Something stinks....stinks real bad

Ahhhh the Olympics.  I F&*$&#@ love the Olympics!  I am glued to my TV every night from about 7 pm to midnight or 1 am depending upon when they end.  I cannot get enough.  There is something about all the international blood, sweat and tears mixing together to make some crazy competition that really gets my goat.  But I gotta put something out there.  I've never been one for conspiracy theories.  Yes, we landed on the moon.  Elvis  and Tupac are both dead.  No, I don't think the government is hiding Aliens and even if they are then thanks, because I'd rather not know about it.  But something is amuck with the gymnastics competition.  I can't quite put my finger on it - oh wait, yes I can.  The Chinese are cheating.  I am convinced.  Stupid cheating commies.  Everyone with even one good eye can tell half the women's gymnastics team is underage.  You have to be at least 16 to compete in the Olympics for gymnastics and half the girls look about 12, maybe.  But of course they have their passports so no one can prove anything.  To give you an idea it's about 70 lbs to 103 lbs per girl respectively for China and then everyone else.  Yes, Asians are petite, but so are gymnasts!  And don't get me started on the scoring, some one has been bought at the judges table.  I just know it.  And then there is the time difference!  What is the deal with such a huge time difference?  I know the Chinese did that on purpose too!  But I have to say I do feel bad for the some of the Chinese gymnasts.  They were taken at 3 years old to live in dorms and train for the Olympics.  What kind of a life is that?  What are they going to do when they can't compete anymore?  What would their resume include?  Perhaps something like this:

Ni-how-ma,

I'm a hard worker who doesn't form personal attachments to people which helps in this cutthroat job market.  I don't mind frequent travel or relocating if the job requires it.  I rarely ever take holiday breaks because I don't really know my family anyway, I'd rather keep working for the glory of my country.  I work extremely well under pressure and enjoy my superiors breathing over my shoulder.  I am super flexible and have contracts stating that I will not get injured at anytime, ever.  I enjoy applying brightly colored makeup and seeing just how many metal clips I can fit on my head around my scrunchy.  I can pass for any age that my new employer deems ideal and forget about maternity leave or only having one child.  After all that training I probably won't be able to reproduce anyway.  In short, I think I would be the perfect asset to your company because I am a robot, plain and simple.  

She-she, 

 Your favorite gymnast.

What's in a name?

When I got home today  I turned on the TV to entertain me while I had a snack before dinner.  Lucky for me the movie Christine was playing and I have always wanted to see it.  For those not familiar with this gem of the cinema, let me give you a quick run-down.  It's a Stephen King flick about an old car named Christine.  

Christine is possessive and very jealous of her owner Arnie.  She tries to hurt anyone who gets in the car who isn't Arnie.  When Arnie is in the car it's just little things, but when he leaves the car it chokes people and other crazy stuff like that.  Eventually some guys smash up the car and Christine heals herself and goes on a killing rampage of anyone who gets in her way.  And every time the car crashes or catches on fire it fixes itself like a phoenix rising out of the ashes.  Arnie kind of gets nuts at the end with love for Christine and he gets pretty vindictive.  Pretty entertaining stuff.  But while I was watching the movie munching on chips and salsa my Abuela came in for a snack also.  As soon as she got settled with her canned sardines and toast we watched Christine together which was even better.  Luckily the dialogue is kept to a minimum and I didn't have to translate that much.  It was fun watching it with Abuela and having to explain the intricacies of the story line, "No, that guy is bad too.  Yes, the car killed an innocent person also.  No, the CAR killed them".  And then the drama escalated and confusion was at an all time high with Abuela.  "No one is driving the car, it is CRAZY!!  No.... there is no one driving!  It is killing all on it's own!  Whoa!  The car just used the front seat to crush the man in the garage!  Don't you see?!  The car regenerates all on it's own" I tried.  She lasted through a couple commercials and then went back to her Mexican soap operas.  But at least we had a chance to bond over Christine.  

Now that I think about it, my Abuela's dog Pompona (pom-pom) had a Christine-like mentality.  It would still try and bite you when she was around - but it only went into full seek and destroy mode when she wasn't there.  Abuela was obsessed with that dog as much as Arnie was with his car.  They have both since passed away and I'd like to think that somehow, somewhere Pompona is driving Christine in the underworld.  The perfect pair.

Safety first

I decided to really test the trike today by riding all the way to Target from my house.  I don't know how far that is - but it's farther than riding around and around and around my neighborhood. 

 So I dug up a bike lock from the garage and loaded up the basket with a hoodie, a clutch, my camelback canteen and some shades (just in case).  I was putting on my shoes and fiddling with my Ipod when my mom caught me.  "You better wear a helmet" she said.  "It's not that far" I protested.  "I don't care" she insisted, "there is too much traffic - go get it".  Fine.  I got the helmet.  Nobody likes to wear a bike helmet.  Wearing a bike helmet says "hey, I'm practical and safety minded.  Aaaaaand I don't mind looking like a dufus".  But for once I actually listened to my mother.  When we were little my brother and I used to wear our bike helmets like dutiful children until we got to the giant bushes at the bottom of our drive where we promptly discarded our helmets.  We put them back on right before we got home and mom never knew.  I used to do that a lot.  Outwardly I was a very obedient child, but I wasn't really.  I pulled the old bike helmet discard trick many times with other things.  My mom once braided my hair in two braids that she wrapped around my ears like princess laie for picture day.  As soon I got to the end of the drive I unwrapped those buns as fast as I could.  I was soo embarrassed.  She didn't find out until we got the pictures back.  I also used to wear one thing to school in elementary and change into another completely different outfit when I got to school.  I would take her knee-high leather stiletto boots and parade around recess in them.  Yikes.  I was such a clothes whore at a young age.  Back to the ride, I made it to Target safe and sound where I picked up the usuals; some gum, lotion and Jujyfruits.  

That's right, Jujyfruits.  They were next to the gum and I had just seen the Seinfeld episode where Elaine gets in trouble for stopping for Jujyfruit and then stuffing her mouth with them.  I know I've had them before, but it had been so long I'd forgotten what they were like I decided to give them another shot.  They are delicious!  Much better than I'd thought.  And so I stuffed a bunch in my mouth trying to recreate the Elaine moment, "Mr. Lipman...you forgot your...Mr. Lipman...your hankerchief".  It IS really hard - those things stick to your teeth like none other.  Don't call me on the phone today, your likely to only hear a bunch of mumbling on account of the Jujyfruit.

No man is an Island

"Did you fall out of bed"? asked my mother this morning as I was eating breakfast.  "No, why?" I asked.  "Because I never get to see you up this early".  It was 9:15 am.  And no, I do not always get up late.  It's just that I've had a little more free time than usual while I wait for my new job to start.  I don't want to be lazy and sleep in everyday so I try to get up at a decent hour and keep myself productive - even though I don't really know why.  So I fill up my day by taking walks or borrowing my moms trike to take a spin around the neighborhood.  I read on the porch or with my legs propped up against a wall to keep the varicose veins away.  I made myself take two days to finish A Thousand Splendid Suns so I could have more time to fill up.  I'm not complaining, it is just odd to have so much time to yourself.  I try to shift my activities every two hours or so to keep the blood pumping.  Maybe now I'll have time to remember to water the plants.  I just wish there were more people around.  I think, "man, a mexican popsicle would be great right now!" but there is no one to go with.  And the thought of sitting outside of Juanita's bakery by myself just isn't right.  Who would marvel alongside me at the neighboring display windows with fluffy quincenera dresses embroidered with the Virgin of Guadalupe?  I have no friends left in Provo.  Correction - I have no single friends left in Provo.  Thanks for living here married's, but it just doesn't work the same.  I've thought about trying to make new friends but what's the point, I'm leaving in a month anyway.  It's just too much work.  I wouldn't be getting a good return on my investment.  I don't need to meet anyone else here.  I already have a place to stay when I come back to Utah, I can borrow a car from my family, and I know where I like to eat.  So if I already know you and you want to get a mexican popsicle sometime go ahead and give me a ring.

Things that copy/paste in the night

OMG.  Literally.  I just wrote an awesome blog post about the long days I spend by myself and how I fill up my time.  But I wrote it somewhere else accidentally and then tried to copy and paste it here for this blog.  But it won't work.  My copy/paste function is giving me a sign.  I knew I should never have blogged about Joel Osteen the televangelist.  His poltergeist has taken over my computer.  I cannot copy anything and every time I try to paste all that comes up is a picture of Joel Osteen.  Seriously.  You can't make this stuff up.  His virus has infiltrated my motherboard.  Every time I push apple V THIS shows up:  

Let's try again:

Don't believe me?  Come over, I'll show you.

HELP!  Maybe if I do what Joel preaches and pray really, really hard then God will bless me and a new Macbook will show up on my doorstep.  Until then, I'm just praying that I won't open the computer up and see his face as my background *shudder*.