The Life of Bon: November 2011

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

So exciting!

I have to tell you something.

It's a secret and it's so exciting!!!!

You know when you discover something that is so dang exciting that you just can't keep it to yourself and you absolutely HAFTA HAFTA tell someone or else you might just EXPLODE from excitement?!?!?!

It's like that.

I just found out something.  It is so good that you likely will not believe me.
Wanna guess? 
Am I excited because...

THE NBA LOCKOUT IS OVER?  Nope.  I broke up with my team, so this news means absolutely nothing to me.  Doesn't phase me in any way.

KOURTNEY KARDASHIAN IS PREGGO?  Please.  I'm a Khloe and Kim fan.  I couldn't care less what happens to Kourtney.

MITT ROMNEY IS A FRONT RUNNER FOR THE REPUBLICAN NOMINATION?  Romney?  Really?  My vote's on Herman Cain.  Easily the most trustworthy candidate.

THAT I MYSELF AM PREGGO?  No.  No.  No.  No.  One more time. No.

Are you just dying of suspense?
Are you finally ready for what the real news is?!?!?

Okay, fine, here it is...........!!!!

There exists something in this world that can do everything you have ever dreamed of.  It is an electronic device, so small you can put it in your pocket, and I kid you not, this thing has no boundaries.  Would you believe me if I said that with one small electronic device I can...

Send spicy messages to Hubs at any time of night or day?
Watch Youtube videos?
Update my blog?
Follow Ellen and Conan on twitter?
Download and read entire books, such as Great Expectations?
Take pictures of myself in my classroom?
Get minute by minute directions to somewhere I need to go? (It's called GPS, and it's opening my eyes to a new world.)
Download and play and music anytime I want?
Play scrabble with my mom? (who has her own said pocket electronic device)
Call my pharmacy and yell at them for not filling my prescription on time? (birth control, you nosey snoops.  You should really stay out of other people's business)
Check an email that my sister has just sent me from Argentina?
Match prices at Wal-mart?
Look up the weather?
Read my scriptures?
Check my calendar to see what I have going on this weekend?
Transfer money out of my checkings account?
Pay my credit card bill?
Look up movie reviews?
Stare at pictures of Hubs when he is gone all day long?
And many many MANY more things!?

I know this is totally uneblieveable, but I promise you, I speak the truth.  This is all possible with one handheld pocket device. 

This thing is called a smartphone.  It is very new and up and coming in our world, so it's likely you don't have one yet.  And you have probably never heard of it.  It's okay, not everybody is as with it and technologically savvy as I am.  But you might want to look into getting one of your own one day.

(Yes, I just got my very first smartphone, and I am LOVING it!  Happy Black Friday to me from mom.  And now, a moment of silence for my ever faithful flip phone. R.I.P. Flipper.  You will be missed.)

And, now, for some very professional, quality pictures taken by me with my incredible smartphone.  Experience a day in the Life of Bon.  (And when I say a day I mostly mean I took some pictures of myself in the morning, and then remembered again and took some at night.  It's all you're getting, people.)

5:55 am.  I ain't happy.  Getting out of bed is the worst part of my day.

7:39 am  Waiting for the little brats to come in so
I can fill their minds with mush.

This shirt was free.  My #1 criteria for clothes.
8:10 am.  I love the way the sunshine streams into my classroom
in the morning.  Makes me feel like all is good and right
in the world.

9:24 pm  This is the ugly collection of pictures on my lime green wall.
Just in case you ever wanted to see this.

10:04 pm.  Done with this post, tired as heck and waiting for
Hubs to come home.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

A case of the giggles

Something weird happened today.

My students have just finished writing research papers. Now they must report their findings to the class.  You know, the good old fashioned 3-5 minute presentation .  I sit in black with my blood red pen and grade everything that comes out of their mouths while they ramble on up front, nervous and sweating profusely.

Today, Jamie, one of my very best students, gave her presentation on the death penalty.  She stated that sometimes those sentenced to the death penalty are killed in rather inhumane and hurtful ways.  For example, the hanging.  She stated that that there can be miscalculations on the weight and pressure, causing the rope to be too forceful and literally snap a person's head off.

Now I don't know why this happened.  I just know that it did.  Right smack in the middle of explaining this brutal effect to the class, Jamie cracked.  Out of the clear blue, she started to laugh.  Jake, the class clown, called her out on it immediately.  "Oh my gosh, Jamie why are you laughing?!  You sicko!"  And the fact that Jamie, the class angel, was laughing, and the fact that Jake, the class clown, was calling her out on it, was too much for me.  I started to laugh, too.  And laugh hard. 

And there we were, Jamie in the front laughing away, me giggling uncontrollably in the back, and the class inbetween us, wondering what in the world was going on.

Jamie attempted to go on with her presentation.  "There are other ways that can be brutal, too.  It's been said that when they use the electric chair, they have seen smoke coming from the person's head..."  Jamie could barely get this part out, breathing deeply and trying to stifle a laugh every two words.  It was more like "They have seen (laugh giggle laugh) smoke (laugh laugh) coming from (giggle giggle) the person's head!" (laugh laugh laugh laugh).

And of course that made me laugh harder.  I don't think death penalties and hangings and electric chairs are funny.  Not at all.  I think they are very serious, in fact.  Very serious.

But, boy was I laughing.

"Jamie!  Stop laughing!  If you stop laughing then I'll stop laughing!" I ordered in a very mean, authoritative, "listen-to-me-I'm-your-teacher-dang-it!" kind of way

Jamie just kept on giggling, "I'm only laughing because you're laughing!"

And then because he wanted to be involved, Class Clown Jake jumped in with a mocking girly voice, "I'm only laughing because you two are laughing!"

And, man oh man, did that set the rest of the class off.  Anybody who wasn't laughing before was laughing now.  The whole class was in an uproar, doubling over, heads in laps, slapping the desks, having trouble breathing.  Laughing away at the thought of some mass murderer having smoke come out of his head in the electric chair.

I knew I should quiet those kids down.  Get them back on task.  Not waste any of their time.  But I just couldn't do it.  So we just kept on laughing.

And that's when I sure love teaching those 16 year old crazy laughing punks. 

I really do.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Twilight...what I don't understand

I'm just going to say this about Twilight and then I promise you I will say no more about the subject.

I don't get it.

Did I promise I wasn't going to say anymore?  Because I'm going to say a lot more.  Now you know the worth of my promises.

I just simply don't understand the popularity or the attraction to the books or the movie.  The whole thing baffles me.  Oh believe me, I tried to hop on that bandwagon, and I tried to hop on early.  Long before the movies ever came out, I read the first book.  My English professors counselled everybody in the English teaching major to read Twilight.  Their reasoning was that the book was a hit with junior high girls and teachers should always be aware of the big trends and the books their students are reading.  At that point that was all the book was- a junior high girl book.  The rest of the world was far from catching the craze. 

I read the first book just days before I entered the MTC.   I barely swallowed it down.  The writing was slow and mediocre, at best.  The main character was as unlikeable a character as I have ever seen.  If Bella existed in this life she would be the type of person I would avoid like the plague because she would suck every morsel of positive energy out of me. 

Somehow, in the eighteen months that I was down South sweating away and running away from dogs, Twilight exploded.  By the time I came home, the first movie had recently been released and everyone and their dog was talking Twilight! Twilight!  Twilight!  I ignored all the hype and turned my snooty nose up at it all.

My plan was to ignore Twilight and everything Twilight related until the phase went away.  It might be popular for months, or even years, yes, but I knew that eventually the fad would fade and I could successfully live in this world without having to be a part of the vampire and werewolf circus.

Then I met Hubs.

Hubs likes Twilight.

Yep.  I married a man who likes Twilight.

Hubs (who at that point was just BoyToy) tried to get me to watch the movies with him.  He told me it was important to him.  That I needed to experience them, and that they weren't "that bad."  And because people in love do crazy, stupid things, I complied.  It was the longest two hours of my short existence, and I couldn't stay awake for the life of me.  Hubs nudged, he begged, he pleaded.  He even threatened that if I didn't stay awake I'd just have to go home because there was no use for him to sit there by himself and watch a movie he had already seen while his girlfriend slept.  He had a point.

So I tried harder to stay awake, I blinked my eyes, I tapped my toe, bobbed my head, sipped on coke, crunched on ice.

But to no avail.  I still fell asleep.  The movie had nothing in it to make me want to stay awake.

And that's when Hubs gave up on me.  In the Twilight sense that is.  He realized I would never share his love for the fantasy, the dark romance, the fierce battles between creatures that don't exist.  He never bothered me about it again, and I have been enjoying a life of Twilight peace ever since.

That is, until last week.  On Tuesday, Hubs informed me that the next day, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, he would be going to Twilight with his family.  Everyone had the day off of work and school except for little old me, and since I hated Twilight anyway, this would be a perfect time for him to see it without me.

Then I started to pout.  REASON NUMERO UNO:  Of all the Twilights, this was the movie I wanted to see the most.  I knew enough to know that this was the book where Bella was thrown a lavish wedding, went on a sexy honeymoon to Brazil, and consequentially became pregnant with a demon baby.  Now I myself have recently been weddinged, honeymooned, and impregnated, so this strikes a chord.  Wait, did I say impregnated?  I didn't mean that part.  Just the weddinged and honeymooned, and yes, those are real words, look them up in the dictionary if you don't believe me.  Now, if you'll stop distracting me, I can finish my point and my point is THIS.  I was mildly interested in the film because it parallels the part of my life I am currently in.  And let's be honest, who doesn't want to see a sexy honeymoon in Brazil?

REASON NUMERO DOS I STARTED TO POUT:  I hate it when people have fun without me.  ESPECIALLY when those people are my husband and family and especially when I am working while they are out having fun.  Naturally I felt left out.  If I can't have fun, no one can have fun.  That's logical, right?

I attempted to argue with Hubs that I did, indeed, have a great desire to see the movie, that I have wanted to see it all along.  But, the problem with marrying a sensitive and smart guy is that he sees right through my excuses.  He didn't believe me for a second. 

However, Hubs did convince his family to go later in the day so I could join them after school and kick off my Thanksgiving break right!  Yes!  No one was having fun without me!  I was stoked out of my mind.

It was the worst film ever. 

The movie consisted mainly of slow music montages, long stretches of time with nothing happening, awkward dialogue, virtually no character development.  I think my real problem with the whole Twilight saga is Bella.  She's pouty, annoying, rude, and whiny.  She looked like she was going to throw up as she walked down the aisle.  Uh... Hello Bella!  It's your wedding!  Cheer up, you idiot!  She scowled when they left the wedding to embark on their honeymoon.  Uh... Hello Bella!  It's your wedding night!  Cheer up, you idiot!  She sulked throughout the entirety of their 14 day honeymoon.  That's when I started throwing popcorn at the screen and yelling "Stop it, you ungrateful b****!" (So sorry mom.)

And that's essentially what I don't understand- how this pouty, selfish girl became a worldwide phenomenon.  In the first three days of its opening, Breaking Dawn made $283.5 million dollars.  TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY THREE MILL.  Just to put that into perspective, I would have to teach English for 8,859 years to make that much money.  And you're telling me I can make that much money just by creating a whiny teenage girl and writing a book about her?

Hubs says the movie is so popular because it came at a perfect time for sexually repressed teenage girls.  I guess I would buy that if teenage girls were the only ones watching this movie, but last time I checked teenage girls don't have 283 million dollars laying around in their pockets.  Somehow a horribly written book with weak characters has taken everything I know about writing successful and quality literature and thrown it right out of the window.

Yah.  I'll never understand.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Black Friday

If you are in to laughing at people you have never met before, please note the lady mid right
with the gray hair and double chin.
It makes sense that I would be in love with Black Friday.  After all, I am the girl who price matches every item she buys and refuses to get a 12 pack of coke if it's 60 cents overpriced.

But I'm not in love with Black Friday.

Here's the problem.  Black Friday overwhelms me.  There are too many good deals.  I feel like I am being attacked by hundreds of dollars of savings everywhere I turn, but I can only handle saving dollars and cents.  Black Friday massive savings deals are too advanced, too scary for me- I'm still just an amateur at this whole saving money thing.

I saw the ads.  I know I could have saved on just about anything- TVs, cameras, Xboxes, furniture, clothes, computers, etc.  Half off!  Hundred dollar savings! Opening at midnight!  The ads flashed in my face.  But it all just intimidated me instead of excited me.   So I ignored the "screaming deals", (That's my mom's official term) slept in on Friday morning, and tried to pretend that the rest of the world wasn't out saving thousands of dollars while I was snuggled deep down under my plush down comforter.

My best friend, CrazyA called Friday morning around nine.  I knew exactly what she wanted.  She wanted to know if I was still planning on going shopping with her- as the plan had been for the last week.

I ignored the phone call.  If I didn't go out shopping, I would never know what great deals I was missing out on, right?

Thirty seconds later, CrazyA texted, "We still going shopping?"

I didn't return the text.

Then she called again.

And that's how I ended up meeting her in the parking lot half an hour later. I invited Hubs to come along. He said he would rather choke himself. That settled that.

(Random side note:  Getting into our car, we were approached by two Colombians, a man and a woman, needing a ride to the mall.  We were happy to give them a lift, and when we dropped them off at the mall, we asked if they would be needing a ride back.  They said probably not, because they were intending to buy a mattress, and they wouldn't be able to fit that into our car.  Which leaves us to wonder, exactly how were they planning to get that mattress back to their apartment?)

We didn't hit our first store until 10:30, and I was convinced we would have missed all the best deals by now.  But miracle upon miracles, we didn't!  In fact, we scored several great Black Friday deals.  And it wasn't nearly as hard as I thought it would be!  In fact, it was easy!

Now, I can't go into too much detail about said screaming deals, because most of the people that I was buying for read this blog.  So I will just give you some vague clues so you can be impressed with how much money I saved.  Be impressed!

50% off gift certificates to an anonymous place to eat
50% off gift certificates to an anonymous place that offers some kind of pampering service
60% off an unlimited amount of anonymous entertainment
30% off pieces of anonymous clothing/accessories

And that's all I can tell you!  No more hints, you little snoops!

Black Friday better watch out.  Now that I've done it once, there's no stopping me.  Next Black Friday is going to be epic.  (Yes, I said epic even though I hate the word.  Yes, I am ashamed of myself.)

Now it's Sunday night.  Sunday night at 8:00 is a hard hour for me.  It is the hour that I admit defeat and realize that the weekend doesn't last forever, Monday morning is indeed right around the corner, and that I can no longer ignore the stack of 160 research papers waiting to be graded.  Yes.  I said 160.

(Alright, listen students, if you're reading this, I'm making you a deal.  I won't show up if you don't show up.  Kapish?)

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Giving thanks... a few days late!

I think Thanksgiving is just about the best holiday ever. What other holiday says, "You know what? Even though life can be pretty rough sometimes, we are still dang lucky. Why doesn't everybody take the day off of work and go eat a huge meal with their families and loved ones? And after they're done eating they can all sit back and think about how thankful they are for all of the incredible blessings in our lives."

Yep, pretty sure no other holiday says that.

Here's an interesting tidbit of information for you. Thanksgiving was officially declared a holiday in 1863 by President Lincoln.  In the midst of the United States Civil War, amid death and heartache and misery, Old Abe said, "You know what?  We need to be grateful.  We're making this official." 

Okay, okay, so I paraphrased that.  What he actually said was:
"In the midst of a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed... They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy... I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens."

(If you want to read the whole thing in a bigger, more readable font, go here.  Yes, I am linking you to Wikipedia's article on Thanksgiving.  That's how awesome I am.)

But the point is THIS.  Both Lincoln and the pilgrims who first celebrated Thanksgiving back in 1621 had this in common- they realized that no matter how much is going wrong in life, there is still much to be grateful for.  There is war, there is starvation, there is poverty, there is death, yes.  There will always be those things.  But there is also a God who loves us and who showers us, yes, I said showers us, with blessings.  Sometimes we just have to step back from the hussle and bussle and the crazy chaos of our lives and realize that no matter how you look at it, we are blessed.

And that's why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

(Well, that and I also have a great love for banana cream pie, candied yams, watching boys play football, strange conversations with relatives, and random family dance parties to the glee soundtrack... all of which were part of my Thanksgiving.)

P.S.  This post may have been a little too serious for some.  I understand it's not along the lines of the funny and frivolous things I normally post about.  I promise you that tomorrow I will be back to my trivial, nonsensical, un-profound postings. 

Yes, I will be posting about Black Friday.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Would you like some burnt orange with that lime green?

Here's a confession for you.

I have no idea how to be a wife.

No idea.

I blame it on society.  Society tells you to have a big wedding, to throw a big party, to buy a lot of flowers.  Which I did.  All of those things.

Then you get married and then you are a wife and then all of a sudden society is nowhere to be found to tell you what to do anymore.  Complete abandonment.

Some girls are naturally gifted in wifely duties.  The wedding is over and all of a sudden they just slide right into that wife role, no questions asked.  They enjoy sewing, cooking, decorating, etc.  It is an innate part of them. 

I see these wives and I try to copy them.  But it never turns out for me like it turns out for them.  I am not naturally gifted in wifely duties.  I am naturally gifted at.... talking?  telling kids to shut their mouths?  being bossy?  (All good motherly traits, might I add, just not wifely traits.)

I first knew I might be in over my head with the whole wifely duties thing when I was at my bridal shower.  I opened up a gift and explained, "Tupperware!  Thank you!"  All the married women laughed and turned to each other, "Isn't she funny?  Haha.  Haha!"  I sat there, completely unaware.  "Silly Bonnie, that's not Tupperware, it's Pyrex!"  They told me.  I looked at them.  "What's Pyrex?"  They laughed.  They chuckled.  "Ain't she the darndest?  Haha!  Doesn't know the difference!"

A few weeks after we got married, I noticed that a lot of wives were cooking for their husbands.  So I tried the same.  I cracked open that recipe book and went to work on a chicken cordon bleu recipe.  Whip whip whip, stir stir stir, mix mix mix, bake bake bake.  "Why, this is easy!" I thought.  "Anybody can be a wife!"

"Hubs!  Dinner is ready!" I called lovingly with my pink apron on and my cute little wifely smile.  We sat down to eat.  Hubs took  the first bite.  He didn't take a second bite.  I tried the chicken.  It tasted like... how do I say this... burnt cardboard?  I had followed the recipe exactly right!  Why did it work for other girls, but it didn't work for me? Hubs hugged me, told me it would be okay, and ordered a pizza.

Wifely failure number three came when we moved into our new apartment.  They told us we could paint the walls and decorate however we wanted, so I looked at some pictures online and figured, "Please.  This will be a piece of cake."

Carlos at Wal-mart advised me against it, but I insisted bright green would be the best color for the walls of our living room.  So naive.  So naive.  The color is nauseating, and after two weeks of looking at the lime green walls, I was certain I would die of a headache.  I was also certain that I was not cut out for this wifely business.

Yesterday I decided it was time to paint the bedroom.  My color choice?  Burnt orange. 

Don't mind if I do!

I did learn from my living room experience... instead of paint all four walls, I just painted one.  That way the color wouldn't be too overpowering.

HA!  Who's learning how to be a good wife now?

Our room before.  (I made it messy on purpose, please, our bedroom NEVER looks like this!)

A touch of orange.  Looks better, right?  RIGHT?!

The bedroom view from the living room.  Don't burnt orange and lime green go GREAT together?

Tuesday, November 22, 2011


What is the best way to start a Monday morning?

Is it....

Waking up an hour late, and therefore showing up to work an hour late to see 40 students clammering outside your classroom begging to be let in while the Vice-principal loses her hair from stress, trying to control the students and wondering where in the world their teacher is?!?

No.  No it is not the best way to start a Monday morning.

The good news is I didn't get a speeding ticket.

And believe you me, I was speeding.

P.S.  As a side note... guess who made the newspaper today?  ME!  If you already read my Jazz post last week then it's nothing new for you.  Here's the link if you want to see it... and a few mean comments that people have been leaving too!  You can't win em all, I suppose... 

Monday, November 21, 2011

I'm Sorry, Thanksgiving

Friday night I did something very bad.

Very very bad.

To understand the gravity of what I did, you first have to understand a recent conversation I had with Hubs.  We were in the car and a Christmas song came on the radio.

"Oh my gosh this makes me so mad!  I hate Christmas music in November!" Hubs ranted.
"I agree," I said.  Because I really do agree with him.  Christmas needs to be a little more patient!
"It should be illegal to listen to Christmas music before Thanksgiving.  People should go to jail!"
"Oh yah.  Absolutely."
"All it is is people trying to make money off of Christmas and they push Thanksgiving right out of the way.  So ungrateful."
"Oh, I know.  It's the worst."
"I'm so glad you're not one of those girls who starts to listen to Christmas music in October and decorates in November and has her Christmas shopping done by Thanksgiving.  It's just a joke!"
"Yah!  A joke, I tell you!"  (Just in case you are missing my sincerity, I really do feel strongly about Christmas coming too early.)
But, you see, even the best of us can fall.

It started on Wednesday night when I went to the Relief Society activity.  We were making Christmas decorations.  CHRISTMAS!

I thought about lecturing the Relief Society presidency, pointing my finger at the Christmas decorations and saying, "No no no!  Not until after Thanksgiving!  AFTER!  We are not allowed to celebrate Christmas at all in November.  It makes us less grateful, don't you see!?"

Yes, I am very good at lecturing about Christmas like that.  And I have never let old Saint Nick come early, no matter how much he wants to.  I'm very loyal to Thanksgiving.

But Wednesday, decorating Christmas trees at Relief Society, just kind of got me in the holiday mood.  I enjoyed the Christmas decorations, even though I really did want to hate it because it was happening in November.

I tried to scold myself, "No!  It's not Christmas yet!  You are not yet allowed to enjoy anything of the Christmas sort!"

Friday night while Hubs was at rehearsal, I strolled on over to the Bijou market.  (Homemade jewelry, baby clothes, hair bows, etc.  Adorable.  And expensive.)  And do you know what they were playing at the Bijou market?  CHRISTMAS MUSIC!  And as much as I have forced myself not to listen to anything Christmas before Thanksgiving has rightfully had his time, I was forced to listen to the music while I browsed the baby onesies and long dangly earrings.
And I liked it.

Yep.  There it is.  I said it.

I liked it.

I told myself I wouldn't tell Hubs that I had listened to Christmas music.  After all, I couldn't help it!  I had had no choice in the matter, so it didn't really warrant a confession, right?  RIGHT?!

I went home and started cleaning up a little.  And then I thought about it.  You know what would make cleaning up so much better? 

A little bit of Christmas music.

I snuck on over to my computer, pulled up Pandora, and looked up a Christmas station. I checked the time.  Hubs would not be home for at least another hour.  I was safe.

And I did it.  I listened to Christmas music on November 18, 2011, exactly seven days before I am legally allowed.

And I liked it.

Yes, that's right, I liked it.

I turned the music off long before Hubs arrived home and figured I had gotten away with my infidelity.
But here's the thing.  I am a very guilt-proned individual.

I had done something wrong and I couldn't hold it in.  I was just sure that as soon as Hubs walked in the door he would see the cheating evidence all over my face.  When Hubs did come home, I started talking too fast, asking too many questions, being too nice to him.  I was acting beyond guilty, and there was no way he could miss my strange and erratic behavior.

Wrong.  He didn't notice at all.

But still.  I couldn't relax.  I couldnt' enjoy the night.  Turkeys danced around in my head taunting me, "You betrayed us!  You betrayed us!  You betrayed us!"

That night in bed I couldn't sleep.  My insides were tearing me apart.  I stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours before I knew I couldn't keep this inside anymore.  I had to confess.

"Hmmmm?" he murmured.  He was clearly already asleep.
"I need to tell you something."
"Hubs!  It's important!  I need to tell you something."
He stirred.  Slightly.  "Can it wait until tomorrow?"
"No.  I did something bad and I need to tell you."
"I did something bad."
"How bad?"
"Very bad."
He rolled over and managed to open his eyes.
"Are you ok?"
"No, not really.  I need to confess something."
I took a deep breath.
And then spit it out all at once, "I listened to Christmas music today! I was shopping and it was on and then I came home and listened to it of my own free will! I'm so sorry!  I feel absolutely awful! I shouldn't have done it and I regret it, believe me!"
Hubs looked at me and didn't say anything for a moment.
Sometimes he's a little too into the pauses for dramatic effect, if you ask me.

"Bonnie.  I'm disappointed in you."

Then he rolled back over and went to sleep.

And that, my friends, is how you confess to your husband that you have cheated on Thanksgiving.

I wouldn't recommend it.

Friday, November 18, 2011


Two years ago today my dad died.

There's a lot that I could say that would probably be too personal.
There's a lot that I could say that would probably be too sad.

So I'll just share some thoughts from the heart and try to keep it simple.

My brother, Dennis broke the news to me that my dad died.   It was 7:20 in the morning and I was doing my student teaching at Timpview High School.  I could hear my phone vibrating off the hook in my purse.  I knew something was wrong.  Anytime your phone rings ten times at 7 am, you know something is wrong.  I stepped out into the hallway to return the phone calls.  I'll never forget how Dennis's voice cracked when he told me.

I left the school right away and rode down to Price with several of my siblings.  That day is a complete blur of food, neighbors, hugs, and tears.  But there's one part that is remarkably clear to me.  Around four in the afternoon, I couldn't be in the house anymore.  I couldn't feel the heaviness.  Couldn't take one more tear.  Couldn't see one more person look at me with that face that said, "I feel so sorry for you."

So I went for a run.  I hate running.  But there was something about the run that was almost cathartic for me.  A great release of emotion and sorrow.  I ran and I ran and I ran.  It was cold outside, but somehow the cold numbed the pain.  I ran past the spot where they had found my dad, I ran along the trail where he always went on his bike, I ran up dirt hills I'd never seen before, I ran without stopping, I ran until finally I came to a gate and a fence that would let me run no more.

And then I collapsed.  I fell on the rock hard Carbon County dirt, and the tears came hard and fast.  I pleaded with God.  "Please don't let this be real.  Please let me go back in time 24 hours.   Please let me wake up from this nightmare.  Please.  Dad, come back.  I'm not ready.  I need you.  Don't leave."

It's difficult to know what to say about such pain.  There's nothing to compare it to, because the pain of unexpected and untimely death is in a league all of its own.  I'd always been a daddy's girl and I loved him so much and no one had even bothered to ask if it was okay with me that he left.

I would have said no.

The funeral was beautiful.  I'll always be grateful to my friends who travelled to the obscure town of Price to be with me that day.  From Salt Lake, from Provo, even from Phoenix, Arizona.

Elder Hales spoke at the funeral.  It is one of the most spiritual experiences I have ever had.  He told us that my dad was prepared to go.  That it was never in the plans for my dad to live longer than this.  He told us that the veil was thin and that we could talk to dad at any time.  That now us kids had two fathers in heaven.

Since that time, there have been many times when I have felt my dad's presence strongly.  When I have felt his love, his support, his approval.  When I have witnessed for myself that the veil, indeed, is paper thin.

The strongest and most powerful experience was the day of my wedding.  From the second I entered the temple that morning, I knew my dad was with me.  His presence was so strong that I was almost surprised I didn't see him right there, shyly grinning from the back row.  During the sealing, tears rolled down my cheeks for the entirety of the ceremony.  My dad was there. Everyone there knew it.  The feeling was so strong it was almost tangible.  He was sending me his love, his approval, telling me he was proud of me for everything about the decision I was making- the time, the place, the man.

There's so much that could be said about my dad and my relationship with him.  The things he taught me, the example he was to me, the bond we had.

But I'll just share this one memory and then I have to stop.  The summer I turned 16, I accompanied my dad down to Emery county every Tuesday afternoon to work at his podiatry clinic.  I would change out his rooms, organize files, and get the patients ready to see him.  For my strenuous labors he'd pay me $8 an hour.

I was learning how to drive a stick shift that summer, so I would drive to Emery and back, my dad in the passenger seat coaching, "Second, second, put it in second!"  "Don't ride the clutch!" and  "Bonnie, slow down! The speed limit's 50!"  

Every week, without fail, we would stop at B.K's Stop and Shop on the way home and dad would buy a big cherry coke for us to share.  I had both hands busy at all times, trying desperately to maneuver the ever-difficult stick shift, so my dad would hold the cup for me and move the straw to my mouth so I could have a taste.

And that's how we spent every Tuesday evening of the summer, driving home from Emery with a stick shift and a cherry coke.  And for some reason, this is the story about my dad that I love the most.  I don't know why exactly, but I guess it's because it just doesn't seem like there's anything in this world quite as tender as a girl shifting and clutching and steering while her dad, sitting shotgun, holds up a straw to her mouth so that she can get a sip of cherry cola.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Bon Bon the spy

I'm trying to kill my junior classes.

Or so they think.

You see, I gave them a research project.

The assignment is to write a paper about a controversial topic in society today. (Gay rights, illegal immigration, abortion, etc.)  They are to take a stand on the issue, provide a solution, and give evidence to support all claims.

Four pages.
Four sources.
Four quotes.

You'd think I'd told them to go to the moon and back.

It has practically caused an uprising. 
They complain.
They whine.
They can't believe I have given them something so so tough.

"Teacher, this is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life!" one student complained.
"Than I hate to tell you, your life is going to get a lot harder." I replied.

While my students are working on their research paper, I can sit on my computer in the back and see all of the work they are doing.  A little thing called google docs, my friends.  I have the student set up an account, share their document with me, and then I can literally watch them type from my computer. 

I see everything they're doing. 
I monitor them. 
In other words.

I spy.

The highlight came today.  I pulled up Sean's paper to see how he was progressing.  He only had one paragraph written.  Today they were supposed to have completed two pages.  I started to add a comment, and right as I was about to start typing, I saw Sean move the cursor.  Perfect!  He was getting to work.  I watched him type for a minute, happy that he was working on the project.

to hell with this

He typed.
"Sean!  I saw that!" I yelled.
The class, all quiet at their computers turned around in shock to see what I was clammering about.
Everyone but Sean.
He stayed facing the front.  I could see the back of his neck burning red.

"Sean!  Turn around!  Why are you writing "to hell with this" on your paper?"
The class snickered.
Sean turned to look at me, his face the deepest red I have ever seen.
"I'm sorry... I'm just frustrated with this project...  I won't ever do that again.  I'm so sorry."
And he got back to work.
I watched his progress throughout the rest of the hour. 
He worked steadily and consistently.

And that is how I motivate my students. 
A little spying never hurt anybody.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Time to break up

This relationship has brought nothing but misery and heartache to me.  I have stayed longer than I should, and now I have finally seen the light.  I've gotta move on.

It's time to cut my losses, venture out on my own, and try to find happiness.

I'm breaking up with Jazz.

It's not easy to break up with someone that you have loved and cherished for years.  It's not easy to detach yourself from someone you consider a part of you.  But it has to be done.

I never imagined it would turn into this.  I was 11 years old when the whole love affair started.  I blame it all on John Stockton. 

The score was tied 100-100. 
Game 6 in the Western Conference Finals.
2.8 seconds left of the game. 
Stockton threw up an ugly three pointer.
Didn't even hit the rim.
Stockton literally leaped for joy.  Leaped higher than I've ever seen a white man leap.
My siblings and I jumped and cheered on the couches, screaming our hearts out.
The Jazz were entering the NBA finals for the first time ever.

That right there, that, was the moment that I committed.  Fully.  I fell deep and hard in love with Jazz and everything that came with him.  I vowed to stay with Jazz come what may.  To be a fan for a life.  To be dedicated.

And that's how the relationship started.  As most do.  With excitement, with love, with visions of the future.

The first heartbreak came two weeks later when  Jazz lost in the finals against the Bulls.  I had committed to my team, but he still let me down.  I wanted to go all the way, but Jazz couldn't.  And I was left to pick up the pieces.

The second heartbreak came the next year when Jazz lost in the finals against the Bulls.  Again.

After Jazz lost that last game in 1998, I watched Michael Jordan celebrate, I watched him grab his MVP trophy, I watched him kiss the floor, and I couldn't take it.  I didn't want my family to see my distraught state, they couldn't know how much this relationship actually meant to me.  So I took the dog for a walk, to air out my sorrows.

I cried.  And I cried. 
Because anytime you experience a great disappointment from your lover, you cry.

But I cowboyed up, and I continued in my devotion to Jazz.  We never progressed as far as we did those first two years.  Oh, we were in a serious relationship, no doubt about it, making the playoffs year after year, but I couldn't get the commitment from Jazz that I wanted.

Then, I watched him start to crumble.
I watched Jazz lose their greatest players: first Hornacek went, then Malone, and finally Stockton.

I stayed faithful.

Me and the Jazz (Jeff Hornacek)
during happier times.

I was a fan when their best player was Andrei Kirilenko.
I was a fan when they lost more games than they won.
I was committed.
In love.
Nothing would make me give up on this.

Deron Williams came and added new hope.  New fire.  This could be a healthy relationship again.  We could be happy.

Every year our relationship was progressing more.  We were making the playoffs again.  It was fun, like back in the old days!  Not just losses and tears, but triumphs and excitement!

When I married Hubs, I thought I would be able to break up with Jazz and end our miserable, unhealthy 15 year relationship.  I would devote myself completely to Hubs and end all ties with former lovers.

Little did I know that Hubs was deeply entrenched in his own relationship with Jazz.
And so we became a trio.
A dysfunctional three way family of sorts.

Last year, tragedy struck.
Jerry Sloan, Utah Jazz coach for centuries, retired mid-season. 
Unannounced, unforeseen.
Just up and quit.

I went to counselling.  I did breathing exercises.  I meditated.
We would make it through this.  It was the greatest trial our relationship had seen yet, but we could survive.

Weeks later, tragedy reared his ugly face a second time.
Deron Williams was being traded to the Nets.
Unannounced, unforeseen.
We watched the promising season go down the drain.
Suffered ten losses in a row.

Trying to save the relationship.

I knew my relationship was on the verge of collapse.  But I held tight to what reassurances were left.
We still had Millsap!
We still had Hayward!
We still had Andrei!
We could make it through even this relationship hurdle.

It was at the end of last season that it finally dawned on me.  I was sitting on my couch with Hubs, watching Jazz blow a huge lead in the fourth quarter.  I saw Jazz scramble for the ball, miss shots, and lose his temper.  And it came to me.  Clear as day.

I would never be happy with Jazz.  Never.  Jazz could not give me what I wanted.  Couldn't fulfill any of my needs. Not a one of them. 

And, so, for the first time ever, I considered leaving Jazz.  But I didn't have the strength.  Like all bad relationships, Jazz had sucked the life out of me and left me unable to even stand on my two feet.

But the seed had been planted.  The idea was in my head.  I could leave.  I could be happy again.  I could be free.

And right when I was considering my huge break up with Jazz, how did he react?  He didn't bother to even play basketball.  Didn't show up to work.  He went on strike.  Refused to date me.  Not only was he not trying to make the relationship work, he wasn't even showing his face. 

Jazz quit before I did, let the records show.

The final blow came yesterday.  I checked the newspaper in the morning and saw the news.  In the midst of an ugly lockout, the players had refused the latest deal that had been given them. 

I knew then that was this end.  Jazz didn't want me.  He wanted money.  He has perhaps never wanted me.  Never loved me.  Never cared.  It was never about us.  Not about me and Jazz.  It was about something else entirely this whole time.

Yes.  All along it had been a one way relationship.  I gave, I gave, I gave.  I loved, I cared, I supported, I stood up for him in the face of his critics.  I watched him lose, I watched him suffer, I watched him ask for more money.

He never gave back.  Never called.  Never said I love you.  Never contributed to the relationship.  Our love affair was unhealthy from day one and slowly deteriorated over fifteen years to nothing more than a woman begging for love and commitment.

Now I'm done.
Throwing in the towel once and for all.

I'm sorry, Jazz.
I just need to look out for myself from now on.
I always loved you.  And I always will.

But this relationship is over.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Did I hear the word free?

My best friend, CrazyA, leaned over to me in church on Sunday.

"Bonnie, do you want a free d-"

"I was about to ask you if you wanted a free d-"
"Yes. I do.  I want it."
"But I haven't even told you what it is yet."
"Didn't you say it was free?"
"Then I want it."

I texted Hubs (who was home sick with the flu).  "I scored free stuff!"  He didn't text me back.  I am still trying to teach him to share my love for "free".  He doesn't quite understand.  Just gotta give it time.  Time, my friends.

After sacrament I went out with CrazyA to the parking lot to examine my loot.  It was a small dresser that the owner no longer needed.  We peeked in through the windows of a truck.  And while I couldn't make out many details, I could tell it was black.  Perfect!  It'd match the furniture I already had in the apartment.  (Ok, let's face it, any color furniture would go with what I already have.  Not one piece of furniture matches another in my living quarters.  What do you expect?  It's not like anybody volunteered to match my furniture for me!)  The dresser would be ideal as a nightstand.  Score.

The rest of church I daydreamed about my new free dresser.  Say what you want, nothing makes you love something more than the fact that it was free.  (Which is why I love Hubs so much.  I didn't have to pay a dime for him!)  I was quickly falling madly in love.

I texted Hubs again.  "Make room in the bedroom!  I'm brining home a new dresser!"

This time Hubs texted back.

"Why did you get a dresser..."

Don't worry, I was not disheartened!  Yes, Hubs may have seemed disapproving in the text, but he was actually quite excited.  I just knew it.  I can read him like a book!

I rushed home to make sure the house was ready for the arrival of the new dresser.  "HUBS!" I called excitedly upon bursting through the door.  He lifted his head off the couch, looking utterly exhausted.  "The dresser's coming, did you clear a space out of th-" And midsentence the door knocked.  It was CrazyA with her husband and the dresser in tote.

Oh, the dresser! It was love, it was love, it was love.

"Alright, come on in!" I said enthusiastically.  Hubs rolled his eyes.  Then rolled over.  I directed CrazyA and her husband into the bedroom.  (Come on, like I was going to carry that heavy dresser when someone else was perfectly willing!)

Cody and CrazyA harassed Hubs for awhile until they could see he was clearly in no mood for company.  And so they left. 

I could hardly contain my excitement.
"Aren't you excited for the new dresser?!?" I exclaimed.
"I don't really understand why you got it."
Okay.... not exactly the answer I wanted to hear.

Still though, my optimism was not dampened.
"It's a new dresser!"
"But do we need it?"
"Of course we do!"
"I feel like you just got that because it was free."

The boy had seen right through me.

Finally, I rebutted.
"It's not like it's something we absolutely need, but admit it, we could use more drawer space and this way each of us will have a nightstand on our side of the bed.  I think it's perfect!"
Hubs tugged the blanket tighter and closed his eyes.
"I just don't feel very well."

Hours later, getting into bed, I caught Hubs secretly eyeing the new dresser.  He gave it a long look over and then a very small, almost imperceptible nod of the head. 

Then, he spoke.

"I get the side with the dresser."

Moral of the story:  In a battle between free and anything else, free always wins.

Every time.
All the time.


Sunday, November 13, 2011

Weekend Top Ten

1.  My mom's birthday was Friday, so Friday night I went out to eat with several members of my family to celebrate.  I sat across from my sister in law, Kathryn, and we talked books for almost the entirety of the meal.  That's why it's awesome to be related to smart people.

2.  A week ago I spilled milk in my car and ever since then it has smelled like a goat crawled in the backseat and died.  Friday, I  finally got around to vacuuming and shampooing it out.  Now I can get in my car without having to cover my nose for dear life and that is a blessing I never realized I had until this week. A BLESSING I TELL YOU!

3.  Saturday morning I went to a bridal shower for my cousin, Ashley.  While there, my aunt asked me about my blog and told me that she read it on occasion- you know- when she has nothing better to do.  She then told me that I need an editor because I have been making quite a few grammar mistakes. 

Yes, I teach grammar for a living. 
Yes, I was sufficiently humbled. 

Leave it to your aunt to tell you you are no good at the one thing that you have always thought you were very good at.

4.  While I was at the bridal shower, Hubs donated plasma.  Poor old me, I am ineligible to donate, but good old Hubs still goes in without me.  Someone's got to pay the bills around here!

5.  I received an email back from United airlines in response to a letter I had written two months ago because of bad service (AKA my luggage didn't arrive until I had been in Europe for six days.)  United told me to send them the receipts of anything I had had to buy due to my suitcase's absence.  Oh, United, you fools.  Who is going to keep the receipts from razors and soap and underwear bought at a gross tourist stand?  I am emailing them back tomorrow telling them I demand travel vouchers.  I'll get what I want from that shammy airline or die trying.  DIE TRYING, I TELL YOU!

6.  Sunday night dinner we invited over our friends Cody and Amy for Zuppa Toscana- the main soup that they serve at Olive Garden.  It's Hubs' favorite soup and it is one of the few recipes I have mastered (okay fine, the only recipe!  You happy now? Why do you always have to focus on my inability go cook?)  so we have it about every three days.  If you want to make it yourself, go here.

7.  I went grocery shopping for the first time in three weeks and only spent $75.  Seventy five bones for three weeks' worth of groceries for two people ain't bad folks, IT AIN'T BAD I TELL YOU!

8.  I debuted a bright red lipstick.  I have been wanting to rock the bright red lipstick look for weeks, so finally I just bought some lipstick and decided to go for it.  I wore it out to dinner with my family.  Of course, they did not miss a beat commenting on it.  "Wow.  What's with the lipstick?" my brother asked after about 90 seconds of having seen me.  My mom wanted to know if I was trying out the lipstick for a "blog story."  My other brother then asked me if I intended to wear it all night.  They all stared at me and demanded answers for red lipstick.  I tell you, you try a new shade of lipstick in this family and they are all over you.  ALL OVER YOU! FOR WEARING LIPSTICK!

I'm not going to even bother asking you what you think because I don't handle
negative feedback well.  Also please don't bother telling me if you hate the bright
green walls in my living room.  It was a bad decision and now I must live with
the consequences.
9.  We played two games of Settlers of Cataan.  I lost both games.  Meaning that I have lost the last five games in a row.  If you are wondering how ultra competitive Bon is handling all the losing, the answer is not well.  Not.  Well.

10.  Saturday night I went with Hubs to help him film a bit of a movie.  You see, Hubs is in lots of movies and digital shorts and plays and anything that involves acting.  I get to tag along with him and be an extra.  And let me tell you, I take being an extra very seriously.  VERY SERIOUSLY (If you haven't already noticed I am very into repeating myself lately.  VERY into repeating myself!) I screamed, I yelled, I waved, I put my whole heart and soul in that clip.  I always give it my all.  And yet, somehow I'm always in the background. (When I was in a play in ninth grade my dad told me, "Well you had the smallest role out there and the highest excitement level out there."  Yep!  That's me!)

Now it's back to face five days of school and dozens and dozens of pimply faced teenagers. 

It ain't no job for the weak of heart. 


Friday, November 11, 2011

For the Birthday Girl!


Yep.  Today is the big day for my mom.
It is also 11/11/11 meaning my mom's birthday is way cooler than anyone else's birthday.

First off, a disclaimer. I understand that this is not the best picture the world has ever seen of a girl with her mom. But it ain't as easy as you'd think to get a good picture of just a girl and that girl's mom when that girl is one of eight children. There's always some other sibling trying to weasel their way in.

This picture was taken up in the Himalayas, however. So that automatically brings it's coolness up, right?

When I was a little girl and I had a bellyache, my mom would bring me sprite and saltine crackers all day long.  Then she'd sit next to me on the couch and rub my tummy under my shirt until it felt better. 
That's when I learned that my mom was caring.

We used to go up to Provo every August and attempt to get all of the school shopping for all the kids done in one day.  One day after hours upon hours of shopping, I was complaining that I hadn't gotten as much stuff as Dennis.  My mom said, "Well, you know what, I didn't get anything.  So stop."
That's when I realized that my mom was selfless.

When I was a teenager, my mom was the Young Women's president.  We went to girls camp and my mom would wake all the girls up by blasting the song "In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight..."
That's when I knew my mom was fun.
And a little crazy.

When I was on my mission I complained home every letter for the first six months.  I couldn't figure out why people didn't give a rip about the most important message ever.  My mom sent me back letters with the exact words and advice that I needed, encouraging me on and telling me how great I was doing.
That's when I knew my mom was a comforter.

One day my dad came home from work and turned the radio on.  "Unchained Melody" was playing and that's my mom and dad's song.  Dad grabbed my mom, who was cooking, and danced with her and kissed her while us kids just sat there watching the whole sappy mushy mess.  And my mom smiled and giggled and held on tight.
That's when I knew my mom loved my dad.

I used to come home from school and wander into my mom's room to ask her what was for a snack.  More often than not, she would be sitting in her room, in the big recliner reading her scriptures. 
That's when I knew my mom was a spiritual rock.

When I was eight my mom read the entire book To Kill a Mockingbird to me, Reed, and Dennis. 
That's when I fell in love with reading.

When I would drive with my mom she'd cruise through stop signs, go anywhere from 10-20 miles over the speed limit, make phone calls, put on make up, and get to her destination within record time.
That's when I learned how to drive.

"You're not wearing that out.  It's too low/tight/short/provocative.  Go change right now."  My mom would often say to me when I was trying to go out for the night.  Mom had many a "modesty" talk with me growing up.
That's when I knew my mom cared about the message I sent out about myself.

We used to play a lot of fast scrabble as a family.  My mom always won.  She did crosswords in record time.  Anytime I needed to know what a word meant, I just asked my mom and she'd tell me, like some kind of freakish walking dictionary.
That's when I knew that my mom was smart.

One day we were at the mall and we got Sbarro's pizza.  Mine looked kind of old and gross and it was cold as night.  My mom stormed right up to the man working at the pizza place and demanded her money back and another piece of pizza.  And she got it. 
That's when I learned how to not get ripped off.

Sometimes my friends would come over for dinner.  My mom fed everybody without blinking an eye.  And my friends would talk for days after about how delicious the food was.
That's when I knew my mom was a good cook.

My mom never missed a piano recital, she bought Christmas presents and threw Birthday parties for me every year, she praised me for my good grades, she cleaned my room when I was too busy studying for the ACT, she planned and paid for my whole wedding, she helped me buy my first car, she supports me in every decision I make, she taught me how to be independent and responsible, she washed my clothes until the day I moved out, she was the first person I called when I got my first "real" job, she always returns my phone calls the same day, she tells me how pretty I look, she asks me questions about my life.

And that's how I know my mom loves me.


Thursday, November 10, 2011

Lunch plans

I'll admit it, sometimes I've got a pretty posh lifestyle working as a high school teacher.

I teach six classes.  In five of those classes I have a little thing called a teacher's aide.

Teacher's aide= teacher's bliss.

All the stuff I don't want to do, I give to my aides.  And they have to do it because their grade depends on it!  HA-ha! Suck-ahs! 

At first it started off with the norm.  My aides did very traditional tasks. 

Recorded quiz scores in the gradebook. 
Made copies. 
Went to the office to retrieve dry erase markers. 
Picked up my mail.

No problem.

It wasn't long before I discovered I could make them to do more than teaching tasks. 
Why, I could have my students do personal errands for me. 
They could...
Mail out my utility bill.
Go look for my makeup case in my car.
Buy me a diet coke in the middle of class. 
Text Hubs and tell him how sexy he is. (Just keeping you on your toes, folks!)

The problem with having a certain amout of power over people, however, is that sometimes it gets taken a step too far.

Yesterday was the day I crossed the line.

Early in our dating career, Hubs introduced me to a little thing called the egg sandwich.  Hardboil an egg, mush it up with mayonaise and salt, throw it in between two pieces of bread and, Voila! You've got yourself a surprisingly delicious sandwich.

Testerday at 6:15 am I was staring hopelessly into my fridge.  I did not have a single scrap of food to take with me to school for lunch. 
Lunch meat- gone
Left overs- gone 
Peanut butter- gone 
What, oh what was I going to eat for lunch?!?

Then my eyes landed on a carton of eggs.  The light bulb went on.
Egg sandwich.

My mind raced. I would be too busy teaching to sit and boil an egg, but I could have my aide do it for me, right?
I reached for the egg, found a pot to boil the egg in, and was out the door.

The problem is these kids at this school are smarter than I give them credit for.

I gave the egg to my aide at the beginning of class.  I showed her the pot.

"I need you to boil this for me" I said very authoritatively.  "I need it for... this... thing..."  I trailed off.  She would certainly think I was boiling it for an activity in class.  One of the endless fun activities I plan for these hooligans.  

My aide looked at the pot.  Then at me.  At the egg.  Pot again.  Egg.  Me.

"Teacher?" she sounded slightly disgusted.
"Hmmm?" I replied nonchalantly.
(Act cool, Bonnie, act cool!)

"Is this your lunch?"


The problem with trying to tell a lie in a situation like this is that sometimes your face gives you away before you even start the lie.  Before I even knew what was going on, my face had betrayed me, and I knew I had no choice but to fess up to this 16 year old interrogator.

"It might be."

My aide stared back. 
We looked each other straight in the eyes.
My aide spoke.
"Fair enough."

She grabbed the egg and trudged her way out the classroom, faculty room-bound to boil my lunch.

Wednesday, November 09, 2011

On the road to famous

I guess I should have realized that sooner or later this was going to happen.

You see, having a "public" blog can be difficult when you lead what you feel like is a fairly "private" life. I guess when I started posting on this blog every day and linking to facebook and twitter, it never occurred to me that anybody and everybody was going to be able to know the details of my life.

It has taken me by surprise. Maybe the road to famous isn't as easy as I always thought it would be?

A few weeks ago I was walking in the hall, quickly returning to my classroom after a bathroom break. I saw a fellow English teacher. Imagine a brunette Sue Sylvester. That is this lady.

"Blackburn!" Brunette Sue yelled to me.
I need to tell you the truth, and the truth is that sometimes I am intimidated of this teaching cohort of mine.

"Oh, hi, what's up," I tried to act casual. Nothing fishy going on here. No teacher sneaking out of her classroom, leaving 40 highly emotional and sexually charged teenagers by themselves. Nope. None of that around these parts.

"You know there's a bathroom in the counselling office if you ever want to use that one?"
"What?" (okay... most random comment ever...)
"You know... because it's too far you to go to the faculty bathroom, and then you accidentally overhear dirty conversations in the students' bathroom...

This was outrageous! How did Brunette Sue know so much about my life?!?

"How do you know about these things? I demand to know!" (Sometimes I act quite authoritative at school. People have to know I mean business. Even when those people greatly intimidate me.)
"Oh... I do some reading..." and she sauntered off down the hallway.
The light bulb went on.
This was the fault of the blog.

I was planning on going over to my mom's house to hang out one day after school. But I had a huge headache and could barely make it through the day teaching, let alone go hang out, be lively, be entertaining, etc. The only thing dancing around in my little head was a bed. As in... I wanted more than anything to go home, get into bed, hide under my big down comforter and sleep until the headache went away.

Yes, I have always considered myself very pain tolerant, why do you ask?

I called my mom to tell of her plans, "Mom, I'm not going to come over after school today. I'm not feeling very well."

"It's that headache, isn't it?"

I was taken aback. I hadn't told my mom a thing about my headache.

"You know you really should back off of the diet coke. I'm sure that's what is causing your headaches."

How in the world did my mom know so much about my headac.... I stopped mid thought in a sudden realization. I had posted that day about my headache and about my addiction to diet coke...

Curse you, Blog!

I was chilling with my friend, watching Kardashians and Teen Mom and all of those classy shows that make me the quality person that I am today. Out of nowhere my friend said to me, "I was looking at a picture of Greg with his shirt off the other day. You two are going to produce some white white children."

First off. RUDE! In many cultures skin of such utter paleness is highly valued, thank you very much. Second off. Since when has my friend been staring at pictures of MY shirtless Hubs? That kind of stuff is for Bon's eyes only. Sheesh. People these days they take so many liberties.

"Why in the world were you looking at a picture of Greg with his shirt off?!?!" My friend was going to have to explain herself here if she wanted to still be my friend. Explain herself AND stop perving on my husband. (I have very strict standards for friendship, you see.)

"It was on your blog, Bon!"


I remembered now. I felt sheepish.

And if there is one way I hate feeling, it is feeling sheepish.

BAAAAAA. (So sorry. I couldn't resist)

I very (very very very) briefly considered stopping writing on my blog. After all, who wants the whole world to know every detail of their personal life?

But then I remembered how much I love to write and that I am growing somewhat attached to my own daily musings.  And in that moment I knew.  I knew that I must own up to the situation. If becoming rich and famous includes people knowing stuff about your life, then so be it! Bring it on! It's a hard life becoming famous, but somebody has got to do it (I mean, hello! I've got 20 followers on this blog!), and so I, out of the goodness of my heart, will volunteer for the job of famous and bravely accept whatever consequences follow.

And you know what else?  I really do sympathize with old Kim Kardashian. Living under the scrutiny of the public eye ain't easy. 

Me and her really have a lot in common these days.

Someday, my friends, someday.

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

How I know I'm not sexy

The realization came to me hard and quick yesterday. 

Like a ton of bricks being dropped from the sky.

I am smart, I am funny, I am good at conversations.


I am not sexy.

Oh there were clues along the way.  Believe you me.  There were clues. 

Like when my dad used to tell me "Don't smile so big."

Or when I would have a crush on a cute boy and then he'd ask me if my best friend was dating anyone.

Or when I didn't kiss a boy all through high school.

Or when my brothers would introduce me to their friends by saying "this is my funny sister" but never "this is my cute sister."

Yes.  There were always clues.  But like any person who can't handle the truth about themselves, I for 25 years chose to ignore these clues and instead lodged them somewhere in the deep, dark abyss of my brain never to be retrieved.

Yesterday I could ignore the clues no longer.

The situation went like this.  I was lying on the couch in what I thought was a sexy pose.  Hubs was in the kitchen making a sandwich.  And because I was feeling particulary sexy for some reason, I made a sexy face to Hubs.  You know the face.  The "I love you, I want you, come here now!" face.

Hubs looked at me.

And then, in complete seriousness said to me,

"Are you trying to sneeze?"

And that was when I finally, absolutely, sincerely, genuinely, one hundred percent, without a doubt knew.

I am not sexy.

What, this doesn't do it for you, Hubs?

Monday, November 07, 2011

Personality clash

There exists something in this world called the Myers-Briggs personality test.

It is a test that measures and breaks down four different parts of your personality.  There are four categories and a person is one of each category.  So you are either
E- Extroverted- get energy from spending time with people or
I - Introverted- get energy by spending time alone,

S- Sensing- trust five senses to gather information or
N- iNtuitive- rely on intuition to gather information,

T- thinking- make decisions based on logic and reason or
F- feeling- make decisions based on personal values and emotions,

J- Judging- more comfortable with scheduled, structured environments or
P- Perceiving- flexible and diverse, more comfortable with open, casual environments.

If you want more information (and more accurate information!) go here.  To take the test and see what you are, go here.

I am an ESFP... meaning I get energy from being around people, gather information based on the five senses, make decisions based on my feelings, and am flexible and casual.

Hubs is almost my exact opposite.  He is an INFJ.  This means he gets energy from being alone, gathers information through intuition, makes decisions based on his emotions, and likes structure and following the rules.

So far the biggest hurdle for the two of us has been the last category... the J/P difference.

Js like structure and rules and social protocol.  Ps like spontaneity and craziness and taking people by surprise. 

Por Ejemplo:  (Watch out!  I've warned you before that I switch into Spanish mode at anytime!)

Last weekend Hubs and I were sitting at a stop light.  I looked over to see two guys in two different cars talking to each other.  Now it's not every day you see two guys, two cars, windows rolled down, chatting it up at a stoplight.
"Hubs!  What do you think these dudes are talking about?"  I asked. 
Hubs looked over.  "I don't know,"  Hubs doesn't get too involved in the lives of perfect strangers.

I continued to watch them.  It looked like a dang good conversation. And I am all about being a part of a dang good conversation.  Naturally, I wanted to join in.

I rolled down my window.  "HEY!  What are you guys talking about?!?!?!" I yelled over to them.

Hubs whipped around, mortified.
"Bon!  Are you serious?" he said to me as he hastily rolled up my window and put the child lock on it.
"No!  No!  No!  That is not okay!  You are not to do that in the car.  You do it again and all shotgun privileges will be revoked."

I pouted.  Folded my arms and looked out the window.  No one likes getting child-locked after all.

"There's no reason to be mad," Hubs reasoned after I went a few minutes without saying a word.  "All this is an example of my J not wanting you to holler things out the window.  You're a P, so you think it's all fun and games, but my J just can't handle it.  Please understand."

I understood. 

But that doesn't mean I have to like it!

Afterall, Ps love having freedom, hollering, breaking rules, and doing things their own way.

The problem is I come from a long line of Ps.  Rule breakers.  People who march to the beat of their own drum.

When Hubs was first introduced to my family, the J inside of him was screaming for structure.  Family get togethers are pure chaos with eight siblings and fourteen little nieces and nephews running around.  The J in Hubs was on a constant and futile search for order. 

The first time we went to a movie with my family, Hubs didn't understand why all of my aunts, uncles, and siblings thought it was okay to talk through the whole thing.

"I don't see anything wrong with it," I said, "I think it makes the movie more fun."
"This isn't your living room, Bon.  You are in a public setting!"
"So what?  You can still talk when you leave your house."
"No.  Not in a movie theatre.  That's not following social rules.  It bothers the people around you!"
"Oh.... I guess I never thought about the people around me."
"Exactly!  And you have to put your legs down too!  You can't just have your feet up on the seat!  It's rude to the people sitting in front of you!" Hubs scolded.

Sheesh.  These Js, they really don't let you have any fun.

This weekend we went to a movie with my mom and my brother and his wife.  The movie experience consisted of every possible thing a J could hate.  FIRST we arrived twenty minutes late because of poor driving directions.  THEN on our way into the theatre we saw my Aunt Reeta pop out of the theatre side door searching for her husband.  THEN we pretty much snuck into the theatre because the line was too long for us to wait for tickets, and we were already late.  THEN my mom kept talking to us in the theatre before remembering Hubs intense desire for silence while watching a movie.  THEN I started falling asleep in the movie.  THEN there was some candy being passed around the group that was a) snuck in from outside the theatre and b) in a very loud plastic bad.  THEN my mom answered a phone call in the theatre.  ("Hi Brother Jensen!  I'm in a movie, that's why I'm whispering!...")  THEN I forgot the rules and put my feet up on the chair in front of me before Hubs reminded me with his look of death.

As we left the theatre, I felt certain that Hubs would ban me from ever going to a movie with him again.  Just like he banned me from hollering out his car window.  The J in Hubs was most definitely begging to never go to a movie with his P wife and her P family ever again.

The first few minutes of the drive home were silent.
"Sorry about all the craziness in the theatre..." I trailed off, not really knowing what to say next.

"Hm?" Hubs looked confused.

"You know... the breaking rules, not following social protocol..."

"Oh, that,"  Hubs laughed softly and reached for my hand.

"It's okay.  In fact, it was kind of fun."


You see... that, my friends is the first step in a J's conversion to the P side.