The Life of Bon: June 2010

Sunday, June 27, 2010


I'm in an awesome limbo stage in my life right now. I have officially graduated from BYU. No longer a student, no longer have to be responsible and study and go to bed early and do my homework. No longer have to follow BYU rules. Lucikly, I have secured myself a teaching job for the fall. But I'm not YET an adult. Not yet a legitimate hard working, society contributing person. So for June, July and a part of August, I'm an inbetweener. Right smack in the middle of stages in my life... meaning I can do whatever the h*** I feel like.

I dyed my hair pink.

(Also, can I get a round of applause for my first ever picture on my four year old blog?)

People react very interestingly when you dye your hair a crazy color. Some of my favorites:

My sister: "That's not permanent, is it?"
Me: "Well nothing in this life is permanent... if you think about it."

My next door neighbor: "It's so cute so cute so cute so cute I want to do it too!!!!!!"

S, the boy I am currently dating: "Whoa. You dyed your hair."
Me: "yes. do i look like a rock star?"
S: "I guess...if that's what you were going for....."

P, from my ward: "Wow. You're hair is so hot that it makes me want to make out with every single strand of it."

A server at the restaurant: "You going to meet your boyfriend's parents with that hair? Oh... yah... they'll love you."

My mom: "WHAT is with your hair? Do you think you're a punk or something?"
Me: "No... I don't think I'm a punk...."
Mom: "You're a returned missionary! You need to cut this stuff out!"

A random person at the restaurant: "Does your hair grow in like that?"

My four year old nephew: "It's weird... I have never EVER ever ever seen anyone with that color of hair before."

The bishop's wife: "Your mom was right- returned missionaries should not dye their hair pink like that."

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Bad break-up?

In my blogging experience, I have steered clear of writing anything personal or anything of real posts are usually a healthy mix of random and completely useless information about myself. Because of my dedication to avoid getting too personal, I have completely avoided ever ever EVER writing about my dating life.

But... just this one time I couldn't resist. The story merits a blog post.

I started going out with this boy from the restaurant where I work. His name is S. Everybody said it was a bad idea to date someone from work. Post-break-up-work-life would certainly be hell. I ignored all warnings and went for it anyway. But the thing is I never really could make up my mind about how much I liked him, and so it was always stop and go, stop and go. Plus, I was in and out of town, graduating (oh yah... forgot to mention huge milestone in my life... I GRADUATED FROM COLLEGE in April. WOOT!), etc, etc. Also there were some other deadbeats who I have been dating who kept trying to make their way in to my life and were making me really confused about my feelings for S. Finally, though, I decided that I do indeed like S and that I was going to give the relationship an honest go. You know... put effort into it, act cute when I see him, be nice to him, the things you are supposed to do when you are dating someone. The next time I saw S, he said he thought it would be a good idea to stop dating. Uh.... okay? His reasons for breakup were #1: I don't like kids very much and that bothers him because he wants to marry a girl who freaking adores every kid who has walked the planet and #2: I am not obedient enough. (Which for the record, I am an "obedient" person, just in a different way than S, who is very down-the-line-perfect-mormon-boy).

Now here's the good part. I thought the restaurant would certainly be a disaster now that S+Bonnie = Love is no longer a true equation. False. Work is so much better than it ever has been. I think he feels guilty about breaking my heart because he has been beyond nice to me. First shift working with S post-breakup: All night long he ran all my food to my tables. When I came back with a tray full of dirty plates and set it hastily on the counter, I caught him sneakily taking it back to the dishroom and unloading it for me. One particularly crappy night he noticed I was in a bad mood and gave me a package of nibs licorice. Then, when he had a wrongly cooked premium steak at one of his tables he told no one but me and we went back to the breakroom and polished that sucker off just the two of us. When I showed up late for work he covered for me. He does my sidework if I am behind. He always gives me the best section in the restaurant.

As you can see, this has really been working out for me. My new work strategy: date every boy at the restaurant, make him break up with me, make him feel bad for breaking up with me, and live the most posh work lifestyle ever. They do everything. I do nothing. I win.