The Life of Bon: January 2012

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

What NOT to say when someone has died.

Yesterday I attended my Uncle Berg's funeral.

The day was one filled with reflection and gratitude for life.

As I stood in the viewing line yesterday morning, I thought about what I would say to my aunt, the widow.  Because of my own dad's death two years ago, I had some clue as to what things would bring her comfort, and what things would just make it worse. 

I do know, however, that for many the "what do I say when someone has died?" does not come easy at all.  In fact, I know that for many it is something extremely difficult and uncomfortable and even awkward.  Many just don't know what is appropriate to say or what the griever will want to hear, and therefore, don't say anything or say the wrong thing.

Last night when I got home from the funeral, I pulled out my journal and looked at the entries surrounding my dad's death.  They are days that live in my memory as dark and painful and without understanding.  The words on the journal pages clearly reflect that.
And, yet, somehow, admidst all that heartache, there was a stroke of brilliance.
I had written a list.

The following is written on the day that my dad passed away.  I have copied it down verbatim because although I certainly never thought these would be shared with anyone but myself, I think the world could benefit from a little more understanding of what to say during times like these.

November 19, 2009

  • "Calm down" (What my manager at Sizz said when I couldn't stop crying.)
  • "Be strong." (An impossible demand at such a difficult time.)
  • A bunch of stories about someone else that someone, sometime, somewhere, don't try to lessen my sorrow by talking of the sorrows of others.  It doesn't help right now.
  • "WHAT?!?!?!" (What one of my dad's old friend's said when Mary told him)
  • "Just go take a shower and give a pissed off cry" ("pissed off" doesn't begin to cover the emotions that I am feeling right now.)
  • "Don't cry, because if you cry then I'll cry, too" (Oh, okay, well I wouldn't want to make you cry would I?  And since I have a lot of control over my tears right now, anyway...)
  • "That is so sad that he died alone."
  • "Wow, I can't even imagine how hard this must be.  I've never been through anything so painful, it must be so so hard."  (Um... yah... but you're not helping anything)
  • "You have the worst luck!"
  • Saying nothing.
  • I'm so sorry.
  • I love you so much.
  • Your dad was a great man.
  • Your dad will be missed.
  • He loved you so much.
  • My heart aches for you.
  • No words can express what I feel for you.
  • I'm praying for you.
  • Just want you to know that I'm thinking of you.
  • I'll be here for you.
  • You're my best friend and I love you and I will drop everything to be down to Price as fast as I can.

From the day of my dad's funeral.

I'm sorry if you feel that the blog has been kind of "heavy" lately. I guess somewhere deep down behind the jokes and sass and facade is a sensitive little girl who still misses her daddy.  And that's okay.

Monday, January 30, 2012

How to have a kick butt marriage

First off, I am sorry, mom for saying that word in the title.  I know you hate it.  I just didn't think "kick bum" had quite the same "oomph".  Please forgive me.

I don't mean to toot my own horn or anything, guys, but I've got something pretty freaking sweet lined up for you today.  I recently met my blogger friend, Eryka, and you want to know the gosh darn craziest thing that we discovered?  We got married on the exact same day!  At the exact same time!  In the exact same room!

HA!  Obviously that's impossible, but I had you going for a second, didn't I?  But we DID get married on the same day and that is pretty cool.  So to celebrate the extraordinary coincidence  it is that we tied the knot on the same day, we decided to post on each other's blogs what we have learned about marriage.  Eryka and I are approaching our one year anniversary (Er... to our husbands... not to each other...) so obviously, we think we have got it all figured out by now!

So, without further ado... here is ERYKA!!!  (And because I couldn't resist, you will see my own comments interspersed in the article.  They will be in parathensis.  And in italics.  And blue.)

Ah, ain't she the cutest?  What I want to know, though, is
WHO is that man texting in the background?
Hey everyone my name is Eryka I blog over at ABCDE. I am so excited to be over here on Bonnie's awesome blog. (ahem… why, thank you, Eryka.  I didn’t want to say it myself, but now that you’ve admitted it…) 

My husband and I were married on March 12th, 2011 in the Sacramento, California Temple. (In case you missed it the first time, also the day I got married!) If you wanna learn more about what we believe click here. This year has been one of the best years; I have learned so much about myself and my husband. (I inserted that semi-colon myself.  I just couldn't let it go with a comma.  I'd be ashamed to stand in front of my students...) I could go on and on about things I have learned this first year, but instead I have decided to limit it to five tips for an awesome marriage! 

1. Communication: You can't expect your spouse to read your mind and know what you are feeling. I tend to bottle things up and let me sit until they explode. Since I have gotten married, I have learned that I can't do that. I have to let my husband know what I am feeling. (Especially important for us girls.  Boys don’t know what we’re thinking, no matter how much we think they should.  If you want your hubby to buy you flowers, just TELL HIM TO)

2. Date nights: Sometimes the best date nights are the ones where you don't do something super fancy or extravagant. Those date nights in with take out or a nice home cooked meal and a movie are the best. I have learned to really love them. They are some of my favorite moments. It doesn't matter what you do for a date night as long as you make time for them. Once a week make room in your schedules for a date night!  It can even be a group date, those are super fun, too! 

3. A good sense of humor: I can't even tell you guys how many times we have been "bickering" about something and then we both just start laughing because we realize how ridiculous the thing is that we are "bickering" about. So, make sure you laugh together and really understand your spouse’s sense of humor. 

4. Make time for snuggles: whether it be on the weekend before you get up for the day, or at night on the couch while watching a movie. Snuggles are one my favorite thing in the entire world. (Amen to that, sister!)

5. Make Christ the center of your marriage. It's so important to pray and read your scriptures together daily. I'll be honest with you guys, it is something we struggle with. We do say our nightly prayers together, and I'll tell you, it has made such a difference in our marriage. I can tell a huge difference in our days when we don't say our prayers. Also, I love that after we finish our prayers Dan always leans over and kisses me goodnight. Love it! (Nothing better than a little good night smoochy smoochy)

I really love being married. It is one of the greatest blessings in my life to have someone who loves me and who I will be with forever!

I loved being over here on Bonnie's blog today. Hope you guys enjoyed it! Don't be shy, stop by my blog and say hi! Hope you guys have a wonderful week! 

See, I told you it was going to be good.  That girl's a smarty, you can tell.  I hope you'll go visit her blog and when you do, make sure to tell her you came from Bon Bon!

Now, I'd love to stay and chat longer about how great marriage is and all, but there's a Jazz game on.  You understand.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Royal blue is the new lime green

When we first moved in, it was this:

Then it evolved into this:

And now it is this:

I couldn't take the lime green anymore.  I just couldn't.  After week after week of mexican casa style living, I broke down.  The walls had to be changed before I sold all of our belongings, dyed my skin brown, and headed for the Southern border.

And I was getting migraines.  Daily.

The pillows on my couch are lime green and royal blue, and because I had already exhausted the lime green possibility for wall colors, I decided I would now have to paint my walls royal blue.  You might wonder why I bought my decorative pillows before deciding on the colors of the walls instead of after.

That, my friends, is a good question.  It is also a question I cannot answer.

In any case, I decided royal blue was the winner of the new color of my walls.  And so, in true remodeling passion, I grabbed CrazyA and headed on over to the experts at Wal-mart.

And, by golly, can you guess who was manning the paint station at Wal-mart?

You guessed it.  Carlos.  Carlos, the man who told me to go with something more neutral, Carlos, the man who reluctantly mixed the ugly shade of green for me, Carlos, the man who so accurately predicted the lime green walls would give me a blaring headache.

"Carlos!  Do you remember me?" I demanded.

Carlos gave me a blank stare.  Obviously the answer was no. 

This was the point where CrazyA jumped in, "SHE painted her walls bright green, and YOU told her that she shouldn't do it because it would give her a headache, but SHE didn't listen to you.  Now WE are here to repaint the walls because they really do make HER sick."  Yep.  Amy threw me right under the bus, just like that.  I smiled sheepishly at Carlos.  Afterall, what could a poor girl say to defend herself?

After much deliberation and many questions that Carlos couldn't quite answer, we decided on our paint.  While Carlos was mixing, the lady waiting in line wanted to know why we were painting our walls.  Naturally, CrazyA whipped out a picture of my lime green walls.  "These are the walls of her apartment now.  Obviously, we have to change it."

The lady stared at the picture and then opened her mouth.  "Ew,"  she commented.  And walked away.  LITERALLY walked away.

Sheesh!  People these days!  Has anyone in the world ever heard of a little thing called manners?

In any case, Carlos successfully hooked us up with some blue paint, the walls were successfully painted, and now I am successfully and forever rid of my lime green curse!  Halle-freakin-lujah.  How about a little congratulations for me around here?

P.S.  If you miss the lime green walls, I still have some extra green paint.  I could send it your way...

Thursday, January 26, 2012

The Big Things

Sometimes life is overflowing with little things.  Little things that you think are important.  Like paying the bills, and grocery shopping, and pinterest, and weekend plans, and presidential debates, and telling kids to shut their mouths.  Sometimes there are even little arguments or little hurt feelings and life is filled to the brim with everything little.

And then something big happens.  And it shoves all of those little things right out of the way.

Today, in the middle of teaching a truly riveting lesson about the difference between a comma and a semi-colon, I could hear my phone vibrating in my desk.  When the kids had scuttled out and I finally got around to checking the phone, I saw a text from my mom:  my Uncle Berg had passed away. 

Sometimes when big things happen it is difficult to know what to do or how to act because we are so accustomed to little.

In my case, I sat down and cried in the middle of an empty classroom.

Because my own dad died two years ago, my first thought was, "Dad will be glad to see him."  Dad died relatively young, so he beat out most of his family to the pearly gates.  I have wondered sometimes if he is lonely up there, since we're all still down here, stoically carrying on without him.  Today I was comforted knowing that my dad would have some company up there, and that Berg would have someone to greet him with a big hug. 

I wonder what my dad and uncle are doing right now.  Laughing?  Talking about the good old days?  Hammering away on some heavenly cabin?

I am so grateful for family, for strong bonds that connect us even after death, and for a loving God who has given us knowledge of the afterlife. 

So grateful for the big things.

The good old days:  My Uncle Berg on the left and my dad on the right,
most likely fixing an ingrown nail..

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Hello Pinterest. I have something to say.


Oh... Hey there, Pinterest.  It's me... Bonnie.  You probably don't know me very well, because, well, I have never come visit you.  Not even once.  Okay fine, I lied.  I visited you once.  Fine!  Twice.  But one time was just to kife a bunch of pictures from you, and I don't think that really counts, do you?

Here's the deal, Pinterest.  I think you've been interested in me for a while now.  I see you trying to lure me over to you every chance you get.  You're all over the place.  Blogs, facebook, twitter, I can't turn around without seeing you tantalizing me, beckoning me with that perfectly painted fingernail of yours.  You want me to join you.  And I do admit, at times I have been tempted, sorely tempted, to hop on board and give in to your pure seduction.  But I'm going to hold strong here.  I ain't caving.

Because listen.  A lot of girls can really really enjoy spending time with you.  They feel invigorated, inspired, motivated by you.  I'm not that way.  You would suck the life out of me.  You would make me feel uncute, uncrafty, and un-good-cook-y (Made that term up myself!).  You bring out all my insecurities.  I really like the person that I am, and I like that I like me.  (Think about it, Pinterest, that's deep!)  I am remotely aware that a lot of girls do a lot of other things better than I do, but I just don't need to be reminded of that every day.  The recipes wouldn't inspire me, they'd depress me.  The crafts wouldn't excite me, they'd overwhelm me.  And the outfits.  Oh, the outfits.  Bonnie can't have what Bonnie can't buy, so what's the point in pining away over beautiful boots and dainty dresses?

Simply put, you're just not my type, and I'm convinced I'd be absolutely miserable with you.  I hope you understand.  There's so many other girls who will be happier with you, so please, by all means, go and pursue them.  Don't mourn for me.  And definitely don't wait for me.  Because I'll never come.  I'd rather be spending my time with books.  Or ice cream shops.  Or reality TV.  Or cuddle sessions.  Just not with you. 

With utmost respect,

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

I am a woman

Me on my first day becoming a woman.  Don't I look so much more womanly?

Today is a very special day.

That is because today I officially became a woman.

I didn't hit puberty.
I didn't lose my virginity. (Oh, so scandalous!)
I didn't find out I'm pregnant.
I didn't fall in love.
I didn't suddenly discover my purpose in life.
I didn't start my first real job.

No, no.  I didn't do any of those things today.

What happened was of far more significance.

It happened in the kitchen.  I was trying to make soup.  The recipe called for minced garlic, chicken boullion, an onion, italian sausage, potatoes, and crushed red peppers.

And do you know what?

I had all of those ingredients.  Already.  On hand.  In my house.

A year ago I didn't even know what it means to mince garlic and I had no idea that such a thing as chicken boullion even existed.  The most time I had ever spent in the kitchen was to heat up some Sizzler left overs.  And here I am now, practically a professional chef  having chicken boullion on hand!

Can you believe the miracle?

I have officially entered womanhood.


Who even knows that these kind of things exist?
A real woman.  That's who.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Jazz time

Saturday afternoon Hubs was at rehearsal and I was deepled immersed in an all-out wall painting session (more on that tomorrow, but my walls may or may not be green anymore!) when my brother in law texted. 

"Bonnie.  We have four tickets to tonight's Jazz game.  If you and Greg can go and you don't mind taking Eli and Davy and sitting in the rafters, the tickets are yours."

Well, now, who can say no to a free Jazz game with their two adorable nephews?

I spent the the next thirty minutes deep in texting conversation with Hubs trying to figure out a way to make it work.  Hubs was at rehearsal until six, the game started at seven, and it was snowing.  It was already 4:30.  We should have passed the offer up, but I am the queen of realistic time expectations, so I was determined we could make it work.  I deserted the halfway painted living room, dashed to the grocery store to buy din din for tomorrow, sped to my sister's to pick up the boys, raced to the school to take Hubs car to fill it up, and Voila!  I was ready to pick up Hubs not a minute too late. 

Fine.  I was ten minutes late, but why do you always harrass me about that?

Davy, 8, and Eli, 10, were great company while I was driving around like a chicken with its head cut off. As soon as Davy got in the car he noticed the music I was listening to, and then asked in complete seriousness, "Have you heard of the song I am Sexy?" I racked my brain. "Um... I know the song I'm Sexy and I know it." Davy stared at me blankly. I sung the song for him. He continued to stare at me blankly. Then he replied, "No, it's not that one. It's a good song, though. Listen to it."

Well! I never thought I'd live to see the day where my 8 year old demanded I listen to I am Sexy. Kids these days!

I left my camera in the car, and thus did not get any good pics at the game.  These
were taken at Legoland and they'll have to do for you to see how handsome Davy and Eli are.
With Hubs finally in the car, we were on our way.  Hubs orders on the way up to my nephews:  "No falling asleep!  We're partying all night long!  Can you handle it?"  Of course the boys yelled from the backseat "YES!!!"  (And no, they did not.  They both fell asleep on the way home.)

After looking in vain for a parking spot for 20+ minutes, (I refused to let us park in $10 parking, much to Hubs' chagrin) and trudging several blocks through the snow, we finally arrived at the good old Delta Center...Er... Energy Solutions Arena.  We found our seats a few rows from the top (those Junior Jazz tickets, they're certainly not doing you any big favors) and settled in just as the first quarter was ending.

"Bonnie, can we go get our hot dog and drink?" the boys begged as soon as they sat down.  "You bet."  was my answer.  That is always my answer to my nephews

Aunt tips 101:  The quickest route to becoming the favorite aunt is answering "You bet" to everything asked of you..  You'll be surprised how effective it is.

The Junior Jazz tickets that were bestowed upon us all came with a free hot dog and drink.  Naturally, we climbed back down those stairs and redeemed our free hot dogs and soon as the first quarter ended.  The boys were quiet.

Minutes later, with the hotdogs well on their way to being digested and halftime fast approaching, the boys asked me, "Can we go buy some treats?"

"You bet."  I replied.  Both of the boys had been given ten bucks by my sister to buy whatever their little hearts desired.  And really, who was I to stop them from buying ridiculously overpriced packs of candy?
Their hearts desired cotton candy.  And Swedish fish.
"How much you pay for that back of cotton candy?" I questioned Davy.
"Six dollars" he replied happily, chowing down on his sugar.  I guess getting ripped off is all relative.

End of the third quarter, I was riveted by the game and heard two little boys, "Bonnie, are we allowed to go buy more treats?" 
"You bet.  You do with that money whatever you want, I'm not in charge of it."  Hubs gave me a look that said, "I am worried what you will allow our children to do," but I waved it off.  Everything was under control.

My nephews were off, only to return several minutes later with a jumbo bag of kettle corn and a giant tub of popcorn.

Poorly taken, but you get the idea.
The boys uttered not a peep, but were completely well behaved throughout the rest of the game. Everytime I looked over, the two were just chowing down, intently watching those Jazz players.  And when I looked at Hubs, he was doing the same, actively eating his popcorn and not taking his eyes off the game. 

That's when I realized the key to boys.  All they really need to make them happy in this life is a lot of food and a good basketball game.

Back to the Sizz

Friday night was spent at my favorite white trash ghetto steak restaurant.


Say what you want about the Sizz, knock on it all you feel like (Hubs, I'm talking to you!), but that place is like heaven to me and I'll never change my mind, so don't even try to convince me otherwise!

My friend, Akasha, is visiting from out of town, and because we both worked at Sizzler many moons ago, we decided it was mandatory that we make a Sizz visit while she was here. We were treated like kings by old friends, ate half our food for free, and enjoyed every second of chowing down on that grisly, over cooked steak.

We even had some fantastic dinner entertainment.  We were priviliged to watch this going on throughout the entirety of our meal.

That, my friends, is a woman giving her boyfriend/husband/lover a neck and back massage.  Right smack in the middle of dinner.  Right smack in the middle of Sizzler. 

I'll tell you something about Sizz.  It never ceases to surprise you. 

What surprised me most, however, about our return to Sizzler was not the erotic dinner rub down.  No, what really shocked me was how much I... well... missed...Sizzler.

And then I got nostalgic.  Like... super nostalgic.  I remembered all the nights at Sizzler, the crazy games we'd play in the back, the countless tables that I served, the friends I made, the late hours, the busy weekends, the endless shifts.  And I wanted it back.  I wanted to return to what once was.  For one crazy minute, I missed that going-to-school-and-working-nights-at-a-restaurant stage of my life.  I missed it so much. (You can read more about my glamorous life working at Sizzler here and here.)

Here's the truth.  I have trouble leaving stages in my life.  It's hard for me to move on.  I attach myself too much to people, to places, to experiences.  When I first got to college I cried and cried because I wasn't ready to leave Price yet.  I had dreamt of geting out of that little town for years, and now that I was finally gone, I wanted that stage back.  When I came home from my mission, I yearned for my investigators, my areas, my time in Argentina.  I couldn't adjust to normal life, I wanted to go back to my mission stage.  Maybe that's why I took a little longer to get married than most... I just wanted to hold on to the single stage of life that I was in. 

AND...maybe, just maybe, it explains why I'm not chomping at the bit to have a baby just yet.  I like the stage of life I'm in with Hubs right now.  The married-with-no-children-do-whatever-we-want stage.

I realized, while sitting there admist deep fried shrimp and strawberry lemonade, that all stages must come to an end.  My single-student-Sizzler stage ended two years ago, and even though I miss it, it's good that it's over.  And now I have entered a new stage.  A married-working-stable stage.

I made a goal to myself on Friday night, while eating all you can eat soft serve ice cream and watching that strange man get a massage.  To enjoy each stage of life, and to love the stage that I am in.  No yearning for previous stages, no longing for upcoming stages, just loving where I'm at.  Because everything passes too quickly and things that happened to me five years ago seem like just yesterday, and before I know it all my children will be grown.  I'm 25, but I feel like I'm still 13, and tomorrow I'll be 50.  Everything changes so fast, and before you even realize what has happened, a whole section of your life is over.

And it really is true what they say, about one door closing and another one opening.  With every exiting stage of my life comes a new stage, prancing on, ready to be explored and discovered and enjoyed.  And there is beauty in every stage in life.  There is really no reason to mourn because there is always new beauty in life, something more to enjoy, something more to learn from, something more to love.

And that's what I discovered on Friday night while making a return to a ghetto steak house where I spent several years waiting tables and rolling silverware.

Pretty good revelation for a night at the Sizz, wouldn't you say?

Thursday, January 19, 2012


Can you guess what day today was?

I will give you a few hints...

I was grumpy all day.
My stress level was at its max.
At several points I nearly broke into tears.
My head did not stop throbbing all day.
Any time a kid so much as whispered in class I threatened them all, "I am not joking when I say I will murder the next one of you that makes a peep!"

When my students asked anything about their grades I yelled, "Shut up and sit down, when your grades are done your grades will be done!  Now stop asking!"

Dijja figure it out yet?

Yep. End of quarter.
Also known as.  H-E-double-hockey-sticks.

I could go on and on about the evils of the end-of-quarter-day, but let's just say every quarter I am shocked that I made it through alive.  It takes an absurd amount of patience and skill to get all those scores in, grade countless messily written essays, and negotiate the grades of countless stubborn seventeen year olds.

It ain't pretty.

When the day was finally over, the grades submitted, and the Bon Bon safe at home, I soaked in a long bubble bath, laid in bed for hours reading, and am now sprawled out on the couch indulging in a Jazz game.   Hey.  I deserve it.  And don't you tell me I don't!

NOW... for the exciting news.........


Here I am, literally drawing your name out of the bowl. And don't you tell me that you think my drawings are ghetto, because you know you are honored that I literally write your name down and draw it out of a bowl. That's dedication, folks.



Congrats chicas!  Email me asap at bonnie(dot)louisa(at)gmail(dot)com with your mailing address and I will get these pretty little necklaces on their pretty little way.  Also, tell me which necklace you prefer, the yellow and red beads, or the turquoise bead.  Whoever responds first gets the first pick!


Wednesday, January 18, 2012

2 a.m.

WARNING:  Post and pic have no relation.
But  wouldn't you just LOVE to know what this picture is all about?
Sometimes I wonder.

Blogger's got this nifty little thingamidget that allows you to check how many people are reading your blog.  It tracks which web site they are coming from (most of mine come via good ole facebook) and which posts are the most popular:  (Gyno post:  Popular.  Bon Bon Sexy Pants the Musical: Not Popular).  You can even see hour by hour how many people are on the blog.  Bet you never even imagined how advanced our technology has gotten these days, did you?

Here's something interesting.

Last night from the hour of 2-3 am I had seven people look at my blog.  Seven.  Right smack in the middle of the night.  Whoddathunk?  Naturally, I started to wonder.  Who are these seven people reading my daily musings while I am far away in dreamland running away from Zombie Hubs and teaching school in igloos (Come on, like your dreams are any more normal)  Why, out of all the things these people could be doing at 2 am, are they checking my blog?

Are they awake at 2 am on a Wednesday morning because they are newlyweds and got in a fight with their spouse and have been so stressed/anxious/upset that they are unable to sleep?  Or are these people single and carefree, not worrying about bedtimes and early mornings... just staying out all night with friends and going to sleep whenever the urge strikes them.  Or is it a mother up with her nursing/crying/colicky baby in the night, begging that fussy baby to shut it so she can get some shut eye?

Maybe it's someone from a country far far away where the hours are opposite...someone in India, and it's not 2 am at all, but rather 2 pm, a perfectly normal time to be browsing the web.  Maybe it is someone who suffers from insomnia.  Or someone who is cramming their brains out for a huge test in the morning and needs a minute of mindless reading?  Maybe a member of the mafia, right before he goes to do a big hit?  Maybe someone who works the swing shift at 7-11?  Maybe someone doing a dare to stay up 48 straight hours?  Maybe an old grandmother who stays up all night and sleeps all day.  Maybe someone clinically insane?!??!!?!?

Yes.  Sometimes I wonder about you, my devoted 2 am readers.


Tuesday, January 17, 2012

She's a witch!

Those crazy, good for nothing juniors of mine are at it again.

We just finished reading The Crucible in class.

You know, that one American classic where a bunch of crazies start accusing every person they've ever met in their life of being a witch?

Yep, that one.

To finish off the play, I let my students try crying witch to see how they liked it.  The rules:  They could accuse anyone they wanted of being a witch as long as it was not done maliciously, and as long as they had "concrete" reasons for suspecting the person of witchcraft.

I got the usual suspects:  Kobe Bryant, Tim Tebow, Angelina Jolie, Santa Clause, Kim Kardashian, little brothers, evil step mothers, etc.  What surprised me was how many students accused... well... me... 
That's right!  Little old me!  Can you believe them!?  The nerve of those seventeen year olds!


Among my accusations:

  • I keep my youth by drinking diet coke but I'm really 80+ years old.
  • I lock Greg up- I have him "chained in her utility closet with only parcels of food to each day.  Neighbors report of moaning and chaines rattling at night."
  • I am too short.
  • I assign too much homework and grade too harshly.
  • I got married because I needed to hide my real identity and all the crimes I had committed.
  • I report all my "evil doings on a blog where rare witches look to give and gain insight."
  • Nobody has seen Greg since the marriage.
  • I got a fake degree from the "Devil's school", BYU.
  • I am Kim Kardashian's apprentice and I "Keep up with the Kardashians way toooo much."
Ah, those kids.  They've got me all figured out, don't they?

P.S.  Don't forget to follow this blog (click the "join this site" link on the left side bar) or share your favorite post on your facebook wall by Thursday for a chance to win a gorgeous necklace.  For more info look here!

Monday, January 16, 2012

Free stuff, what?

Trust me.  I know how you feel.

It's the middle of January.
There's no snow.
It's ugly as sin outside. 
Christmas is long over.
It's cold and miserable.
No money left in the budget.
Summer seems millions of years away.
And what have you got to look forward to?
Month after month of five day work weeks.
There ain't nothing good about the middle of January.

But do not fear!
I've got something to cheer you up....
Something... FREE!

Yep, you better believe I just said the magic word- FREE!

Out of the kindness of my heart, I am giving away two necklaces this month.  The necklaces are made by Mia and feature the stunning eiffel tower.  What better to beat the January blues than an eiffel tower pendant hanging from your dainty little neck?  When you're bummed you can just look down at the necklace and think, "By golly some day I'll be in Paris instead of stuck doing _____(insert what you don't like doing but are currently stuck doing here)____."

Here's how you win. 

1.  If you are already a follower of the blog, leave a comment on this post saying what makes you happy.

2.  If you are not a follower of the blog, FOLLOW IT!  It's so easy you'll think it's a joke.  All you have to do is go to the top left sidebar underneath the "about me."  See the big blue button that says "Join this site"?  Click it!  And VOILA, you are entered in the drawing!

3.  For an extra entry into the drawing, post your favorite lifeofbon entry on your facebook wall.  Make sure to tag me in it or leave a comment telling me that you posted it so I can make sure to enter you in the drawing twice.


Here are last month's winners, showing off their gorgeous earrings.

Now I know what you're thinking, how in the world did I get those super sexy models to send me pictures for free?!?  I have my ways, people, and if you think I'm going to tell you all my secrets, you're a fool.

If you want to order some of Mia's jewelry, she's offering a 30% discount through Friday.  Just enter lifeofbon in the box that allows you to put in a coupon code.  I mean, come on, who doesn't love a coupon?!?!

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Bon Bon Sexy Pants: The Musical

If you are wondering what I have been working on in my spare time, this is the answer.

I'm writing a play.  And I'm warning you now- this thing is going to absolutely take over Broadway.  Destroy. Consume. Obliterate.

It all started when Hubs was complaining that he couldn't audition for UVU's musical because it conflicts with the show that he is in right now.  Like a good wife, I naturally tried to cheer him up.

"Ah, don't worry about a thing baby cakes!  I got your back!  You can be in my musical that I am directing this summer!"
Hubs gave me a quizzical look, so I went on.   "Audtions are coming up, so you better be getting your voice in gear!  Ain't much time!"
Hubs doesn't take a lot of stuff that I say seriously.  He is a fool.  "Bonnie.  I'm trying to be serious here."
"So am I."
"What is your musical called?"
I had to think fast.  I couldn't ruin everything by stalling. "Bon Bon Sexy Pants: The Musical." 
Hubs laughed.  "Oh really?  And what is it about?"
"Anything else?"
" a pair of sexy pants that I own."
"Anything else?"
"...and're in it too.  Only you have a pseudonym... it's... Creg."
"Very clever.  Let me know the audition dates."

And that was what Hubs thought was the end of that conversation.

Oh, he knows so little doesn't he?

Today in church Hubs was home sick and my best friend was gone and the lesson was a-dragging so I decided to get to work on my play.  Watch out Shakespeare, I'm going to give you a run for your pretty little money!

The first scene is based off true events from mine and Hubs dating days.  We were kissing and Hubs got a bloody nose and bled all over my face.  I mean, if that's not an attention-getting opening scene, I don't know what else you want from me.

I can't tell you any more details.  I don't want anyone stealing my ideas, after all. 

In a couple of years when you see the show making millions on Broadway, and destroying every other show in sight, just remember. 

You were warned.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Excuses Excuses

From the corner of my eye I could see James fiddling suspiciously under his desk.  I'd seen this a million times before and don't you think for a second I was tricked by what was going on.  This wasn't some innocent thumb twiddling, oh, no, no.

It was texting!  In class!

My poor, deprived students aren't allowed to use their electronics at all in my class.  Can you imagine having a teacher so strict?!  It must be so hard on the poor little darlings!  Really, I don't know how they cope!

"James give me your phone and you can have it back after school." I said before he could even realize what was going on.
"What?"  James jerked up, faking dumb.  Oh please, I have seen that fake dumb look countless times in my life.
"I know you're using your phone under there."
"Yah, but I wasn't texti--"
"James, either give me the phone now or you can go down and talk to the vice principal about it, I don't really care either way."

That shut him up quick.  All you've got to do with teenagers these days is raise your voice a bit and mention a vice principal and those kids would lick garbage if you asked them to.

No, I'm not power hungry, why do you ask?

James handed over the phone reluctantly, whining as he did so, "What am I supposed to do in seminary now?"

I'm sorry to tell you, my friend, but that is not my problem.

The instant the bell rang at the end of the day, James was in my classroom begging for the phone back.  I'm such a Hard A though, I make my students write me an apology letter before I'll ever return their beloved electronic.  You know, something along the lines of "I am so so sorry I showed grave disrespect to you and your rules by using my cell phone.  You are such a fantastic teacher and I'm an idiot for not being totally immersed in your lesson anyway, and I hereby and hereforth vow to never pull out my phone in your class again. Amen and Amen!" 

You know, something along those lines.

Somehow, James apology note topped all the previous ones:

Dear Teacher,
I can't believe you took away my phone, I thought I was your favorite student.  After all, you're my favorite teacher.  Anyway, me and Brad were comparing abs (mine are better) and that's when you saw us and took away my phone (and didn't take away Brad's!) It's okay though, I know I'm probably still your favorite.  It won't happen again.
Yep.  Best excuse note ever.  My favorite part is when he says "It's okay"  as though I was nervous that I wasn't going to be his favorite because I took his phone away.  Please, James, I'm not nervous about nothing!

Now, if you've got 15 minutes to burn, I invite you to partake in my acting debut.  Below is Hubs and his comedy club and their digital short series, "Stages."  It is the story of how they formed their club.  Supposedly I'm the evil one who is duping Hubs into believing that I am in love with him, but really I just want to destroy the club.  Sounds like me, doesn't it?

Highlights include me stuffing a Saltine cracker in Hubs' mouth and a Harry Potter wand fight.  You can't ask for much more than that, people.

What do you think? Do I give Hubs a run for his money in acting?!?!

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

We've got a problem

What?  Me?  Socially awkward?  Why, Never!

I came to a sudden realization yesterday and I’ll tell you what, it was not a realization I ever wanted to have.

I am socially awkward.

It happened at Wal-mart, as do most important revelations in my life. What better place for a little personal inspiration than while wedged between overripe produce and overweight women?

I was moseying along, enjoying myself as I did my grocery shopping.

Scratch that sentence.

I was rushing along, hating every second of my grocery shopping and trying to get it over as quickly as possible.

Yes, that is more like it.

You know how I do grocery shopping, don't you?  Like a rabbit on crack cocaine. Grocery list in hand, stack of coupons, price matched items listed, and go go go! If I do the shopping in under an hour, I reward myself with a candy bar at the check out stand and an episode of reality TV.

I was frantically trying to find the pineapple juice when I about darn near ran smack into an old friend, Helen.  Helen and I were close friends at one point in our lives, sharing boyfriend woes and sluffing classes together.  A normal person would have been happy to casually run into an old friend at the store.

Which does not explain why instead of saying, “Oh, hi! So great to see you!" I did a 360, bolted right away from that friend of mine and hid in the nearby aisle.

I know what you're thinking.  This is getting weird.  Why wouldn't she want to talk to an old friend?   Let me just tell you that no one agrees with you more than myself.  It is weird. And I have no explanation for my erratic behavior. It’s just that sometimes I see people I used to know years ago and I don’t want to talk to them. I’d rather finish my shopping race, go home, and relax. I don’t feel like chit chatting, asking questions about people I never see, and pretending to be interested.  Sometimes all I want more than anything else in the world is to go home and sit on the couch.

I hid behind a display of green beans. Had she seen me? Was I safe? Should I just say hi? My breathing was heavy and irregular. A sweat droplet trickled down my forehead.

After several minutes of stalling and deliberating, I formed a plan of action. I’d go to the opposite side of the store and work backward, thus avoiding shopping next to her.


Somehow she was everywhere I was. I hurried down to the milk aisle and Helen was there.  I went back up to the chips and Helen followed close behind.  Everytime I saw her I looked the other way, or acted insanely interested in the yogurt label. Let me tell you, I studied that grocery list I have never studied anything before. I knew the risks involved here.  Eye contact would be fatal.

I watched Helen from the corner of my eye as she slowly made her way toward the register.  About dang time that girl left me in peace.  I was rid of her and now I could finally choose my tortilla shells in peace.

And then out of nowhere, like a thief in the night, there she was, strolling down the tortilla aisle!  The nerve of the girl!  I mean, come on, how many times can you reasonably pretend to not see someone?  I enthusiastically checked my phone.  My eyes stayed down.  No looking up, Bonnie.  We did not come this far just to waste it in the fourth quarter!

Is this getting to be a bit much?  I'm sorry.  I'll try to tone it down a bit, but I can make no guarantees.

I could feel Helen's gaze on me. I knew she recognized me, and I knew she was staring me down. But like a child in trouble, I refused to look back.

After what seemed like decades of her cold hard stare down, she walked on. Without a word.

It wasn’t until I was in my car driving home that I realized how strange the whole encounter (more like non-encounter) was, and more than anything I was struck by how strange my own behavior was. Who sees someone they know and runs like a bat out of hell? Wouldn’t it have been much easier to just say, “Oh, hi Helen. So good to see you again. You have a kid now? Wow, that’s great. I didn’t know you were living in Provo…” and save myself the stressful runaway fugitive game?

In that moment it dawned on me.

There is something wrong with me.

I am socially awkward.

Instead of handling that situation like a socially adept person, I LITERALLY ran away.  And this isn’t the first time this has happened either. I frequently avoid conversations with people even when I know them well. Once several years ago I was at the mall with friends when I saw my brother.  I immediately bolted into the nearby store.  My friend wanted to know what the freak was my problem. When I told her I was avoiding my brother she asked, “Do you not get along with your brother?”

“No, we get along fine.”

“Are you mad at him?”

“No, not at all.”

“Are you not supposed to be here?”

“What?  Who cares if I’m at the mall?  I'm an adult.”

“Exactly. You’re an adult. So why are you hiding from your own brother?”


Finally I replied weakly, “Sometimes I just don’t want to see people, that’s all.”

That was all I could answer.

And that was all I could answer yesterday, stuck in Wal-mart, grocery list in hand, running helplessly from one of my good childhood friends.

Will you please just tell me that I'm not that weird and you do it all the time too?

It'd make me feel a lot better.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

New Look

I vamped up the blog a bit.  Did you notice?  The change was sparked by my best friend, CrazyA. 
"Do you know what you could do to get more people to your blog, Bonnie?" She said as we casually flipped through the channels.
"What?  Wait- stop there- I think that was The Kardashians".  Sometimes I don't pay attention.
"You could make it look less ghetto." Amy told me authoritatively.  "I've seen a lot of blogs that look really cute and yours doesn't look that way."

And that was the end of that conversation.

Sometimes the truth hurts, people.

So, in attempt to make my blog look "less ghetto" I decided to do a little remodeling.

I discovered something very interesting while remodeling a blog:  It is considerably less mess than remodeling a living room.  And considerably less money.

Four months ago in a fit of madness I painted my living room walls lime green.  Now our house looks like a casa en Mexico and I get a pounding headache anytime I sit on the couch for more than an hour, but I just don't have the energy or motivation to repaint it.  I get depressed everytime I think about it, in fact, because I have no hope that it'll look any better when I do paint it again.  I'm no good at decorating, you see.

That's why decorating a blog is fun.  If it doesn't look good, there's not that much at stake.  You just re-do it the next day.  No tired arms, no paint brush to rinse out, no furniture to move back in to place.

It took a bit more time than I was hoping, however.  I found a nifty little site explaining how to create your own cute and creative header.  I thought it'd be a piece of cake.  Unfortunately for me, I'm not an internet genius.  Consequentially, I spent two hours trying to create that stupid fruit header.  Next time I'm just paying $3 for a header. 

When Hubs came home from his rehearsel last night I announced proudly, "I redid the blog!  What do you think!" and opened my arm in a grand gesture to show him the blinking computer screen.

Hubs stared for a moment and then said something.  The wrong something. 
"What's with the fruit?"
"I like it.  I think it looks fun and welcoming." I tried to explain.
"Yah but is your blog about fruit?"
"No... it's about... well... I don't really know what it's about..."
"I just don't understand why you chose fruit."
That's when I snapped.  I don't have a lot of patience for people bashing on fruit, afterall. "Listen!  I've been working on that for two hours, it was extremely complicated and I am so tired so be nice about it!"
"Oh..."  Hubs wisened up "I love it..."

Sometimes guys just don't understand the importance of fruit at the top of a blog, do they?

Monday, January 09, 2012

Wishes and Kisses

Last night we spent the evening at my mom's for a little birthday party.

Whose birthday you ask?

Baby Debra, Reed, Amber, Mindy, Becky.

That's we do things in the Blackburn family.  Even birthdays come in bulk.

The best part of the birthday event was the birthday wishes.  Every time it's someone's birthday in our family we go around the circle and everyone says one good thing about the birthday boy/girl. 

The best wishes came from my nephews.  Naturally.

Ben, age 12, went first.  "I like Reed and Amber because... well they play a lot of games with me.  And I like games.  I like to play games alot.  Because, like, my dad, he never plays games with me.  Even though I ask him to, like, all the time."  Mind you, Ben's dad was there for the whole thing.  He seemed only mildly offended that Ben had thrown him under the bus like that.

Eli, age 10, went next.  Apparently he had learned a trick or two from his older brother, Ben.  "I like Reed and Amber because one time they came over and baby-sat us and it was a lot of fun.  We did stuff that we don't get to do with other babysitters.  Like when Ben babysits, he is really bossy.  And mean."  Ben just laughed.  Sly little devil, he's probably just proud of himself for training his brother so well.

The night ended with cake and ice cream.  Ricky, age 4, came running up the stairs, and when he noticed everyone was eating cake but him he pleaded "I want cake..." and then in his next breath, "I NEEEEEEEEEED cake!"  Say what you will, kids understand this life a lot more than we think.

And now, for the best part of all.  Christmas Eve my family all acted out the nativity.  I was with Hubs' family, but heard the story of  four year old Ricky playing Joseph and how he laid a long, fat one on four year old Emily, playing Mary.  This morning, I finally got to see the pictures of the kissing cousins and their notorious act. 

It doesn't get much better than this, people.

Kids these days.

They sure know what they want.

Sunday, January 08, 2012

On babies...

My whole life I have been a step behind all the other girls my age.

You want an example of this, you say?  No problem.  I was flat as a board and looked like I was eight when my friends were hitting puberty.  By the time I reached puberty,  my friends were laps ahead of me, now staying out all night kissing boys.  When I finally arrived at the kissing-boy stage, all my friends were already in college.  I tried to catch them at college, being single and carefree, but by that time they were all getting married.  In March I thought I had caught up for good when I finally tied that knot and settled down. 

"Look who's the late bloomer now!  I'm married!  Take that!" I yelled triumphantly to my friends.

But they were all too busy taking care of kids and being pregnant to hear my yell.

Yep.  Still one lap ahead of me on this never ending racetrack.

And like always, I'm not ready.  Hey, I haven't even been married for a year, there's no rush to have babies yet, right?  Oh, but some would disagree.  I'm 25, going on 26 and we all know a womb doesn't last forever!  Those eggs are getting rusty in there.  Time to get going!

And the honest, sincere truth is that I do know that I want babies, and I know that I need to have babies, and I know that not having babies and spending all my time playing volleyball, sleeping in, and going out to eat is a selfish lifestyle, not a celestial lifestyle.

But I just can't do it yet.

So I made a deal with God.  I do that sometimes, you know.  Like the time when I knew that God wanted me to go on a mission.  And I was scared.  So scared.  And I didn't really want to go yet, but I knew I had to. So I told God, "Okay, I'll do it.  I'll go on a mission.  But you have to promise me that I don't get called to Russia.  Or Idaho."

I got called to Argentina.  God kept his part of the bargain and three months later I was on a plane to Argy.

My recent deal with God was similar.

"I'll have those babies.  By golly, I'll have em.  And I'll take good care of them, and I'll love them and sacrifice the world for them and I'll raise them the best gosh darn way I can.  But can you give me just a little more time?  Time to be carefree and selfish and have Hubs all to myself?  Then I'll have those babies.  I promise. 
Oh... and one more thing... could you not give me baby girls that will eventually turn into teenage girls that hate me?"

And you know what?  I'm pretty sure God is keeping his side of the bargain on this one.  Which means for now I'll spend my days being selfish and taking care of myself.  And I'll be happy.   And in the future I'll spend my days being selfless and taking care of my kids.  And I'll be happy then, too.

It sounds like a deal I can handle.

Thursday, January 05, 2012

Just a little mistake...

On the whiteboard I had written three words:

"A whore's vengeance."

(Not my own words, a direct quote from Arthur Miller's The Crucible, mind you.)

My class was riveted, alive with deep thoughts and intelligent insights.  Is Abigail deserving of the name whore?  Is this really all about vengeance, or is there something more lurking underneath the surface?  How does one person's desire for revenge infect the entire community? Oh, we were digging deep, we were.

Then the bell rang, my juniors gathered up their books and shuffled out of the classroom, and in pounced my sophomores.  Oh, sophomores.  So energetic.  So unsuspecting.  So dumb.

I dived into my sophomore lesson, completely forgetting about the words that were left on the board.  We read, we took a quiz, we immersed ourselves in a heavy discussion.

Out of nowhere I heard Gail's peppy voice from the back row, "What does 'whore's' mean?"
I realized at once what she was looking at- my forgotten quote on the board.  "Is that like a horse?"

The class erupted in laughter.

I, myself, could not contain my own giggles.

And so I answered the only thing I could.  "Yes.  Yes, Gail.  That's exactly what it is."

Because afterall, who am I to tell little Gail the difference in a whore and a horse?

Abigail Williams... a most notorious horse whore.