, I'd be lying if I said I didn't think he was kind of awkward. Okay, maybe I was a little bit too...I was the new kid, I was feeling out my surroundings, and I didn't want to say anything stupid or whatever.
Now, I'd be lying if I said that he was like anyone I've ever met, or that based off those first several encounters, we'd be as close as we are today.
He drives me crazy.
I mean that in the best way possible.
He is so competitive. So. Competitive. Especially with me.
2009 National Championship: Florida vs. Oklahoma. We talked trash. We made a bet. Needless to say, I got dinner and a movie.
We played soccer. It resulted in a bloody leg. I have a scar to prove it.
He talks so much trash.
He argues so much.
It's not a bad thing, really. I argue as much as he does. And for some reason, we get some sick satisfaction from instigating each other.
No really, he knows EXACTLY what to say to provoke me. (and vise versa)
Usually it has to do with sports.
He know's SO MUCH about sports.
It's cool though. I know if I say, "OMG DUKE WAS UPSET," he'll know exactly what I'm talking about.
But he never let's me win. Or admits he's wrong. And forget him telling me I'm right.
Drives. Me. Crazy.
It's okay though...I'm the same way with him.
I'd like to say I know him extremely well. I mean. I do know him extremely well.
But he's like a rubik's cube. I think I've got him figured out, and then I'm totally confused again. And it drives me crazy.
He knows me very well though.
He knows what I'm going to throw in an hour long game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, Slap. Which resulted in my left hand being swollen to the point that I couldn't play the piano. (Again. Competitiveness...)
And he knows when I'm upset about something, even when I don't want to admit it.
And he knows, or at least tries, to make me feel better all the time.
Because he's the most hilarious kid I know.
Even if he talks about poop all the time. Okay, not all of the time.
Although, we did sit in Sam's Club one day talking about farts.
But he does always make me smile. And he cracks me up.
He's the right amount of sarcastic. And refreshingly witty.
It isn't always rainbows and butterflies though.
Sometimes we get mad at each other.
Drives me crazy.
But we get over it. And everything is back to normal.
And even when our friends were in World War III with each other, we somehow weren't.
Sometimes he's a douchebag though.
Drives me crazy.
Actually. He's usually the right amount of douchebag...at least in my opinion.
Anyway, I think we might have set the record of the longest conversations ever on facebook chat.
One night, we were talking till 5 am. We had jazz band that morning. Yeah, neither of us went.
Sitting in his car, talking on the phone, texting, facebook chat, skype...talking to him just never gets old.
We originated the Question Game and we even created rules.
Really, I could write a novel about us.
I could talk about when he jumped in the pool in Florida with his phone in his pocket. Or how we spent 3rd quarters together in the stands every football game. Or his church ball games. Or how we texted each other rap verses. Or when we would walk to the spot after 1st hour. Or when we didn't pay attention at all during graduation because we were too busy taking pictures and talking.
I could talk about the time we floated down the Salt River and he tried pushing me off the air mattress. Or when we climbed A mountain one night. Or the times we hit the gym. Or when we played 1 v 1 bball and I beat him...once.
I could talk about all the time we spent this year during POA band season. Every day for lunch and dinner during band camp. Walking around after football games. Driving back from Homecoming at 3 am. Being bus buddies for the bowl trip. Buying t-shirts at the mall in El Paso.
I could talk about lunches at Barro's. Or ordering the same Vito, no tomatoes, sweet peppers, and a Cherry Coke, at Jimmy John's...always. Or baking brownies. Or my mom making him eat a ridiculous amount of pasta. Or when he put on an apron and made me corn dogs. Or how much he loves the cakes I bake. Or how he eats tons of Thin mints at 2 am.
I could talk about the time he came swimming when I was babysitting 5 kids. And the 5year old girl totally fell in love with him. And then all the kids begged me to invite him for dinner because they liked him so much.
I could talk about when we bought sneakers. Or when we watched Seven. Or when we ordered at Carls Jr. then backed out of the drive thru. Or when he did that at Taco Bell because he forgot his wallet.
Most importantly, I could talk about how far we've come since those awkward conversations. How comfortable I am with him. How goofy we are. How he drives me crazy, but how I couldn't imagine life without him.
So, here's to you!
Salud.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Here's to you: #1
So I decided that I would start dedicating my posts to people, occasionally that is. And by that, I mean, blogging about someone significant in my life, because I feel like it's the least I can do to show my appreciation for whatever they do for me. I'm calling it, "Here's to You." (Kind of like giving someone a toast. Just on a blog. Through writing.)
Here's the catch.
I'm not naming names.
I don't want it to be some sort of advertisement, and some sort of competition/controversy of who's name is on the blog, but rather, I want to explain the impact these people have on me, and publicize the awesome people I'm lucky to have in my life.
So, enjoy!
Over the years I've had many friends. Some closer than others. Like, way closer than others. But not all of those friendships have lasted. And that's okay. Really. Because from every single one of those friendships, I've learned lessons. I honestly don't regret any of them.
But I'm not here to talk about the friends I've lost.
I'm here to talk about the one friend I've kept since sophomore year.
I moved at the end of October my sophomore year.
It was the roughest year of my life.
But I'm not here to talk about the roughest year of my life.
I'm here to talk about the kid in my Spanish and Block classes.
The kid who called me "Florida."
Who made fun of me for writing, "Fresh to death, THUG LIFE 727," all over my stuff. (I seriously hated Arizona, sorry.)
The kid who originated (yes it was this kid) the name, Sca-Harlot. (He was making up raps, I told him the only word that rhymed with Scarlett was harlot. Mistake? maybe.)
I was searching for a picture today, and I came across some from sophomore year.
There I found pictures of the kid who befriended me when I was the Negative-Nancy-New-Girl.
The kid who might be more competitive than me.
Put us together and we'll own you in a debate. About stem cell research, specifically. (Don't play Risk with him though. He's over the top then.)
There was a solid year that I barely hung out, let alone talked, to this kid.
Then we had seminary together 2nd semester senior year.
It's like nothing ever changed.
This is the kid I would trust with my life.
The kid gives the best advice, I assure you.
"Fake it till you make it."
And even if he goes to another school, we have the best catch up seshes. At my house. Til 2 am. During winter break, specifically.
And this kid knows how to have a good time.
Specifically for my birthday. Dancing. Hard.
Or conquering mountains. Or floating down rivers. Or pool hopping.
And I know this kid has my back. Always.
I feel like I just don't give this kid enough credit for how awesome he is.
At the end of it all though, this kid is someone I know I might not see every day, or talk to every week...but I always know he'll be there when I need him most. Especially when I want to have a good time. (Involving, but not limited to: pudding, toilet paper, Bahama bucks, and the Boondocks)
So, here's to you!
Salud.
Here's the catch.
I'm not naming names.
I don't want it to be some sort of advertisement, and some sort of competition/controversy of who's name is on the blog, but rather, I want to explain the impact these people have on me, and publicize the awesome people I'm lucky to have in my life.
So, enjoy!
Over the years I've had many friends. Some closer than others. Like, way closer than others. But not all of those friendships have lasted. And that's okay. Really. Because from every single one of those friendships, I've learned lessons. I honestly don't regret any of them.
But I'm not here to talk about the friends I've lost.
I'm here to talk about the one friend I've kept since sophomore year.
I moved at the end of October my sophomore year.
It was the roughest year of my life.
But I'm not here to talk about the roughest year of my life.
I'm here to talk about the kid in my Spanish and Block classes.
The kid who called me "Florida."
Who made fun of me for writing, "Fresh to death, THUG LIFE 727," all over my stuff. (I seriously hated Arizona, sorry.)
The kid who originated (yes it was this kid) the name, Sca-Harlot. (He was making up raps, I told him the only word that rhymed with Scarlett was harlot. Mistake? maybe.)
I was searching for a picture today, and I came across some from sophomore year.
There I found pictures of the kid who befriended me when I was the Negative-Nancy-New-Girl.
The kid who might be more competitive than me.
Put us together and we'll own you in a debate. About stem cell research, specifically. (Don't play Risk with him though. He's over the top then.)
There was a solid year that I barely hung out, let alone talked, to this kid.
Then we had seminary together 2nd semester senior year.
It's like nothing ever changed.
This is the kid I would trust with my life.
The kid gives the best advice, I assure you.
"Fake it till you make it."
And even if he goes to another school, we have the best catch up seshes. At my house. Til 2 am. During winter break, specifically.
And this kid knows how to have a good time.
Specifically for my birthday. Dancing. Hard.
Or conquering mountains. Or floating down rivers. Or pool hopping.
And I know this kid has my back. Always.
I feel like I just don't give this kid enough credit for how awesome he is.
At the end of it all though, this kid is someone I know I might not see every day, or talk to every week...but I always know he'll be there when I need him most. Especially when I want to have a good time. (Involving, but not limited to: pudding, toilet paper, Bahama bucks, and the Boondocks)
So, here's to you!
Salud.
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