THE INFAMOUS DANCE HAS MOVED.

Hi everyone. I have moved on to greener pastures.

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"My Future Husband" by a High School Senior

I'm in El Paso for Christmas. At the end of Christmas day, I am going through the three trunks that act as the containers for everything to my name that still occupies a space at my parents' home (that are now relegated to a storage shed in the backyard, but that's another story for another day).

I have found all sorts of letters, cards, ticket stubs, photos, etc. that I have not thought about in a looooooooong time. One I found particularly charming--my Top 10 list of things I want in my future huband. From my senior year of high school.

I remember making this list... it was in my Laurels class (setting up some spousal expectations early, I guess).

My Future Husband

1. Yearns to serve the Lord

2. Treats me with kindness

3. Respects my wishes

4. Strong enough to stand for what is right

5. Will defend my honor in front of anyone

6. Loves to serve

7. Acts the same, loving manner at all times

8. Loves me more than anyone else

9. Never acts out with anger

10. Will tell me when I am being ridiculous or wrong

At 25 years old, I'm pretty sure that is my same list.

Eleanor S. Lamb, "Manuel’s Tortillas," Friend, June 1973

I was looking through my old blog posts and apparently I saved the following Friend article as a draft on January 4, 2007. Almost three years later, I vaguely recall doing this so that I could have it readily on hand for our needs (which included reading it to each other in hilariously stereotypical Mexican accents). To my Manuel's Tortillas crew (some of your hotness pictured below), this one's for you...

Manuel lifted the clean white cloth and counted the fresh tortillas in the woven basket he carried in his hand. There were still two dozen left. Grandma had told him if he didn’t sell all of them, there wouldn’t be enough money for cornmeal and beans next week.

Manuel had been to all of the houses in the village except that of the pretty young señorita who had just moved into the house across the street from where he now stood. He’d gone there on his rounds the day before, but she had told him she was busy.
“Should I try to sell her some tortillas again today?” Manuel asked himself. “Or should I just go back and tell Grandma no one else would buy the rest of her tortillas?”

He stood undecided, shuffling his bare feet in the soft dirt and staring soberly at the house across the street. Finally Manuel turned and started slowly toward the small adobe hut where he lived with his grandmother and little sister, Lupe.

As Manuel walked, he thought about how disappointed his grandmother would be when he returned without selling all her tortillas. Suddenly he stopped. I’ll go back to the new señorita’s home, he decided. Perhaps today she’ll buy some.

Quickly Manuel retraced his steps and went up the flagstone pathway that led to the little house.
He rapped lightly on the door and waited a few minutes until the young señorita opened it. She was even prettier than he remembered, and somehow she looked kinder too.

She smiled at Manuel and asked, “What do you want, little boy?”

“I sell tortillas,” Manuel replied, holding the basket out toward her. “Would you like some?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she answered.
“They are very good,” Manuel said quickly. “They’re fresh today.”

Seeing the small boy’s expression of disappointment, the young woman hesitated.

Manuel became very conscious that she was looking at his ragged shirt and pants and his bare feet. He bowed his head and started to turn away without another word.

“Wait!” she said. “What is your name?”

“Manuel,” he replied.

“I think I’ll try some of your tortillas, after all,” she smiled. “Come in while I get a pan to put them in.”

She held the door open for Manuel and then left him alone as she went into another room.

In a few moments she returned. Manuel was surprised when she uncovered his basket and put all the tortillas in a shiny pan. His smile was broad as he thought how pleased Grandma would be, for now she could buy food the family needed.

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the señorita as she looked in her purse. “I can’t buy these from you today. I only have fifty pesos, and no change—unless you have some.”

Manuel reached into his pocket and pulled out the ten pesos he carried. “This is all I have, Señorita.”

“I can’t buy them today then,” she said as she began to put the tortillas back in his basket.

Manuel’s face fell. “Wait, please!” he said. “I’ll take your money to the market and get it changed.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” said the señorita, shaking her head and looking doubtful.

“Please,” Manuel said quickly. “I’ll bring it right back.”

The señorita looked down at the boy and slowly shook her head again.

Manuel blinked to hide the tears that filled his eyes, but one escaped and rolled down his cheek. He turned and wiped it away with his sleeve as he started to walk away.

The señorita suddenly felt uncomfortable and ashamed.

“Come back, please,” she called. “I know I can trust you. Go get the change for me, and I’ll keep your tortillas here until you come back.”

“Gracias, Señorita!” cried Manuel as he ran from the house.

Manuel’s bare feet slapped in the soft dirt as he hurried toward the village market. But gradually he slowed to a walk and examined the bill he held tightly in his hand. As he looked, he thought of Lupe’s big brown eyes when she stood in front of the jars of candy in the market. He knew how much she wanted some. He also remembered how hard Grandma worked to make the tortillas to sell.

Suddenly Manuel began to wonder if he should keep the money. It was enough to pay for the tortillas he had left behind. There would be enough left over to buy food for many days and even some sweets for Lupe at the market.

Then he remembered the señorita’s words, “I know I can trust you.” Besides, he had given her his word, and Grandma had often told him no person is good unless his word is good too. Suddenly he wanted very much for the señorita to like him and trust him just as Grandma and Lupe trusted him.

He quickly changed the fifty pesos and then ran back to the señorita’s home.

“Come in, Manuel,” she said as she opened the door. “I knew you’d come back.”

“Here is your money,” he said, giving her a handful of bills.

She counted out the money she owed for the tortillas and then gave him an extra peso. “This is yours for going to the market for me.”

“Gracias, Señorita,” said Manuel, his eyes lighting with pleasure. “You are very good to me.”

She ruffled his hair. “How would you like to work for me? I need someone I can trust to run errands and help me around my yard.”

A broad grin spread over Manuel’s face as he picked up the basket. “Si, Señorita. I’d be happy to work for you. I will work very hard too!”

“I’m sure you will,” replied the woman. “Come back tomorrow, and there’ll be many things you can help me do.”

“I’ll come back,” he promised.

As Manuel ran home, his heart sang and he whistled a happy tune. He could hardly wait to tell Grandma about his wonderful new job!

Gospel topic: trust

The original: Manuel's Tortillas

I Heart Spam: The Results

Okay, everyone. I know you were waiting with abated breath, so I will delay no longer.

The results from my little (avoid school like the plague) experiment:

Spam Subject Titles Over the Last 24 Hours

(with spelling, punctuation, and capitalization errors intact)

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Re:

Lesson learned: Whenever I'm feeling down on life, I can think to myself, "Well. At least I'm not a Spam Engineer."

I Heart Spam

There is something that kills me about Spam.

This post is dedicated to the spam I receive to my Gmail account (which has such an incredible filtering capability that I actually have to seek the stuff out).

Compulsory tangential inclusion: When I was younger, my Mom would make me Fried Spam Sandwiches.

I kid you not.

In any case. Back to the tech spam. I compulsively empty my spam folder (I'm OCD clean to the max. One of my many virtues), and every once in a while... I catch such a gem.

Enlarge my package? Sure!

Mail-order bride? Why not?

I just love that someone (something?) somewhere is coming up with this stuff to send out.

So. I am going to share with you the subject lines of every spam email I receive over the next day. Starting at 9:31pm on Tuesday, December 15. Ending exactly 24 hours later. Check back tomorrow night for the scintillating results.

(Could I be doing this to avoid working on my term paper due on Friday? Chances are high.)

My Body

I never blog. Every once in a while I feel like I should throw something up here, but most of the time, I just don't care.
I have enough crap to check off the list.

But tonight, I want to talk about my body.

Bodies, and the way we feel about them, are an interesting thing. We're always trying to modify them somehow... what we wear, what we eat, how often we work out, tattoos, piercings, whatever the case may be. Everyone has their own version of body modification.

I'm not quite sure what happened that made bodies, as they are, so awful.

I watch what I eat (Weight Watchers Unite!) and I always try to look nice, but honestly - my body is what it is. And I'm fine with that. I feel lucky to be one of the few women who are, at their core, okay with how they look. It is actually pretty funny... the body image pressures I feel are the opposite of most. I feel like I should be consistently fretting about this kind of crap. Even when I'm not. In fact, even now, I feel like I need to insert some reassuring caveat that I do care about health and looking good and blah blah. And I do. Honestly. But why do I feel pressure to add that here? To make sure that future boyfriends know I won't let myself go? I won't. But when did we start assuming that everyone would?

Forgive the public share, but I once dated someone who had major issues with my body. He was really attracted to me and thought I had a stellar personality, etc., but I didn't fit his ideal image. That is remarkably sad to me. So, so sad. The very few people that knew about this situation got somewhat outraged over it, but I didn't. It made me feel really insecure around him, obviously. But, thankfully, it didn't make me feel insecure around anyone else. Somehow I was able to compartmentalize it as a flaw in him and not a flaw in me.
Reflecting on it now, I see that as somewhat of a miracle.

All of this makes me wonder what images I have of what an ideal partner should be. I know I have plenty. I guess I demand that a man be at least as tall as me. I'm kind of unwilling to let that one go, though, so maybe its not worth analyzing.

This whole "your body is a temple" thing. I can get behind that idea. But everyone seems to think their temple is one of the small ones when it is really the San Diego one. Only Mormons will get this.
But you see my point.

I'm not editing this post. Maybe that can be my new blogging shtick. Is that how you spell that word? Shtick?
I think it just might take the pressure off.