How I Came to Be: Independent Part I

I consider myself very independent and have ever since I learned how to make pancakes on my own and talk back to my parents. But, independence was nurtured into me. When I look back I can think of times in my life when my parents, unknowingly, taught me that if I wanted something done I would have to do it myself. This is an example of one of those times.

Adult conversation was a curious world to me when I was nine years old. My parents would use words that I knew but didn't fully understand, like swear words in Spanish, or the word "pantyhose". Since it was clear that my parents, when asked, feigned ignorance about the true meaning of the Spanish profanities they said to each other and about their children, I moved on.

One day, I walked out to the yard where my dad was working on the grass. I politely asked him what pantyhose were to which he replied, "Duh! A hose with a panty."

It was one of the most frustrating things my dad could say. But that was his thing. If he didn't know how to explain something he would split the word or phrase into two parts and repeat them backwards adding "with-a" in the middle of them. He though it was especially hilarious with compound words like this one. He had done this my entire life. A nut with a dough. A screw with a cork. I could go with a on forever. But I won't.

I asked again but this time using a sure-fire technique I had learned from the man himself: raising your voice. "No Dad! What are pantyhose!" I screamed.

He threw his arms up above his head and in an anger and a volume five times stronger than my own he snapped, "I just told you! A hose with a panty!"

Useless. It was all useless! I stormed back into the house and was so flustered that I felt like I had to pee. I still had no idea what pantyhose were and my dad was driving me crazy. That day I decided I was done being aggravated with mean and crazy responses. I knew that if I wanted to know what anything was I would have to find out myself, or ask my best friend Karen because she was a few months older than me and already wore bras and stuff.

That is how I came to be independent.

Up Next on the Bolivian Underground:

How I came to be a little bit paranoid.

A Series

After looking at all my ideas and notes for blog posts I realized they were all very similar. Each post had something to do with what my parents did when I was little and how their action effected the way I thought or acted for the rest of my life. So I decided to compile my posts into a small series that I will post throughout the rest of the week. My goal is to post one everyday for the next few days. Its called, How I Came to Be. No, not like that sicko.

Hope you like it!


I'm Done

The late night homework in bed coupled with late night snacks in bed--Phil is trying to break me of this awful habit.

Eye sunburns from staring at a computer screen for so long.

Weekends spent in the studio finishing a ceramic piece that has to be perfect.

Case competition meetings that last late into the night.

Saying "hi" to all the professors on the 6th floor.

Cherishing every moment of free-time as if it were my last.

Saving seats for Katlyn and Tyler in business law.

The screen in the testing center telling me I'm awesome.

I can't seem to grasp it. But I'm done. I love this feeling. It's so new that I'm not quite sure what to do with it--because I can do anything.

For the time being, I think I will prepare to spend a great deal of time here.

And then we're off. Come mid-May we will be packing up and, with smiles from ear-to-ear, jumping into our red car for a beautiful drive to our new home.

New home? What?

Yep. Please visit. I make a mean roasted tomato-basil-soup. You won't be sorry.

Up Next On the Bolivian Underground:

My mom turns 47 for the third time! She has refused to eat junk food for the past five years and has developed a habit of, how do you say this, chewing on a cookie and then spitting it out in the garbage. So, we hold a birthday party for her where she gets a gift card to Shep Studio and instead of sticking candles in cake, that she would just spit out anyway, we put her candles in her favorite food...

a raw papaya! She loved it. Really, she loved it. Happy 47thrd-ish birthday mom!


Sales Idol (WINNER!)

Sales Idol is a part of my amazing star-wars-themed sales class. This class is something else.
For starters, it is taught by Master Bone. He is the greatest business professor in the Marriott School. Master Bone teaches us to use the force in B2B sales. Tuesday he put our Jedi training to the test.

It goes like this.

Eight contestants sign up.

Each of us wait outside and one-by-one we are called in.

We walk into the crowded classroom and sitting in the middle are 2 chairs; one empty, the other occupied by a representative from Ecolab pretending to be bipolar Bill, from Bill's BBQ. We have seven minutes to sell a product to the rep who can take on any one of 4 difficult selling personalities. I just so happened to get the scariest and most difficult personality of all--the DRIVER. I kept my cool though, and I was strong during the whole thing. I even laughed during my turn. But I laughed so I wouldn't cry.

It's a stressful yet worthwhile experience. I also need to mention that it is so so fun. And I won! I couldn't believe it! Winning stuff is just the greatest feeling. Ecolab brought this little baby as the prize for first place:

Hello orange iPod Nano Touch.

I Loaded it up.

So sleek.

So sexy.

It's the first sexy touch thing that I have ever owned. We'll...besides P-Man.


Up Next on The Bolivian Underground:

I show some studio work from my ceramics class.


Birthday Success

So there I am, covering the space in my planner set aside for March 3, 2011 with birthday stickers. While I am doing this I yell out to Phillip asking him if he is excited for his birthday next week. He informs me that yes, he is looking forward to his birthday, but that his birthday isn't for another two weeks.

So there I am, frantically peeling stickers off of March 3, 2011 and placing them on March 11, 2011. Uh yeah, big mistake forgetting the exact date of his birthday. Won't happen again, pinky-promise.

I'm a good wife. I'm a good wife. I'm a good wife.

Moving along.
For Christmas I thought it would be convenient to just buy gifts for ourselves. Good idea? Nope. It's especially not good when my husband's "love language" is gifts. To make up for it I gave Phillip the best 24th birthday ever.


Surprise awesome shirt given the DAY before his birthday, strategically placed in his closet.

The most amazing breakfast waffles ever made the morning of his birthday.

We also went to dinner and played games with our very best friends on his birthday. I also gave him a game, Oreos, and Coca Cola.

Happy Birthday P-Man! Hope it was the greatest.

I'm a good wife. I'm a good wife. I'm a good wife.

Up next on The Bolivian Underground:

I write a nice story about my mom.


Post from 10-year-old me

Today I imagined what a blog post from a 10-year-old me would look like. I don't think it would be too different from this.


I have learned a great deal over the past 10 years. I want to share the things I have learned pertaining to some of the most poignant questions that are being asked in these latter days. The question is, What smells good but tastes bad? I retort:

Imitation vanilla extract

Coconut smelling shampoo

That is al

Up Next on the Bolivian Underground:

Katlyn wears a shirt to class that I fall in love with. It has silhouettes of kittens wearing bow-ties on it. Her boyfriend tells her she can no longer wear the shirt so Katlyn hands it over to me. I wear it to Thanksgiving dinner. I will also wear it tomorrow.


Birthday Suprises

Last year was my golden birthday. I turned 22 on the 22nd of December. To celebrate I had a small party with my very best friends. Phillip made sure I had my favorites which included peach cobbler, non-Christmas music, and games. Phillip also invited my parents.

Here is what happened that night.

Twenty minutes before my parents arrive I get a frantic call from my mother. She keeps yelling in the phone, asking if I would prefer brown or pink. I try to ask what it is she is planning on getting me that is brown or pink but each time I try her interrogation for the unknown brown or pink birthday gift gets louder and angrier. I assume it's a cardigan. Brown, I tell her.

I was wrong. Sorta.

My parents show up late, for being late is the true spirit of Bolivian culture. They hand me the gift, wrapped in a plastic Walmart grocery bag. Then they insist that I open it in front of my friends. I slowly pull the large square contents from the WalMart bag. There, on the front of the packaging was a blond haired woman, nestled warmly on a sofa, wearing nothing but a blue blanket with sleeves. It was a snuggie. My parents got me a brown snuggie.

If your parents have ever given you a snuggie in front of your friends as a sincere gift for your golden birthday then you will understand the mass confusion and embarrassment that overwhelmed me at that moment. I tried to stay positive. I thought you know, getting a brown sleeved blanked isn't the worst thing that has ever happened to me. No, the worst thing that has ever happened to me happened 10 seconds later when my mom and dad forced me to try it on in front of all of my friends!

Poor Caitlin and Jason! Poor Talisa! How awkward for them. They wanted to laugh so badly. I could see it in their faces. The problem was my parents weren't joking. They were deeply serious. It was a complete disaster and all we could do was cry.

So, the day before my birthday this year I hassled my mom. I hassled her about giving me gifts that were purposefully ugly and then returning them and keeping the cash without getting me a replacement gift. I hassled her about buying me clothes that were her style and her size which she would then wear to work the next day. Lastly, I hassled her about getting daughters snuggies for their golden birthdays. When I finished my rant she called me a "proud little girl", said she could get me whatever she wanted, and then asked until how late the mall was open that night, the night before my birthday. She hadn't even gotten me anything yet. Right then I decided to just give up.

So I bet you are wondering what she got me this year. I am happy to inform you that my mother gave me some really cute white-gold post earrings, quality eye shadow, and an itunes gift card. It was surprisingly thoughtful and I felt terrible. Why? Because just before I got on my mom's case about her birthday giving habits I showed her the beautiful pearl earrings Phillip had given me as a surprise for my birthday--which is exactly what I wanted and I adore them. It turns out, a week earlier she had gotten pearl earrings for me too. She asked how late the mall was open until because she wanted to go exchange the pearl earrings for something else since Phillip had already given me some. My sweet mother braved the mall during Christmas week to get me, her ungrateful daughter, some new earrings.

Yes, I felt awful for hassling my mother about birthday gifts. Phillip made sure of it.

After my birthday dinner I hugged my mom, and told her thank you for everything. I'm pretty sure I apologized too. I realized that all the thoughtless gifts over the years didn't matter and that I have been given something more valuable than earrings or snuggies. I have crazy Bolivian mother who's outrageous personality and stories will make my blog so popular that companies will pay me money to run their ads on this same blog. And those ads will make me very rich someday.

Just kidding. Or am I? Ha ha, I'm totally joking. I love my mom. No, but seriously.

Up next on the Bolivian Underground:

Shep gives me the look I have always wanted--short curly hair! It feels like a complete makeover. That same day I back our car into a concrete-like mound of snow. The car also gets a makeover.