Dear reader,
My partner in crime, Kayla, and I have decided on a few little goals we have for our 2013 odyssey. A bucket list, if you will. I’m sure it’s pretty standard for most 20-year-old college-aged girls from a Catholic institution. Continue reading
I’ve never had much of a problem voicing my opinions. While the other little girls dreamed of becoming princesses and singers and Malibu Barbie, at age four I knew my destiny: to be the first president of the United States. (Yes, first. Get over it, Washington.) My first order of business? Securing an official campaign manager. Alexander, my younger brother, agreed to the position once I made promises of candy and Pokemon cards. Together we were the perfect team. We spent afternoons painstakingly creating our very own newspaper – entitled Arianna’s Paper, naturally. Illustrations went along with the heartwrenching articles: me, as president, listening to the concerns of the common folk. Signing autographs like the hot commodity that I was. Even handing out wads of cash to anyone hanging outside the White House. Then my dreams were cut short when my parents broke the news to me that I was a tad late in the running.
No one actually believes I’m American.
I’m not being facetious here, really. It’s been some sort of running joke in my life: comments about how “European” I seem or the occasional “What country are you from?” from strangers, even though last time I checked this was San Diego, not Ellis Island circa 1901. Inquiries about my green card were much more understandable back home in El Dorado Hills, California. My parents, Marti and Tim, like to spend their time in Central American villages supplying medical care, performing surgeries, and handing out my every possession to Guatemalan kids when I’m not around. Marti also models her style after Esmeralda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame and has “Rock the Casbah” blasting from her Lexus at all times. So now that I think about it, yeah, it makes sense people assume I’m foreign. Continue reading
The Art of Being Basic 