Bones (not noses) to Pick

I'm normally a fairly easy going person - well, at least I tell myself that, anyway. Some of you might scoff at that statement. But lately, I've had a couple things of that have just bugged. And I have a bone to pick with them. Unfortunately, for the few who actually read my blog, you will be forced to read my ranting and raving. But don't worry. If at anytime you feel that any of this ranting and raving is directed at you, personally, it probably is. Haha. Kidding. Probably. (: Anyway, in no order of bone density, here are the bones I would like to pick:

1. Long hair at gyms - yesterday I came out of my spin class drenched with sweat and looking oh so pretty, when I saw a skinny, skinny (no, I'm not bitter) blonde with tight spandex, a tank top, and her long straight hair down to the middle of her back. When she walked she flipped it back with her hand (you know what I'm talking about) and of course the eyes of the guys lifting weights followed when she passed. Seriously? Now this is not the first time I've seen girls with long hair, compeltely done up, and their hair down while working out. If it were the only time, I would have chalked it up to being merely a freak incident. But no, I see it quite often at the gym. It's obvious why these girls are there. And you know, if they are there to pick up on guys, then by all means, it's their God-given right. And I have the right to blog about it. I know I am probably just jealous. If I wore my hair down, it would be a frizz ball within 0.7 seconds due to the buckets of sweat  I tend to excrete. Maybe next week I'll just have to try it, though. I'll practice the hair flip today at work. Oh wait. I wadded my hair up -- like every day.

2. Education Week - do you rememeber that post I wrote about how EFY kids just kind of got on my nerves? Well, welcome to the week when those EFY kids grow up and STILL serve as the bane of my existence. The campus has been invaded by old people who seek the thrill of reliving their university days (and granted, being spiritually instructed). At least EFY kids tended to walk in a line with leader, so that if needs be, I could dodge all of them with one single sidestep. Old people go wherever they darn please. Oh education week. Oh old people. How I love thee.

3. Bathroom doors that swing in, instead of out - I realize that this may seem like a funny bone to pick (haha...funny bone...). But seriously. I am disgusted by toilet spray. In high school I was editor of our school paper and as such, I basically wrote whatever I darn pleased. So one day I decided (being the germaphobe that I am) to do a undercover investigation of bathroom hygiene. For two hours I stood on the toilet seat of the handicap stall, documenting the number of pee-ers, and listening for how many washed their hands. Disgustingly, that number was about as low as the amount of food I have right now - which is saying something. In my research for the groundbreaking article, I managed to stumble upon toilet spray, and just how far it really goes. But anyway -- that's a whole other blog post, which I just may write. The bottom line is, I am disgusted by toilet water droplets going into my mouth, and a door swinging out would make my great escape that much quicker. Who cares about whacking the person outside in the face. She shouldn't be standing so close to my stall, anyway - weirdo.

And, well, that's enough bone picking for today. I try to maintain a positive perspective on life, and if I rant and rave too long, I start to see just how alone I am in being normal. Am I really the only normal person on this planet? Such a depressing thought. And don't try to tell me that if I'm the only  normal person, maybe I'm not so normal. Trust me. I've heard it all before. Save it for the whales.

Bone picking - done. Let's talk about rainbows and butterflies.

Haha -- I'm serious.

The other day a friend and I were walking down University when we spotted a sign for a charity concert at the end of August. It was going to attract big names - Third Eye Blind, Reliant K, etc. We got pretty excited about it. The next day he texted me with the details after having looked it up online, but said with hesitation, "The charity sounds kind of weird, though." In my head, I was thinking up all the "weird charity" possibilities. For example, I once heard that the Kentucky Humane Society teamed up with the ladies from Hooters reminding the good people of the state to spay and neuter their pets - Hooters for Neuters. When I asked him what the charity was, however, he replied, "A foundation to stop the child sex trade in Canada and in the US." Well, this wasn't weird at all. It is all too real. Our conversation continued:

Me: "Well that's a big problem right now, actually -- as crazy as it seems."
Friend: "I can't tell through text if you're joking or serious. Is it really a problem?"
Me: "Haha -- I'm serious."
Friend: "So when the use the word 'trade,' do they mean it like the slave trade? Are kids really taken, shipped, and sold as sex slaves, or is it talking about child pornography?"
Me: No. They trade children in prostitution, basically. And it's a big problem with women, too."
Friend: "So I'm still a little confused. Are the children and women captives, or is it their parents and husbands who are acting as pimps?"
Me: "Sometimes they're kidnapped and put into it. In the poorer countries, some families have sold their children to survive."
Friend: "That's terrible and so sad. :( I guess it's not surprising for a third world country, but I had no idea it existed in more developed places...What a world, what a world. How did you hear about this?"

It was in this text conversation, that I realized just how often world-scale atrocities like sex trafficking go unnoticed. I don't consider my friend ignorant. He just never knew. Once he did know, he saw the horror for what it was. For any kind of change to come about in a world so battered by violence, hatred, racism, poverty, and sex crimes, it has to start with awareness. In my Sociology of Modern Society class we talked at great length about the Rwanda genocide. At one point, a girl raised her hand and asked, "Why don't I remember this, while I can remember the OJ Simpson trial?" On June 12, 1994 Simpson's girlfriend and her friend Ronald Goldman were found dead outside Brown's condominium. On April 6, 1994, the mass murder of an estimated 800,000 Rwandans took place. The girl in my sociology class was right. Why don't I remember it?

We have to know what's going on. The world can't afford ignorance - too much is at stake. The Dali Lama once said, "Where ignorance is our master, there is no possibility for real peace." Knowledge is power - the power to change.

To be aware about human trafficking in the United States and abroad, check out the following links:

http://www.humantrafficking.org/

http://www.cnn.com/2009/OPINION/11/25/carr.human.trafficking/

http://www.acf.hhs.gov/trafficking/about/fact_sex.pdf

http://abcnews.go.com/Primetime/story?id=1596778&page=1

My Pie Shake Brings All the Boys to the Yard

I have found a new love, and just can't hide it anymore. I am in love with...Sammy's. It may strike you as a dog's name, or maybe even the name of a freckled-face 6 year old, but no. It's only the coolest little hole in the wall hamburger joint in downtown Provo (granted, there is maybe only one other downtown -- but that's beside the point). I'll be honest, I've only had their black bean garden burger, but I've SEEN the hamburgers and they look amazing. The attraction, however, is not necessarily in the meat or black beans. Their pie shakes are what bring all the crazies to the yard -- like me. Listen and drool: They will take a whole piece of pie and make a MILKSHAKE with it. I'm not joshing you. This is legit, ladies and gentlemen. Saturday night I had a Chocolate Oreo Cream Pie Shake and sweet potato fries. A-freaking-mazing. Their bathrooms may be wanting, but any true hole in the wall with a nice bathroom would not be a hole in the wall. It has to have character. Welcome to Sammy's.

 "I was 32 when I started cooking; up until then, I just ate."

Julia Child

 "Pobrecita," the old women said, shaking her head as she watched me iron her clothes. I was in Pacheco, just outside Buenos Aires, and I was ironing an old women's clothes for her as she sat in her rocking chair. Pobrecita is like saying "poor little thing." The old woman, living in a tiny two bedroom house with very little material things or any hope of ever having any, felt sorry for me -- because I was never going to get married. I may have had a roof over my head, a a college education, and an iPod waiting for me at home, but I didn't have the most important thing yet -- and apparently I never would. Ana, the old women, turned to my companion and said quietly (but obviously not quiet enough), "Ella nunca se va a casar." She is never going to get married. 

The sad part is, she was not the only old women to point this out. It was brought to my attention both in Buenos Aires, as well as in Tierra del Fuego -- an island at the bottom of the world. Even the penguins could see it. Ana saw my lack of potential in the way I ironed and folded her clothes. Adelina saw it in my awesome sewing skills (note the oozing sarcasm). And after getting a taste of my amazing cooking talent, Margarita declared the whole American female population incompetent and hopeless -- and of course, unsuitable for marriage. My Latin companions could always just whip up a tart, or pizza from scratch. I made toast -- and burnt it. To these women, women who probably began kneading dough before they could even reach the counter to do it, women who every day created a beautiful, LARGE meal from scratch for the entire family at lunch time, ironing, sewing, and cooking were what made a woman attractive as a potential wife. And all this time I thought my good looks and charm were going to win me my man! Now, while I don't worry about my lack of talent being a factor in my future (far in the future) marriage (I am, after all, a modern woman--burn the bras!), I can see how my kids might die of scurvy if all I feed them is burnt toast. Luckily, like Julia Child, it's never too late to learn! Up until now, I have just eaten. I'm 23. It's time I started cooking. 

I'm not quite sure how to go about accomplishing this new and grand aspiration. I almost feel that I should wait until I move into my new apartment -- my current apartment has already been through one fire. Ideally, I would make something once a week. Realistically, however, that may hurt my bank account given the fact that I currently eat only garden burgers and cereal every day. Well, I will think about it and get back to you (all three of you who read this blog). Maybe I can even blog about my adventures in cooking ala Julie style. Until then, I will continue on this dark and ever-so self-destructive path that can only lead to many, many, so many cats.

Buen Provecho!

Why I Love Country Concerts

On Friday I had the privilege of attending one of society's most regal social events -- a country music concert outside. Oh yeah. I can't help but love them -- everything about them speaks to my heart and stirs up my soul. Sure, it may smell like beer. And yes, you usually see something scarring. But really, summer wouldn't be summer without it. Let me present 15 reasons why I love country music concerts. And while some of these may sound sarcastic, I really do cherish them -- every one of them. I hope one day YOU can feel the same explicit joy. Ahem...

1. You feel the urge to count mullets and are never disappointed.
2. The amount of sunburnt flesh -- lots of it.
3. Beer bracelets
4. The bathroom weather being reminencent of summers in Buenos Aires (including smell).
5. The funny drunk lady who sways in unison to the music, her beer sloshing on her bare feet.
6. The couple in front of us getting it on. Ew.
7. The electric cigarette - seriously people.
8. The not so electric cigarette - complete with real smoke...in your face.
9. The roar of an evening crowd.
10. Tattoos, tattoos, and oh. Tattoos. 
11. The girl getting plastered during the opening act -- and then throwing up all over her friend's cowboy boots. Awesome.
12. The twang.
13. The soul.
14. The passion.
15. The music.

"Country Music: The Spirit of America."   

Alan Jackson