Don't judge...

So.
I came home from my LDS mission 3.5 years ago.
I didn't serve in some far off land (unlike some of my friends who ended up in places like Russia and Guatemala), unless you count Los Angeles as a foreign country. Some people would. I was lucky enough to serve Spanish speaking and was introduced to some of the most amazing food ever created.
Flautas?
Papusas?
Horchata?
Gifts from heaven.
My mother, genius cook that she is, learned how to recreate most of these delights pretty soon after I got home. She loves me, what can I say? As wonderful as it was to eat flautas without any roaches crawling across my plate (you think I'm kidding, don't you?) there's just something about eating authentic Latino food made by someone who genuinely doesn't speak any English that makes it more...special.
Friday night I went downtown with Platt (Oh! I haven't told you about Platt yet? Here's a quick run down: Mallory Platt and I are the same person. No, really. People in our ward even call us The Mallory(ie)s. I call her Platt because, let's be honest, it's really odd to call someone by your first name) and we went to an art thing that one of her designs from school was nominated to be part of. (She's an architect.) Afterward we went wandering about. She was aghast to discover that I'd never in all my born days eaten at The Red Iguana. Apparently this is some sort of sin. Off we went. Can I please just tell you all that I nearly cried when we walked into the restaurant? I was immediately homesick for my mission. It smelled like every single dinner appointment that I walked into for nearly 18 months. I actually did cry when they gave us our salsa, and not just because it was hot (apparently my tongue forgot that I used to eat very large jalapeno peppers whole on a regular basis). Platt laughed at me when they gave me my food because I was more than slightly verklempt.

See that there? Real crema. Not sour cream. Honest to goodness refried beans. It was heaven on a plate. I will be returning soon. Don't you little worry. 

Sometimes... (part 2)

...I love to eat with chop sticks. It makes me feel international. 


...I put my iPod on shuffle just so I can see how many totally unrelated songs play in a row.


...I have the undeniable urge to answer the phone in Spanish just so people will be confused.


...I stay up late reading for no apparent reason, just because I feel like it.


...I get anxious about silly things. (Okay, almost all the time).


...I want to randomly hang up on people at work because they bother me. 


...I don't understand how I can eat an insane amount of sugar and not be sick at all, but a little bit of wheat or dairy and I hate my life.


...the sun makes me happy. Other days, I just want it to go away.


...I wonder if my love of cloudy days makes me a depressing person. 


...I write letters to my future husband ala Meg Fee. 


...life reminds me of something I've read in a book. Sometimes, it's the other way around.


...I save old text messages that say lovely things from my friends so that when I'm having a not so lovely day I can read them and remember that someone loves me.


...I wish that I was brave enough to do all the things that scare me in life.


...I purposely use very large words in sentences for the sole purpose of confusing the other person with whom I'm talking. I hate to see my extensive vocabulary go to waste. 


...I wonder if anyone actually reads my blog.

Happy...

You know those times where you're just happy? For no particular reason, happiness has decided to settle it's self upon you and let's be honest, you're grateful for it? Today is one of those days. I'm just happy. There's not a specific event that has contributed to it, no exact person, it's a general thing. I think that part of it has to do with the fact that my dreaded Spanish presentation is over and done with for the semester. That was a huge load to get it out of the way, because let's be honest my Spanish teacher is scary. But it's spring now, and that makes evil Spanish teachers not matter as much. My friend Julina got her mission call today and I'm so excited for her. My headache is better today, which makes things much happier. Basically, there's just lots of really great things. While I'm at it, I'll tell you a few more, because let's be honest, who doesn't want to hear about great things?

*Contracts are selling like crazy at work
*My apartment is actually staying clean, which is a miracle in and of it's self
*It's Thursday which is my absolute favorite day of the week
*I get to watch The Office tonight, I love The Office, a little Jim and Pam makes the world a better place, plus, come on, how could I forget Dwight?
*I get to have a friend in my office again today. Sherry and I have fun when we get to work together
*I only have 105 Spanish problems to do, but it's all subjunctive, I love subjunctive.
*I made a new mix last night that is amazing and I have time to listen to it at work. I love music.
*I ONLY have 3 exams next week, which could be 4, so I'm looking on the bright side.

Isn't my life seriously SO blessed? I'm almost as happy as TAMN...

Lost in translation...

Have you ever felt lost? Okay, dumb question. What I mean is, have you ever felt like you just aren't getting your point across? Like no one really understands what you mean when you say or do something? Like everyone is trying to help you, but they're attempting to mend a broken arm with a butterfly band aid? My greenie and I used to joke about how words and phrases in Spanish don't translate well into English. The meaning doesn't hold the same weight in one language as it does in the other and visa versa. A simple one is when someone says "Tiene sentito..." in Spanish it means "You're right" but directly translated it means to have sense. I say it all the time, "Oh yeah, that totally has sense..." A simple example of being lost in translation language wise. Any RM who spoke a language and even some who didn't completely understand what I mean. So often I feel emotionally lost in translation. I try and try to explain what I'm feeling, what I mean by certain things, but I never can seem to get it out right. Mallorieish (yes, I'm cool enough to have my own language and you can be too...for the low price...okay, joking...) never really does translate into English very well, or any spoken language for that matter. I wonder why that is. This feeling has ever present over the last few months. How is it that someone who loves words as much as I do has such trouble expressing herself? It just gets lost, somewhere between me feeling it and my brain trying to explain it. It's a strange phenomenon, thought I'm sure it's common. I can't be the only person with this problem...Or can I?