I am Blogging.

Take notice.

OH HELLO THERE.

So I was doing this thing where I waited until I got my mission call before moving forward with my life in any way.  Because the thing came not one, but two whole weeks (14 days!) later than I expected it to.  So, when you are expecting life-altering news that will change the direction of your life and you wait an extra 2 weeks longer than you think it, will, you start waxing weird.  What is this thing called life?  How do people fill their time?  What things should I be doing right now?

The point is, Bahia Blanca, Argentina.

Doesn't just reading that make you want to smile and be me and go serve people for 18 months in Argentina?  Seriously, if I could've picked where I went, this would have been close.  (That sentence didn't end quite like you expected it to, did it?)


The other day Luc said to me, "Gigi, you are so weird.  Like, you're never normal."  I have told this story to various people in my life to see if their opinion would vary from Luc's.  It hasn't happened yet.

I bring this up because little Lucas and I had a bonding experience a couple weeks ago.  We drove to Utah to go see Adri and Marcus (who is a college boy now!) and we just had sibling bonding moments left and right.  Well, kind of. I mean, we did drive up together, and help Adri move, and go through a scary haunted circus thing, and see Grouplove in concert, and eat a billion pizza, and jump on a trampoline, and then on the way home we hit traffic.

And we got stuck next to bees.  Like a truck full of hives with nets around it all and bees.

We were just trying to pass through Arizona.  In one-billion-degree weather.  In my un-airconditioned car.  So we had the windows down and sooner or later ... you guessed it, A BEE FLEW IN MY CAR.  And landed on my leg.  And slowly walked down.  And I was screaming.  And laughing.  And freaking out.  And I told Luc not to hit it because I didn't want to make it mad.  So I just giggle-screamed as it crawled down my leg and slowly made it's way to the bottom of my foot and then it flew off and I had no clue where it was but THERE WAS A BEE IN MY CAR.

Eventually it flew out and all was right in the world.  Except that we were now driving in a billion degree weather with the windows rolled up.  We eventually inched past the semi full of bees and Luc even got out and jogged for a while.  He was keeping up with me pretty well.  And what's better than a picture of your brother jogging on the freeway?

Not much, that's what.

Uplandia

Oh heeeeey, party people.  I am in Upland.  Did you know that?  Did I tell you?
Welp, I am.  And here's the part that I know I didn't tell you: I am here indefinitely.  As in, Stanford starts on the 24th, and I am not going to be there.  I have a year left of school - I didn't graduate, but I won't be going back.  Why?

And here's the part where I explain it:
You knew I was a Mormon, right?  And by this point in our country's history, I'm assuming that you know what a Mormon is (see Mitt Romney, the Book of Mormon musical, the bands Neon Trees or Imagine Dragons, the author of the Twilight books, and a bunch of other people/events that I can't currently think of) - but we're actually called the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  Did you know that members of this church go on missions?  They are largely service/proselytizing, and often times you go to a foreign country, perhaps learning a new language, and almost always it involves getting in over your head, helping people, and learning a lot about yourself.

I've decided to do one of these missions.  I will be serving for a year and a half, but I don't know where or when.  (I will find out VERY soon) And after I'm done, I'll go back and finish my last year at school.  I wanted to do it this way so that I could go back and have a year of school left before I have to start the job search and enter the real world.  Just a quick little year.

IN THE MEAN TIME
I'm in Upland, I got a job at tutoring agency, I am bugging Lucas approximately every possible moment, and I am playing the piano like its my job.  At least for now, that's what I'm doing.

So, I was going to wait until I knew where I was going to blog, but I missed you crazy people.  And by "you crazy people" I mean, I missed telling random stories to a faceless internet.

SO EXPECT MORE OF ME, I'M DONE WITH VACATION!

Meanwhile, Lucas will continue to do this as if I never moved in:

I have...

... a skype interview in approximately one hour.

You would hire me, right?

All-Write: A Gamboa Post

I made a mixed CD.  And I gave it the title "Mostly Upbeat/White People:  A MIXED CD, YO!"
And I was looking at my handwriting, and I thought that the way that I wrote the word "White" looked like the way my mom would write the word "White"


Is that a weird thing to think?  Probably.  But my mom has great writing.  Like, 1st grade teacher handwriting.  Except she does her a's with the extra thing at the top instead of plain and simple.  But somehow her handwriting is upbeat and clear and smiling at you.

I asked my Mom for a writing sample and she wrote a letter about what I am like.  It was cheesy and cute, and this is the edited version.  

Which got me to thinking about the handwriting styles in my family, and how they are so a representation of each of the people.  Por ejemplo:

Adri's handwriting stares back at you through cat-eyes, flirting with you and making you wish you were as stylish as her handwriting.  Adri's writing is the most feminine I think. 

Camille's handwriting is more practical than Adri or my Mom, but it's still got its own swagger.  It's so fitting that Camille sent me a to-do list because she is continuously making them.  In fact, just thinking about her handwriting makes me think of the erasable pen-system that she had all throughout high school for taking notes.  I also like the use of exclamation points to denote importance. 

I can't even look at my handwriting without seeing everyone else's.  Also, I have HANDS DOWN the sloppiest writing of the girls, and when I take the time to write really neatly, it comes out looking like my mom's writing.  I guess that says something about who taught me to write.


I was going to do the boys in my family too, but those ended up being too difficult to get a hold of.  But, well, there you go.