D4K

I haven't blogged in months. This time instead of having nothing to say or feeling too overwhelmed with backlogging, it's that I just haven't had time. No time to shower, no time to socialize, no time to study, nada. Life has turned absolutely crazy, and I don't even know how it happened.

Basically, I came back up to Utah and something happened:


DoForKids: I more or less started a non-profit with four of my girlfriends.

  Wait.....what??

I still can't believe it's all happening. It's our version of education reform, which we think is pretty innovative and....do I dare say it.....genius. (I said it.) We just rocked a presentation to Teen Mobile so I feel so inclined as to not be modest... 

In a few words, kids utilize their networks (both tangible and in the social media world) to fill out surveys for interest in our sponsors' services they use everyday (internet, cable, cellular networks, etc). They are required to pick up the call with a price estimate and the kid gets $5.....which obviously translates into a lot more money with a bigger network. That doesn't include the donation and other incentives to the school or organization, either. No obligations, just a lead call.

I spent way too much time fussing over tired products I had to fundraise for my cheer teams....and in which my mom was forced to buy entirely to meet the set quota.

I'm really proud of it. Check it out here.

Utah introductions.

This little lady just graduated....and is officially all moved in.
With me. In Provo. For the summer. Oh blessed summer classes.

It's been quite fun. Everyone and their hamster asks if we are twins....and if she's older. But I'm not quite at the stage of life where that's a compliment, at least not yet. You see the problem..

She has honestly been having the time of her life. And I'm not even remotely exaggerating by saying she has gotten a surplus of attention.

Tonight one of her dates came by to see her. I was in the process of cutting a watermelon. He politely introduced himself upon hearing I was the (currently) not-so-famed older sister. So I offered my hand forward for a friendly handshake. Only I was still holding the large knife.


It was totally and completely unintentional. Of course.

All about Dad.

*In a puffy black vest, jeans, ultra-durable tennis shoes, and 2+ headlamps attached to his forehead.

*In a white robe on the couch eating fancy, protein-ambushed eggs while watching the morning news.

*In pristine, ironed golfing attire and an obnoxiously big golfing club as an accessory, practicing his swing in the family room with the professionals (boringly) doing what they do on the tv screen.

*In a white lab coat and freaky magnifying glasses peering into my mouth with an odd instrument at his office.

*In my high school stadium wearing red attire and a paparazzi-status camera lens...taking flip-book like pictures while cheering/graduating.

These are the images that flood my mind regarding my dad. My sweet, can-talk-to-anyone-in-the-elevator, athlete obsessive, too-kind-to-yell-at-a-fly, and tells-his-patients-more-about-me-than-I-know-myself father. He's the absolute best. And I want to celebrate him on this Father's Day. Because he is extra special to me....and he deserves to know that.


 




 



Dad, thanks for being so supportive, loving, and generous. Thank you for specially ordering my personalized license plate HAYBAY, that I now get teased for as an aspiring young professional in the university world. Thank you for only getting truly mad at me once, that being when I destroyed my front bumper after accidentally driving into a center divider. Oops. Thank you for selflessly financing all of my worldly adventures. Thank you for shedding a tear (I can almost swear you did) at my graduation...adding to the only other two times you've cried on record in your life (while watching the movie Field of Dreams and when Magic Johnson announced he had AIDS). I guess mostly, thanks for being you. I love and adore you more than High School Musical, more than So You Think You Can Dance, and more than my mascara--which really means a lot because there are very few things in life that can compete with the three.

I love you, Dad.

And I hope you've had a wonderful, stupendous, LOVE-filled Father's Day.

xoxo.

The final chapter.

Of my bragging travelogue, at least.

The biggest, baddest (the good kind of bad), and the best: Rome.

They say you could visit for two whole weeks and still not be able to see it all. I don't know who we thought we were trying to cram it into forty-eight hours. It really is overwhelming. We were running around like an episode of America's Most Wanted.

But see and experience it we did. It just wasn't on the back of a motor cycle, accompanied by a deceiving Italian pop-star, like I would have hoped....but my time will come.


Coliseum.


Roman Forum.


A taste of the local flavor. 


Fountains. Highlight was the Trevi. One of the coolest things I have ever seen.


Sunset. 


Spanish Steps.


Vatican.


Coliseum. Again. Only this time, I was listening to a Catholic service in Italian with the Pope. THE POPE! That's Good Friday for you.


Who's one of the luckiest girls in the world? Me.
Who's BEYOND thankful and indebted to her parents for the rest of her life? Me.
Who will remember this forever and ever? Me.
Who's done talking about it? Okay, fine. Me.

Chapter four.

Two infamous phenomenons come to mind.

One, is that of Disneyland. Anytime of year. Small and crowded. Requires that you look down at the ground while walking to prevent injury from running into another body. Souvenir stands are at every light post, all selling the same merchandise. Expensive and average food--simply because they can and do get away with it. And let's not forget its standing as the mecca for classic Asian tourists. Who wear their new Mickey sweater over their old Mickey tee (the product of their last trip four years ago). We love these foreigners!

Two, is the feeling that permeates when single on Valentine's Day. You can't help but feel pathetic and lonely while watching couples seemingly smother each other with feelings. Even if you really aren't pathetic and lonely. I will not expand. We all know this feeling.
               ......Right? Riggghhhttt?


Venice. (More or less a combination of these two things.)


Short couples. Honeymooning couples. Terminally engaged, French couples. Pubescent couples. Red-headed couples. Asian-with-matching-visor couples. We saw couples from every stage and walk of life.

And then there was us in the middle of it all. I felt like I was intruding the romantic high by being there. Single. Like the person that shows up to a costume party without wearing a costume.





(Our wannabe couple picture.) 

It was a BEAUTY. 

Definitely worth feeling pathetically out-of-place for. Like when waiting in the pre-judging tryout room and watching all the other girls on-deck do their last practices--which practice or not make yours look juvenal and you'd rather back out now rather than follow them but you've already signed the contract and paid the fee. So you can't. Just can't.

(I must REALLY know this feeling.)

Ha :]

Chapter three.

Movies are seriously the devil. They are one of the most detrimental devices to health I can think of. Mental health, anyhow.

1. They showcase these beautiful celebrities that appear to be perfection incarnate....causing you of course to ensue in a chase for a caliber that is completely fabricated. And thus, unattainable.

2. They make you believe it's a completely innate and natural ability for men to sweep you off your feet in some original romantic gesture including, but not limited to, freezing their butt off in oceanic waters and insisting you (as the loved one) use their own, personal raft life-line.. or breaking out in song and dance to you (their high school sweetheart) on a rooftop overlooking the "New Mexico"--but really Salt Lake--valley. How often does this really happen?

3. They make you want to go to Italy. Where dreams are made of. Where love and beauty abounds. And you feel unsatisfied until you get there, even if you are traveling to other exciting places like England....or France. They aren't Italy.

Verona.

It stole my heart. It was so quaint and charming. The perfect blend of tourist appeal and authenticity. And color.





We stayed at the Giulietta e Romeo Hotel, truly capturing the city. Shakespeare's legendary city. Though let's be honest, the only reason I really know this fact is because of Letters to Juliet.

See? It's those movies agian.

Anyways. The markets, the friendly people, the cobble-stone streets, and the letter writing to Juliet's secretaries are the real deal. I did it. And the effect all those cat-calling men have on your movie-weathered self-esteem? It's practically heaven on earth.



PS. I hope she writes me back soon.
PPS. It's fun to see your mom get checked out and hit on. SHE'S STILL GOT IT.

Chapter two.

"Parlez-vous anglais?"

This is the wisdom I was given by all of my friends that had already made a weekend excursion to Paris--not to assume the French could speak my English language. If I made an effort to accommodate to their culture, they would appreciatively reciprocate.

And let's not forget about the circulating rumor that the metro system was dumpy and smelled intensely of non-artistic graffiti and urine (pretending of course that graffiti has a scent).

For the latter tid-bit of counsel, they were 100% correct. For the former, you would have thought I was obnoxiously flashing THE finger and marching around loudly to the National Anthem for merely being present. It was a definite wound to my supposed wise and well-traveled ego.

I'm not as cool, cosmopolitan, refined, wonderful, and cultured as I thought I was. Whatever.

I retaliated and eventually gave up talking much aloud at all....which is almost a good thing because in France there is almost too much to look at and take in. Such intricate details. To and on everything.

No seriously, everything.

Paris.



Versailles (below) was almost like being on a sugar high from sour razmataz at eleven at night. Talk about nuts.




Let this be a testament that Paris CAN be done in forty eight hours with no sleeping, lots of walking, and frequent stops for crepes, macaroons, and all other delicious varieties of pastry (okay, so maybe I was enjoying Versailles on a sugar high).

-Louvre
-Sacre Coeur
-Notre Dame
-Latin Quarter
-Eiffel Tower
-Arc de Triomphe
-Champs Elysees
-Seine River
-Etc.

While we were trying to capture the Eiffel Tower, one of the street vendors approached us in the hopes of pawning off his keychains for more than they are worth. Taking my new no-talking-to-French-people rule to heart, and my zero tolerance for salespeople that think overbearing persistence will win them every potential transaction, I kept trying to shrug him off. I could make a living off of ignoring someone. My mom on the other hand, blame her faulty kindness or the recent Diet Coke flooding her veins, but she was handing him over a few euros before I could say "c'est la guerre"--the only other French phrase I know. (Read here.) 

He took this as grounds to flaunt a victory and consequently, I was called Lady Gaga everytime we passed him the rest of our Parisian stay (which surprisingly was quite a few times in that big city...). 

Would you be a little offended?
  


L*sacde#@blu! I wish I had known more French phrases..



 

You know how that ONE time I was a wanna-be European?

Oh, you did?
 
Well heavens......you didn't think I was done talking about it, did you?

Oh wait. You did.


                        ......this is awkward.....


Forgive my bragging. (Lula, I know you are rolling your eyes this very moment.) But this was just too good not to document. And I can't have my super stellar travel partner thinking it wasn't the best leg of the entire journey yet. Because it was!

I can't even describe to you the feelings I had while watching my mom walk down the custom's terminal to the welcoming gate.  I had butterflies, like as if she was my sixth-grade boyfriend Charles Bourdon or something. It was weird. But I liked it.

London.


(I think about this orange scone & clotted cream often.)






Mumzio was game for everything. And she truly tested my walking endurance. Crazy woman.
-tea & the Enchanted Princess tour at Kensington Palace.
-a walk around Holland Park.
-Billy Elliot. (My favorite musical, I couldn't help but see it twice.)
-Harrods window shopping.
-the spots a local like myself only tries their best to avoid: Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, etc.                          
                 Totally kidding by the way.
 -Tower of London.
-Burough Market.
-Mamma Mia (How appropriate. How CUTE!)
-the spots where even locals like to eat: Nandos, Paul Rhodes bakery....you get the idea.


And what would a tour of Lo-town be without saying goodbye to the place that made it all happen?
Goodbye sixty-something stair steps, one working shower, and creaky deaky floors. Goodbye bare minimum bunk bedding, breaded foods, and white alabaster skinned people. Goodbye wearing every outfit you were able to pack three times a week and having your professor walk into you sneaking a mid-night snack with no make-up on. Scary. But really, I will (AND DO) miss you.






...And that's Chapter One. I can't overwhelm my posterity now.

Once upon a time.

Once upon a time I lived in a foreign place.
I met new people.
I heard new languages.
I learned new things.
I tasted new flavors.
I saw new places.

It was quite the unbelievable and if-this-is-real-please-pinch-me experience.

All too soon, it was over. And I was sitting on a plane towards home next to my long-lost mother, on a spacious middle row of seats we had to ourselves, deciding which of the available fifty or so movies I wanted to watch on my personal tv screen after a four month American-entertainment hiatus, and which (or rather all) of the indispensable snacks I wanted to order in order to enjoy it. (I vow to you with Air New Zealand....best airline EVER.)

But even with the comfort and satisfaction provided by the combination of all these elements, it was hard to be distracted from the fury of emotion raging inside of me.

-I get to finally sleep in my fluffy queen-sized bed tonight!
-(Nostalgically) I'll never go to sleep to the sound of Jamie's creaky bunk above me again.
-I can order ice, enjoy free tap water, and indulge in bottomless soft-drinks!
-Will I ever get to delight in digestives, penguin bars, and yogurt-covered bananas again?
-I get to travel with the convenience of my car!
-Now I don't have an excuse to people watch or listen to my ipod.
-I can see and talk to my family EVERYDAY!
-It's was nice to have a free pass from chores...dangit.

You get the idea.

And the conflicted feelings didn't get any easier! It was so confusing. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs and text uncontrollably with my newly re-activated phone, "I'M HOOOOOOOMMMEEEE!!!" But at the same time, I wanted to sleep for days and transform my body back into it's old, true form before I could be seen again....in public. Vanity won out in the end. I've been hiding in seclusion now for weeks. Almost like a celebrity waiting at home to recover from a nose job. Except not like that. Because obviously I'm not a celebrity. And I would much rather spend that kind of money on something more appropriate, humble, sensible, and worthy.

Like a boob job.     <---JUST KIDDINGGG!!

Well guess what? I'm home. And did I gain weight from eating too much chocolate and have a freakish body reaction from the climate change? Yes. And has it been a slow, grueling process to get back to normal? You have no idea. But was it worth it? ABSOLUTELY. Especially the frequent gelato stops with Mom in Italy.

So there. Take that US magazine.

It's a pole world.

When I was sixteen, I took this picture. In my mind it looked pretty aesthetically pleasing--even frame-worthy enough to be up on display in my Grammy's house. My mother & sister Lauren thought otherwise. They've made fun of me/it ever since.


I decided to do what all other good and amicable tease-ees choose to do. I ran with it; a move inspired after Regina George in Mean Girls (ya know, who continues to flaunt her shirt even after she discovers that two holes have been cut out around bust area?). She was able to start a trend. I wasn't so fortunate. But it nonetheless captured me through some major moments of my life.



Even this foreign adventure. So basically, Mom & Lu, it was like you were there with me too.

From Pole Collages_1

This semester went by so fast, it's almost unreal. Finals are over. My last papers are turned in. My bags are in the process of being packed. I've already had to say goodbye to my bunk-mate!

But I don't want to get sappy.

My mom comes in less than forty-eight hours. We are going to tear this place up in a one-of-a-kind European adventure. It's going to be grand.....and I'm looking forward to adding these pictures to the collection too..


And then I'll finally be home...and this experience will have been nothing more than a fairytale-like memory. So sad.

Muh Crib.

For months I've been going to bed, looking at this sight above me.
It has been my very creaky, starry sky.

I contemplated/worried over what to contribute in print way more than I should have. 
(It is an A-list, enlightened group of patrons and advice, you see.)

But considering I move out this week, I figured it was time.
So I finally did it.

And you better believe it was a big moment.
It meant I'm officially a veteran of the London Centre.