The Life of Bon: March 2012

Friday, March 30, 2012

My pantless friend

I am late on my post today. But like any of you noticed.  Or cared.  RIGHT?!?

The reason I am late is because I really needed a certain picture for my post today.  I tried to find the picture via stalking all of my students' twitter accounts, and when that didn't work I realized I would have to wait until school the next day to hunt my student down who had the picture I wanted.

I found her upstairs, outside the ceramics classroom at 7:35 a.m.  "Oh my gosh I need that picture you took of Jake with his pants off yesterday!" I said dramatically.  She gave me a quizzical look.  I mean, come on, how many times do you hear your teacher say that they want a picture of a student with their pants off? It could get turned real wrong real quick- I realize that. 

But she sent the picture to me.  And I was happy.  And oh-so-prepared to write this blog post.

A couple things you should know before we dive right in here with pantless picture.  Jake is my biggest class clown.  I had him last year as a sophomore, I've had him this year as a junior, and I'm hoping senior year makes third time a charm!  When Jake first strutted into my classroom as a fresh-out-of-middle school goof ball, I was terrified.  I was brand spanking new on the job, one day of teaching under my belt.  Allthough confidence had never been an issue for me, I was worried that Jake was going to eat me alive.  Metaphorically speaking.  And also literally speaking, I suppose.  I mean, he's a big kid.  He could squash me like a bug if he wanted.  But that's beside the point, isn't it?  The point is that I was intimidated by this giant sized fifteen year old class clown. 

The first day of class, Jake demanded to know how old I was and if this was my first year teaching.  "No,"  I lied not very convinvingly.  There are times when lying is justified, my friends, and in front of a mean sophomore who could swallow you in one piece whole is a good time to lie.

The first half of that year I complained about Jake daily.  I even cried once.  He was constantly disrupting the class, constantly getting all the students to revolt against me, constantly undermining my authority, if you could even say that I had an authority at that point.  I was a first year teacher for crying out loud, fresh off the boat from my carefree-easy-breezy college days.  Jake and a couple of his buddies made my eight period class 85 minutes of living hell for me.  I couldn't control him.  He was too influential.  Too sassy.  Too smart. 

I tried putting him in every corner of the class.  It didn't work. 
I tried holding him after class and talking to him, "Jake, you are a leader in this class, people will follow you.  I need you do use those leadership skills to be a good example."  It didn't work. 
I tried phoning his parents.  It didn't work.
I tried freaking out with a burst of sudden anger in front of the whole class, and made them all read and sit silently for twenty minutes because of Jake's misbehavior.  It didn't work.

It wasn't pretty, folks.

As much as I disliked Jake, it was pretty obvious that the feelings were mutual.  One day, Jake came into the classroom with a paper for me to sign to switch classes.  He wanted out.  But a flaw in the counseling system wouldn't let him switch- made him wait until the end of the quarter.  And so Jake continued coming to my class inspite of his desire to get out, and I continued to deal with his troublemaking antics, inspire of my desire for him to get out.

And then, about mid year something changed.  I don't know what it was, exactly.  I wish I could find a huge crowning event that improved our relationship, but really we just somehow turned a corner.  The days of teacher vs. class clown were gone. For whatever reason, Jake's annoying actions somehow became endearing to me.  I laughed at his jokes.  I enjoyed his presence.  And then, slowly, Jake came to my side. He worked on his homework. He still goofed off, still came bursting into the classroom late, still interrupted my teaching with inappropriate comments, but somehow I didn't care as much anymore.

I loosened up on him, and in turn, he seemed to loosen up on me. We finished sophomore year with success.
In early August I checked my class lists for the next year's students and saw that Jake was once again enrolled in my class, this time as a junior.  What surprised me most wasn't that Jake was in my class, but that I was excited to be spending another year with him.

This year with Jake has been nothing but sunshine and flowers.  We've reached a comfort level with each other, and who would have thought- Jake is even earning A grades in my class!  He continues to disrupt the class, and he is ever the class clow, but now I like it, and when Jake is gone, I miss the goofiness and fun that he brings to the class.

NOW... ("When are you going to get the the pantless picture???" I can hear you screaming from here.  Cool your jets.  We're getting there.  I promise.)  Jake walked in yesterday, dressed up for his lacrosse game.  The requirement was to wear a shirt and tie.

So, naturally, Jake wore this.

I laughed for about five straight minutes, demanded that Jake let me take a picture of him and marveled at his complete resistence to the dress code.  The whole class watched in stunned amazement.

We dived into The Great Gatsby and all thoughts of Jake with only boxer shorts on were completely erased from my memory.  The bell for lunch rang and the kids were off, 30 minutes of mealtime freedom before they would be forced to reenter my classroom.

As the bell rang for the kids to come back to class, a steady stream of 17 year olds reentered my class in fits of laughed.  "Teacher you are just going to absolutely die when you see this!" they all screamed.  "Teacher, have you seen Jake yet?!?!?"  Jessie burst into the room.

And then Jake walked in. 
Completely pantless. 
Or so it seemed.  He had acutally rolled up his boxer shorts.  I instantly broke into a fit of giggles and had to cover my face in a book to keep from losing it completely.  "What?!?!"  Jake demanded, a huge grin stretching across his big, goofy face, knowing exactly what we were laughing at, but loving the attention.  "What's wrong?!?  Why are you laughing?"

I suppose there is a lesson in this somewhere.  A lesson about absolutely loving people who you thought you never would.  About getting along with and learning to understand and adore people who are so different from us.  Yes, I'm sure there is a lesson in here somewhere, hidden underneath pictures of pantless students and long run on sentences.  But  it's Friday, and I'm too tired to start looking for life lessons hours before my weekend begins.  If you figure it out, let me know.  In the meantime I'll be playing some volleyball, enjoying the beautiful weather, and welcoming April with open arms.

Jake, if you read this, don't let it go to your head.  You still have to do your homework.  Quiz on chapter 2 of Great Gatsby on Monday.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

The Job

What is the favorite part of my job as an English teacher to a bunch of teenage ruffians, you ask?

Is it reading responses to literature that go like this: "Why can't cows fly? I wish they could fly. It would be cool if cows could fly. I also wish pigs could fly. But if a pig could fly and it got hit by lightening, then would it be bacon? I wish cows could fly"?

Is it asking my students how they would spend $100 and having one 17 year old student yell back, "diapers for my kid!"?

Is it going to the cafeteria to buy lunch and the lunch lady asks me my student I.D. number and then I watch her turn red from embarrassment as I inform her for the 100th time that I am not a student?

Is it having my students tweet that I'm their favorite teacher?

Is it when my students say "F*** you!" in my classroom and I have to kick them out?

Is it when a girl is so excited/anxious to answer a question that she is literally standing on her desk jumping up and down with her hand in the air trying to get me to notice her?

Is it when my students offer me diet coke in exchange for good grades, and it is honestly a temptation for me?

Is it watching 16 year olds flirt with each other and say things like "Don't you think Jake is the cutest gosh darn thing in the whole world?" and then I stand awkwardly, not knowing how to respond?

Is it the last day of the quarter when all my grades are submitted and I can finally have a moment of peace without students haranguing me about their grade every second of every day?

Is it having our special friend wander into the class on his birthday and singing him happy birthday as he wears his birthday crown and hold his birthday cupcake?

Is it when students tell me they have my same pair of jeans from Forever 21?  (Casual Friday, of course!)

Is it making students act out To Kill a Mockingbird in class and they LOVE it?

Is it when a kid does something inappropriate and I chew them out and see the genuine fear in their eyes and realize that they actually respect my authority?

Is it pay day?

Is it when I tell a whole class of juniors that I'll be teaching seniors next year and they literally (LITERALLY!) cheer?

Is it when a student walks in the classroom and says to me first thing, "You look different without makeup" and I am wearing makeup?

Is it when I see 40 students are honestly on the edge of their seats wondering what is going to happen next in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream?

Is it hearing the collective groan on a Monday morning when I say "Clear your desks for a test" and they holler back "We forgot!" and I yell back, "I warned you a million times- this is your fault, people!" and then watching them squirm?

Is it getting incredibly awkward and not knowing what to say when my students tell me they stalk my blog and my twitter account?

Is it reading Great Gatsby with my class and I being so absolutely enthralled with the book that I am completely shocked when the bell rings and class is over already?

Is it convincing an entire group of sophomore boys to have a sit up competition for a dollar?

Is it playing a word game and unexpectedly having to read the word "weenie" in front of 40 seventeen year olds and laughing uncontrollably?

Is it giving a student a big hug when they break down in tears because their friend died?

Is it gossiping with all the other teachers about the obnoxious students, the naughty teachers, or the crazy librarian?

Is it having students tell me they never liked reading until my class?

Is it having students be so upset by the unhappy outcome of the book that they tell me they want to throw it across the room because they were that invested in the story?


Is it knowing those poor young suckers have to do whatever I tell them, and that they are completely defenseless against my test-giving-paper-assigning powers?


I'll have to sleep on it.

Let you know tomorrow?

(P.S.  Only two more days to enter to win free earrings!  You'd be straight up crazy not to!)

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Hunger Games: Flop?

So there's this movie that opened called the hunger contest  or... hunger games or something like that.  I guess some kids fight until they all die or something and apparently it's been a big deal lately.

WHOA WHOA WHOA!  Settle down you guys!  I'm kidding!  Of course I know what Hunger Games is!  Please.  Sheesh, Louise  You joke around about Hunger Games for one second around this place and the whole world wants your neck on a rope.

As you all should know, the movie came out Thursday night/ Friday morning.  By Friday afternoon Hubs' bestie, Eric, had posted this on facebook about the movie:
Baffled and angered at how terrible Hunger games was. Seriously. Most unimaginative way to depict that story. Didn't care about one scene or character in that movie because no time was taken to develop any relationship. Good job Gary Ross, you successfully wrote and directed a two hour preview of a movie that could have been intense, emotionally provoking and epic.
Eric sure took some heat for this review.  He had 57 comments on his post, each one threatrening a different form of murder.  Kidding. 

But seriously. 

People were mad.

Because Eric wrote such a negative review of Hunger Games I was expecting to hate it myself.    You see, I hate almost all movies.  I spend half of the time saying "You can tell that's a fake apple,"  "No one would ever say that in real life," and "He's a terrible actor."  Hubs even admitted to me that he enjoys movies more without me because I'm not there in his ear whispering critiques throughout the entire movie.

Monday I had the day off of work (admit it, you wish you had my job so bad!) and so Hubs and I traipsed on over to the theatre to check out the movie for ourselves!  I was excited, but mostly scared scared that I was going to hate every second of it and this would just be another Hollywood disappointment.

Consensus:  Loved it!

Here's a little breakdown for you, (since I know you really value my opinion as a movie critic and all:)

Casting:  4/5  I was surprised at how much I loved the casting of Peeta.  So naive and hesitant- perfect for Peeta.  Katniss did excellent as well- strong while still showing fear and insecurity.  My only disappointment was Gale, who seemed too old for the part and a bit misplaced.

Relationships5/5  My favorite relationship was Katniss and Prim.  In fact, I thought the movie did a much better job than the book at establishing that emotional tie and making you care for Prim and understand Katniss' reason to volunteer for the games.  Also loved the connection between Katniss and Rue and was impressed and how quickly that was established.

Cinematography:... Um... I don't understand what that word means.  But I give it a 5!

Costume/makeup: 5/5  I loved the makeup and costuming of everybody from the capitol, especially in contrast to the drab and lifeless colors of those from the outer districts.  The color and costume choices perfectly showed the contrast of the lives of destitution of those in district 12 to the lives of decadence of those in the capitol.

Fight scenes:  5/5  These were done very tastefully.  I was worried that because the book is as violent as it is that there would be lots of violent and graphic scenes, but they kept it classy.

Overall:  Suspense, emotion, acting, pacing, screenplay...etc... 5/5.

So that's it!  I give the movie a 4.8/5 around these parts!  And that's saying a lot coming from old Bon Bon here!

So what do you think, folksies?  Did you like it as much as I did?  Or did you think it was "unimaginative" and "terrible" like Eric did?  Weigh in!  Every vote counts!  (It really doesn't.  Don't be deceived.  Just trying to muster up some excitement.)

P.S.  Don't forget to enter to win beautiful jewelry in honor of Baby Bonnie.  Competition closes Friday at midnight.  Don't know what I'm talking about?  Read

Monday, March 26, 2012

A baby named Bonnie and... a GIVEAWAY? Does it get any better?!?!

Sometimes I talk on this blog about my adventures with Crazy A.  Like when she flirted with Hubs in church or hooked me up with a free dresser.

Crazy A is one of my best friends ever.  I can't exactly say she is my best  best best friend because I have been blessed with so many awesome friends throughout my life.  Let's just say I've got a lot of best friends.  Some people had a alot of boyfriends growing up.  I had a lot of girlfriends.  The good thing is that girlfriends stay, even after you're married.  Boyfriends don't.  Er... at least they're not supposed to.

ANYWAY... this blog post, specifically, is dedicated to this girl:  Crazy Amy.

We were trying to still boxes of cookies from a party...

We were really into the peace sign for awhile.
Me and Crazy A over the years.  We met in 2006...
It's been love ever since.
(Also, please notice how annoyed I look in the above picture.)

Crazy A went and pulled a fast one on me in December when she told me she was preggers.  And by told me she was preggers I mean I was looking at her calendar in the kitchen and noticed every Wednesday of the week she had written "five weeks" "six weeks" "seven weeks", etc. 

"Amy, you weirdo, what are you counting off the weeks on your calendar for?" I asked, oh so naive and innocent.

That's when Amy did a wicked fast dive for the calendar "Oh you're not suppos---" she started.  But by then it was too late.  I had cracked the code.  Amy's eggo was preggo.

Last week Amy and her husband came over to tell me and Greg the gender of the baby.....


It's a GIRL!


Amy and Husband announced the name they had picked out for the baby.....


I am not joking you, people.  Come on, would I joke with that many exclamation marks?

Tears sprang to my eyes when I heard the news.  I could barely contain myself.  I was so happy and excited and totally elated that I offered up a lifetime of free babysitting right there on the spot!

You better believe it, a little baby Bonnie is going to be entering this world come July!  And then Bonnie will no longer be a name only used by grandmas!  HURRAH!

To celebrate little Bonnie's arrival into the world, I decided to give away a bunch of Amy's jewelry.  Because, HELLO, what is a cooler way to celebrate your namesake than free jewelry from her mother?

I am giving away two sets of earrings.  The first:

Sparrows.  Perfect for spring and goes with any outfit.

The second pair:  Owls.  Because everybody seems to really be loving them some owls lately.

Alright chicas, (and chicos.  This blog does NOT discriminate on basis of gender.  All are welcome!) here's the dealio:

One entry: Follow Life of Bon on GFC
One entry: Follow thelifeofbon on twitter
One entry:  Visit Amy's shop and tell me which piece of jewelry you like best.
Other entries:  Tell the world that my BFF is naming her baby after me!!!!  Um.... I mean... tell them about this drawing on Facebook.  Or twitter.  Or your blog. Whatevs.  One entry for each.

Leave a blog comment for each of these things that you did so that I make sure to get your name in the drawing the appropriate amount of time.

You could have a grand total of... alot... of entries?  (Six I think?  I got confused...)

Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor!

I'm sorry... I just had to...

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Choose the right... kind of.

Sometimes I don't know what to write on my blog.

Sometimes I have to think and think and be real creative and try real hard to find something interesting enough to write about every day.

Sometimes my blog posts are strained and take hours to write because I have no ideas, no inspiration, nothing of note.

Today is not that day.

My blog inspiration came crashing into me at 100 mph an hour this afternoon.

I was at church.

It might not be the kind of inspiration you think.

You see, I was waiting for Relief Society to start when Michele and her hubby grabbed me and said, "Look at this! These are hilarious!"

They were staring at a huge bulletin board with pictures of children. On the top of the board was the header "Choose the Right".  Under each child's picture was a small piece of paper saying what that child has done to choose the right.  "I helped my gramma", "I cleaned up", "I said thank you", etc. 

A couple of children appeared to be more devious, however.  "You gotta look at this one!" Michele explained and directed my eyes to a future hood rat, no doubt.

In case you can't read the writing, it reads "Nathan has chosen the right by..... Punching my brother instead of dragging him down the stairs."

The three of us had a good laugh.  Since when was punching less of a sin than dragging?  And how did this kid have the audacity to think for one second that he could brag at church of all places about punching his brother?  and

Then Michele's hubby exclaimed, "And look at this one!" 

What I saw staring back at me was the face of my very own darling nephew. (Also the same nephew who spent $6 on cotton candy at a Jazz game, ratted out his older brother for being bossy, and ran laps around In-N-Out)  My sister and her family share the church building that we meet in, so it came as no great suprise to me to see his face plastered on the bulletin board.

The caption reads, "Eli has chosen the right by: hurting Davy (he deserved it)."

Davy, for the record, is my other nephew. Eli's younger brother.

I laughed and laughed, happily admitting to Michele and hubby that I was the proud aunt of that young buck. 

What I really want to know, though, is who is the teacher who approved of these messages?  They had to go through some kind of screening process, right? Some kind of editing?  Who is this Sunday school teacher who looked at these and said, "Yes, Eli, you did choose the right by hurting Davy!  Yes, Nathan, you did choose the right by punching your brother!"

It's a sick, sick world we live in, people.

Speaking of sick, the Jazz lost in quadruple overtime to the Hawks tonight.  QUADRUPLE!  Who has even ever heard of such a thing?!?!

Thursday, March 22, 2012

The Evils of Lemonade Stands. This is real stuff.

The weather was 70+ degrees, the birds were singing, the skies were bluing, be ye certain, the day was GOI-GEOUS!

After a great day at high school, I drove home today with the windows down, the sunglasses on, sipping on a little diet coke and chilling out to Norah Jones. It was a wonderful drive, and even when I got stuck in traffic (Curse you, I-15!) for half an hour, I hardly even minded.  I just let that sun come in those car windows and share its warmth.

Yes, I was feeling great. That's what 70+ degree weather does, you know?

See how happy I look in this picture?
That is how I was feeling on the way home.
(And on a complete side note, this is a tandem bicycle ride in Newport Beach with my old roomie, Kristen.
Santa asked if he could join in. We said yes, of course, you're Santa, afterall.)

Nearing home, I noticed a bunch of young 'uns selling lemonade. And by golly, I was in such a good mood that I thought, "Why not? An ice cold glass of lemoande sounds delicious and those little tikes will be so grateful for my biz-ness!"

I slowed to a stop, "How much is the lemonade?"

The girl holding the sign looked at me blankly and shrugged her shoulders.

Alright, little girl, let me tell you something if you want to make it in the business world.  You might want to know the price of the product you're trying to sell. I'm just saying.  It couldn't hurt.

So I asked again, "How much is the lemonade?" A boy standing nearby seemed a little more clued in than his female cohort. "It's 50 cents!" he yelled across the street.

FIFTY CENTS?  For a dinky cup of gross lemonade? Who are we trying to kid around here? Had it been anyone else in the world besides a bunch of little kids I would have simply muttered "Too rich for my blood" and sped off. But those kids looked at me, their lips puckered, their lemoande already poured, and I just couldn't say no.  Not even I am cheap enough to deny these innocent creatures their sale. So I forked over the two quarters.

The girl ran out with a small glass of lemonade for me. When I saw the size of the cup it was all I could do to not yell "You call this a cup? Well I call this highway robbery, toots!"  The cup, a full 6 ounces if you want to know, was only half full.  I did the quick math.  I had paid $.50 for 3 ounces of lemonade.

I told you it was highway robbery.

Bunch of crooks, every last one of them.

I put the car into drive and got out of there before I did some serious harm to those thieving munchkins.  At the stoplight I took a sip. 

Now, I'm not one to normally go around complaining about lemonade,  but this was 99% water and 1% lemonade mix.  Ah, those kids had got me again.  AND it was warm.  I don't think there are many things in this world more disgusting than warm watery lemonade.  If you think of one, by all means, let me know.

As I finished my drive home, Iwas upset. Upset at the disgusting water with a hint of lemon, disgusted at the portion size, and disgusted that I had forked over fifty cents.  Fifty cents that would have been much better spent on a cold can of diet coke.  Why had I bought the lemonade even though I have NEVER liked lemonade to begin with? Those stupid kids ha----

That was it.


It was the kids.

They had scammed me.

I realized. Those kids were totally taking advantage of me.  The had done the exact same thing that buxom blondes do when they want favors from men.  They use who they are to get it.  (And while we're on the subject, isn't buxom the coolest word ever?!)  The same thing that celebrities do to get their way.  They use who they are.  The same thing that athletes and rich kids do at my school to win over teachers.  They use who they are.

Those dirty rotten kids had just played me like a fool! They had no quality product to sell, but rather, they used who they are (namely, children) as an advantage to get me to buy it from them. Had it been an adult selling the lemonade, I never would have even thought about buying it. But, no, those kids had got the best of me.  Pulled the covers over my eyes and ripped me off!  Used their youth, their "innocence," their cuteness to persuade me to buy something I completely didn't want.

I had been scammed.

And that is just wrong.

I'm sorry, but I just can't continue to support these lemonade stands just because they are run by children. These children will turn into monsters who are used to always getting their way, inspite of not having anything of value to offer.  I must stop the evils of lemonade stands now before it is forever too late!

(P.S. This post morphed into something much different than I thought it would be. Basically I just wanted to tell you that a bunch of kids ripped me off on lemonade.  That is all.  Ignore all the rest. It's just nonsense.)

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Turning into Mom

It's happened.
I suspected it was happening when I wouldn't go to Las Vegas until the house was totally clean.
I suspected it was happening when I started carrying snacks in my purse at all times.
I certainly suspected it was happening when Hubs started repeatedly telling me that I talk too loud into the phone.

I have tried to ignore it for years, but tonight the sign was so strong and clear, that it is officially time to embrace what I have long known to be true.

I'm turning into my mom.

The final acceptance of this knowledge came tonight while perusing the aisles of Target. I have read many blogs recently with pretty girls posting ridiculously cute pictures of themselves in expensive looking outfits.  Without fail, there is a caption underneath the picture that states at least part of the ensemble was purchased at Target.  Hmmmm... I started thinking. Target? For clothes? For cute clothes? This would surely take some investigation.

And so, I buckled up and cruised on over to Target tonight, hoping to find myself immersed in a blissful world of colored skinny jeans and leopard print flats. Alas, it was not so.  The Target in my neck of the woods was picked over, unorganized, and smelled like moldy couches.  After 20 minutes I decided that I was officially not going to try to buy clothes at Target ever again.

On my way to the register to purchase the one item I had picked up, (a bag of starbursts, naturally) my eye stopped on some V-necks for men.

Ohhh, la, la, were these things looking good!  So many colors, so many patterns, so many sizes, and all for $10 a pop? My oh my, it looked like I had finally entered the celestial Target kingdom that others have long raved about.  Hubs would certainly look oh so dashing in these sharp v-necks.

Lets see... color... red?  No, black...? Nah... White?  How about the stripes.... would Hubs like yellow?  Too many choices!  My heart, ever the wily devil, convinced me that Hubs needed ALL the shirts.  In ALL the sizes.  Then my brain kicked into gear and reminded my heart that I don't have all the money in the world to buy Hubs V-necks at Target, even if it is the celestial kingdom.  AND THEN... out of left field, a voice came to me saying, "Buy them all, take them back to Hubs, let him pick two, and then return the rest."

"You're a genius!" I said to the voice, and carefully started selecting sizes and colors. Who am I trying to kid? There was no careful about it- I grabbed everything in sight with the ever-present thought in mind that I would bring most of these back.

"You having a shirt party?" The cheeky girl at the register asked me as I rang up the shirts.  I tell you, cashiers these days sure can be sassy.  Just ask me about Carlos.  Or Joel
"No... I'm just going to take them home to my husband and let him pick two he likes, and then I'll return the rest so that he gets the ones he wants."
"Wow. Sounds like way too much work to me.  If you just pick out two yourself, he'll never even know about the other options. Where'd you ever get that idea to take them all home?"
I was pretty much over this cashier by this time, so I shrugged off her question, grabbed my bag and toloodled on out of Target.

Naturally, on the way home, I thought about it. Where had I learned such a seemingly inefficient way of choosing shirts for my husband? 

And then it dawned on me.

I had learned it from my mom.

Countless occurrences where my mom went to the mall and came home with four different styles of the same dress flooded my memory.  Three different sizes of shoes, or six different colors of the same shirt laid out on the kitchen table.  "Pick two, Bonnie, and I'll take the rest back," or  "choose the dress style you like the most- but you can't have them all!"

I had always secretly wondered at my mom's way of shopping and thought numerous times to myself, "But how can she stand to always have to be returning stuff? Surely she can't really enjoy shopping in this way."

And, now, here I was, without even realizing it, starting my own legacy of buying in bulk and returning the superfluous merchandise.

Yes, I suppose now it is official.

I am my mom.

Have YOU turned into YOUR mom yet?

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

When you've got the blues

Last night I was sad.
And maybe a little crazy.

I don't really know what triggered it, I just felt sad.
And maybe a little crazy.

I had a regular day at school, nothing out of the ordinary, came home, ate some chips and dip, watched tv, and just felt really sad.

Sometimes, very out of the blue, waves of grief will wash over me and I'll miss my dad so much that I can hardly breathe. He's been gone for over two years, but it is amazing to me how stinging that pain can still be sometimes.  Out of nowhere it arrives at my door, knocks me off my feet, and leaves me reeling in its wake.  It showed up on Sunday and stayed with me all the way into yesterday evening.

Last night Hubs wanted to stay in, cuddle up, and watch Supernatural.  But I wanted to go out and do something. Anything.  Bowling, mini-golf, ice cream, I didn't care, I just wanted to do something. Hubs begged to stay inside and I begged to go out.

And I felt really sad.  And a little bit crazy.

Suddenly everything seemed very bleak.  Missing my dad morphed into missing countless people, relationships, and stages in my life that have passed. I missed my sister in Argentina and yearned for her to be home.  The sorrow seemed to be skidding quickly out of control, and I didn't know how to curb it.  It transferred itself from a longing for the past to a certainty that me and Hubs are an awful match.  The little devil in my head told me that Hubs and I were never going to enjoy doing the same things. That we had none of the same interests. That he'd always prefer staying in and taking it easy, and I'd always prefer being out and about, doing high energy activities. And then that devious little devil of mine told me that one of us was always going to be unhappy trying to make the other happy.

Finally I decided that I needed to go for a run. I hate any form of exercise just as much as the next gal, but when I've got a serious case of the blues, it's my infallible cure-all.

The running did things for me that only strenuous exercise can.  It breathed life into my body, invigorated me, and purged so much of my negativity.  I thought, I meditated, and I prayed.  My head was cleared.

When I came home almost an hour later, Hubs seemed a little concerned.
"Everything okay, Bon?" 
"Yah... I'm just kinda trying to figure things out."
"Figure things out?" The poor boy was confused.  You got to admit, my answer was somewhat cryptic.
"You know... just kind of sorting through some things..." 
And as much as I was trying to hide back the tears, Hubs, with his tenderness and sensitivity, could tell I was on the verge of crying.  His face softened, his arms stretched out toward me, and he whispered, "Come here, Bon, it's okay..."
So I crawled into his welcoming arms.  And I cried. 
"Bon. What in the world do you have to be crying about?"
"I don't know." I answered.  Because I didn't. I really didn't know.  Sometimes you are just sad and you have no real reason to be sad, but you are.
"Babe, I love you so much.  You've got nothing to cry about."
"I guess I just miss my dad."
Hubs was silent and stroked my hair.
"And I guess I just think we're never going to enjoy the same thing and I'm just going to drive you crazy with my energy..."
Hubs laughed, a soft gentle laugh. "Oh, Bon, please, we're perfect for each other...Everything is okay."

And so he hugged me and he hugged me and he told me that everything was ok. 
And then, somehow, everything was ok.  Hubs sat me up on the couch, tucked the blanket around me, and cooked up some chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner.

Even after 25 years, I don't fully understand my emotions.  Sometimes I am convinced that all girls are straight up crazy, and that I am the leader of the pack.  I don't understand my emotional rollercoaster or occasional mood swings or sudden waves of sorrow or doubt or fear.

But I do know that when Hubs says "Everything is okay," he means it.
And I know that I'm so grateful for Hubs and his way of knowing what I need. So grateful for all the rich relationships in my life that mean so much to me. So grateful for the people that make me who I am and bring happiness into my life, whether they are a part of my life now, or a part of my life in the past. Whether they are in Utah, or in Argentina, or in heaven, I'm so grateful to have them.

So blessed because of the people in my life.

I ask you to forgive me for my emotional/insecure/doubtful rant. Afterall, I'm just a girl, and I guess as part of my membership of that gender, I am entitled to have these moments from time to time.

I'm still cramping up a storm.

And it never hurts to blame your craziness on that.

Some of the most important people in my life. 
My family- siblings, siblings' husbands, and kids.
They're the best.
Also the biggest :)

My friends. We were made for each other.

My old man.
Miss him.

Love him.

Monday, March 19, 2012

Teacher for the Day

WARNING- Picture and post have no correlation.
But who doesn't love a picture in curlers?!?!

I told Gail (also the same girl who mixed up whore's and horse) that she was in charge of the classroom today.

"I'm not feeling well, and school's almost out, so from here on out Gail is running the joint!"

(Don't be alarmed- all part of a kick butt introduction to Animal Farm.  An experiment in what happens when someone gets too much power, you know how it goes.)

"Really?"  Gail's big eyes lit up with delight. "I'm in charge?!?!'

"You better believe it. Get up there, Gail, you're the teacher."

Gail took her rightful place at the head of the classroom, still somewhat unsure.  "So I'm supposed to act like you?"


Gail paused for a moment, apparently still unsure what to do. Then, an idea seemed to dawn on her.  The sixteen year old placed her hands on her hips, gave her hair a sassy little flip and said in a falsetto voice, "If you guys do not all shut up right now, I swear I am going to strangle every one of you!"

The class roared with laughter.  Absolutely ROARED. I have NEVER seen teenagers like this.  Every single person in the classroom was laughing. Except me.

Good to know the impression that I make on my students.

And just for the record...

I would never really strangle them.

You believe me, don't you?

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Honeymoon Sick

I'm honeymoon sick.

It's a real term, but it's a very complex one.  Few people can truly comprehend it's real definition so I don't expect YOU of all people to know what it means.   Wow.  I just realized that I am blatantly offending my readers. So sorry. I'm in a bad mood.

Anyway... moving onward...

Dictionary Definition honeymoon sick- the state of emotion that one experiences when they are unreasonably and uncontrollably nostalgic for their honeymoon.

Told ya it was complex.

In any case, I've got it bad.  A bad bad case of the honeymoon sicks.

Sometimes I think my ability to remember dates, birthdays, and anniversaries is a blessing.

Other times I think it is an outright curse. AN ABSOLUTE CURSE,  CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M TRYING TO TELL YOU?!?!

And...Wow. That just got aggressive. Again, I apologize.  Please blame it on a combination of the condition described above and my time of the month. Tis a DEADLY COMBINATION.

But just please tell me you understand where I'm coming from.  All week long I have been reminded of what Hubs and I were up to just 12 months ago.  Exactly a year ago we were enjoying our seven day honeymoon.  Twas a wonderful week away from all stresses and cares- cruising the seas, enjoying the sun, and eating lobster and steak for dinner every night.  

That exact same week one year later has involved me waking up at 5:40 to pitch blackness (oh Daylight Savings, how I hate thee), a snowy weekend, and the last week of the quarter. (Translation= All my angel students harassing me nonstop about their grades.)

Do you understand now why I'm honeymoon sick?

In honor of what I was doing last year at this time I decided to post some pictures of the luna de miel (Spanish, folks, try to keep up.)

Interesting side note- we forgot to take our camera on our honeymoon.  I therefore paid a completely outrageous price for a disposable camera at Catalina Island. Twenty four poor quality pictures are all the evidence that we have of our honeymoon.  The pictures that you see below are actually pictures of the pictures from the disposable camera (you still with me?) so let me just tell you that they are not the best quality pictures you have ever seen. 

They just might be the cutest, though.

You gotta love the way Hubs is dressed.  Stripes and plaid- Oh la la!

I just have one question- now that Hubs and I have officially been married for over a year does that mean that we are no longer "newlyweds"?  

And does THAT mean that we're not allowed to kiss and be all lovey-dovey in public?

Because if so, count me out, I'm going back to the first year!

P.S.  If you think I sounds like a spoiled brat in this post, welcome to the club.  But don't give up on me, most of my posts aren't like this.  I am debating whether or not I should even publish this and have decided from hence forth to ban myself from blogging while I'm cramping.  Sometimes a gal's just gotta set some limits, you know?

Thursday, March 15, 2012

The sub did what?!?!

Whenever I've been gone from school I am anxious to get back to my students and hear how the sub was.  Teenagers' reactions to subs are usually along the following:
"Umm... that sub was mean! She didn't let me talk at all! She seriously HATED me!"
"Where did you find that sub? He was so old and decrepit I thought he would fall over."
"Oh my gosh, that sub was FAT!"
"Worst sub I've ever seen! She didn't know anything and she confused us all, and then she tried to teach us grammar, but she basically just untaught us everything you already taught us, so now you're going to have to teach us again."
"I don't think that sub could hear. And he left the room for half the class period."
"Please don't ever get that sub again. I did NOT like the way she dressed."

And now you know the types of things that are important to teenagers.

Unfortunately, their idea of a good sub isn't exactly helpful:
"Next time could you get us a hot, young sub? Those are our favorites."

Yah, alright guys, I'll try to keep that in mind next time.

Wednesday, back from my little vay-cay in Vegas, I was anxious to hear about the sub.

There were assorted murmurs of approval, "Yah, she was good".... "I liked her" ... "She's really nice"...  Chase, however, didn't join in.  Instead, he just sat in the back and giggled.  Now, I don't usually use the word giggle for a boy, because, well, hello, it just sounds weird on a man.  But I'll tell you, this boy was definitely giggling. High pitched, uncontrollable giggles.

Finally, he spoke up.
"Teacher, I have to tell you something!"
"What is it, Chase?" This was clearly important.
"The sub..." He paused, trying to control them crazy giggles.  The students around him were laughing, too.  "The sub...she..." more giggles....  "The sub walked by us and she... she... SHE FARTED!"  And with that last word, Chase was gone, lost to his unconquerable fit of the giggles.

The students around him confirmed it. "She did! We all heard her!"

Dubious, I conducted some interrogation.  "Are you sure it wasn't her shoe, or a desk or something?"
All kids shook their heads emphatically.
"No, it wasn't! We're certain!"
"How are you so sure?"
"She said 'Excuse me'!" One kid chimed in.

And then I had to join in with those kids, throwing my head back and having a long, hard laugh.

Because I don't care who you are.

That's funny.
Admit it. Just looking at my students you can tell they're awesome.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

To believe or not to believe

I was gone on Monday when the Bachelor Finale aired so I'm a few days and a dime short around here... or something like that... the important thing is that Bachelor Ben has finally made his decision and it is...............

Model Courtney!

Surprise Surprise.

Or not...

I mean, I guess the fact that some people are surprised could be a surprise to the rest of us Bachelor-adoring fans?

Or wait... I know! Maybe it is a surprise the complete I-am-a-victim card that Courtney has been playing the past three episodes?  This girl certainly has seen a vision of light, has she not?

Let me prove my point, friends. PUH-LEASE. I want to prove my point here.

Things Courtney said the first 12 episodes of the season:

Who knew that strippers could play baseball!? (Talking about another contestant.)
Maybe she drank too much and the Jersey Shore came out. (Talking about another contestant.)
Winning! Winning! WINNING! (When she got a rose.)
I almost just want to rip her head off and verbally assault her. Or shave her eyebrows off in the middle of the night...
I'm a nice person. Don't $#@% with me!
Winning! I got a rose and you don't!
How'd that taste coming out of your mouth? (When another contestant announced Courtney had the date with Ben that week.)

Bang Bang! Bang Bang! Kill Shot! (Pretending like she has a gun and killing off the other women. Naturally.)
I don't want to get cocky...
I'm not impressed by these women. Or these girls. I don't even think they're women.
She's just like a little girl in a little boy's body.

Ben is not the only guy in the world.
I'm ready to get rid of some girls tonight. They're driving me crazy. Like aaaahhh! I wanna rip my
hair out!
See ya! Wouldn't wanna be ya! (When another girl got sent home.)
My condolences to whichever man you end up with. (To another contestant.)

It would really make my day if he sends Emily home.

If I do not get a one-on-one this week, I will not be accepting a rose from Ben.

SNAP girls! Show's over. You can all go home. Pack your bags!

Maybe we can go skinny dipping this week...
These girls they are all soooo prude!

Go bikini-less!
I had lost all respect for you, I'm not going to lie...We won't be friends. I don't forgive and forget...Nobody treats me like that. Period... Should I just bend over and take it up the tailpipe?  (What Courtney said when Emily tried to apologize.)

Bye...I can't stand you all.

I'm a sight for sore eyes, because after his date with Elyse his eyes are probably pretty sore.

Things Courtney said in last three episodes:

Looking back, I probably should have been nicer to the other girls.

It was not easy for me to be in that house. I tried hard to make friends with those girls. I really tried.

The girls pre judged me because I am a model and they never gave me a chance.

Your son is amazing and I have completely fallen love with him, and the person that he is.

I'm a good person. And good things happen to good people.

There were days where I didn't leave the house. I just laid there and cried. He abandoned me.

I have many regrets. I'm disappointed in myself and the way I acted, and how I treated the women.

I'm sorry.  I take it all back… You may say it's not genuine but I'm going through real emotions. I don't like being tore apart -- my family, my friends! -- in the tabloids. It's awful! I didn't think it through.

So whaddya think, chicas? Is this Courtney girl sincere in her apology? Or is she just trying to save face in front of America for a lot of really rude things she said?

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

My inner conscience is a fool

Today I realized something about myself.  It's a very strange thing when you've lived with yourself day in and day out week after week for 25 straight years and suddenly you discover something about yourself you never knew before. You would think after a quarter of a century that you'd understand yourself, wouldn't you?


I read once that we actually know much less about ourselves than we realize and that other people: siblings, parents, spouses, best friends, etc, could probably dsecribe and analyze us much more accurately then we ourselves could. INTERESTING.

In any case, my sudden epiphany came when I was hosing down my car in the $1.50 car wash a block away from my apartment at eight o'clock tonight. With a million things that I need to do zooming through my head, my inner conscience unexpectedly burst out with, "You are not very good at staying on task." 

"RUDE!"  I said to my inner conscience, because seriously, your inner conscience should constantly be telling you things like "you're gorgeous," "you're funny" and "you're intelligent," NOT "You are not good at staying on task."  Who wants an inner conscience that is constantly putting you down, anyway? NO, THANK YOU.

I considered ignoring my I.C. like I normally do when it says rude things, but then I thought "Hmmm.... this might be why I don't still know things about myself after 25 years." So I thought about what he had just told me, and then decided to review the last two hours in my head. 

Hubs and I got home from Las Vegas (which was what this post was SUPPOSED to be about until it somehow morphed into THIS post.) at about six this evening.  I had lots to do, lessons to plan, papers to grade, a post to write, and emails to respond to. Four days of vacation is awesome, but catch up is hell.  Twas time to get to work.

I sat down to grade my papers, but then decided I should write my blog post first. So I hopped on over to blogger, clicked new post and got to uploading my pictures from Las Vegas. While I was waiting for the pictures I started thinking, "You know what sounds so good to me right now? A chocolate cream cheese cupcake." I figured twenty minute break to make some cupcakes wouldn't hurt, so I hustled on over to the kitchen, put on my sexy little apron and got baking!

Four minutes in I realized I didn't have a sifter. I called three neighbors until I found one.  I took a break from the cupcake baking and fetched the sifter.

Back to work in the kitchen and five minutes later I realized that I didn't have sugar.  Too embarrassed to start harrassing more neighbors for sugar, I decided to just make a quick run to the grocery store.  It is a four minute drive. I would hardly notice the delay.

Once I got to my car, I was disgusted by the layer of filth and grime that was covering that spiffy black corolla.  Also, I realized it was my turn to drive in the car pool tomorrow.  I was too embarrassed to show up with this thing that looked like it'd been through a tornado.  I'd have to stop by a car wash. I opened the door and saw that my backseat was covered with junk and the floors were in desperate need of vaccuuming.  So... I took two loads of "stuff" inside, put the "stuff" away, and came back out with windew, paper towel, and the hand held vacuum. I got to work.

Twenty minutes later, with the interior of my car looking fiiiiiiiiine, I was off to the grocery store to get the sugar. A run in with an old roommate led to a twenty minute conversation about nothing (which is exactly why I avoid people I know when I see them in stores).  Finally, with sugar and cupcake linings in tote, I escaped the grocery store.

My last stop was supposed to be the car wash, but I had forgotten my quarters at home. So I ran home, dashed inside, grabbed the quarters, was back out the door and speeding on over to the car wash. 

And that's how I found myself-  two hours after sitting down to work on my essays- with a hose in hand, two dozen half baked cupcakes at home, a beautifully clean interior of a car, a stack of ungraded essays on my desk, and a computer screen blinking "New Post."

It was time to come clean to my inner conscience. "You're right." I told him.  "I am no good at staying on task. But heck, look how much I have gotten done tonight."
"But none of it was what you were SUPPOSED to get done." My I.C. said right back. 
He is sassy, isn't he?
"What am I supposed to do when I don't have a sifter and sugar?"
"Just give up on the cupcakes and get back to work."
"Oh... well what about my dirty car?"
"Schedule it into a day when you actually have time, not a very busy night when you've just gotten back from vacation."
"Oh... what about my friend at the grocery store?!?! I couldn't just ignore her!!!"
"Plan a time to do lunch next week... a time when you are not stressed and busy. And if you had given up on the cupcake idea you never would have had that problem to begin with, would you have?"

Man, he really is a know it all, isn't he?

As much as I hate it, old I.C. is right, I am awful at staying on task and that is why it is well after 9:00 and this post isn't done and the essays are untouched.

AND.... the cupcakes are burnt.

That, my friends, is what we like to call adding insult to injury.

From here on out, I'm listening to my inner conscience. BEFORE I make the cupcakes. I will surely keep you updated because I know you'll just be riveted to hear about my constant battles with my inner conscience.

MOVING ONWARD... this post was supposed to be about Las Vegas.

Hubs driving, sunset, feet on the dash.
Life ain't bad, eh?

My favorite was the M&M factory, naturally.
Those people sure know how to get down; all the workers were having a dance party with the peanut M&M when we stopped by.  I know where I'm applying if I ever lose my job.

Hubs did not tell me that I was blocking the entire M&M in this picture.
Sometimes we have picture-taking miscommunication.
Totally  normal, folks.

Hubs told me I'm not allowed to make that face in pictures ever again.

Sharks and turtles and sharks and fish and SHARKS.
You'd have to see it to understand its coolness.

Anniversary dinner at P.F. Changs, outside on the balcony.
The weather was beautiful- low seventies the entire time we were there.
Sure makes coming back to Utah rough.

One day when I am rich and famous I will have a gorgeous red and black bathroom like this one.

In other news, apparently I look I'm twelve. I couldn't walk through a casino without getting I.D.ed right and left. When I told one lady that I taught high school English she gasped and replied, "How old are you?!?!?"

We didn't take too many pictures on the trip. Sometimes you are enjoying a vacation so much that you almost don't want to ruin it by worrying about taking pictures every second. We strolled along the strip, slept in until noon, ate like kings, observed the insanity that is Las Vegas, and watched the water show at the Bellagio while we talked about life goals and aspirations.

It was beautiful.
I'm a firm believer in vacations and their ability to relax, rejuvenate, and reinspire.
Heck, I'd take one every week if I could!